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.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
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!
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!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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!
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?
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?
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
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
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
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
C’est comment ?: Literally: It’s how? In
On va faire comment ?: Literally : On is going to do how ? In
Où est la motivation ?: Literally : Where is the motivation ? In
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.
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
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
Il faut bien manger: Literally: It is important to eat well. In
Je suis plein(e): I’m full. Interestingly enough, the connotation of this phrase in
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
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
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
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!
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