I went to lunch today at my favorite restaurant, La Belle Fourchette. It’s my favorite because they almost always have “legumes” (basically cooked leafy greens, served with some sort of carbohydrate) and also because one of the women who runs it has the most adorable four-year-old daughter, who unlike most children here, has never shown any indication of being scared of me or even surprised by me, but instead orders me around, as if I were her daughter (some might even say she reminds me of me at her age).
Anyhow, when I got there, the legumes weren’t ready yet, so I sat down to wait. I was pissed at myself for forgetting to bring something to read, and just sitting, the only person in the restaurant. Suddenly, from outside the restaurant I heard a woman sobbing and what sounded like pleading with someone else. I also heard a man quietly scolding this woman, a kind of quiet that spoke of controlled rage. Before I could confirm my suspicions just overhearing what happened outside, the woman was pushed into the restaurant, and fell down on the dirt threshold, the man right behind her, not yelling, but threatening. She looked straight at me, our eyes locked for a second before she turned back to him. She stood up and cried out “Bandit!” (something like the equivalent of “bastard!”)
They continued to quarrel, while I was at once on edge, filled with terror. What would happen to this woman? Was the man her boyfriend? Her husband? Who was going to protect her? Could I help her? How? If I got involved, could the man turn his intentions on me? If that happened, who would protect me? I sat there, tense, frozen, watching what was happening, but really just wanting to disappear.
Soon, the two ladies who run the restaurant came out and shoo’d the couple away, and then watched from the doorway, as ostensibly, they continued fighting. I didn’t move from where I was sitting; I didn’t want to see what happened.
The whole scene passed in less than two minutes, but it made me think. There’s no law against hitting children or women here (in fact, an education volunteer recently shared a story of when she was forced to watch one of her students receive 25 lashes from a teacher. She recalls how the teacher stopped after every few lashes, so the student, holding back tears, could try to recover enough to take the next few. She was telling the story to a marine, who asked “don’t their parents do something about it?” “Oh, they want the teachers to do it,” she replied). In the states, when I did crisis counseling, I felt frustrated with the system and with society’s apathy, or worse, blaming of victims/survivors of assault and abuse. But at least there was a system, as imperfect as it is – an acknowledgement that abuse is wrong. This scene quickly brought to my mind the frightening reality that abuse happens here and there is no recourse. Hurting one another is acceptable behavior here. How does one combat a system in which the very idea that hitting someone less powerful than you is okay? If I tried to do some sort of intervention centered around abuse – what kind of progress could I realistically make?
The look in the woman’s eyes as hers met mine while she was still crumpled on the dirt floor will haunt me; as will the defiance set in her back, her posture, as she stood up straight, proud, suddenly after getting up, looked straight at the man and with her chin held up, cried out “Bandit!” African women are fighters; I wonder if this is a battle we can fight?
Friday, February 8, 2008
Monday, February 4, 2008
bush taxi to yaounde
Alright, so I'm mostly past the whole being surprised at Cameroonian modes of transport - the endless waiting (to load the vehicle, to get gas, to leave, to wait while some broken down part gets fixed), the cars that are about as old as me and function as well as someone dying, the driving on "roads" that would never be called such in America, the cars being packed-to-the-gills-and-then-some, the dust visible in the air and filling your lungs. However, yesterday's harrowing 9-hour commute to banking in Yaounde was pretty miserable. See if you can make sense of the following happenings from the day:
- chicken shit on the floor of the van
- wooden canoes to cross a river, carved from large tree trunks... with outboard motors
- stopping every five minutes to say hello to people as we pass by villages
- pretty much everytime we stop, at least one man approaching me to ask for my phone number; some not even repulsed when I say flatout: "you do not interest me"
- "Wow, you got suntanned!" [I lick my fingers and rub my face] "Am I still tan?"
- reading "War and Peace" out of sheer boredom. It's possible that it only makes me more bored. - the guy sitting next to me checking my watch, despite the fact that he's already verified that his watch is one minute faster. The same guy constantly checking over my shoulder anytime I pull anything out of my bag
- the travel agency operator telling two passengers to get out because the car was too full, resulting in a shouting match and general testing of testosterone and manliness between said operator and a passenger. Passenger's screaming delays departure by ten minutes. After the dispute, passenger and operator jovially laugh with each other: "no hard feelings"
- chicken shit on the floor of the van
- wooden canoes to cross a river, carved from large tree trunks... with outboard motors
- stopping every five minutes to say hello to people as we pass by villages
- pretty much everytime we stop, at least one man approaching me to ask for my phone number; some not even repulsed when I say flatout: "you do not interest me"
- "Wow, you got suntanned!" [I lick my fingers and rub my face] "Am I still tan?"
- reading "War and Peace" out of sheer boredom. It's possible that it only makes me more bored. - the guy sitting next to me checking my watch, despite the fact that he's already verified that his watch is one minute faster. The same guy constantly checking over my shoulder anytime I pull anything out of my bag
- the travel agency operator telling two passengers to get out because the car was too full, resulting in a shouting match and general testing of testosterone and manliness between said operator and a passenger. Passenger's screaming delays departure by ten minutes. After the dispute, passenger and operator jovially laugh with each other: "no hard feelings"
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Recap
29 January 2008
A lot has been happening lately. Let's recap:
1. Africa Cup. Soccer! Les Lions Indomptables came off to a rocky start but are still in the running. The first match for Cameroon was against Egypt. At half, the Lions were down 0-3. When Magloire and I went to chat with others about the match during half-time, people seemed cautiously, doubtfully optimistic. "We'll even the score," they said. During the second half, the lions came out with a fury and energy, early scoring a goal. Much cheering, jubilation, and people actually began to believe that they might, in fact, score three goals. However, that first goal wasn't followed by a second until near the end of the match and by then Egypt had scored again, and it was clear that the Lions had lost, 2-4. Much grumbling. Afterward, as Magloire and I walked towards market for dinner, I saw him get the most fiery and animated as I've ever seen him, talking to the others who had been watching as well. "That Otto Pfister [Cameroon's new coach] is useless, he's changed the entire line-up; the Lions have never been this terrible" "Usually Egypt is terrible, we should have won."
The second match was against Zambia and considerably more exciting. When the Lions scored their first goal, everyone in the room jumped up, screaming in excitement, hugging one another, slapping high fives, etc. The room was crowded with about twenty men and two women (me and one other). People sat on the floor, leaned against the couch, crammed themselves into the small room to watch. For the first match, we had gone to the deputy's house, where he had a room the size of a rec room and enough furniture for everyone to sit. Magloire had said "Now you'll see how Cameroonians get fired up about soccer." I had been surprised at the relative quiet throughout the match as we watched the Lions get destroyed. Where was the cursing? The name-calling? The frustration with one's team? Now, for the second match, in Magloire's small living room, I saw the fiery emotion and pride of Cameroonians for their soccer team. Each successive goal or save by Cameroon's goalie brought more cheering, happiness - "wow! Eto'o fils!" (Eto'o is Cameroon's star attacker). By halftime, Cameroon was up 3-0. During the second half, they clinched the victory, 5-1. Afterward, Magloire and I again walked to market to get dinner and the centre-ville was quite animated. Music was blaring at one of the main bars and people were out in numbers, celebration. It was an interesting scene.
The third match of this first round of play is the day after tomorrow, against Sudan. I think Cameroon is expected to win, as Sudan is probably the weakest team in our pool. You may be wondering how on earth my little village in the middle of nowhere has 1) the electricity and 2) the networks to watch these soccer matches. The answer is that some people have their own generators, and about a third of the village has power when the generator at the sawmill turns on their generator for the village around 6 PM. Amongst those with power, many have TVs and satellite dishes (sure no running water and sometimes not enough to eat, but let's drop 40000 CFA on a satellite dish…) Voila! Football en brousse!
2. This discussion about electricity brings me to my next point: power in my house. I do not live in the quartier that gets power from the sawmill's generator at night (it's too far away). Initially, I branched a power line from the mayor's house across the street (he has a generator). Recently, however, the generator broke. But not before frying not one but two of my cell phone chargers (the second less than a week after I replaced the first one), and possibly my AC adaptor. I'm now without electricity, which is mostly fine, except for the problem of charging my cell phone. I've heard a little bit about a possibility of getting solar panels and solar power through a Cameroonian NGO, which appeals to me (what better way to make use of Cameroon's proximity to the equator and sun?), though I'm a little doubtful about it. I want to follow up with the NGO when I bank in February, but I'm a little doubtful. If that proves a dead end, I'll be living without electricity for awhile, until I figure something else out (or rather, if I figure something else out).
3. I can measure how much life has started to settle into regularity because I've begun to take up my normal habits from the states again. I've started to cook for myself every now and again. The whole food situation is a little tough since I have no fridge and thus can't cook a huge meal to keep for a week of leftovers, as I used to do. I'm getting accustomed to it, but I haven't really ventured beyond very simple meals. My most common meal is a sandwich I've dubbed "Sloppy Becca's." Basically, I sauté onions, tomatoes, garlic, and some sort of green leafy vegetable, and then throw this mix on a sandwich with either mustard or a hyper-processed cheese that doesn't need refrigeration (yum) - sometimes both. Sometimes I throw a fried egg in there for protein. Other than that, I have tea or hot milk for breakfast with toast and jam almost every morning.
When I don't cook for myself, I eat out at the restaurants in town. This often means some sort of starch (macabo, manioc, plantains, rice, or couscous de manioc, couscous de mais, even couscous taro or couscous de macabo) with a sauce - either a tomato sauce, often with a chunk of meat - or a peanut sauce, often with grilled fish. I really enjoy the couscous's because you eat them with your fingers (hello, return to age 3). Sometimes I have what is basically sautéed legumes (kinda like spinach?) - this is one of my favorite sauces. If it's not any of the above, then it's grilled fish with "condiment" (the catchall term for seasoning/flavoring) with baton de manioc. Overall, my diet is beginning to balance out in a way I'm happy with.
After a rather long hiatus, I've also begun to run again - in the mornings mostly. There are really only two general directions in which I can run, so this may get boring. For the time being, though, it's fine. The roads lead out to untouched savannah and forests which mix with each other without any real boundaries. Where I am is hilly (though not as much as in Bangangte) so there's some pretty views. Haven't seen any crazy animals yet, other than lizards.
The fact that I'm running and cooking means I've kind of figured out my water situation. My ideal would be to hire someone to draw water for me. In the meantime though, I have five bidons and two large buckets in which to store water, when they're all full, they'll last me about a week (maybe more), so I'm content to not have to draw water everyday or every other day.
4. Work. Is good. I've described before the idea behind CAPJ, but for the past few weeks, I've been feeling a little frustrated because I only had a vague idea of what was happening and what exactly my role was in everything. I felt like a common problem was we'd have a meeting and I'd ask what it was for, not really understand the response, and then at the meeting, be expected to give some sort of speech, which I was unprepared to do. Also, I could tell you that the objective of CAPJ was the "mobilization of the community/youth against HIV/AIDS," but I couldn't tell you what this meant in terms of concrete activity. At some point, I realized that I'd need to get more info and that I'd need to ask a lot of questions. Finally yesterday, I sat down with Magloire to try and begin to better understand, in specifics, what we're doing. A lot of things became clearer to me. I kind of finally feel like I have some direction to speak of it feels really good. We also began to sort of create an action plan for what we have to do. If there's anything that I'm realizing, it's that I am SUPER busy, and I think I will only get busier as time passes. This is truly a good thing, because I tend to become listless when I'm not busy.
One element of our work is going to be sensibilizing about HIV/AIDS the pygmies who live close by our village. Magloire says that they've done testing of some pygmies for HIV and that it appears as though HIV hasn't really touched the pygmies yet. I think they are quite insular, so if someone were to get AIDS, it could spread quickly and decimate the tribe, especially since they partake in some risky behaviors, such as sharing razor blades for scarification. For awhile, we've been talking about making a first visit to the pygmy campement closest to Ngambe Tikar (there are seven in our arrondissement). Now for awhile, I've been complaining to myself about how hard life in village is. Mostly petty things - like, it sucks not having power, running water, furniture, etc. I'll even spend a lot of time dreaming and daydreaming about how nice it'd be to go home and have all the "luxes." But if ever there was something to make me appreciate what I have, man it was a visit to the pygmy campement.
I don't want to sound horrible and judgmental, but the campement was… wow. Some things I noticed: no latrines (I didn't ask where they do their business), most of the pygmies were wearing drab clothing - holes everywhere and filthy, many of them weren't wearing shoes and it seemed like most hadn't bathed in at least a week. I often see villagers similarly dressed when they're going out to their farms, but that makes sense - no sense wearing one's Sunday bests if you're just going to be getting dirty. But I couldn't fathom why the pygmies weren’t wearing clean clothes when just sitting around at home and weren't clean themselves. It was startling, really. The contrast of the conditions of the pygmy campement compared to those of my village really jolted me into appreciating what is available in village and the lifestyle here. I do my laundry fairly regularly and bathe roughly everyday. My hygiene, thought not exactly what it was in the States, is at least pretty decent here. I wouldn't say the same for the pygmies. Aside from our work teaching about HIV/AIDS, I think there could be room for some basic health interventions - a la hygiene and clean water. This visit was good for me - very helpful to just appreciating what I've got.
A lot has been happening lately. Let's recap:
1. Africa Cup. Soccer! Les Lions Indomptables came off to a rocky start but are still in the running. The first match for Cameroon was against Egypt. At half, the Lions were down 0-3. When Magloire and I went to chat with others about the match during half-time, people seemed cautiously, doubtfully optimistic. "We'll even the score," they said. During the second half, the lions came out with a fury and energy, early scoring a goal. Much cheering, jubilation, and people actually began to believe that they might, in fact, score three goals. However, that first goal wasn't followed by a second until near the end of the match and by then Egypt had scored again, and it was clear that the Lions had lost, 2-4. Much grumbling. Afterward, as Magloire and I walked towards market for dinner, I saw him get the most fiery and animated as I've ever seen him, talking to the others who had been watching as well. "That Otto Pfister [Cameroon's new coach] is useless, he's changed the entire line-up; the Lions have never been this terrible" "Usually Egypt is terrible, we should have won."
The second match was against Zambia and considerably more exciting. When the Lions scored their first goal, everyone in the room jumped up, screaming in excitement, hugging one another, slapping high fives, etc. The room was crowded with about twenty men and two women (me and one other). People sat on the floor, leaned against the couch, crammed themselves into the small room to watch. For the first match, we had gone to the deputy's house, where he had a room the size of a rec room and enough furniture for everyone to sit. Magloire had said "Now you'll see how Cameroonians get fired up about soccer." I had been surprised at the relative quiet throughout the match as we watched the Lions get destroyed. Where was the cursing? The name-calling? The frustration with one's team? Now, for the second match, in Magloire's small living room, I saw the fiery emotion and pride of Cameroonians for their soccer team. Each successive goal or save by Cameroon's goalie brought more cheering, happiness - "wow! Eto'o fils!" (Eto'o is Cameroon's star attacker). By halftime, Cameroon was up 3-0. During the second half, they clinched the victory, 5-1. Afterward, Magloire and I again walked to market to get dinner and the centre-ville was quite animated. Music was blaring at one of the main bars and people were out in numbers, celebration. It was an interesting scene.
The third match of this first round of play is the day after tomorrow, against Sudan. I think Cameroon is expected to win, as Sudan is probably the weakest team in our pool. You may be wondering how on earth my little village in the middle of nowhere has 1) the electricity and 2) the networks to watch these soccer matches. The answer is that some people have their own generators, and about a third of the village has power when the generator at the sawmill turns on their generator for the village around 6 PM. Amongst those with power, many have TVs and satellite dishes (sure no running water and sometimes not enough to eat, but let's drop 40000 CFA on a satellite dish…) Voila! Football en brousse!
2. This discussion about electricity brings me to my next point: power in my house. I do not live in the quartier that gets power from the sawmill's generator at night (it's too far away). Initially, I branched a power line from the mayor's house across the street (he has a generator). Recently, however, the generator broke. But not before frying not one but two of my cell phone chargers (the second less than a week after I replaced the first one), and possibly my AC adaptor. I'm now without electricity, which is mostly fine, except for the problem of charging my cell phone. I've heard a little bit about a possibility of getting solar panels and solar power through a Cameroonian NGO, which appeals to me (what better way to make use of Cameroon's proximity to the equator and sun?), though I'm a little doubtful about it. I want to follow up with the NGO when I bank in February, but I'm a little doubtful. If that proves a dead end, I'll be living without electricity for awhile, until I figure something else out (or rather, if I figure something else out).
3. I can measure how much life has started to settle into regularity because I've begun to take up my normal habits from the states again. I've started to cook for myself every now and again. The whole food situation is a little tough since I have no fridge and thus can't cook a huge meal to keep for a week of leftovers, as I used to do. I'm getting accustomed to it, but I haven't really ventured beyond very simple meals. My most common meal is a sandwich I've dubbed "Sloppy Becca's." Basically, I sauté onions, tomatoes, garlic, and some sort of green leafy vegetable, and then throw this mix on a sandwich with either mustard or a hyper-processed cheese that doesn't need refrigeration (yum) - sometimes both. Sometimes I throw a fried egg in there for protein. Other than that, I have tea or hot milk for breakfast with toast and jam almost every morning.
When I don't cook for myself, I eat out at the restaurants in town. This often means some sort of starch (macabo, manioc, plantains, rice, or couscous de manioc, couscous de mais, even couscous taro or couscous de macabo) with a sauce - either a tomato sauce, often with a chunk of meat - or a peanut sauce, often with grilled fish. I really enjoy the couscous's because you eat them with your fingers (hello, return to age 3). Sometimes I have what is basically sautéed legumes (kinda like spinach?) - this is one of my favorite sauces. If it's not any of the above, then it's grilled fish with "condiment" (the catchall term for seasoning/flavoring) with baton de manioc. Overall, my diet is beginning to balance out in a way I'm happy with.
After a rather long hiatus, I've also begun to run again - in the mornings mostly. There are really only two general directions in which I can run, so this may get boring. For the time being, though, it's fine. The roads lead out to untouched savannah and forests which mix with each other without any real boundaries. Where I am is hilly (though not as much as in Bangangte) so there's some pretty views. Haven't seen any crazy animals yet, other than lizards.
The fact that I'm running and cooking means I've kind of figured out my water situation. My ideal would be to hire someone to draw water for me. In the meantime though, I have five bidons and two large buckets in which to store water, when they're all full, they'll last me about a week (maybe more), so I'm content to not have to draw water everyday or every other day.
4. Work. Is good. I've described before the idea behind CAPJ, but for the past few weeks, I've been feeling a little frustrated because I only had a vague idea of what was happening and what exactly my role was in everything. I felt like a common problem was we'd have a meeting and I'd ask what it was for, not really understand the response, and then at the meeting, be expected to give some sort of speech, which I was unprepared to do. Also, I could tell you that the objective of CAPJ was the "mobilization of the community/youth against HIV/AIDS," but I couldn't tell you what this meant in terms of concrete activity. At some point, I realized that I'd need to get more info and that I'd need to ask a lot of questions. Finally yesterday, I sat down with Magloire to try and begin to better understand, in specifics, what we're doing. A lot of things became clearer to me. I kind of finally feel like I have some direction to speak of it feels really good. We also began to sort of create an action plan for what we have to do. If there's anything that I'm realizing, it's that I am SUPER busy, and I think I will only get busier as time passes. This is truly a good thing, because I tend to become listless when I'm not busy.
One element of our work is going to be sensibilizing about HIV/AIDS the pygmies who live close by our village. Magloire says that they've done testing of some pygmies for HIV and that it appears as though HIV hasn't really touched the pygmies yet. I think they are quite insular, so if someone were to get AIDS, it could spread quickly and decimate the tribe, especially since they partake in some risky behaviors, such as sharing razor blades for scarification. For awhile, we've been talking about making a first visit to the pygmy campement closest to Ngambe Tikar (there are seven in our arrondissement). Now for awhile, I've been complaining to myself about how hard life in village is. Mostly petty things - like, it sucks not having power, running water, furniture, etc. I'll even spend a lot of time dreaming and daydreaming about how nice it'd be to go home and have all the "luxes." But if ever there was something to make me appreciate what I have, man it was a visit to the pygmy campement.
I don't want to sound horrible and judgmental, but the campement was… wow. Some things I noticed: no latrines (I didn't ask where they do their business), most of the pygmies were wearing drab clothing - holes everywhere and filthy, many of them weren't wearing shoes and it seemed like most hadn't bathed in at least a week. I often see villagers similarly dressed when they're going out to their farms, but that makes sense - no sense wearing one's Sunday bests if you're just going to be getting dirty. But I couldn't fathom why the pygmies weren’t wearing clean clothes when just sitting around at home and weren't clean themselves. It was startling, really. The contrast of the conditions of the pygmy campement compared to those of my village really jolted me into appreciating what is available in village and the lifestyle here. I do my laundry fairly regularly and bathe roughly everyday. My hygiene, thought not exactly what it was in the States, is at least pretty decent here. I wouldn't say the same for the pygmies. Aside from our work teaching about HIV/AIDS, I think there could be room for some basic health interventions - a la hygiene and clean water. This visit was good for me - very helpful to just appreciating what I've got.
Monday, January 21, 2008
goats=tv?
Continuing with more animal fun. The phrase "wild goose chase" has new meaning for me. Except instead of a goose, it's a goat. I was reading in my salon when I saw a goat whiz by in my front yard, a man quick on its heels. the goat was braying something fierce as the man ran after it, circling my house. every now and again, he thought he was close enough to stop the goat by stomping on the rope tied around its neck so he'd make a leaping stomp. Once I even saw him make a full-on dive, arm extended to catch the rope. The neighbors and I, watching, cracked up as he landed, empty-handed. This is better than TV, I kept chuckling to myself.
But it was short-lived. I just saw him carrying the goat behind his back towards the mayor's house, finally caught (though I didn't actually see the moment of capture). Those crazy goats.
But it was short-lived. I just saw him carrying the goat behind his back towards the mayor's house, finally caught (though I didn't actually see the moment of capture). Those crazy goats.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
cock-fight
9:44 AM
Two roosters are cock-fighting in my front lawn right now. this amuses me greatly, thought I can't quite say why. I've seen cockfights before, but this one has been going on for awhile. What are those silly roosters fighting about? Hehe.
10:23AM
So apparently one of the roosters killed the other. I didn't even realize that it had been a real, legit, heated fight and that cockfights actually end in the death of one party. Sad. I feel a little bad, because when my neighbors discovered the dead rooster just now, they seemed upset. I feel bad that I didn't try to stop the roosters from fighting or tell someone to stop them, but I also didn't realize this would be the outcome. My bad.
Two roosters are cock-fighting in my front lawn right now. this amuses me greatly, thought I can't quite say why. I've seen cockfights before, but this one has been going on for awhile. What are those silly roosters fighting about? Hehe.
[roosters in action: first they ruffle their feathers and bow at each other(first photo) and then they pounce on each other with their feet (second photo)]
10:23AM
So apparently one of the roosters killed the other. I didn't even realize that it had been a real, legit, heated fight and that cockfights actually end in the death of one party. Sad. I feel a little bad, because when my neighbors discovered the dead rooster just now, they seemed upset. I feel bad that I didn't try to stop the roosters from fighting or tell someone to stop them, but I also didn't realize this would be the outcome. My bad.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Chugging Along
So work is starting to get under way. Here’s what I’ve been up to.
Centre D’Accueil Pour les Jeunes
The CAPJ work is progressing. Sort of. I was supposed to have a meeting yesterday with CAPJ members to re-do some training on the PACA tool I started training them on last week, but only Lydie showed up. This is apparently typical in Cameroon – people either come late or not at all to meetings. It’s not meant to be malicious or an indication of irresponsibility – it’s just life. Things come up and they just don’t show. But it makes doing work here pretty challenging. Some volunteers I’ve talked to handle this by imposing a small penalty fee (for example, 500 CFA, or roughly a dollar) for showing up late, money which is then used for group initiatives. I’m not sure yet if, when, or how I might try to implement this. We’ll see. Magloire left on the 13th for a training in Douala, so I’ve been in village by myself. When he’s not around, the CAPJ work is harder to do, because I don’t really understand everything yet, so I can’t really manage it in his absence. Plus, I really think he is the glue that holds the whole organization together and makes sure that people show up to meetings. I’m just going to have to wait until he comes back on the 19th to do anything about it.
Centre Medical D’Arrondissement de Ngambé Tikar
Otherwise known as the hospital for our subdivision. I’ve been curious about how the hospital runs things, and whether or not they could use my help, so I went last week and spoke to the only doctor and asked if I could come and just observe once a week how things operate at the hospital. I also asked if I could attend the pre-natal consultations and vaccinations, which both occur once a month, on the 15th and the 30th of the month, respectively.
Monday was my first day of observation at the hospital. It was very interesting. I’m not sure I completely understand everything, and I don’t even know how to begin to explain why things were confusing. One case I found notable was a little girl with intense third degree burns. I have no idea how old she was, she looked maybe ten years old. (However, it’s usually quite difficult to guess someone’s age here just by looking at them; nutrition is different from in the States, so kids and adults grow differently here. My homestay father in Bangangté once told me that Cameroonians grow until age 30, and I internally scoffed at him, thinking he was wrong, self-assured in the knowledge that people stop growing by about age 20. Now, I think he might be right. It seems that here people’s growth is sometimes slowed at earlier developmental stages, but continues for longer into life.) She had horrible burns covering her entire chest, most of her upper right arm, her legs, her chin – basically everywhere. Apparently, her clothes had caught fire (this was awhile ago) and her skin too. I can only imagine how painful that must have been. Anyhow, she got initial treatment at a hospital in a bigger city, but lives here in Ngambé Tikar; while I was there, she was coming to get her bandages changed and her burn wounds cleaned (which she apparently comes to do every two days).
As the nurses pulled off the bandages, some of the healing wound came with it, and I was struck by the behavior of the girl and the medical staff. The girl was essentially silent the entire time, though clearly in pain. She bore it silently and obediently, letting tears course down her cheeks, barely making a sound. The only physically manifested response she gave while it was all happening was to cover her mouth with her hand and gasp quietly when especially agitated. The staff was gentle with her, but there was no “hand holding” that you might find for a ten year old girl in a hospital in the States, no cooing of “how brave you are!” or “okay, now this will hurt, be a strong girl!” They simply went about their work. When her hand that was covering her mouth got in the way of cleaning the wound, they brushed it away and told her to be still. I couldn’t believe the bravery of this girl.
Yesterday was pre-natal consultations. About 30-40 pregnant women from all around the subdivision came. It’s basically a whole-day affair. It begins with one-by-one taking the women’s stats (weight, BP). Once that is well underway, the nurse comes out to give a session with some sort of information about having a healthy pregnancy. After that, they begin to do one-on-one consultations with each woman. They divide the group into new pregnancies and women returning with existing pregnancies. During the consultations, they do basic information intake and take basic measurements of the woman’s belly to measure fetal growth. It seemed to me, that because of volume, it would be difficult to truly give each woman a really informative consultation, although I did notice the nurse take time to address specific issues with specific women when it came up, which was good. I think in the future, I will try to do some education at the prenatal consultations about basic to have a healthy pregnancy. I was astounded at how long the whole process took. It began before 9 AM, which is when I arrived, and when I had to leave for a meeting at 3 PM, it was still going on. It was incredible. There’s got to be a way to do it faster so the women don’t have to waste a whole day at the hospital. That’s another goal.
Club-santé (health club) at the local high school
Well today, I had my second meeting with the club-santé. The first one was last Wednesday, and it was basically just to introduce myself to everyone. The teacher in charge of the club said that it is not a new club, but it appears that they have just re-begun this semester; that is, there was no club last semester. So I didn’t totally understand how they run things. Today was interesting. The president of the club basically held a vote and asked people what they wanted to discuss next week. The club decided on HIV/AIDS, and that five members would take part in a debate about it, touching on topics such as transmission, prevention, explanation of how it progresses in the body. Afterward, he gave me the floor. I hadn’t really known what to expect, but I had planned a game to do introductions to everyone in the club. What I hadn’t counted on was there being upwards of 30+ members there, and all of their names being in the local dialect and incredibly difficult to understand, much less pronounce. OY. I came hoping to learn everyone’s name, maybe remember five or so. I left, not sure if I actually learned five names correctly. Alllllright then. Anyway, afterwards, I asked to have a little meeting with the club officers to get a better read on how they run things, and what they would like me to do with the club. I still don’t really understand, but I gather that next week, I should come prepared to intervene during the debate to correct any misinformation they might present about AIDS/HIV. I think I might also prepare a game or something to introduce concepts about HIV progression in the body. They also vaguely mentioned wanting to create posters to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS that we could post in village. Anyway, working with the club-santé looks like it could be interesting, if nothing else.
Miscellaneous
One of my other jobs is to integrate into the community. What a vague term. Well, to that end, I planned to have Princess Jeannette come over and teach me how to make croquettes – a snack that is like a slightly sweet, fried ball, the size of a marble. We did it today. It was a fun, interesting process, and now I have a little snack that will last for awhile, since we probably made enough croquettes to last me for a month or two. And, Jeannette and I made plans to eat legumes (my favorite, the all-encompassing term, “legumes” could be almost any leafy green vegetable) this Sunday. I’m so happy to have a friend.
Centre D’Accueil Pour les Jeunes
The CAPJ work is progressing. Sort of. I was supposed to have a meeting yesterday with CAPJ members to re-do some training on the PACA tool I started training them on last week, but only Lydie showed up. This is apparently typical in Cameroon – people either come late or not at all to meetings. It’s not meant to be malicious or an indication of irresponsibility – it’s just life. Things come up and they just don’t show. But it makes doing work here pretty challenging. Some volunteers I’ve talked to handle this by imposing a small penalty fee (for example, 500 CFA, or roughly a dollar) for showing up late, money which is then used for group initiatives. I’m not sure yet if, when, or how I might try to implement this. We’ll see. Magloire left on the 13th for a training in Douala, so I’ve been in village by myself. When he’s not around, the CAPJ work is harder to do, because I don’t really understand everything yet, so I can’t really manage it in his absence. Plus, I really think he is the glue that holds the whole organization together and makes sure that people show up to meetings. I’m just going to have to wait until he comes back on the 19th to do anything about it.
Centre Medical D’Arrondissement de Ngambé Tikar
Otherwise known as the hospital for our subdivision. I’ve been curious about how the hospital runs things, and whether or not they could use my help, so I went last week and spoke to the only doctor and asked if I could come and just observe once a week how things operate at the hospital. I also asked if I could attend the pre-natal consultations and vaccinations, which both occur once a month, on the 15th and the 30th of the month, respectively.
Monday was my first day of observation at the hospital. It was very interesting. I’m not sure I completely understand everything, and I don’t even know how to begin to explain why things were confusing. One case I found notable was a little girl with intense third degree burns. I have no idea how old she was, she looked maybe ten years old. (However, it’s usually quite difficult to guess someone’s age here just by looking at them; nutrition is different from in the States, so kids and adults grow differently here. My homestay father in Bangangté once told me that Cameroonians grow until age 30, and I internally scoffed at him, thinking he was wrong, self-assured in the knowledge that people stop growing by about age 20. Now, I think he might be right. It seems that here people’s growth is sometimes slowed at earlier developmental stages, but continues for longer into life.) She had horrible burns covering her entire chest, most of her upper right arm, her legs, her chin – basically everywhere. Apparently, her clothes had caught fire (this was awhile ago) and her skin too. I can only imagine how painful that must have been. Anyhow, she got initial treatment at a hospital in a bigger city, but lives here in Ngambé Tikar; while I was there, she was coming to get her bandages changed and her burn wounds cleaned (which she apparently comes to do every two days).
As the nurses pulled off the bandages, some of the healing wound came with it, and I was struck by the behavior of the girl and the medical staff. The girl was essentially silent the entire time, though clearly in pain. She bore it silently and obediently, letting tears course down her cheeks, barely making a sound. The only physically manifested response she gave while it was all happening was to cover her mouth with her hand and gasp quietly when especially agitated. The staff was gentle with her, but there was no “hand holding” that you might find for a ten year old girl in a hospital in the States, no cooing of “how brave you are!” or “okay, now this will hurt, be a strong girl!” They simply went about their work. When her hand that was covering her mouth got in the way of cleaning the wound, they brushed it away and told her to be still. I couldn’t believe the bravery of this girl.
Yesterday was pre-natal consultations. About 30-40 pregnant women from all around the subdivision came. It’s basically a whole-day affair. It begins with one-by-one taking the women’s stats (weight, BP). Once that is well underway, the nurse comes out to give a session with some sort of information about having a healthy pregnancy. After that, they begin to do one-on-one consultations with each woman. They divide the group into new pregnancies and women returning with existing pregnancies. During the consultations, they do basic information intake and take basic measurements of the woman’s belly to measure fetal growth. It seemed to me, that because of volume, it would be difficult to truly give each woman a really informative consultation, although I did notice the nurse take time to address specific issues with specific women when it came up, which was good. I think in the future, I will try to do some education at the prenatal consultations about basic to have a healthy pregnancy. I was astounded at how long the whole process took. It began before 9 AM, which is when I arrived, and when I had to leave for a meeting at 3 PM, it was still going on. It was incredible. There’s got to be a way to do it faster so the women don’t have to waste a whole day at the hospital. That’s another goal.
Club-santé (health club) at the local high school
Well today, I had my second meeting with the club-santé. The first one was last Wednesday, and it was basically just to introduce myself to everyone. The teacher in charge of the club said that it is not a new club, but it appears that they have just re-begun this semester; that is, there was no club last semester. So I didn’t totally understand how they run things. Today was interesting. The president of the club basically held a vote and asked people what they wanted to discuss next week. The club decided on HIV/AIDS, and that five members would take part in a debate about it, touching on topics such as transmission, prevention, explanation of how it progresses in the body. Afterward, he gave me the floor. I hadn’t really known what to expect, but I had planned a game to do introductions to everyone in the club. What I hadn’t counted on was there being upwards of 30+ members there, and all of their names being in the local dialect and incredibly difficult to understand, much less pronounce. OY. I came hoping to learn everyone’s name, maybe remember five or so. I left, not sure if I actually learned five names correctly. Alllllright then. Anyway, afterwards, I asked to have a little meeting with the club officers to get a better read on how they run things, and what they would like me to do with the club. I still don’t really understand, but I gather that next week, I should come prepared to intervene during the debate to correct any misinformation they might present about AIDS/HIV. I think I might also prepare a game or something to introduce concepts about HIV progression in the body. They also vaguely mentioned wanting to create posters to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS that we could post in village. Anyway, working with the club-santé looks like it could be interesting, if nothing else.
Miscellaneous
One of my other jobs is to integrate into the community. What a vague term. Well, to that end, I planned to have Princess Jeannette come over and teach me how to make croquettes – a snack that is like a slightly sweet, fried ball, the size of a marble. We did it today. It was a fun, interesting process, and now I have a little snack that will last for awhile, since we probably made enough croquettes to last me for a month or two. And, Jeannette and I made plans to eat legumes (my favorite, the all-encompassing term, “legumes” could be almost any leafy green vegetable) this Sunday. I’m so happy to have a friend.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Just another day
6:30: Get up to my alarm. However, I’ve really been awake since the sun started to come up, around 6 AM. Open the shutters in my room and living room to let in light. However, my house faces northeast and all the large trees in my front yard and the morning fog that settles over the village block a lot of light from coming in the house. My house is always a bit dark in the morning until about 9:00.
6:35: Bathroom + BM, task number one. I have to search for my keys first though, so I can unlock the back door and get to the latrine. I have to remember to bring TP with me and my pissbucket (aka chamberpot) to pour into the latrine. If I forget, it starts to smell.
6:45: Prepare breakfast after washing hands: toast, made by in my frying pan on my two-burner gas camping cookstove, with strawberry and apricot jam and a cup of hot milk, made from two spoonfuls of dehydrated whole milk and one sugar cube. Add boiling water. Enjoy.
7:00: Begin to do dishes, which include those from this morning’s breakfast and those leftover from yesterday. It’s better to wait until they build up, even if this draws cockroaches because it conserves water. Last night, I had left water in my dirty dish tub and found a dead cockroach floating in it as soon as I started doing dishes. Gross. I have to dump that water and add new.
Since the water is not that dirty after finishing my dishes, and it feels like a waste to dump it, I decide to wash my lantern glasses, which are black and sooty after several nights of use without cleaning. This complicates things a bit, because the black soot flakes off, but then leaves a greasy residue in my dish washing tubs, which needs to be scrubbed off before I can leave them to dry.
7:21: Finally, heading out to take my bucket bath in my latrine. It’s been two days since I bathed and I need to look nice because I have a meeting this morning with the Inspecteur Generale of all the local elementary schools (kind of like a superintendant?) at 8 AM. Otherwise, I might not bother. Bring with me: bucket, about half-full with about 7 liters of water (I don’t need to condition my hair this morning, so I can use less water), shampoo, body wash, plastic cup I use to splash water on myself, towel, keys.
7:35: Done with bucket bath, head inside to dress. I’ve already mentally picked out an outfit because I’m nervous about time. Magloire said he’d come by my house at 7:45 so we could go to the meeting at 8 AM, and I want to be ready on time.
7:45: Dressed, hair combed, ready to go. Where is Magloire? I read while I wait – “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand, addictive.
7:55: Nervous because he hasn’t showed up and I don’t want to be late, I head out to the main road to try and meet him halfway so we won’t be late.
8:00: I wait for about five minutes, but then realize that maybe Magloire will come to my house from the other direction and maybe we’ll miss each other. I go back to home to wait for him on the front steps.
8:13: Magloire shows up. We walk to the Inspecteur’s office, very close to my house.
8:20: We reach the office of the Inspecteur. We are told to enter right away.
8:35: Meeting’s over. During the meeting, Magloire did most of the talking, explaining to the Inspecteur why we want to meet with the principals of all the local primary schools to recommence activities with the clubs de l’amitié. He agrees it’s a good idea. I didn’t say much, aside from admiring photos of the Inspector’s son in NYC (really it’s NYC I’m admiring); his son is a student at City College. Mentally, I remark that it is incredible that a Cameroonian salary, especially in this small town, can afford to send anyone to America for any amount of time. I wonder how he can afford it. Not to mention the incredible red tape one has to go through with passports, visa, etc.
8:45: Wanting to take part (maybe even help?) in the upcoming prenatal consultations that will occur on the 15th, I head over to the hospital to meet with the only doctor on staff. I’m told to wait.
9:00: Doctor will see me now. I explain that I’d simply like to observe, maybe even help with the prenatal consultations. No problem. Also, maybe I could come once a week and just observe how things are run? Again, maybe help if there’s a need? Sure thing. We arrange that I’ll come by every Monday, and come for prenatal consultations (every 15th of the month) and for child vaccinations (every 30th of the month).
9:10: Not having anything planned until 3 PM, I decide to head to centre-ville for the hell of it. Maybe I’ll eat something. I come across a mami who (like many others) has prepared beans, beignets. I stop for a bite.
9:30: I continue on towards the market area. That mami was very nice, but she didn’t have bouille, and I have a hankering for it. I locate other ladies who have prepared bouille, and I have a cup of it. Bouille is a kind of thick, starchy, warm semi-sweet broth. It’s mild, gentle, delicious. And comes in many varieties – I’ve had some that are citrus-y, with a smooth texture, and made from corn flour, others that are made with peanut flavor, more chunky, and made from rice. It’s all delicious.
9:45: Since I’m nearby Lydie’s house, I decide to do the Cameroonian thing and stop by to say hi. Instead, I find Lydie’s mom. She’s just been preparing food to sell at the market at lunchtime. Turns out she’s prepared some of my favorite foods – manioc leaves (“legumes”) and patates. I tell her I’ll stop by later in the afternoon, to save me some.
9:50: I finally walk home. Along the way, I’m greeted by many children, some in Tikar, some in French. I do my best to wave, or respond or be friendly back. The one thing I won’t respond to is “La blanche,” when said in French or in Tikar, which I only recently learned the word for. It drives me nuts. Bizarrely, I think I hear today kids calling out “le chinois” (The Chinese). This is a new one. Maybe I’m not hearing right.
10:00: Home, nothing much to do. I read “The Fountainhead” voraciously.
12:33: Start thinking that I should head to the centre-ville to eat, as I promised Lydie’s mom. But I’ve also determined that I’m going to finally do that protocol with the mayor that I’ve been putting off. I decide to do that first and then head to the market to try and find where Lydie’s mom is selling food. She had vaguely pointed “there.” I’m hoping people know well enough where she usually sells that I can just ask someone in the market area.
12:49: I arrive at the mayor’s office, am told to wait.
13:10: Mayor will see me now. I give him the protocol letter. He reads it. Soyez le bienvenue. Merci. A toute a l’heure.
13:15: Head to market to find Lydie’s mom. When I find her, she says there’s no more food left, but Lydie’s at home, with the food that she saved me. Sweet.
13:20: I arrive at Lydie’s house, she’s boiling the patates now. I sit and wait, not saying much. I don’t really know what to say to strike up conversation, and Lydie doesn’t offer any topics either. I notice that she’s shelling pistaches, so I offer to help. I tell her that the pistaches remind me of pumpkin seeds that we eat during Halloween. She’s familiar with the holiday, says that she had decorations for it this year. She disappears into her house and returns with the remains of her Halloween decorations from this fall. We have a good chuckle about Halloween.
13:45: mmmmm. Hot, boiled patates and mesengai (that’s Tikar for manioc leaves). Sooo good. Patates are kind of like potatoes, but just a bit sweeter, though not quite sweet enough to be sweet potatoes. The manioc leaves are crushed in a big wooden mortar and pestle and then boiled with oil and salt and a little piment – the result is kind of like steamed spinach, but way way more delicious.
14:00: At 15:00, Magloire, Lydie, and I have a meeting with a GIC, so I decide to just wait with Lydie until then, instead of going home before the meeting. I continue shelling pistaches, while Lydie goes inside to change.
14:30: We leave for the meeting with the GIC. I think it would only take about 5 minutes to walk there from Lydie’s house, but along the way, we stop to talk to people and we walk very slowly, since the sun’s roaring and it’s hot and it’s nice to avoid sweating.
14:48: We arrive at the GIC meeting, early.
15:00: The GIC meeting is supposed to start now, but only two members of the GIC are there, plus me, Lydie, and Magloire. We wait to see if more people will show up.
15:30: Now with only three members of the GIC present, we start the meeting. Magloire explains what he’d like to do – work towards developing the GIC more, so it can be more efficient, help combat poverty. At 16:00, another GIC member shows up (one hour late). At 16:20 (one hour and 20 minutes late), a fifth and final member shows up. This one speaks Tikar better than French, so the next 10 minutes are spent summarizing the meeting for her in Tikar. I’m lost, and bored. I twirl my hair.
16:45: Meeting’s over. Once, outside, Magloire asks if I understood everything that was said. Mostly, I say. Can you explain that part about the delegate from Ministry of Agriculture? He and Lydie spend about five minutes explaining it to me in slow French. Basically, he’s worthless and steals from the GICs he’s supposed to help. Fantastic. Corruption and Cameroon, apparently, go together like mesengai and patates, which is to say, very well.
Anyway, what’s the plan for tomorrow? Another meeting with a different GIC, at the same time as I had scheduled my Tikar lesson. I’ll try to find my tutor to reschedule, I say.
16:50: Mbatoussong Jean-Paul, my tutor, is not at home, but supposedly still at work. This seems unlikely to me, 5 PM is late in the evening to still be working. I probably won’t find him. Crap. I head home.
17:05: Almost home, I decide to detour towards Mbatoussong’s office, which is closeby my house, to see if he’s there. He is. Can we reschedule? No problem.
17:13: Home sweet home. I spend some time recording the day’s activities, I do this everyday. I like to have a record of what I’ve done so that when I feel depressed and like I haven’t done anything with my time here, I can look back and see exactly what I’ve done with my time here everyday. Then I read more of “The Fountainhead.”
18:13: Realizing that the sun is going down already, I decide to prepare dinner, even though I’m not hungry. I can prepare it now while it’s light and then eat later.
18:45: Dinner’s ready. I close the doors, but leave the windows open for the cool air. Since my windows finally have screens on them, I won’t be deranged by mosquitoes. I read by lamplight. The mayor had told me when I branched into his electricity that he’d turn on his generator every night from 6 PM to midnight. This has turned out to be less than true. It seems to come on erratically – maybe 2 or 3 times a week, usually between 6 and 7, until about 10. Sometimes, he turns it on in the middle of the day and then I run to use my computer. It’s a little bizarre.
19:15: Eat. Dinner is a salad of sautéed onion, garlic, and tomato with olives and fresh avocado with an oil and vinegar dressing. Yum.
19:45: Electricity comes on! What a surprise! It seems that the mayor turns on his generator just about every 3 days, and it was on last night. How peculiar that he’d turn it on tonight, especially when he told me earlier today that he was having problems with it. I go plug in my computer to charge. Then decide to play on my computer instead of read, since the electricity is on.
21:15: After playing computer games while listening to music for awhile, I decide to write this blog entry. When it’s done, I go back to playing computer games.
10:30: Electricity is turned off, so I switch back to reading by lamplight once my computer battery craps out.
1:20: Bed. But this is very late for me. Usually, lights out is no later than 10 PM. Tomorrow’s Saturday though, and I have nothing planned until 2 PM. I can “sleep in,” which means, if I’m lucky I’ll sleep til 8 AM.
6:35: Bathroom + BM, task number one. I have to search for my keys first though, so I can unlock the back door and get to the latrine. I have to remember to bring TP with me and my pissbucket (aka chamberpot) to pour into the latrine. If I forget, it starts to smell.
6:45: Prepare breakfast after washing hands: toast, made by in my frying pan on my two-burner gas camping cookstove, with strawberry and apricot jam and a cup of hot milk, made from two spoonfuls of dehydrated whole milk and one sugar cube. Add boiling water. Enjoy.
7:00: Begin to do dishes, which include those from this morning’s breakfast and those leftover from yesterday. It’s better to wait until they build up, even if this draws cockroaches because it conserves water. Last night, I had left water in my dirty dish tub and found a dead cockroach floating in it as soon as I started doing dishes. Gross. I have to dump that water and add new.
Since the water is not that dirty after finishing my dishes, and it feels like a waste to dump it, I decide to wash my lantern glasses, which are black and sooty after several nights of use without cleaning. This complicates things a bit, because the black soot flakes off, but then leaves a greasy residue in my dish washing tubs, which needs to be scrubbed off before I can leave them to dry.
7:21: Finally, heading out to take my bucket bath in my latrine. It’s been two days since I bathed and I need to look nice because I have a meeting this morning with the Inspecteur Generale of all the local elementary schools (kind of like a superintendant?) at 8 AM. Otherwise, I might not bother. Bring with me: bucket, about half-full with about 7 liters of water (I don’t need to condition my hair this morning, so I can use less water), shampoo, body wash, plastic cup I use to splash water on myself, towel, keys.
7:35: Done with bucket bath, head inside to dress. I’ve already mentally picked out an outfit because I’m nervous about time. Magloire said he’d come by my house at 7:45 so we could go to the meeting at 8 AM, and I want to be ready on time.
7:45: Dressed, hair combed, ready to go. Where is Magloire? I read while I wait – “The Fountainhead” by Ayn Rand, addictive.
7:55: Nervous because he hasn’t showed up and I don’t want to be late, I head out to the main road to try and meet him halfway so we won’t be late.
8:00: I wait for about five minutes, but then realize that maybe Magloire will come to my house from the other direction and maybe we’ll miss each other. I go back to home to wait for him on the front steps.
8:13: Magloire shows up. We walk to the Inspecteur’s office, very close to my house.
8:20: We reach the office of the Inspecteur. We are told to enter right away.
8:35: Meeting’s over. During the meeting, Magloire did most of the talking, explaining to the Inspecteur why we want to meet with the principals of all the local primary schools to recommence activities with the clubs de l’amitié. He agrees it’s a good idea. I didn’t say much, aside from admiring photos of the Inspector’s son in NYC (really it’s NYC I’m admiring); his son is a student at City College. Mentally, I remark that it is incredible that a Cameroonian salary, especially in this small town, can afford to send anyone to America for any amount of time. I wonder how he can afford it. Not to mention the incredible red tape one has to go through with passports, visa, etc.
8:45: Wanting to take part (maybe even help?) in the upcoming prenatal consultations that will occur on the 15th, I head over to the hospital to meet with the only doctor on staff. I’m told to wait.
9:00: Doctor will see me now. I explain that I’d simply like to observe, maybe even help with the prenatal consultations. No problem. Also, maybe I could come once a week and just observe how things are run? Again, maybe help if there’s a need? Sure thing. We arrange that I’ll come by every Monday, and come for prenatal consultations (every 15th of the month) and for child vaccinations (every 30th of the month).
9:10: Not having anything planned until 3 PM, I decide to head to centre-ville for the hell of it. Maybe I’ll eat something. I come across a mami who (like many others) has prepared beans, beignets. I stop for a bite.
9:30: I continue on towards the market area. That mami was very nice, but she didn’t have bouille, and I have a hankering for it. I locate other ladies who have prepared bouille, and I have a cup of it. Bouille is a kind of thick, starchy, warm semi-sweet broth. It’s mild, gentle, delicious. And comes in many varieties – I’ve had some that are citrus-y, with a smooth texture, and made from corn flour, others that are made with peanut flavor, more chunky, and made from rice. It’s all delicious.
[market in the morning. Notice the cream colored house in the background - this is a REALLY nice house for my village. You can kind of see the forest/savannah terrain mix in the background.]
While drinking my bouille, I introduce myself (as I’ve done many times already) to a few of the market ladies. I am Rebecca Hartog. No, I’m not a tourist. No, I came here alone, there were no other people with me when I came here (I don’t know why people always think I’ve come in some group with two or three other white people, but they’ve left me alone?). I am a volunteer with the Peace Corps, and I’ll be living here in Ngambe Tikar for two years. Yes two years is a long time (as if I needed a reminder). If a Cameroonian man proposed to me, would I accept? Well that depends, I think I would have to know him for at least a year before it came to that. Your brother? Hmm, I dunno… annnnnyway, gotta go. (Lord, the questions people ask)9:45: Since I’m nearby Lydie’s house, I decide to do the Cameroonian thing and stop by to say hi. Instead, I find Lydie’s mom. She’s just been preparing food to sell at the market at lunchtime. Turns out she’s prepared some of my favorite foods – manioc leaves (“legumes”) and patates. I tell her I’ll stop by later in the afternoon, to save me some.
9:50: I finally walk home. Along the way, I’m greeted by many children, some in Tikar, some in French. I do my best to wave, or respond or be friendly back. The one thing I won’t respond to is “La blanche,” when said in French or in Tikar, which I only recently learned the word for. It drives me nuts. Bizarrely, I think I hear today kids calling out “le chinois” (The Chinese). This is a new one. Maybe I’m not hearing right.
10:00: Home, nothing much to do. I read “The Fountainhead” voraciously.
12:33: Start thinking that I should head to the centre-ville to eat, as I promised Lydie’s mom. But I’ve also determined that I’m going to finally do that protocol with the mayor that I’ve been putting off. I decide to do that first and then head to the market to try and find where Lydie’s mom is selling food. She had vaguely pointed “there.” I’m hoping people know well enough where she usually sells that I can just ask someone in the market area.
12:49: I arrive at the mayor’s office, am told to wait.
13:10: Mayor will see me now. I give him the protocol letter. He reads it. Soyez le bienvenue. Merci. A toute a l’heure.
13:15: Head to market to find Lydie’s mom. When I find her, she says there’s no more food left, but Lydie’s at home, with the food that she saved me. Sweet.
13:20: I arrive at Lydie’s house, she’s boiling the patates now. I sit and wait, not saying much. I don’t really know what to say to strike up conversation, and Lydie doesn’t offer any topics either. I notice that she’s shelling pistaches, so I offer to help. I tell her that the pistaches remind me of pumpkin seeds that we eat during Halloween. She’s familiar with the holiday, says that she had decorations for it this year. She disappears into her house and returns with the remains of her Halloween decorations from this fall. We have a good chuckle about Halloween.
13:45: mmmmm. Hot, boiled patates and mesengai (that’s Tikar for manioc leaves). Sooo good. Patates are kind of like potatoes, but just a bit sweeter, though not quite sweet enough to be sweet potatoes. The manioc leaves are crushed in a big wooden mortar and pestle and then boiled with oil and salt and a little piment – the result is kind of like steamed spinach, but way way more delicious.
14:00: At 15:00, Magloire, Lydie, and I have a meeting with a GIC, so I decide to just wait with Lydie until then, instead of going home before the meeting. I continue shelling pistaches, while Lydie goes inside to change.
14:30: We leave for the meeting with the GIC. I think it would only take about 5 minutes to walk there from Lydie’s house, but along the way, we stop to talk to people and we walk very slowly, since the sun’s roaring and it’s hot and it’s nice to avoid sweating.
14:48: We arrive at the GIC meeting, early.
15:00: The GIC meeting is supposed to start now, but only two members of the GIC are there, plus me, Lydie, and Magloire. We wait to see if more people will show up.
15:30: Now with only three members of the GIC present, we start the meeting. Magloire explains what he’d like to do – work towards developing the GIC more, so it can be more efficient, help combat poverty. At 16:00, another GIC member shows up (one hour late). At 16:20 (one hour and 20 minutes late), a fifth and final member shows up. This one speaks Tikar better than French, so the next 10 minutes are spent summarizing the meeting for her in Tikar. I’m lost, and bored. I twirl my hair.
16:45: Meeting’s over. Once, outside, Magloire asks if I understood everything that was said. Mostly, I say. Can you explain that part about the delegate from Ministry of Agriculture? He and Lydie spend about five minutes explaining it to me in slow French. Basically, he’s worthless and steals from the GICs he’s supposed to help. Fantastic. Corruption and Cameroon, apparently, go together like mesengai and patates, which is to say, very well.
Anyway, what’s the plan for tomorrow? Another meeting with a different GIC, at the same time as I had scheduled my Tikar lesson. I’ll try to find my tutor to reschedule, I say.
16:50: Mbatoussong Jean-Paul, my tutor, is not at home, but supposedly still at work. This seems unlikely to me, 5 PM is late in the evening to still be working. I probably won’t find him. Crap. I head home.
17:05: Almost home, I decide to detour towards Mbatoussong’s office, which is closeby my house, to see if he’s there. He is. Can we reschedule? No problem.
17:13: Home sweet home. I spend some time recording the day’s activities, I do this everyday. I like to have a record of what I’ve done so that when I feel depressed and like I haven’t done anything with my time here, I can look back and see exactly what I’ve done with my time here everyday. Then I read more of “The Fountainhead.”
18:13: Realizing that the sun is going down already, I decide to prepare dinner, even though I’m not hungry. I can prepare it now while it’s light and then eat later.
18:45: Dinner’s ready. I close the doors, but leave the windows open for the cool air. Since my windows finally have screens on them, I won’t be deranged by mosquitoes. I read by lamplight. The mayor had told me when I branched into his electricity that he’d turn on his generator every night from 6 PM to midnight. This has turned out to be less than true. It seems to come on erratically – maybe 2 or 3 times a week, usually between 6 and 7, until about 10. Sometimes, he turns it on in the middle of the day and then I run to use my computer. It’s a little bizarre.
19:15: Eat. Dinner is a salad of sautéed onion, garlic, and tomato with olives and fresh avocado with an oil and vinegar dressing. Yum.
19:45: Electricity comes on! What a surprise! It seems that the mayor turns on his generator just about every 3 days, and it was on last night. How peculiar that he’d turn it on tonight, especially when he told me earlier today that he was having problems with it. I go plug in my computer to charge. Then decide to play on my computer instead of read, since the electricity is on.
21:15: After playing computer games while listening to music for awhile, I decide to write this blog entry. When it’s done, I go back to playing computer games.
10:30: Electricity is turned off, so I switch back to reading by lamplight once my computer battery craps out.
1:20: Bed. But this is very late for me. Usually, lights out is no later than 10 PM. Tomorrow’s Saturday though, and I have nothing planned until 2 PM. I can “sleep in,” which means, if I’m lucky I’ll sleep til 8 AM.
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