The End of a Blog

since i am no longer in cameroon, i am discontinuing this blog. however, i am starting a new blog that will hopefully carry me through the next few years as i travel to who knows where doing god knows what. the address: http://cliffnotesofanexpedition.wordpress.com

stay tuned for my year in italy!

Things I Miss About Cameroon

So I stopped writing in January. Truth be told, with projects and planning and life in general, writing in my blog did not even factor into the list of priorities of things I must accomplish before I leave Cameroon. In fact, I left Cameroon more than two months ago. Since then, I've had a ten-day wonderful vacation in Morocco, a week at the Bonnaroo music festival in Tennessee, and some wonderful time seeing friends and family. I've been amazed not only by the extreme level of culture shock I experienced when I first returned to the States (akin to being in an alternate reality or even a nightmare you can't wake up from), but also by how quickly I have been able to remember my old American life and habits. However, I need to add some sort of closure to my Cameroon/Peace Corps experience before I truly move on to the Next Step.

In my final weeks, with the help of my volunteer friends, I started compiling a list of things that I would miss about Cameroon. I know how quickly one forgets the little details. I also made the conscious decision to NOT make a list of things I wouldn't miss. I will probably remember the majority of the challenges I faced. To be somewhat cliche, the two years were bittersweet and a part of me would rather honor during my departure by thinking positively rather than nit-picking over the things that have driven me crazy.

So, we will just keep the list of Things We Will Miss About Cameroon (/Peace Corps)

1. Beans & Beignets- A breakfast staple of fried bread balls and delicious beans... All the energy you need to prepare yourself for a day of work in the fields.
2. Poisson Braise with miondo & piment- Translation: Grilled fish with a "special" cassava treat and hot sauce. What you eat when you are too lazy to cook dinner.
3. Being given special treatment- Sometimes it feels like you are a celebrity, which can definitely have its perks.
4. Bossing around children/well-behaved children- The way that children behave and are treated is completely different than what we experience here. Everyone pulls their load in a family (even 5 year olds) and babies are quiet on 5-hour bus rides.
5. There is always someone who wants to earn a buck- With a well-developed informal sector, you can always find someone who will wash your clothes, help you fill your gas bottle, carry your really heavy bags, etc. Moving houses was MUCH easier in Cameroon than it has been in America. Everyone wants to work and people help each other.
6. $1, 22 oz beers- you get used to the fact that they're usually warm.
7. Handsome Cameroonian men
8. Motos- Motorcycle taxis that whisk you anywhere from city boulevards to narrow paths between villages. When you arrive in country, you're usually nervous about riding them. By the time you leave, you're a champ.
9. Dispensable income- I wish I still had a stipend or could buy a meal for 50 cents.
10. Arguments with total strangers.
11. Calling everyone Mama, Papa, my sister- Anyone could be your family.
12. The Frip- The used clothing market. Lots of used clothing gets sent to Africa. What people don't know is that many industrious African businessmen sort the clothing and sell it. In most of the markets you will find a used clothing section with well-organized stalls selling much better stuff then you would ever find in a good will in America (usually for a good price).
13. Koki/Koki beignets- Black eyed pea pudding made with palm oil, maggi cube, hot pepper and salt/Black eyed pea patties deep-fried in palm oil. Delicious and oh-so-good for your cholesterol.
14. There's no such thing as inconveniencing someone- people are rarely in a hurry and usually interested and willing to help.
15. Bar shopping- because the informal sector is such a thriving part of the economy, all you need to do for some interesting shopping is go to a popular bar in your provincial capital and wait. The hawkers will come to you selling everything from toothbrushes to bushmeat.
16. Trace- African MTV that only plays ghetto-rap music videos from America all day long. Enough said.
17. Fashion lenience- Want to wear the same outfit 5 days in a row? Maybe feel like sporting a hot pink track suit? No problem!
18. Tailors/Pagne- Beautiful cloth is for sale in markets all over the country. If you find a good tailor and spend some quality time on the internet looking at pictures of J Crew dresses, there are endless possibilities regarding cute summer dresses you can have made.
19. Grateful village folk- They help you feel like your work is actually making a difference.
20. Being bien integré- Feeling like you know the country as well as a Cameroonian and that you can do almost anything with minimal problems.
21. Fresh exotic fruit (especially mangoes, pineapple, and passion fruit)
22. Spontaneously dancing and singing in the street without anyone thinking you're crazy.
23. Hitch-hiking- Apparently it's dangerous in America?
24. Grands buying you things- The power structure in Cameroon is extremely "top down" and the rich men generally feel the need to show their power by spending money. Poorer PCVs sometimes like to take advantage.
25. Franglais
26. Crazy thunderstorms almost daily during the rainy season.
27. The change between the dry & rainy seasons before there's too much mud or too much dust.
28. The handshake snap- Only the cool kids can do it.
29. Spaghetti omelets- You wouldn't think so, but adding some cooked spaghetti to a crispy omelette is delicious.
30. Picturesque surroundings.
31. Chickens walking around with baby chicks.
32. Year-round sunshine
33. Getting babies named after you.
34. Giving people little presents/getting them- Just to let people know that you were thinking about them while you were away...
35. Conversations in taxis- You've stuffed 8 people into a sedan, might as well make friends.
36. Having people completely trust in your expertise/ability to help them.
37. The world is your toilet- you don't have to buy something to use in the facilities in a store (if there are any) and you can relieve yourself in a public place without getting a ticket (I know... the small things in life).
38. Sending letters etc. by bush taxi.
39. Pirated TV series from Bamenda- How else would your spend your long and lonely nights? I never liked Lost until Cameroon. Or Heroes or Gossip Girl or Boston Legal. You get the idea.
40. Special English- "How no? No fine." Although I find myself now speaking it with anyone who speaks English as a second language. This could be a problem.
41. Kribi & Limbe- Beautiful beach escapes.
42. Village strolls- Since I've been back I've realized that Americans are hardly ever outside unless it's for a scheduled activity. House to car to restaurant to store to house. This disturbs me.
43. Certain kids that always make you smile
44. The moment when you realize that the water/electricity has finally come back on after being cut for a really long time.
45. Beeping- No credit on your phone? Just call the other person so it rings long enough for your number to register. Then hang up. They'll probably call you back.
46. Using anything as an excuse to drink- It is the Cameroonian national pass time.... (just to clarify, we are not talking about getting wasted, just one is good enough).
47. Palm wine- impossible to really describe, you must taste it yourself.
48. Gaining weight and being considered more beautiful for it.
49. Having Cameroonians think that spoken American Enlglish is some sort of special dialect or German.
50. Having private conversations in public places because no one understands you.
51. Cheap chinese shoes and lingerie at the local markets.
52. Heated political discussions that you're not supposed to have because they might be too volatile.
53. Hearing traditional oral folklore.
54. Sorcery/marabouts/vampires/superstition in general- Marabout=witch doctor. And many people truly believe that vampires exist. Maybe the next vampire TV show can take place in Africa?
55. Village women singing
56. Travel snack shopping- You can buy an amazing selection of things out of your bus window.
57. Goats everywhere- I just discovered that many Americans have never eaten goat. They are never for milk in Cameroon, usually just for special eating occasions.
58. Kola nuts & everything they represent- Kola nuts are definitely an acquired taste, but they are an amazing tradition that represent life and virility, among other things.
59. Unprocessed food- although it would appear that American vegetables are fresher (or at least preserved better).
60. Not refrigerating eggs, mayonnaise, or really anything and firmly believing that a good reheating will make anything edible.
61. The market- organized chaos that yields great rewards for those who are patient enough to take the time.
62. L'Afrique en miniature- "Africa in miniature." Cameroon has any climate that you desire, from the hot, dry sahel, to the humid, dense jungle, and from the mountains to the beach.
63. Teaching in French/Having in-depth conversations in French every day.
64. Condom demonstrations with people who have never even touched a condom before- I ended up adding this very important health aspect to many of my projects.
65. Africa time- I used to be chronically punctual. Two years in Cameroon has rid me of this terrible affliction.
66. Drinking in the morning and not feeling guilty about it- When in Rome...
67. Riding petit chauffeur, as long as it's for less that 30 minutes- This means that you are the second person sitting the driver's seat, right next to the stick shift and two other people in the passenger seat.
68. The red earth the green fields and blue sky, as long as it's not in the form of dust or mud.
69. Really feeling compelled by injustices towards groups of people you know personally.
70. Leather goods from the North province- although they're not as refined as what I found in Morocco.
71. Prunes- Not actual prunes. Some purple fruit that may or may not have a name in English that is served grilled with grilled, ripe plantains.
72. Mirror dancing- When people go out to night clubs, often times their only interest is to dance with themselves using the mirrors that line the walls.
73. Weaver birds & the little blue ones (Cordon bleus, according to Nura)
74. Self-determined schedules, vacation, and the possibility for endless free time.
75. Pondering development theories and actually having a real, concrete place that can confirm or deny them.
76. Burly taximen with stuffed animal collections on their dashboards.
77. Being able to get anywhere you've never been, relying completely on strangers' help- there are no maps, but there is usually someone willing to help.
78. Beer promotions- Buy a beer, look under the cap, win a free one!
79. Jacky Pacher- Probably my favorite Cameroonian restaurant. Cheap and delicious. Serving everything from the staple "pommes sautés" (boiled potatoes with sauce), to monkey or porcupine. Yes, I avoided the last two.
80. "On est ensemble"- Saying. We are together. Even if everything sucks, we have each other.
81. How easy it is to get to know all the "right" people- networking is amazingly easy.
82. Cooking everything from scratch... and the results- Mexican feasts made from scratch (including tortillas rolled out with old wine bottles), enchiladas, lasagna made with a dutch oven, etc.
83. Théo, inspiration to us all- PC health tech trainer and the director of the NGO with which I worked. We all aspire to be more like him. Talk about dedication.
84. Having it be completely acceptable to go 3+ days without showering.
85. Kabas- The most commonly sported attire for women in the southern part of the country. Essentially a mumu.
86. Being able to buy fresh fruit, peanuts, grilled corn, etc. neatly packaged for 25 cents.
87. Being on TV/the radio/in the newspaper all the time.
88. Mai tais and unlimited olives and peanuts at Hilton Happy Hour.
89. Ndolé/Legumes/Njama Njama- Collard-like greens. One of the few, specifically vegetable dishes.
90. Funerals- Burials honor someone's death. Funerals celebrate their life with trumpets, gunfire, and lots of food.
91. Rasta fête in Yaounde- The Cameroonian rastas get together and make music every Saturday night.
92. Back-talking to the police and tricking your way out of paying bribes- Must remember that I can't do that anymore.
93. "Ashia"- Slang. "That sucks, I'm sorry."
94. Cheap sunglasses. Lose them or break them, pas de problème.
95. Narcoline- The internet/restaurant/bar hangout of choice in Bafoussam- basically our equivalent of a coffee house where you can buy a cup and surf on the internet for hours, much like I am doing now (although there's no wireless or free internet there).
96. "Ouais, dis-donc."- Franco-Cameroonian. Only counts if it's said with a strong Cameroonian accent.
97. "Tu es la?"- Saying. Literally, "You are there?" More like, "What's up?"
98. Michael Jackson dance parties at Theo's- RIP MJ.
99. Mexican sunflowers- Everywhere. One of the few wildflowers
100. The roller-coaster hill between Baham and Batie- when driving in public transport, they take the hill extra fast and you feel like your stomach is in your throat.
101. Peanuts in their various forms- boiled, grilled, sugared...
102. Fresh honey in old coke bottles- MUCH stronger than wild honey one would buy in America.
103. Never having to worry that your music is too loud and is disturbing your neighbors- everyone is loud and no one complains.
104. Really feeling like you know what your talking about (even if you don't)- once you create your niche in that initially crazy world, you feel completely at ease and find amazing simplicity. This simplicity disappears in America.
105. Explaining bizarre elements of American culture to Cameroonians and seeing their wide-eyed reactions.
106. When something works spectacularly well against all odds- this will make your week and you will remember it long after it happens.
107. Talking for free after 11- Special phone deals where, for once, you're not spending roughly half your stipend on phone credit.
108. Playing gastro-intestinal Russian roulette, as long as you don't lose- "Has this meat been reheated? Oh well."
109. Knowing exactly where your food comes from- aka watching the chicken be killed and plucked right in front of you. Or killing and plucking the chicken yourself.
110. Comparing ridiculous stories with other PCVs- who had the "best" disease? Who had the worst bush taxi ride? Other volunteers are the only who aren't scared/horrified/awed by these stories. It really freaks people out in America when I tell the "there was a larva in my butt cheek" story. Volunteers will say, "Oh yeah? Well I had 3 on my thighs!"
111. Crazy Yaounde taxi driving tactics- somehow, it all works out with minimal damage.
112. Sleeping under a mosquito net.
113. Men holding hands as a gesture of friendship, even if homophobia is rampant.
114. Rain on tin roofs- which makes impossible to hear your music/movie/conversation and compels you to go to the window and watch the cloudburst.
115. Top Pamplemousse- Grapefruit soda, especially amazing when served ice-cold after a long walk in the sun.
116. TIA- "This is Africa" Those moments that are just so ridiculous, you could never even accurately explain them to someone who hasn't lived there. And you just have to laugh because you have no control over the situation, but you know it will somehow all turn out ok. And you will miss it when you're gone.

I miss it.

downer?

i am sitting in the dark, the power having been cut, on and off and on and off, waiting for my computer battery to run down before i worsen my eyes by reading by candlelight.

apparently it's been about 6 months since i last wrote my last blog (this sounds like i'm about to make a confession...). truthfully, i feel as if i have been here for long enough that i've stopped noticing anecdote-worthy happenings that people love to hear about (interesting gastronomic and gastro-intestinal occurrences) and can only concentrate on one of two things: work (specific projects, how to make them better, what is development?, am i actually accomplishing anything?, etc.) and the big WHAT'S NEXT.

and really: no one, save for my parents and perhaps a few, select friends and family members actually wants to hear about the nuts and bolts of my work. most other peace corps volunteers don't even want to hear it. forget best practices, let's talk best beer! so usually, i just go on quietly figuring, storing it all up in my head until my next meeting with my counterpart so i can flatten him with all of my ideas. let's not do things one step at a time! let's do it all now!

but i only have approximately 6-8 months left, which, according to my organization (the man), is not really any time at all. apparently not even enough time to share my best practices with the people that don't really want to hear about them. so i am caught between barrelling forward and wondering if it is time to step back.

and daydreaming about the future has a been a rocky road of bad GRE scores, intermittent internet, and sudden panic attacks about whether or not i am actually ready for or will get into the grad school of my choice over there on that elusive east coast, specifically DC, where i have always dreamed of living.

now, i am one application submission away from having my nights free once more to watch tv series until i have to get up and run around my house to shake the sedentary-ness of it out of my system. thank god for yoga, pilates, and dancing with the stars dvds, although i'm sure my neighbors think i'm crazy when i start doing the jive above their heads at 11pm.

on a different note: my mother recently came to visit me. parents coming to visit always breeds reactions from your fellow volunteers like you might hear in a shrink's office: "and how does that make you feel...?" give a little pause, gauge the reaction, then either offer condolences or congratulations. this is caused by the range of different travel experiences among parents. you will encounter many a volunteer who says, "my parents? coming to cameroon? NO. we can meet in france." it's true. unless you have parents that are willing to ride on the back of motos over bumpy roads, squeeze into the back bush taxis where the floor heats up so much going up hills you can barely put your feet down, inhale copious amounts of red dust, and sleep in a hotel with no running water and foam mattresses, it's usually a difficult trip to undergo.

luckily, my mother was just along... for... the... ride... she got to experience EVERY type of public transport that cameroon has to offer, from the aforementioned bush taxi, to hitching a ride in a private car (which you pay for, and i intend on doing when i go back home). her being here momentarily put me back into that place where i look at cameroon and think "wow, i'm in africa," which is one of the best feelings that you have and that unfortunately fades after the first 6 months have passed. seeing things through her eyes and reliving the discovery just makes me want to travel more. however, being up north and seeing icky tourists with khaki shorts, white chicken legs glowing in the sun, with huge cameras slung around their necks just made me want to disappear. nope, can't. even though i'm tan from that intense african sun, i still glow even when i want to be in the shadows.

now, i am back home (Bandjoun, if you're wondering), missing my mother. by the end of her trip, i felt like she wasn't just visiting, and it made me realize how much i feel like i actually live here. it's not just some maybe-i-can-put-up-with-this-for-two-years-without-dying situation. i am comfortable, finally. the fact that it really is so temporary frightens me. i am flickering between wanting to move on to a place where i feel like i have some upward mobility, acknowledgment, benefits, and anonymity walking down the street, and that strange, sinking feeling of regret that i am leaving a place that has become my home, not knowing how or when i will return again.

the mobile computer lab takes another tour

today is the first real day i've had off in what feels like awhile. last week, i put on my education volunteer hat and taught 20 hours of classes. 4 hours of sessions to the SED trainees (community groups and working with farmers), 4 hours of business class (inventory and budgeting), and 12 hours of life skills out in a muddy village (setting goals, creating action plans, overcoming obstacles, daily activity schedules, and how to resist peer pressure). the most memorable and most tiring were the lifeskills classes out in village.

nura and i, accompanied by elsa and leoni from ridev (and theo on the first and last day), implemented our second tour of the mobile computer lab in another volunteer's village about an hour away (if you can immediately find a car to take you there). we have been intensely word-of-mouthing the project to all of the volunteers in the area. while i was in america, nura sent an email informing me that we would be traveling to danny's village, where i had never been. the only thing that i knew about it was that there was no high school (the students walk to the neighboring town) and that there was only one car that regularly went there. definitely more remote than what i'm used to. danny had posted fliers in french around town, specifying that we wanted 10 girls and 10 boys between the ages of 11 and 18 to take learn computers. each participant would contribute 400 CFA (a little less than a dollar) to go towards our transport costs (which ended up being signifcant). i was definitely impressed to find out that the maximum number of people had signed up; somehow students had scraped together enough money to pay for the class. they really wanted to learn computers!

i was initially worried, because danny's fliers said nothing about the life skills classes that every participant would be required to take, but when the class started, my worries disappeared. the students completely respected our strict expectations (come to every class on time and stay til the end if you want a certificate) without question. we held the class at the chefferie (the chief's palace). my classroom was the storage closet on the way to the prison. nura's class was slightly larger and better lit. danny told me that he had spent the better part of the first morning cleaning up the bat guano that was covering the floor of my room. there were no lights or glass in the windows, and the students sat at long wooden desks, usually reserved for school houses.

we kept the group divided into girls and boys, me and elsa first teaching the girls about goals while the boys had their first contact with the computer, then switching classes. this is the first time that i've ever worked with a group of girls only. it was much more difficult than i had expected. this was also elsa's first teaching experience, so that added to the pressure. i took control during the first class, but the girls were so initially shy that getting them to talk was like pulling teeth. when one girl stood up to talk, she actually got so nervous that she put her head in the desk. luckily, as the class wore on, they became more comfortable with talking in front of us, which consequently meant that it made it harder to control their giggling.

i thought that the most interesting classes came at the end of the tour. having the girls and boys seperately list possible obstacles to their goals was really interesting. the girls immediately listed mariage and early pregnancy, telling me that once your family decides that you will get married, even if you are only sixteen, if you refuse you will be kicked out of the house. even in my village, i feel like this happens less frequently because it is so much more urban and modern. just take a moto off the beaten path (and over the hills, around the bends, and through the red mud), and it's like going back in time 50 years (at least).

in america, i would have immediately thought that a solution to your parents wanting you to marry would be to talk sense into them. here, children have little power in the face of their parents, and to talk back is to be extremely disrespectful. instead, we suggested that the girls identify role models amongst their family members who are well respected in the community (an aunt who is a doctor, a cousin who is a teacher) and ask them to speak on the girl's behalf to the parents. the girls seemed impressed with this solution, previously expressing that they thought there was absolutely no way out.

the boys' problems were more tied to lack of financial means. i ended up teaching about the importance of savings. no one in the group saved their money, let alone had considered opening up a bank account (here, it is important to note that the general age of the boys was on the older side than the girls).

every single day, we rode back home on motos, and every single day, it rained. one time, nura and i had to get off the moto and walk up the hill because the road was too slippery. then i promptly dropped my folder in the mud. ah, the price you pay for fulfilling work.

all in all, i was very pleased with the class, and very excited to read the evalutations we collected at the end. after being asked what their favorite class was, most of the girls chose life skills over computers, which just reiterates the importance of this project: people might be attracted to it by the promise of being able to touch a computer, but they will remember the life skills and hopefully use them in their lives to come.

aller et retour

once again, a lot has occured since last i posted anything.

i flew back home, visited virginia, met a lot of lee's family, drove to tennessee, went to an amazing music festival, drove back to virginia, flew to california, went to the spa (thank god), saw more family, and ran around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to stock up on supplies and gifts to bring back to post. everything in the states seems simple, but going to target, costco, best buy, and old navy all in one day still takes it out of you.

one year down, one to go.

coming back to the states was bizarre at first. the small cultural differences are what were initially the most strange to me, for example, apparently it's really formal to shake everyone's hand in a room. also, toilet seats are awfully sturdy and roads are awfully wide and smooth. being in walmart is like being trapped in an air-conditioned hamster cage with lots of distractions. sushi is my life blood, the only thing that i seriously cannot replicate in cameroon. road rage seems completely unnecessary and everyone seems terrified and stressed out for one reason or another. climate change climate change climate change. at post, my scope is not so large.

the music festival was an oasis, a place that was neither in the states or africa, full of things to listen to and look at. it was so much fun. i will never forget it. live music has this amazing power to move me emotionally in a way that nothing else can. i realize that i can't live without it.

it was also great to see my family in california, although i felt a great deal of stress there, mostly because i only had one week to run ten thousand errands and see everyone before i came back.

and now, the backness. it was ridiculously difficult for me to leave washington dc and my boyfriend, knowing that i would be spending a year without him, which, for your family, is ok because you are 95% sure that you will see everyone again and have the same relationship. they are stuck with you and your roles are defined. inter-continental romantic relationships are another beast, full of uncertainty and an extreme desire to hold on as tight as you can but also knowing that you can't control what happens. this depresses me, and i know that it will depress me for a long time to come.

apart from that, everything is advancing. the minute i got off the plane and smelled cameroon, i knew that everything was fine and that i feel at home here and still have a lot of work to do. i immediately went to help with the training of the new SED/ED stage, and have now immediately programmed another tour of my mobile computer lab, for which i need to create four more interactive lesson plans. work work work. i just wish that the depressed tinge would go away. i thought that i could completely blot it out with frantic activity. apparently it's not that simple. damnit. and i've only been back for ten days. maybe it will get easier?

la vie, l'amour, la transition...on va faire comment?

So it's been awhillllleeee since I've written anything here. Lots has happened, so i will try and summarize as best as possible.

Major Events:

a.) the strikes

b.) consolidation

c.) business class

d.) mobile computer

e.) RIDEV

f.) best friend ETing

g.) boyfriend deciding to not extend for a third year or work in Cameroon

h.) training design workshop



Ok, from the beginning.



It has been a couple months since the strikes and riots have happened, but I feel like I need to briefly clarify what happened (at least from my perspective). Most of us agree that they started when a truck drivers' strike, spurred by high gas prices (which are controlled by the state), got out of hand. In Douala, people started shooting each other and destroying gas stations and PMUC vestibules. Then it spread to the Anglophone regions, the capital city of Yaounde, and the West province (where I live). The rioters went in and shut down schools, burned tires in the streets, and generally caused mayhem. What happened varied from town to town. I am 15 minutes away from Bafoussam, the provincial capital of the West and the third largest city in Cameroon. Apparently things were pretty bad there. I don't know what that means exactly, because the minute things started to get bad, PC ordered us to stay in our houses, which is exactly what the Cameroonian families that weren't participating in the strikes were doing. I share a compound with another family. It has huge walls and I felt like I was more in danger of dying from curiosity about what was happening than from violent rioters. This lasted for about a week, then the army was deployed and everything settled down.



This is when PC decided to consolidate those people affected by the strikes, just in case they were to start back up again. Everyone in the near West was consolidated to my post (about 12 of us). They didn't start back up, and we spent several days consumed by boredom, wanting more news and some sort of resolution. After a few more days, it was business as usual and everyone went back to their respective posts. After that, it was almost like nothing had happened. There was very little evidence in my area of what had happened, although if you look closely, you notice that the road has begun to deteriorate where they burned the tires (exactly what Cameroon needs, another bad road!). Now, it has been several months since the riots and daily life has completely returned to normal without any problems since.

I finished teaching my first business class a couple months ago as well. Before I started, I was terrified of about a million things: teaching, teaching in French, teaching in French to men who may not respect women, teaching in French to men who may not respect women who have been running businesses for 20 years. You get the idea. I was also terrified that I wouldn't have enough people sign up. However, it turned out the I had 38 people in the class, and was still turning them away afterwards! Next time, I am only letting 30 in, tops. The class was a fabulous experience for me because I learned that the best way to learn how to teach is to just jump into it. You are never going to feel 100% ready, especially if you are teaching in a second language. However, once the class got going, I loved it. I co-facilitated with the regional director of my bank, which also taught me a lot about how to train those with whom you teach (training of trainers). She ended up being way too busy with work and family (manages five bank branches, has five children, gets up at 5am each day), so she wasn't as involved as I would have liked. However, everything still went well. Everyone was excited and dynamic. People participated, raised interesting questions, and tried really hard on their homework. And they gave me really positive evaluations! In addition, the make up of the class was incredibly diverse, and it gave me an interesting insight into different types of business problems in vastly different sectors. For example, I had a 60-year-old woman in the class who sold fertilizer in her neighborhood, and a 16-year-old student who aspired to start and market a comedy act. And although these people were in completely different places in their lives, somehow they were both able to related to and do well in the class. I'm very satisfied with the results. I will be teaching the class again during the training of the next batch of volunteers in order to act as a model for possible work they could do at post. That means that PC people will probably come in and watch! Scary!

I have also been working working working on my mobile computer project. I recently finished a project design and management book that emphasizes how hard it is to estimate the time designing a project takes. Designing this project took much longer than I wanted it to. Managing the other three people working on it, designing, researching, and creating lesson plans, formatting computers, doing training of trainers, logistics and so on finally resulted in a ready product about two weeks ago, right before I had to pack up my stuff and head to Yaounde for three weeks for the HIV/AIDS/Gender, Youth, & Development committee, the training design workshop for this year's SED/ED training, and training of trainers (where we give a sample session, to prove we can teach). And we were so close to implementation! I am heading back to post for two weeks at the end of this week, then heading to America for three weeks, then coming back to help with training. I am DETERMINED that we will implement the project during those two weeks I'm at post. In fact, we have already found a women's group (mostly wives of a chief) and have dates when we can work with them. FINALLY!

The people implicated in the project are myself, another volunteer, and two junior members of the NGO with which I work, RIDEV (the Research Institute for Development). One is a dynamic, extremely intelligent 21-year-old woman, who will be teaching lifeskills with me. The other is a charismatic, diligent 28-year-old rugby player who will be teaching computers. In addition to the computer project, the RIDEV team has other projects primarily in the domains of HIV/AIDS prevention/stigma reduction/and care and support, and human rights. I attend their weekly meetings and act as a consultant, helping them design and monitor projects, giving regular feedback and tips on professionalism. We recently had an exhausting, yet fruitful retreat where we hammered out a formal project plan for the organization, hoping to give the members concrete and sustainable direction. I very much enjoy my work with them and love seeing their personal and professional growth. I feel extremely lucky that I work with such motivated and honest people. That is not always so easy to come by.

The other volunteer who was working on the computer project was my best friend and post mate, Travis. He has kind of had a rough time since we arrived in country, approximately one year ago. When I switched posts and moved right across the carrefour from him, he told me that it gave him a reason to stay. He loved teaching, and generally liked his colleagues, he just wasn't happy in other areas of his life. Every time he talked about going home, I would talk him out of it. Lately, I felt like everything was going way better. He talked about how he couldn't imagine being in America, how he was so excited for next year, and how he had so many projects that he was excited about. That's why I was incredibly surprised when he called me to tell me, "You are going to be mad at me. I ET'ed." For those of you that aren't savvy with the PC acronyms (god, there are so many), ET means early termination, or the decision to go back home without finishing your service. In fact, I was mad. Really mad!

Why? Because in addition to my best friend and neighbor dropping this bomb out of the blue, it was on top of something of equally lame proportion that I had been preparing for for awhile: my boyfriend of almost a year (another PCV, who is also very nearby) is finishing his service at the end of May. So basically, the two most important people in my world here are leaving me to my own devices. At the exact same time. If I was allowed to swear in this blog, I would do it right here for emphasis. The day that I found out that Travis was leaving me too was the lowest day that I've had it awhile. It's because they get me the way other people don't. It's because nights in Cameroon are ridiculously lonely sometimes, and it is really nice to cook with someone and just have them be around, even if you are both reading or working. If you are a woman, you can't have Cameroonian men over without people thinking things are happening (your neighbors and the guy), and it is really difficult to make women friends (most people your age are married and have kids). So I kind of fall back on my PC friends. Everything will be different next year though. Complete integration here I come! Sigh.

Actually, although I am very sad and wracked with feelings of abandonment (to be a little dramatic for when Travis reads this), I am not overly depressed. Keeping busy with work is keeping me from getting too down. I am excited to help out with training and see all of my projects come to fruition. In June, I am going home to visit my boyfriend, going to the Bonnaroo music festival, and seeing some of my family on the west coast, then coming back and working working working. Only one more year to go! Although there have been some major bumps in the road, I am determined to see this through, and not just stand it, but enjoy it. Interestingly enough, although this is yet another time of major transition, I am in a (generally) positive place and am ready to take on these new challenges.

I also have an interesting perspective because I have been working on training design for the past week or so. This brings up extremely strong, almost physical memories of my own training a year ago. I have also "friended" some of the new trainees, and taken a look at their concerns about coming here. I want to give the best advice I can, but really, it is so hard to prepare (emotionally, mentally, physically) for something you have never experienced. Even with my previous experience in Senegal, I still had no idea about Cameroon before I came. You just have to give in to the unknown, ask advice about packing, and don't read the Village of Waiting (too negative, Nine Hills to Nambonkaha is MUCH better).

It is amazing the difference a year makes! I have changed so much. In fact, I am a little bit terrified of going home and walking into Walmart or something. America has turned into the unknown for me. I can kind of picture it, but have no idea how it will affect me. Regardless, the minute I get home I am stuffing my face with sushi, stocking up on DVDs, and basically regenerating for year number two.

finally working

Finally I feel like I’ve reached a point where I can start talking about work. I have been dating a second year volunteer for awhile (this is not work, I know). Other volunteers joke that he is “the captain of the football team” or “Peace Corps’ golden boy.” He is always busy and always has a lot of projects and a lot of advice. During my first months at post, I could not stand listening to him, lest I think about my relative lack of success and complete frustration. In fact, if I could describe my Peace Corps service to date with one word, it would definitely be: “frustrating.” Thank god things are finally changing and we can have frank conversations about work.

Admittedly, a significant part of this shift has to do with my changing posts. At my old post, any ideas I directed towards my colleagues were generally met with blank stares and stubbornness. People frequently talked about me in the third person while I was standing right in front of them. I was scared to open my mouth during council meetings. Everywhere I went, I took frantic notes in a notebook, simultaneously brainstorming project ideas and venting my frustrations. As soon as I switched posts, I ditched the book and decided that nothing would be accomplished without confidence and frank conversation – if my new colleagues would actually talk, and better yet, actually listen to me. They did. Right from the beginning. Things are looking up.

The first positive indication that things were changing for the better came at our in-service training, to which I brought the “chef d’agence” of one of the branches of my new bank. The woman who would be serving as my future counterpart couldn’t come, as she had an infant to take care of. However, the woman, Jeanette, who did come was fabulous and smart and articulate. She spoke American. For example, we had an exercise where we were divided into mixed groups of Cameroonian counterparts and PC volunteers. The activity was to discuss the various goals and objectives of the Small Enterprise Development project plan and give examples of projects that would contribute to meeting those goals. I rambled and rambled and rambled along in French (being the most language-proficient among the volunteers in the group). The volunteers nodded their assent and added tidbits here and there. The Cameroonians looked at me uncomprehendingly. Jeannette, however, got it. “Is this what you’re saying?” She asked me, translating my American-style French and bluntness into Cameroonian-style French and flowery oration. Exactly right! She did this several times, both for me and my fellow volunteers, each time capturing the essence of what we were trying to say and expanding it in a way that was more comprehensible to the other counterparts. I was so excited to finally be working with somebody who I felt understood me.

I am going to start teaching a business class with her in two weeks. While I have never formally taught a class, the materials (prepared by “PC’s golden boy” and another volunteer) are incredibly detailed, practical, and meticulously divided into 5-20 minute increments. Each class is two hours, and there are 12 sessions. We will be teaching classes on what makes a good entrepreneur, feasibility studies, goals and action plans, basic accounting, inventory, leadership, meeting management, income statements and balance sheets, budgeting, financial services available in Cameroon, business plans, and two sessions on marketing. What makes me nervous and what could make or break the class is the need for Cameroonian examples (and maybe my accent). Fortunately, I now know relatively enough about raising animals and farming (agriculture dominates this region) that I should be able to provide some good input. Fortunately also, Jeannette agreed to teach the class with me. I am really excited to start. Finally, something tangible!

In addition to this class, my new post mate (who is also a close friend) and I are working on a mobile computer lab and training to go with it. While on vacation in the states, the volunteer I have been dating got family and friends to donate 5 used laptops. On return, the idea of a mobile computer lab that was able to reach the most rural of populations floated around, but the project stagnated and the computers just ended up collecting dust for about three months (and since this is the dry season, that is A LOT of dust). After I switched posts, with his blessing and encouragement, I decided to take over the project. I wrote a project proposal and started working on the computers with my post mate. We will also be working with members of a Cameroonian NGO named RIDEV (Research Institute for Development). The head of the NGO is also a PC health tech trainer, which means that he leads the 3-month technical training that all of the new health volunteers receive upon arrival in country. The members of the NGO are extremely motivated and dynamic and eager to work on the project. They seem as excited as I am to work on a project which is so close to being implemented.

With the computers, we will travel around to rural villages, focusing our efforts on women and youth that have had little or no access to computers. Our objective is to give them confidence enough to continue to explore these technologies after our training is finished. In addition to the basic computer training, we will also be sneaking in “life skills” training. For groups of girls, we will teach computers, but also require that they attend sessions on HIV/AIDS prevention and good decision-making. For groups of mothers, we will throw in malaria prevention and water purification. For women’s agricultural cooperatives, we will teach budgeting and the importance of keeping a cash book. In order to make sure we keep the “life skills” pertinent to the participants, we will target specific groups in different villages that have relatively homogenous needs. If we instead chose to advertise, we would get a range of people with very different needs and life experiences. For example, you can’t as effectively do a condom demonstration when young girls and older men are mixed in class. In fact, I cringe just thinking about trying to do it.

I have a couple other projects I’m working on, but I think I’ve rambled enough for today. However, in closing I would like to highlight something. The projects that I’ve mentioned are both ideas that have diffused from other volunteers. I feel very lucky because I am posted in province where you can’t go a week without running into another volunteer. While the new volunteers generally use these opportunities to bitch about their difficulty finding meaningful work or friends, having contact with the old ones creates access to an amazing accumulation of knowledge that is completely invaluable. From project ideas and materials to valuable contacts, having the advice of a volunteer who has been there longer than you have will shave off a lot of obnoxious trial and error. We are only here for two years. While that might seem like a long time to our mothers, it is a blip on the development trajectory of a country where things generally take at least twice as long as they are supposed to anyway.

Here’s to finally doing some good work!

tis the season

christmas here was mostly like i expected: 80 degrees, cameroonian music blasting, a haze of dust filling the air and a trek up the hill to roast two chickens in a friend's oven. peace corps volunteers usually only have a gas range. now, here comes the homesickness.

about three weeks ago the seasons changed. eight months out of the year cameroon is in the rainy season. you may remember previous blog entries where i marvelled at the amount of mud one encounters daily. however, at the end of november/beginning of december, the dry season starts. i expected a gradual change. instead, we went from daily rains to bone-dry, skin-cracking, dust-cloudy heat in this incredible snap that you could almost hear. my skin is so dry now that i have wrinkles that never existed before. my feet look like little old lady feet covered in a red dusty film. every time you leave the house it's like puffing on a dust cigar. the moto drivers wear the free eye pillows provided on all Air France flights over their noses and mouths to avoid the red lung. this is also the season for road construction, and the act of ripping up the asphalt has created rolling hills of dust. this is not the season to where contact lenses.

in addition to the dust, this is also the season of illness. something about the rash change of climate makes people susceptible to disease. i, myself, have already caught bacterial dysentary twice in one month and have twice been to the neighborhood hospital to seek treatment. the first time, the doctor told me that he thought that i have an irregular heartbeat and that it was necessary to see the internal cardiologist. i told him that i thought his stethoscope might be broken.

it is the season to be lonely for home and for family, but it is also the season to be with friends, both peace corps and cameroonian alike. i feel so lucky that i am near other volunteers that i like and that i can be exposed to different ways that people celebrate these universal holidays. even if it means driving around in a dusty taxi covered in tinsel and feeling that something just isn't quite right...

i miss everyone. this blog is kind of short, but my internet cafe time is running out. happy holidays and don't get too cold...

a change of plans

i realize that there have been rather large time lags between my blogs lately. it should be because things have settled down and my life has become boring. this is true to the extent that i haven't been doing much as far as work is concerned which leaves me moping around the house, reading East of Eden and cooking. however, in every other aspect, my life has been completely bouleversé (overwhelmed, turned upside down).

from my entries, some of you may have ascertained that work hasn't been easy at my bank. what i haven't written about so much are my feelings regarding the town itself. in fact, it's difficult for me to express them in a way that wouldn't seem offensive over the internet.

in short, i don't want to get out of bed in the morning because i don't want to deal the level of agression i encounter without fail every day the second i leave my house. this is not an exaggeration. i am too scared to leave my house after the sun goes down (6:15 all year long; we are located two degrees from the equator), even to cross the street to buy a grilled fish. my building and several adjoining others have been broken into in recent years. recently, the boutique across the street was robbed by bandits who were desperate enough to bore a hole through the cement wall to steal toiletries, notebooks, and a little money. these people aren't kidding around. all of these things, coupled with several reports of brutal mob justice in town and my own personal experience with machete bandits during training, have left me feeling weak and jumpy and jittery, although reasonably calm in every other town i have visited.

i also realized that my body doesn't react well to our required malaria prophelaxis, Lariam (anxiety, panic attacks, paranoia, dizzines, crazy dreams), so decided to switch to something that makes me feel a little more sane in an already crazy environment, although the side effects can apparently last for months afterward.

all of these things swirling around in every crevis of my daily life and mind and existence for far too long finally struck me with the realization that changing posts was necessary for my work and sanity and safety.

let me tell you. this decision has not been easy. before i came to cameroon i remember reading other peoples' blogs and noticing how much they complained. i did not want to be that person. i came to cameroon with a lot of confidence. i had studied abroad and traveled. i speak french and am extremely independent. i haven't wanted to give up on this post. i have wanted to be able to muscle through it and show everyone and myself how tough i can be, but i've realized that staying at this post will not only make me unhappy, it will hinder my effectiveness in work. i want to work in a community where i feel welcomed and respected and safe.

luckily, my program director was sympathetic to my feelings and okayed the change.

there was a lot of deliberation about where they would send me. in the end, we've decided that i will move to a smaller town about 1 hour east of where i am now. it's beautiful, with scenic views and quiet corners. my counterpart will be a woman. peace corps has trained volunteers there before, so the town is very familiar with americans. there are community groups that have already said that they would be willing to work with me. there is also an IT volunteer posted there, giving great opportunities for collaboration. i am very, very excited about it, especially after an incredibly successful house hunt and a positive meeting with the president of the administrative council (the position which the chef holds at my current post).

my only enemy now is my inflated expectations. i am still worried that maybe it wasn't the town and work that were so bad... maybe it's just me. i worry about this despite the constant affirmations by people i respect of the incredible roughness and difficulty encountered in my town. i'm sure that with this change, good things will come, and perhaps they will be easier and faster coming. things will not, however be all angels and roses and chocolate kisses. i will have to adjust all over again and, frankly, right now i feel too tired to do anything but stare blankly at a movie screen and eat lots and lots of sushi. but it will come. and it will be good and better.

happy thanksgiving everyone. i am thinking about you.

a day in the life

my alarm went off at 7:30 this morning as it does practically every morning. i have been more or less awake, however since 6:30, which is the time that everyone else decides to get up and start revving moto engines/whacking children/blaring cheesy french church choir music to test and see if their speakers work. i stuff earplugs in my ears and squint against the piercing morning sun. my window faces east. have got to get me some curtains. i press the snooze button a few times, so stubborn that i refuse to wake up unless it is my choice, and not that of the screaming babies across the way.

when i finally drag myself out of bed, i start boiling water for my daily coffee, oatmeal, and warm bucket bath. although i have a shower, it only has cold water and i'd rather squat on the floor and pour water over myself than suffer the sub-zero torrential rain. i do not want to be that awake.

the hardest part of my day is leaving the house, because walking to work means walking through the center of town, being called la blanche or ndoc or wat or baby at leat 15 times and dodging motos, sludge-filled ditches and crazy stick man.

crazy stick man is one of the regular fous (crazy people) that roam the streets of my town. this man is particularly interesting because he is the brother of the chef and is said to have been turned crazy by sorcery. he wanders around ranting, writing gibberish on walls and leaving pieces of tattered clothing in his wake. he has tried to poke/trip me with his stick before so i make sure i cross the street if i see him coming my way.

today, as i am walking, i see something rather unusual. coming towards me is a man pedalling something that looks like one of those old, three-wheeled, ice cream vehicals. however, instead of selling ice cream, this man is pushing propaganda. he has a bullhorn and is shouting things through it. arching above his head is a sign that proclaims: "homosexuality: the abomination of the century." i stop for a minute. i don't even know how to deal with this. do nothing, bien sur. homosexuality is very illegal in cameroon, although paradoxically men walk down the street holding hands and it's not weird at all. i keep walking, saying a silent prayer for all of the brave souls that have chosen to volunteer in cameroon despite their sexual preferences.

when i finally get to the bank, it's just in time for the credit comittee meeting. when i mean just in time, i mean i'm about a half an hour late. however, i am still the first one there after my counterpart who has to be there because he has other work to do. however, instead of waiting around for the PCA and the rest of the members to show up, i'm dragged aside by the vice president. one day previously, a huge rockslide completely destroyed a large chunk of the highway about 30 kilometers away... the only real route that exists between Bafoussam and Douala that is widely used to truck goods from Douala inward. the vice president wants to know if i want to go see the damage. being a closet rubber-necker, i can't say no.

upon arriving at the site, dozens of young men surround the car. "i'll carry you across on my back!" "rent these boots! you'll get your shoes dirty!" "rent this walking stick, you don't want to slip!" this disaster has at least created the opportunity for some make-shift employment opportunities. it took a lot of firm insisting to convince them that we were just looking. the road is completely shattered, reminding me of "where the sidewalk ends". you can't even see where is starts up again. where it ends, there is a river of soil with uprooted trees strewn precariously through. despite the inability to drive across, people still need to commute so they are hiking over the slide. i see a smashed house and wonder if anyone died. apparently one old woman is missing, but no one other than that. people hypothosize that with bureaucratic stagnation and lack of funds that it will take several years to fix. as they say, on va faire comment?

when we finally get back to the bank, the PCA is already there. we are almost two hours late, but c'est normal. the meeting goes on for almost four hours after that. i zone out completely in the fourth hour, as my stomach is starting to eat itself and i can no longer concentrate on any french. when the meeting finally ends, the only woman on the council brings out the food that they serve after every meeting: grilled chicken with plantains and poulet DG. it is delicious, and i actually pick a good piece of chicken this time. usually, i don't look hard enough and get stuck with some questionable part. everyone drinks a beer, then all of the council members are paid 10 mille francs (20 dollars) for being there. dontcha worry, i attend for free! i'm not sure how much we actually accomplished during the meeting, but i'm ready for a nap. if i feel motivated, i may stop by the market of the internet cafe, but usually i head home and read and think about what i'm going to cook for dinner and dream about all of my plans for the future involving amazingly successful projects and people that listen and are motivated and honest. this future has been seeming a lot closer lately.

and the time passes.

bank drama continues

and the time passes.

my bank situation is still in limbo. what has been my biggest frustration to overcome is the vagueness surrounding everything and everyone involved. after catching a serendipitous free ride with the president of the council of elders, i also realized the lack of right and wrong surrounding this issue in general. i do not like the president of the council of administration, but a lot of people in my town do. i know that i don't like him because he kind of reminds me of a certain star wars character, but i also have a natural aversion to what he is trying to do at the bank because i am american and was brought up on the ideas that democracy and fairness are the best schools of thought around. in a world where democracy operates perfectly, this man would be ousted and they would find someone else to replace him. unfortunately, things are not that simple. anyone from my town who replaced this man would, in fact, end up doing exactly what he told them to do. here in cameroon, people show deference to their chefs, especially if they are chefs that seem to own half the town (and most of the bank).

i had a realization the other day when i was listening to this man sell his intense propaganda to a very receptive audience. what people don't realize is that dictators and other unsavory characters who we would like to think have no souls and are a perfect picture of pure evil are exactly like us. they are clumsy, they get colds, they burn their mouths on hot coffee, they doubt themselves, they miss people, they spill on themselves. in short, they have moments of weakness. it is so much easier to hate people if we don't have to see them face to face. even something we may consider to be pure evil retains aspects of humanity. the problem is, using this humanity and powerful rhetoric, these people can easily make other people agree with them. it is only later, when the media in a far off land paints them as that perfect picture of evil that we wonder, how was anyone ever convinced? now, really, i have gotten carried away and am more thinking about sociopathic, murderous dictators than small town chefs that don't subscribe to democracy and justice, but being carried away by a charismatic person remains in both cases.

so while i wait for something concrete (anything, really) to manifest at the bank, i try to think of work i can do that will not directly help the ones abusing power. i've started investigating some NGOs and i was thinking of doing a computer skills class with the staff of the bank and whoever else is interested. i'm trying to stay strong and it is mostly working. it's funny. i think i have it figured out every night, and every morning i wake up and i feel awful and vulnerable and like i can't remember why i'm here. i don't know why that happens. i need these good feelings to make their way through the night!

this blog is intense. next time i'm writing about food.

Growing Pains

So things have taken a turn for the difficult. I don't know exactly what's been going on with me, but it's been tough. Actually, I do know. Classic, first three months at post syndrome of moodiness and listlessness and feeling a distinct lack of purpose.

What's been most difficult for me at the moment are problems at my bank. My bank is one of many MC2's in Cameroon. Recently, all of these MC2's were asked to change their statutes in order to be aligned with COBAC's (Commission banquaire de l'Afrique centrale) regulations. Out of all of the MC2's in the country, my bank is the only bank that has refused to adopt the statutes. And it is serious. It took me a while to piece all of this information together, and then to decide how to proceed. Unfortunately, I am very, very new in this position and don't know my own power or limitations, nor do I really understand the complex nuances of the relationships among the bank employees, or between the bank and its regulating organization. Anyway, there is a big, bad, serious, down-to-business meeting on the 27th. I am excited to see how it will pan out, although I feel like I've gotten swept into the drama of the situation, and I may be disappointed in the way it's resolved. The uncertainty of the bank has sort of bled into a vague, all-encompassing uncertainty about everything here. This uncertainty makes me tentative and makes it that much harder to get up when I know that I am going to have to DEAL with everything. Dealing with everything isn't actually dealing with anything, until you lose patience and start getting frustrated. I've been letting my frustration get to me.

Luckily, one of my lovely friends came to visit and we gossiped and shared our misgivings/aspirations/everything else and it made me feel so much more comfortable in my house. It's funny, ever since I arrived in Cameroon, I haven't really accepted what's happening to me in the present, thinking primarily about the things to happen in the future. Now, I've hit the ground running and wondering if this is really it, and if I can meet all the ridiculous expectations I've set for myself. To-do lists paper my (already) messy house, and yet I know that I won't get much past "buy tomatoes" unless I stop trying to quantify the success of my experience. It is completely addicting to compare myself to others. First of all, there are the other people in my stage. It's like, "Oh, you've only been to the bank twice? I go there all day, every day and know everyone's job inside and out." Then, there are the volunteers that have already been here for a year. It's like, "Oh, you don't speak perfect Cameroonian French? I've always spoken perfect Cameroonian French. Not only that, I single-handedly purged my bank of corruption and found the cure for cancer. It's really not that difficult. But don't worry if you're totally incompetent. Nobody does much work in their first year." Totally verbatim, I assure you.

So really, the existential crises, why-god-why, psychological delving has begun. Watch out. I swear I'll try and keep some clever, little anecdotes to please the masses.

For example, today we waited three hours to leave while the chargeurs sat around, argued, then proceeded to pack an entire living room set (complete with couch, armchairs, coffee table, and fan) onto the top of a bus, somehow also leaving room enough for everyone else's baggage. The trip itself was a mere 4 hours of Ivoirian pop music on repeat and chickens protesting being put in cages and bussed to their doom. I was very excited because I got my own seat and was sitting next to someone who smelled lovely. Ah, the small pleasures in life.

This week was tough, but I can only see that things are getting better. I really sincerely feel that after this, I will be able to do anything. For example, cook! I can cook. Hummus and tortillas from scratch in the dark. And it was delicious. Who knew? Finally.

I miss you all like crazy, especially with this tough week. I am thinking about you!

First Week At Post, First Taste of Complete Derangement

August 28, 2007

Happy Birthday in 4 days, MOM! No, I haven’t forgotten.

So it’s been a bit of awhile since I’ve written anything in this friendly, little blog.
This is partially because the last time I came back from the internet café and stuck my usb key back in my computer, I caught a monster death virus and ended up having to re-install windows. Thankfully, one of the stagiaires had an external hard drive so I could back everything up. To anyone one their way to Cameroon, if you are bringing a computer, bring an external hard drive, keep your anti-virus up to date, and learn how to clean your usb key.
Another reason why I haven’t written anything is because stage finally ended and I am officially a volunteer and have moved to post. As you may imagine, this is a long process involving trying to pack all of your new African clothes into your ever-shrinking suitcases, trying to decide exactly what to give your host family as a goodbye present, and, of course, taking about ten thousand pictures of yourself with the other new volunteers, everyone wearing the same pagne, fashioned into various chic African couture with an American touch.

Swearing in was a little anti-climactic, with me focusing more on actually hearing and remembering what I was supposed to repeat instead of actually absorbing what the words meant. Frighteningly enough, the very next day after swearing in, everyone rode off into the sunset towards their new posts. I only had to ride for about an hour before we got to my new town and house, conveniently already furnished because I am replacing someone. That very same day I made a trip to the market with my lovely post mate, who was kind enough to show me to the best market mommies. I stocked up on groceries and even had time to decorate my bedroom. I have a REAL mattress. I don’t know if that means anything to y’all back in the States, but here, it is an imported luxury. It is definitely something to brag about, as the most common substitute is squishy foam that eventually gets a dent where, no matter where you fall asleep you always wake up in the middle. My predecessor left me several mosquito nets, so I hung one up on my wall and adorned it with the smiling faces of all of my lovelies from back home. Immediately afterwards, I was seized with pangs of homesickness and now I’m wondering if maybe I should hide everyone away until I feel truly established and comfortable here.

It is definitely going to be an adjustment. I just need to figure out some key strategies to coping with all the derangement and I will be set. As I think I’ve mentioned before, it really bothers me when people yell "Oy, la blanche!" at me. Other obnoxious tactics include kissing noises and hissing. Honestly, I cannot even count the number of people that derange me if I walk from one side of town to the other, but it’s enough that I know I really need to find a way to not let it get to me. Meditation? Hissing back at them? Earplugs? No, those definitely wouldn’t work, as I might get hit by a moto and fall into one of the treacherous "drainage" ditches that line both sides of the road.

I've decided that my three biggest fears are: 1. Getting hit by a moto and falling into a sewage/drainage/refuse cement ditch. 2. Getting in a large head-on collision right at nightfall when it’s raining. 3. Having someone break into my house while I’m in it. Number three is next to impossible. Number two won’t happen as long as I look out the window at the scenery instead of straight ahead, out the windshield and strictly adhere to the PC policy of no night travel. Number one will only happen if I wear earplugs and walk too far out in road. Gotta keep on top of it!

As far as starting actual work, I’ve been reading over the quarterly reports of my predecessor, doing town protocol (visiting the grands and letting them know that I’ll be around for the next two years), investigating taking classes in the local language, and possibly planning some collaborative work with other volunteers in the region. Mostly, I’ve been lethargic from the stress of this transition, arranging my house and routine, and reading Harry Potter (759 pages in one day, baby!). The future looks a little daunting, and it’s hard to know exactly where to begin, although I’m still really excited about all the work possibilities, especially about the prospects of working with village women. The SED program is very flexible. I already know that I’m going to appreciate the freedom and opportunities for creativity and innovation, but I also know that it is going to take a lot of motivation to jumpstart myself, follow through with my ideas, and trust myself that they have value, even if they don’t initially succeed in the way that I hoped they would.

Setting up house is exciting! This is the first time that I have ever lived alone and have had to rely entirely on foods that do not come from boxes or cans. I have discovered passion fruit. Bizarre, kind of like pomegranates, but absolutely delicious. I think that I am going to be eating a lot of eggs and pasta, and fortunately also a lot of fruits and vegetables. My post mate treated me to a great homemade vegetable and dumpling soup tonight and I think that I am definitely going to follow her lead. I never thought that I would appreciate parmesan cheese as much as I do now…

On a totally different note, I’ve recently discovered that the PC rumor mill is unlike any that I have ever encountered in my life. Worse than college, even worse than high school. There are virtually no secrets here. I’ve already had people I don’t know very well ask me to verify information that I didn’t share with that many others. Interesting… Definitely motivation to lead an exemplary existence.

In addition, I think I have a poltergeist following me around, or something. For some reason, my stuff keeps walking off, never to be seen or heard from again. Some of it has been legitimately stolen, but some of it has just disappeared and it’s driving me absolutely crazy. For example, just today, my belly button ring came unscrewed and fell out, completely disappearing. That has never, ever happened before. It’s really starting to get on my nerves and I’m wondering when it will stop.

Full time bank employee-ing starts next week! Wish me luck!

August 15, 2007

And then the rain shot down from the sky so hard that I thought it might be hailing, until I realized that 50 degrees Fahrenheit in West Cameroon is just about the same as freezing in the Northwest US. I wrapped my scarf around my neck. Apparently it was freezing. My body had quickly acclimated, and I supposed that this torrential downpour, completely drowning out any possible conversation, was probably the equivalent to one of those rocket-ball hail storms that gave me an excuse to not walk to class during college.

But really, have I mentioned the mud? I KNOW that I have. You don’t have to tell me. I realize that I talk about it too much, but I don’t think that I can accurately stress the level to which mud affects my everyday life. Ever walked on the December black ice up on Palatine Hill? You remember how you reach out your arms like you’re walking on a balance beam, looking always down, taking little baby steps on your toes, trying to keep your weight over your feet so you don’t slip and fall flat on your back? It might hurt to fall flat on your back on the ice, but if you fall flat on your back in the red… thick… mud… well, four words, really. Washing…your….own…clothes. By hand. Not to mention the potential humiliation you would face having to walk around with completely soiled clothes all day long. Although the mud is absolutely everywhere, is completely taboo to have it on your shoes. I am not yet that dedicated (or, I guess, culturally integrated?)

Une petite histoire a propos de la boue: One night it was really dark. I was walking home (with two other people, present it would seem, only to laugh at my misfortune) and decided that I wanted to pee in a cornfield. Side note: This is a very common occurrence, as the lack of bathrooms and water motivates you to hold it as long as possible, although sometimes you can’t make it and have to run to the nearest cornfield. Anyway, I was making my way over, through slippery-slidey pseudo road, whenI fell in a ditch. Yes, it was pitch black, but yes, I should have thought about the fact that there are treacherous drainage ditches on both sides of the road. Luckily, I caught myself with one hand, but not well enough to disguise the fact that I fell. The red dirt has a way of making its way into everything anyway. When my host mom asked me what had happened, all I could say was, "Il y a trop de boue." (There is too much mud). That has become my mantra of the past week or so. It doesn’t help that I have to walk through the center of the watershed for my neighborhood in order to get to and from class. The erosion is so bad that a child could fall in one of the holes and be lost forever. Danger danger walking at night.

Speaking of being a dirty beast, I don’t know if I’ve ever been dirtier in my life. Something about washing your own clothes (especially when you’re a little lazy and haven’t been doing it your whole life) doesn’t get them quite as clean as they may have been had you washed them in a machine. It also doesn’t help if they mildew and then get fumigated with garbage smoke while they’re drying. I had to rescrub that whole load. I can only be so stinky. In addition, I find it really difficult to get up at 7 and give myself a cold bucket bath when the water is turned off. It’s one thing to stand under a cold stream of water, it is quite another to voluntarily splash freezing water on yourself when you could stay in bed for another 15 minutes, reveling in your greasy, potent, stinkiness. That’s right, I have gone (mostly) voluntarily 4 days without washing my hair. Eat your heart out, LC hippies.

Anyone jealous? I knew you were. Let’s see, my emotions are still riding a rollercoaster on steroids. But I’m all good. I’ve played scrabble at least once a day for the past week, and I’m pretty confident I could even beat my dad. My host mom and I have been getting along really well, and I just finished my last tech work for the SED program. I actually feel really well prepared for the work I will be doing in the very near future.

Only one more week before I get sworn in and go to post! I can’t believe how fast and how slowly stage has gone by. Endings and beginnings make me very aware of the inertia of my life. There is nothing I can do to hold it back or push it forward, apparently I just have to take everything as it comes. Ah, the epiphany that I make every five minutes. When will it sink in?

So who wants to send me packages?

Cameroon Vocab 101

Now we all know that I have been taking French for some time now. However, all of those years spent reading French literature did not prepare me for Cameroonian French. So, for all of you that are coming to visit me, I have decided to compile a list words and phrases that are useful to know in Cameroon.

Pastèque : watermelon. They are everywhere here in the West.

Arachide : peanut. Literally, groundnuts. No one says cacouette

Seau : bucket. Necessary to know for when the water is cut and you have to give yourself a bucket bath.

Boue : mud

Muff! : leave me the hell alone ! Appropriate to say to children or very persistent vendors, but not to your host mother.

Déranger : To bother, to bug. Desperately over-utilized, but expresses a persistent sentiment that has no perfect equivalent in English.

Bonsoir : Literally, good evening. However, people will start saying it at about noon. Or earlier.

Piment: Hot pepper made into this amazing, sometimes dangerous sauce that they put on everything.

Babouche: flip-flops. Only appropriate to wear in the house. People think it’s bizarre that Americans wear flip-flops in public.

Vache qui rit: Laughing cow cheese. Ubiquitous everywhere because it doesn’t require refrigeration. I recently discovered baguette sandwiches with vache qui rit, tomato paste, and avocado. Delicious.

Kola : Kola nut. Extremely bitter nuts that are jam packed with caffeine and tradition. I was munching on one the other day and gave some to a Cameroonian friend. He said, “Emilie, you know that this is a stimulant.” I said that I did. He said, “So then, you’re stimulating me.” I said, “What??” He said, “I know that you’re American and that you don’t know these things, so I won’t take it like that this time. Next time, I’m going to take it like a Cameroonian man.” Whoops.

Gendarmes: A type of policeman. They wear red berets and green fatigues and are important to have on your side.

Tu m’a gardé quoi ?: Literally: You kept me what? In Cameroon: Do you have a present for me? Said by friends and strangers alike, in any situation, particularly when you return from a trip.

C’est comment ?: Literally: It’s how? In Cameroon: What’s up? How’s it going?

On va faire comment ?: Literally : On is going to do how ? In Cameroon: It can mean many things. It is most applicable when you would like to express your powerlessness in any given situation, but is also a way of saying “C’est la vie,” or asking for a bribe.

Où est la motivation ?: Literally : Where is the motivation ? In Cameroon : I expect some sort of bribe for doing this.

Moustiquaire : mosquito net. Essential for keeping out the creepy-crawlies.

Tontine : a traditional way of banking. A group of people that come together once a week with a set amount of money. Each week, a different person gets to “bouffe la tontine” which means that they get all of the money that everyone brought, creating an informal savings and loan. They were especially popular during the financial crisis in the 80’s, when all of the banks went under and took everyone’s money with them. They are incredibly social, and everyone eats a lot at the meetings and gets matching outfits.

Pagne : 6 meters of cloth, with varying degrees of quality. Usually cotton, but the crappy kind is polyester. Buy some, take it to a tailor, and they’ll whip you up something real nice.

J’arrive : I’m coming/I’ll be right back. Excellent because of its nebulous nature, but can be infuriating if someone says it to you and you have to wait. That’s why we always carry books with us wherever we go.

Cafard : Cockroach. Clearly.

Souris: Mouse

Lâche moi !: Let me go! I learned this from watching too many Argentinian soap operas translated into French.

Casque : Helmet. That I lug around with me every time I want to ride a moto, which is my new favorite activity. For the equivalent of 25 cents, you can go all the way across town.

Prune: Literally: Plum In Cameroon: Some interesting, mushy green fruit with a big pit and a sour taste. They usually grill them. I don’t mind them, but a lot of people have problems.

Ashia: Hang in there/Sorry/Good luck. Said primarily in the West, I believe. People rarely actually say, “I’m sorry.” It seems almost like a sign of weakness.

Ca va un peu: Literally: That goes a little. In Cameroon: I’m doing ok. Not great, but ok. “Un peu” gets tacked on frequently to things that it shouldn’t.

Il faut bien manger: Literally: It is important to eat well. In Cameroon: You had better be ready to eat 5 more helpings of that rice. We want to you gain 20 pounds so when you go home to America, people will see how well Cameroon treated you.

Je suis plein(e): I’m full. Interestingly enough, the connotation of this phrase in France is that you’re pregnant, but here it is totally acceptable.

Je vais te taper: I am going to hit you. Most frequently used phrase of all time by parents to their children. Don’t worry, the frequency of the phrase does not indicate the frequency of the children actually getting hit.

Legumes: Literally: vegetables In Cameroon: Some sort of spinach-like greens that may or may not be huckleberry leaves.

Crunch You Up Real Nice, Mr. Tap-Dancing Roach

July 24

It is true that no matter where we are, we always have our bad days.

Like today, for example.

This morning, at approximately 7:30, I rolled over and noticed a large, black silhouette in the far reaches of my mosquito net. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and it was still dark in my room making me really really hope that it was just a Lariam hallucination. As I reached for my glasses, the shape zoomed down the side of the net. I punched the light switch and jammed my glasses on to my face just in time to see the enormous cockroach land on my bed. On the inside of the net. I only screamed a little bit. My host mom laughed at me, then proceeded to tell me that she would be gone for the entire day and that I was in charge of the baby. And in charge of making dinner. Mais bien sur. Then she left. I was still in shock from the whole roach incident and didn’t get a chance to mention the fact that I have a good deal of homework due tomorrow and A LOT of dirty clothes to wash. We did just get back from site visit yesterday.

After she left, I ate and got the neighbor to watch the baby for a few hours while I met up with some friends to discuss homework (and our various site visit adventures). At the SED house, someone informed me that a package had arrived for me. YES! A PACKAGE! Anyone who has ever been in college or to summer camp knows the incredible weight of this word. This package in particular was sent to me by my mother on my birthday about a month and a half ago. When I went to pick it up, the man informed me that I owed him some money which, if converted into American dollars isn’t that much but is definitely a big portion of our stipend here. For example, with this amount of money I could buy lunch and a beer at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Worth it? For a package? Of course. Except, it looked to me like they had decided to take a little look-see to check out what was inside, and then resealed it with packing tape. When I opened it, my suspicions were confirmed along with a cold hard plunge into the well of truth about the postal system in Cameroon. Not only will they open your package to make sure that the cake mix your mother sent you is not cocaine, they will eat ALL of the jellybeans she sent you and put the empty bag back in the box! Not only will they look at the color of the cake mix through the bag to make sure it isn’t suspicious, they will rip it open as an extra precaution and then place the open bag back in the box, resulting in a dousing of fine, sticky, brown powder over everything remaining. And with that, my package high was instantly snuffed out as I tried to salvage the lonely card candles, and birthday balloons. Even now, I realize that I should have thrown it all away, because I already have a cockroach problem in my room and a sugar-covered card will probably attract ants. Partaaay!

The rest of the day has been relatively uneventful. I washed my clothes, towel, and sheets for about 3 hours. I scraped caked, dried mud off of my shoes with a machete and scrubbed those too, crouched on the floor of the bathroom, trying not to spray myself with muddy water. I made pasta with tomato sauce, which is definitely harder without any prefabricated ingredients especially when babies are poking you the entire time.

I just saw a mouse poking around the egg crates on top of the fridge, and my host mom killed one last night. I’m worried that this out of the ordinary infestation rate, coupled with the fact that I took my Lariam yesterday, will give me absolutely horrible nightmares tonight. A lovely ending to a lovely day. And you bet I would like some cheese with that wine. Cheddar? Roquefort? You know it.

So I am grumpy. I know, I know, I know that tomorrow will be better. As the Cameroonians say, On va faire comment? In the mean time, I will try and not think too frequently about the apartment with a balcony that is waiting for me at my future post… Where I’ll have some personal space and time to write long, winding emails to all of those wonderful people I have been neglecting. Only 4 more weeks of Stage to go!

Site Visit!

July 22

This past week, instead of our strict regimen of language and cross-cultural training, all 15 of the SED (small enterprise development) people dispersed across the country to visit their future posts. For some, that meant traveling for 2-3 days to the Extreme North, only to stay for 2 days and turn right around and come back home. For others, the trip was shorter (I only had to travel for 45 minutes!). That means that I had ample opportunity to familiarize myself with the town, and of course, to be awkward at my future place of employment.

My counterpart is the ST (Secretary/Treasurer) of one of the MC²s in tow, which is highest position at the bank. There have already been two other SED volunteers at this post, and I am already being constantly compared to them. I foresee my biggest problem to be the meeting and understanding of expectations between my counterpart and I. He did not seem happy that the previous volunteer had initially spent a lot of time in the bank, and then chose to pursue other projects. However, choosing to do something like that is perfectly in line with Peace Corps policies. SED is very flexible, and projects really depend on the needs of the community and the skills of the volunteer. It has already been a blast trying to explain that to my counterpart, while trying to be as vague as possible about what I will actually do myself. I don’t want to promise something I can’t deliver, and I definitely need some time to assess the situation.

I stayed with a current education volunteer, and my future post-mate. I think that we will get along well and have frequent movie nights. The way that she had organized and decorated her house made me eager to move into mine. I also had the chance to visit my future apartment. It is the top floor of an apartment building just off of the main street. It is directly above a radio station which actually uses egg crates to stifle the broadcasts, which apparently start at 5:30 and are not all that stifled. The apartment itself is worth it, however, with three bedrooms, living room, kitchen, bathroom, balcony, and exclusive roof access with an amazing view. Score! The previous SED volunteer lived there, and only just moved out in May, leaving his best Cameroonian friend to house-sit and everything almost like he hadn’t left for good (pictures of him taped to the wall, a pile of papers on the table). Fortunately, that means that I can buy all of his furniture (although some of it isn’t exactly my taste…)

After a few days at my post, I decided to take advantage of my extra time and visit another SED volunteer in the provincial capital, which is conveniently located about and hour away by tippy, raggedy, 15-person van jammed full of 20 people. I was unfortunately smashed next to a creepy older man with an abscess on the same hand he kept “accidentally” rubbing against my knee. I was ready to punch him. Luckily, he didn’t travel the whole way, and the other guy next to me ended up being as helpful as the other was creepy. I was proud that I maneuvered everything by myself. I’m a big girl now.

I’ve also decided that my new, favorite form of transportation is the moto. If only my helmet were collapsible.

We all made our way back to the training village today, in time to avoid possible unrest associated with the elections tomorrow. Back to the grindstone!