Bush Taxis 101

07 Novembre 2007

Picture: eight people crammed into a 1982 Toyota Something, carving down a dirt road, with about a ton of shit strapped into the open trunk of the car and the top of it. And when I say eight adults, I mean it – full-size, no kids here. Four in front, four in back. I was crammed in the front seat, second in from the passenger door in a position that can only be described as a cookie cutter gone awry. My counterpart, next to me, sat half in the driver’s seat, straddling the clutch, which the driver had to operate in what I thought was the most absurdly sexual manner. Really, I use the word “road” lightly. A more accurate description might be a dry, rocky riverbed, that, at times becomes sort of flat, as it meanders its way through the (gorgeous) hilly countryside in the West Province. This car was not made to off-road, and as such, I named it “lutteuse” (or “fighter”) because despite the road conditions, the ton plus weight of passengers and luggage combined, and the fact that the car was older than me, it didn’t tomber en panne the entire way. At one point, I looked over at the speedometer to see how fast we were going. While I was trying to figure out whether the speedometer was in kilometers or miles, I noticed that the needle hadn’t moved at all, even when the car sped up. Right, I thought, why WOULD the speedometer work? The stiff edge of the seat was jammed into the small of my back, making it *extra* comfortable. I was actually quite thrilled when the car pooped out, mid-ascent of a steep hill and we had to get out and walk because the car just couldn’t support the weight of all eight of us and all of our crap, even in first gear.

THIS was the slow passage from Foumban to Malentouen. I say slow because I was crammed as such for more two hours.

This was actually the third leg of a four-stage voyage from Bangangté to Ngambé Tikar, my post. The first leg brought us (my counterpart and me) from Bangangté to Bafoussam, a trip I’ve done before. Nothing new there. The second brought us, again in a minibus-type vehicle through an agence de voyage from Bafoussam to Foumban. This ride was notable because it was the first time I’ve seen a live goat strapped to the roof along with other cargo. Without a cage. Apparently, this is quite common. I’ve heard of 22 live goats being strapped to the roof and having several shoved in the van itself.

The third leg, as I already detailed, was the death ride, which brought us to Malentouen. We were making great time at this point and caught another bush taxi just as it was almost full. A note about taxis and travel agencies: here, when you go to a travel agency and buy a ticket for a set route or when you catch a bush taxi, you have to wait until the vehicle is full before you can leave. There is effectively no schedule. This can have its perks and pitfalls. Today, we managed to catch rides quickly because many were almost full and we (the two of us) brought the taxi to full, so we didn’t have to wait long to leave. However, sometimes the wait can be upwards of 2 or 3 hours. In Malentouen, they were waiting for one more person – however, me and my counterpart made two more. No worries. Just when I didn’t think you could cram more than eight people in a four-person sedan…voila! You can! This time, nine of us piled into a hatchback/station wagon-style car (again, circa 1980-something). Since this one wasn’t as full with luggage, I suggested someone sit in the trunk area (this is the kind of car where you can reach into the “trunk” behind the backseat); my counterpart looked at me like THAT was a crazy idea. Right. But nine people and all their 800 lbs of luggage in a 1980-something vehicle made for four, traveling along bumpy dirt roads – THAT’S fine.

Here is another fine example of Cameroonian crap-piling onto ancient four-door family sedans. I always knew there was a reason I loved those four-door family sedans.

Anyhow, we arrived in great time and collapsed in his living room. Then we went to sit outside, which was nice because the sun was past its hottest and the weather was really pleasant. Magloire told me about his goals and hopes for the work. It seems, from the way he talks about it, that he is extremely motivated, extremely idealistic and full of hope for what we can accomplish. In this sense, we are peas of the same pod. He also seems to be well-known and liked in the community. As we walked to and from his house, he must have stopped no fewer than five times to say hi to people and introduce. I couldn’t be happier to be paired with him for the next two years.

On first blush, my village is gorgeous – much nicer than Bangangté, I think. Granted, I was exhausted and starving from my day of travels, but I was pretty enchanted with it. We’ll see how I feel after I’ve used the latrine…

Post Announcements

This has been a really exciting week! On Wednesday, all the stagiares mustered up some good ole’ American tradition and creativity to throw a pretty damn good Halloween fête. We had beans and beignets (from Abba’s mom – the best in Bangangte), booze, candy, and even some proper decorations. And practically everyone came out in a costume, which ranged from a ghostbuster and slimer duo, a duo of a moustique (mosquito) and moustiquaire (mosquito net), an intestinal worm (specifically, Andy’s), various cats and animals, a very good Dr. Njiti impression, and a jazzercizer (“Let’s Get Physical!”). The Halloween fête was way fun, and it conveniently coincided with our regular Wednesday night group dinners, so we already had permission to be out past our 6 PM curfew. The party was rockin’ til almost 9 PM! Wooo!

Also thrilling was the announcement of everyone’s post yesterday. I will be opening a brand spankin’ new post in Ngambé Tikar, a small village in the Center Province:

That’s “nn-GAHM-bay tee-kar” phonetically. The village itself is apparently quite small, and it is located in the northwest corner of the province, very close to Adamawa and West provinces. The capital of Cameroon, Yaoundé, is also in the Center Province, and this is also where the Peace Corps office is located. Initially, I thought that I would be going to the provincial capital to do my banking – and this would mean getting to stay at the Peace Corps office in Yaoundé about once a month, where theoretically, I would have access to the Peace Corps office internet, as well as the potential to meet up with fellow volunteers. However, more careful inspection has revealed that a closer and more likely place for me to do my banking will be Bafoussam, the provincial capital of the West Province (and I’m told, the 3^rd largest city in Cameroon).

I’m not sure how I feel about all that – kind of ambivalent – but I am excited about my closest post-mate: Ralph! Ralph is posted in Adamawa, but he’s right on the Southwest border of the province and is very close to me, in Bankim. Ralph is a 63-year-old retired ski patrolman who once worked in the French Alps, Vietnam War veteran thrice over, French language enthusiast, and generally wise man, not to mention one of the most good-natured people I’ve met, considering he is far and away the oldest person in our 42-person stage (the next oldest person is 27). The other day, I asked him whether he thought sex and food made the world go ‘round. He answered, “definitely.” Then I asked which he thought was more important. “Food,” he replied. And Why? “Because, we’ve all been here in Cameroon for a month now without any sex and we’ve survived just fine, but where would we be without food?” Such sagesse. That’s “wisdom,” for you Anglophone folks. This is Ralph, with fellow stagiare Kate Legner:

So, although Ralph is only about a 45-minute moto taxi ride away (in the dry season), there is really not anyone else very close to me. Like, at all. In fact, one of the current PCVs who was here for training this week and who has seen my village told me flat out that it’s in the middle of nowhere. Which is both exciting and absolutely terrifying. Ten of the stagiares in our stage were placed in the West Province, and another ten were placed in the Northwest province, both of which are fairly small provinces, so these people are pretty close by one another, relatively speaking. Not like they’re all going to be partying with one another all the time, but if they’re having a rough time, any number of fellow PCVs are pretty close by to commiserate, etc. So I’m a bit scared about being practically all alone (speaking strictly about Americans). But at the same time, I’m not sure I’d want to be at a post so close to so many others. I guess the grass could always be greener if I dwell on this, so I’m pretty much just forging ahead and hoping everything comes up roses.

Which brings me to the things that I’m really excited about. The PCV who I will be staying with during my upcoming site visit, Stacey, has apparently pushed very hard for there to be a post in my village. Apparently, she thought that my future counterpart, who runs the local youth group, was so great and she thought the village itself was so great that it needed a PCV. Furthermore, my boss (APCD), Kim, confirmed me that my counterpart is very dynamic and motivated. These are things that I had mentioned to her as being important to me, because I think one of the toughest things to encounter in my work would be working and working and working and having no one in village motivated enough to work with me or give a shit. The community itself was asked to identify its needs, and they mentioned wanting to set up a “Centre d’ecoute” – literally, a listening center, but I think this roughly translates to a counseling center. Which is really exciting, as anyone who knows me knows that counseling is one of my favorite activities. They also listed about ten other categories for interventions, including my interests in family planning, repro health, and STIs/HIV, so I’m pretty excited to have the chance to work with a variety of health topics (including water sanitation and nutrition – bring it on, “maison de nourriture”). And I think I’ll be working with kids a lot, which I can say, based on my past experience teaching high school students, is a double-edged sword, but which is also ultimately rewarding. All in all, I feel at least a little at ease with regards to my work.

I had also mentioned wanting to be in Adamawa; there were only three health posts in Adamawa, one of which had to go to a man (Ralph), but my post is about as close to Adamawa as you can get without actually being there. In addition, Kim told me that the Tikar people are extremely proud of their tribe. Ngambé Tikar encompasses both Savannah and forest, so wildlife of both terrains abounds, and because of the forest, there are Baka people (otherwise incorrectly known as pygmies) there as well. So basically, it sounds like a fantastic, diverse mélange of really different environments and cultures – my own mini-Cameroonian version of NYC, n’est pas? As for amenities – I don’t know about running water, though I hear electricity might be a go (at least some of the time), and there is apparently cell phone service in some parts of the village, potentially my home itself.

I will close with the story of when I told my homestay father about my post. The conversation went a little something like this:

Father: so where is your post?

Me: oh right, I’m going to be in the Center Province, in Ngambé Tikar.

Father: …[long pause, in which he looks confused, concerned?] Merde!

Which, roughly translated, means, “Fuck! Child, you’re going to be SOL in the middle of nowhere.” Fortunately, our training director had told all of us, after finding out our posts, that when we told our homestay families where we were going that we shouldn’t listen to anything they said. Because, just like in the US, people have certain ideas about certain places, even without ever having gone there themselves (everyone in Kentucky marries their first cousin at the age of 15, right?). So I wasn’t overly concerned. But just in case I was, tonight at dinner, he told me that he had spoken to his friend here in Bangangté who is from Ngambé Tikar. He reassured me while shaking my hand, that Ngambé Tikar is actually a “nice village.”

As my fellow stagiares, Kate Wright, would say, I’m totally stoked.

Soon to be at post

So I forgot to mention that yesterday, we had meetings with the APCD, Kim Ahanda. She talked with each of us individually about our preferences for post placement. Basically, I told her I’m interested in having the chance to do reproductive health, or gender-related work, and that I want to be in a French-speaking province. I mentioned that the Adamawa province (which is part of the grand north, which generally tends to have more of a muslim influence) is of particular interest to me as well, but that I am pretty flexible to go anywhere. I also said that if it was possible, I wouldn’t mind being in a house with electricity. I’ve decided that running water is not super important to me, because it will be easy enough to fetch water myself or send petites (read: little kids... apparently, it's pretty common to just always send the wee children to do errands, so I'm gonna try not to feel bad about this) to get water for me. Bucket baths don’t really bother me, they’re actually kind of fun. But having a computer is like drugs to me. I am sure I would adjust just fine not having the ability to use one regularly (ie without electricity), but it really is nice to have one right now.

So we are going to find out our post placements this coming Thursday, November 1. I’m really excited. Thinking about being at post is exciting. It’s going to be wonderful to have my own space, to be able to decide how to structure my days, and to just have some privacy (granted, not a ton, because I don’t think PCVs ever really have privacy, since we tend to stick out). I’m excited to cook for myself, to do household chores, to begin to really get to know a community, and to do everything else I need to do at post. I’m also a little nervous, because as we get closer and closer to leaving for post, I realize more and more that I will be completely on my own and responsible for making myself productive. This is a little frightening. It helps that we will have a concrete objective during the first three months (i.e. to do community assessment), but it’s still a little unnerving to think about being all alone, no Americans nearby to sound off of everyday. I'm also a bit nervous about protocol. Protocol is the process of introducing oneself to a community - it's a way to sort of show respect to the notables, i.e. the people in power. Protocol is extremely important, because if you do it wrong somehow, you could fail to gain the support of the powerful people (like village chiefs, fons, or notables) in your community. And if I fail to have the support of those in power in my community, I will be, in essence, screwed. I will basically be unwelcome, and unable to do any of my work really. Plus, I probably won't be so safe, since the power-wielders in the community won't have welcomed me. Therefore, I'm pretty nervous about making sure protocol goes well when I get to post. It's supposed to be task numero uno upon arrival. To conclude, right now, I am a little nervous about the unknown, but mostly, excited. It also helps that we’ll have a chance to visit our posts in about a week and a half, which I expect will also be really fun/exciting/interesting.

Some new sh*t

So, I’d like to share some things that I find hilarious/interesting/fantastic/terrible about Cameroon, that are pretty commonplace (or at least, not that unusual):

-I was running today and I saw a moto taxi (motorcycle taxi) with a “bumper” sign that read, “Jesus knows your problem.”
-goats and chickens run around like they don’t have owners. They do have owners, but usually, they roam free. The other day, I was walking by a chicken, and perhaps I walked too close, because it flipped out, squawked and ran right across the road in front of me, until it felt like it was a safe distance from me. Kind of amusing.
-Cameroonians are very direct. If you’re fat, they’ll tell you that you’re fat. If you’re white, they’ll tell you that too. The concept of being politically correct is basically non-existent, and I kind of like it that way. By the same token, they’ll comment that you are gaining or losing weight. Generally, putting on weight is a good thing, so if someone tells you that you are “prendre les poids,” that’s a compliment. I was less then thrilled though, the other day, when my homestay father pointed out that I had “pris les poids” since arriving. Joy.
- Not so commonplace, but the other day, I was walking by myself from the market where I had just bought some bananas, and I walked past a groups of young guys. One of them followed me for awhile, and opened with “Give me 100 CFA (the monetary unit).” I said no, I didn’t have any money. Then he said “Okay, well then give me a banana.” I said no again. Then he left me alone. It was so bizarre though, as if he thought that 1) I was rich because I was white and 2) that because I was apparently white/rich, I would just give out my money/belongings if he only asked. It was really bizarre, and a bit unsettling.
- When you’re running, or do any sports, strangers who see you will greet you and say “Du courage,” which doesn’t exactly have an English translation, because its basically a way of cheering you on, or saying something like “keep it up!” It’s awesome to have a village of cheerleaders when you go running.
- Little kids think white people are hilarious. It doesn’t matter what I do, my mere existence is wildly entertaining. One day, I was walking to market, and I had an entourage of wee little followers. Most often, they’ll just say “good morning” or “good afternoon” – sometimes in English and sometimes in French – and then crack up when you reply in kind. This day, however, they were actually following me, so I turned around suddenly and play-screamed at them and they all cracked up. The kids here are fantastic.
-If it’s raining when you’re supposed to be going somewhere, you’re just not expected to be on time. One morning, I was getting ready to go to training, and I came into the living area of my homestay house to get breakfast, but nothing was ready. My father said, “what’s the hurry? It’s raining, it’s fine. Wait until it stops raining to leave.” So I was late. Which was fine, but it’s just funny how that’s pretty much an acceptable excuse for tardiness. In fact, Cameroonians would say it’s more important to be well-dressed and presentable than to be on time.
-I haven’t had a hot shower in over a month now. And I’ve pretty much gotten used to it. And that’s fantastic.
-People will often try to get your attention by making a kissing sound at you. And this is not necessarily always a call for sexual attention – it might just be that they want to alert you to the fact that the moto taxi is there in case you were looking for one. It’s also used during soccer matches to alert fellow teammates that you’re open for a pass.
-Guys hold hands. This is wonderful.
-I went out tonight wearing a tank top and gauchos and felt like a slut almost the entire time. People dress really conservatively here, so this was a very racy outfit. And I had wet hair because I had just showered. Wet hair is considered really sexy as well, so I basically just looked like a whore.

Some pictures

Another note about my blog. You can ignore the post date – the REAL date is when I write the blog in the comfort of my own little home. The post date is simply when I finally got my ass in gear to a cyber-café to post the entry. I opted to post some photos this time around because I haven’t yet done that, and I bet people are already sick of reading my meandering and often boring thoughts on life here. Pictures are far more digestable. So here we go:

The skies in Cameroon are quite different from the US. Maybe it’s because there’s less electricity, pollution, etc etc, so there’s less distortion, but the clouds sometimes do crazy (read: fantastic) things. Like this day, when the sky literally turned completely orange-pink right around sunset, and I felt like I was enveloped in a giant peep. What was remarkable was just how pervasive this pink-orange glow was. It made the air feel different. It was pretty dope.

Did I mention that where I currently live is gorgeous? I don’t think I have, but it is.

This was supposed to be a photo of this gorgeous view just around the corner from my house, but it didn’t quite come out as I had hoped. Bangangte is quite hilly, so there’s an awesome view of something around just about every corner. This one’s nice because it’s so close to home.


I would love to post more photos, but it took about an hour to do just these three, in this tiny small format, so I think this will have to suffice.

A note about the title

A note about the title of my blog. One of our training activities introduced us to a number of proverbs from various cultures. The proverb I was given was “small small catch monkey,” which is apparently a Cameroonian proverb in pidgin English. Two of Cameroon’s ten provinces speak English and many of the border regions of these provinces speak pidgin English, which is a combination of two languages, in this case English and native Cameroonian dialects (I think). The proverb means that no one can catch a monkey if he jumps at the primate quickly and suddenly – it takes time. That is, little by little, if you work slowly and carefully, you can sneak up on the monkey and catch it.

I chose to title my blog as such because I think this is a pretty great metaphor for the entire Peace Corps experience. In so many ways, Peace Corps is a slow, gradual process, exacted in baby steps – of adjusting to an unfamiliar culture, of learning a new language, of becoming a member of a community and not just “white man” (although, many current PCVs have told us that we may always be referred to as “white man” regardless of how integrated into a community we become), of recuperating after being ill, of working towards behavior change in a community, of learning about oneself. For me, this proverb seems like it will embody my experience in its entirety, and it was altogether too perfect not to name my blog as such.

If I ever contact you upset about something, ready to pack up and ship home, I’d appreciate it if you could remind me, “small small catch monkey.”

I have arrived

Today:

- introductions to everyone

- food and water safety lecture – probably good they gave us that on the first day since I think ability to concentrate will drop off significantly as training progresses.

- typhoid shot (vaccine #4 pour moi) – also Hep A and B for some

- medical intake interviews

- interview with Kim Ahanda, APCD (Associate Peace Corps Director) for the Health program – PC apparently has a lot of acronyms, so I’m going to try to keep them in order

- French assessment examen – could’ve gone better. I understood my language tester well, but had trouble putting sentences together in a fluid manner

- first internet in Cameroon at the PC office. Was good to re-connect with the world

- met Richard, the 70+ volunteer in the North who my mom wrote to before I left. Was very kind, expressed concern at my mother’s anxiousness. Commented that (and I am not joking) “she seemed especially anxious,” perhaps more than the average parent. I reassured him that that was just my mother.

- lunch was delicious – some sort of curry beef with rice and potatoes (and of course, bread), followed by a citrus-y yogurt that was more liquid-y than most yogurts I’ve encountered

- dinner was also a knockout – a spinach/fried fish combo with potatoes (cassava?) and plaintains

- did laundry for the first time with Brian and Ralph (laundry party!) on the third floor and soon realized that water pressure was better in my room, so relocated. Yay clean clothes!

- Sat around the training office WAITING. A wee taste of what’s to come, perhaps?

- came downstairs to find music and dancing. June (one of our PCVLs or Peace Corps Volunteer Leader) had invited a band to come and play. They were missing two bandmates but it was still fantastic. Had one of those moments where I thought: “This could not be more right. Cameroon is amazing.” Thunderstorm was brewing, hard rains pounded the patio, creating a 3 inch pool, lightning (beautiful and purple, lights up the sky), and some thunder. We were all outside, but under an overhang, and the lights went out. They played a very slow-paced, chilled-out song, in line with Bob Marley and the rasta vibe – I’ve already forgotten it, but it sounded at once familiar and foreign, fantastic. The entire moment, the scene felt like a microcosm of how I think Africans live. That is, Shit happens – the electricity goes out, the rain is falling falling falling and you’re trapped inside a hotel. But you know what? We got music and dancing (and alcohol) and one of the most beautiful settings in existence. We’re gonna keep on rockin. Really felt like a solidifying moment where pieces fell into place. I want a record of this feeling because I’m sure times will come when I’ll need a positive, reaffirming memory to fall back on

- Remarked to myself that the red earth is positively magnificent and will surely eat me up whole (or at least, my lightest clothes). The dust, the mud is incredible. I’ve never seen earth so fiery. It’s as if the sun were smothered by the dust and the dust remained as red as the coals that resulted.

- Some people are beginning to feel antsy about being let out into the city because being on lockdown in the hotel is not so fun. The PCVLs say its a bad idea and they’re probably right (just picture forty-two silly, ignorant Peace Corps trainees wandering around a very foreign city, and it surely doesn’t sound like the best idea), but it still feels like being cooped up, like we’re going stir crazy. June told me tonight that they might let us walk to the PC training office in a day or two, which is absolutely thrilling, but she also said that this is a BIG PC no-no, or at least, hold-your-breath type of activity.