A Good Week for Integration

This past week I have finally started to feel like I’m making progress.  After weeks of frustration and moving slowly and no discernible improvement, I think I have finally kind of hit my stride with speaking French.  Like I can crank out sentences and hold conversations without needing to pull out every single word separately and painfully.  Throughout the past six weeks what has been most frustrating is that I have been going to class, living in a Francophone household, supposedly being in an immersion environment, and yet it has still been four and a half years since I studied or spoke any French at all, and I still felt way below the level I was then.  Well, I still definitely do in terms of the one hundred verb tenses that I have completely forgotten, but at least words and some fluidity are coming back.

A closely related phenomenon is that I also feel better about my integration.  I still haven’t explored Bafia as much as I would like to (although I will later this week with my host family!) or met most of my neighbors, but I have started having more “real” conversations with some Cameroonians.  It all started when my host parents’ university-aged son came to visit for a few days.  He was great to talk to because he spoke very slowly and deliberately but I could talk to him a little more in depth than with, for example, my 8 year old brother.  He and I had an interesting debate about whether men and women should be equal and whether women can have power.  And since that one, I have had a few other good conversations with Cameroonians which felt much more like making a connection than most of my previous small talk-heavy conversations.  I’m also gradually getting to know the lady who sells beignets near my house, the woman who sells us lunch every day, and some of the language trainers.  Overall, I feel like I’ve had an integration breakthrough.

This past Saturday my mom came up to me completely out of the blue and said, “Antonia!  Tomorrow, after mass, you will kill a chicken!”  She announced it so directly that I didn’t feel I really had the chance to decide whether or not I had any moral qualms with the matter.  It wasn’t a question; it was just a statement of fact.  So, the next day, after mass, with a big smile on her face, she pointed me towards my victim and handed me a regular kitchen knife.  Fit came to help restrain the poor thing and show me what to do.  Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful at even breaking skin (feather?) after sawing away for 10 or 20 seconds.  Fit took mercy on the poor thing and stepped in, but allowed me to make the final cut, severing its head from its body.  So, that was new.  Yay integration :-/  I then helped defeather it, chop it up, take out its guts, cook it, and eat it.  It was delicious but frankly I think getting pre-killed chicken is a little more up my ally.

Another big step toward integration was gettin my hair did like a Cameroonian.  If you ever thought I would look absolutely ridiculous in cornrows, I have proven you right!!  What looks the MOST ridiculous at all is that the individual braids that hang down are all curly.  After trying (and failing) to desperately communicate “squiggles” in pathetic French to my very confused stylist, I ended up with some slightly wacky waves of cornrows.  It only took about an hour and a half and yes, it hurt (but not too much).  Now I truly look like a Cameroonian woman.  I have also used this opportunity to reveal to my fellow trainees that I do in fact have ears.

I am currently waging a war against the mouse in my room.  I know I said I was going to do away with her weeks ago, but when I started sleeping through her antics and missed a couple of chances to buy mouse traps, I fell into inaction.  In fact, last week I even felt some warm affection towards her when she cutely dragged an entire huge wrapper from a mambo (chocolate) bar out of my trash can, down from my desk, across the floor, and under my bed.  But no.  This weekend I walked in on her ROMPING ON MY BED.  With my mosquito net tucked in on all sides!  I felt so violated that apparently my mosquito net has been totally ineffective as mouse protection.  Turns out, she can come up from under the mattress and emerge within my sacred haven of moustiquaire.  Oh no, bitch.  It is ON.  In fact, while writing this entry I have been chasing her around the room as she rifles through my backpack, frolics on my suitcase, skitters from corner to corner, and generally acts like she owns this damn place.  I have been stomping loudly, hitting the walls and bed, and shining lights at her in hopes that she gets the message that her lease under my bed is UP.  Will update on status next time.

Just to end on a cheesy note, I saw the other day that the plants (crops?  Stalks?  Not an agroforestry volunteer) outside my house are towering high.  I walk past them every day on my way to and from training and I never noticed them getting any bigger, but I know they were barely peeking out of the ground when I first got to Bafia.  And I couldn’t help but think.  Time has been passing.  And maybe I feel like at the end of each day I’m no better at French or living in Cameroon than I was the at the beginning, but bit by bit, day by day, all of us trainees are becoming strong, tall, viable crops that can be sold at the market and cooked for dinner.  Or something like that.  As the Pidgin saying goes, “small small we catch monkey.”  I obviously don’t speak Pidgin (and I think it’s factually incorrect for how to effectively catch a monkey), but as the volunteers in Anglophone regions explained it, it means “little by little, we accomplish our goals.”  And sure, sometimes we have days where we have our first conversation about women’s equality with a Cameroonian, completely in French, and that feels like a big big, but it’s the accumulation of all the small smalls that gets us there.  So anyway.  I’m optimistic.

Oh and if I’m ever having a bad day I just need to look at this picture my amazing sister Ericka drew me and I will feel instantly better!

"A very good family" <3 <3 <3

And now for your viewing pleasure… some pictures!  The first ones are from my site visit to the Northwest and the hike we went on.

In Pidgin, you call this a "bush pussy" 

Hiking in Bali! 

Some school girls wanted to pose for the camera!

The view from Georgia's balcony

Just carrying some chickens on my moto

This is what happened when we sat in on a class at the local high school and the teacher said, "if you didn't do your homework, go stand up at the board."

I know my parents have been very curious - I haven't pooped in a hole yet but I did pee in this beauty.

Living the rugged African life

Passed this guy on my way to school one morning

This is what our house looks like when the electricity is cut, which it has been for 4 of the last 6 nights.

My victim before

Thanks to Djiebril for touching his smeary fingers on the lens before capturing this beauty of Fit, me, the bloody knife, the chicken, and the chicken's head in the bottom left corner.

After.  Delicious!

Post Announcement: Bafang!

At the end of the day on Wednesday after MUCH anticipation, we finally found out our posts!  Amadou (the youth development program manager) orchestrated a dramatic ceremony where one person went up, pulled a paper slip out of an envelope, and read aloud the next person’s name and post.  Then everyone clapped nervously, mentally crossing off that post and dreading hearing the next, and the next person proceeded down the line.  This is the first time they have used the bidding system (where volunteers read post descriptions and rank their top and bottom three choices) and it appeared to be very successful, with almost everyone in YD getting one of their top three choices.

As for me, I listed Bafang as my first choice but was prepared to be sent just about anywhere.  The girl I’m replacing in Bafang, Sarah, has been one of the PCVs helping out with our youth development training, so we all met her week 2 and she came back for more training this week.  She’s a volunteer who has been here two years and is about to head back to the US.  It has been amazing having her around this week so I can ask her a million questions on the house I will live in (her house), what the town is like, what my host organization is like, and what my future friends in town are like.  And I have taken full advantage of that opportunity!

Here’s a list of Everything I Know About Bafang, or, Why Bafang is the Best Post Ever:

·       -    My house is a mansion.  I have two stories!!!!  I have two bathrooms for moi seul!!  Apparently there’s a huge downstairs kitchen/dining/living room, and upstairs there’s my bedroom, a guest bedroom, a bedroom that has been used exclusively as Sarah’s closet, and a workout room.  Wow!  I was expecting one bedroom and one “other” room for all of the above.  Incentive for people to visit me from the states?  I think so.

·      -     It’s not just a mansion – it’s an amazing modern mansion.  I have reliable running water and electricity and cell phone service and there’s internet available close by (cyber cafes in town, good service for internet keys, and a potential option of future wifi in my house!).

·     -    And while I’m being materialistic… Because I’m replacing Sarah, I’m inheriting a bunch of her stuff to help fill and furnish my house.  After talking to her, it sounds like the list of things I’m inheriting includes two mattresses, pots, pans, dishes, forks, spoons, spices, a stove, a gas tank to make the stove work, a French press, a drip coffee maker (!!!!!!!!), buckets, giant emergency water reserve bucket, table, chairs, two yoga mats, exercise bands, a nifty device that will convert my mountain bike into a stationary bike (yes, I really will have a workout room!), an internet key (!!), a hammock, bath and cosmetic products, etc etc etc.  I’m paying Sarah a little bit to cover some of the costs and sponsor her trip to Ethiopia, but she’s definitely cutting me a deal and not charging the entire 200,000 CFA that we will be given as a moving in allowance.  According to Sarah I still have some furnishing to do (because it’s a mansion) but it sounds like a lot of my bases are covered.  Plus I will have to figure out what to do with yoga mats and exercise bands.

·  -       I am also inheriting Sarah’s friends.  Included in the price.

·  -       Bafang is beautiful.  It’s in the mountains, and there’s apparently a great view from my front door so I will wake up every morning feeling energized and awed by this amazing experience in this amazing place in this amazing universe.  There are waterfalls within a five minute walk of my house.  It sounds like paradise.

·  -       The climate will be to die for.  The west is one of the cooler regions.  Cameroonians will tell you that it’s freezing there and you need to bring wool sweaters, but as far as I know they mean that it’s regularly in the low to mid 70s.  The West and Northwest are both cool and not humid, as compared to the apparently insanely hot and humid coastal areas and South region and the dry but scorching North and Far North regions (where during dry season the temperatures supposedly get up to 130 and the water comes out of the tap boiling.  I thought I’d be prepared for desert coming from Texas but apparently not!).

·   -      I have post mates!  There are two other PCVs in Bafang who will apparently be my neighbors to the left and right.  From everything I’ve heard (both from Sarah and the trainees who visited her on site visit), they are apparently both really nice and cool and I already love them. 

·    -     People in Bafang speak French.  And English.  And Féfée.  The West is a francophone region, so I’m really excited to be using my French on a daily basis and hopefully becoming totally fluent by the end of two years.  But, there are apparently also a bunch of Anglophones in Bafang, so if the stress of speaking a second language is too much, instead of breaking down and going back to the US, I can take a day off and speak English with Anglophone friends.  And Féfée is the local language that I get to start learning.  I’m really excited about that, too, so that I come out of this not JUST knowing boring old French, but a cool African language that will totally impress people back home.  Rose Nicole, one of the language trainers, is from Bafang and has agreed to help me get a head start on my Féfée.

·  -       The West is pretty volunteer-dense.  I was nervous about isolation, but the west is the most densely populated region both in terms of Cameroonians and PCVs.  10 or so from our stage are headed there and there are a bunch of volunteers there already.

·  -       My host organization sounds organized, structured, and motivated.  Sarah said that they have offered to put me up in an office, which sounds super cool.  She also said that the woman I’ll be working with has a list of goals set up and it sounds like there is already structure and work to be done, which was another thing I was nervous about.

·   -      Bafang is my hometown, my market town, and my banking town.  Volunteers in smaller villages have neighboring towns where they need to go to buy food or anything, and they sometimes have to travel for several hours to get to their banking town to withdraw their monthly cash.  But Bafang has it all!

·   -      And the market is apparently amazing.  Everyone who has been there tells me how great the market is.  It’s every day and apparently has a huge variety of fruits and vegetables available, as well as everything else you could possibly want.  I asked Sarah what things she could buy in Bafang and what she needed to travel to Bafoussam, the regional capital, for.  She said she has never needed to go to Bafoussam because Bafang’s market is so complete.  But at the same time, Bafoussam is only an hour or an hour and a half away, which in Cameroon distances or Texas distances is not bad at all!

·   -      We have clubs.  When Shanna, one of the other PCV trainers, mentioned that Bafang has clubs, I thought she meant after school clubs.  Turns out she meant night clubs.  What???  Okay!!

·   -      My house has a high wall and gate surrounding it.  Safety and security is awesome.

·  -       People in Bafang are apparently relatively educated and relatively well-off.  So it’s apparently easier to get work done.  If I went to a poorer, less educated area, I would also be excited to be in a place with really obvious need, but this should be great.  Also the houses in my neighborhood are apparently comparable to mine so it’s not like I live in some fortress while everyone surrounding is living in tiny shacks.

·  -       Sarah has been there, but not for too long.  I’m not going to a remote village where no one has seen a white person before, so that should help reduce the unwanted attention towards me.  But Sarah was evacuated from her original post and has only been in Bafang since June, so she hasn’t been, like, a real institution in the town that I could never live up to.  No offense.

We’re supposed to go in to post with as few expectations as possible, so I’m going to try to forget everything I just wrote down and expect the worst again.  But I really feel so excited for Bafang and the next two years no longer seem scary and daunting.  My only reservations are that I feel like I kind of wimped out by listing such a cushy, beautiful, perfect place as my first choice post.  Who would have thought that I would join the Peace Corps and move to Africa only to have a way nicer house than I could afford in the states?  I know there will still be plenty of challenges and that the youth of Bafang still need plenty of help, but it is definitely one of the most posh corps posts and sometimes I feel guilty for not listing something a little more rugged and difficult.  But then I remember all of the stuff listed above and I stop feeling guilty and start feeling excited.

Site Visit!

(* note: I just added a photo and video to the previous entry, so check that out!)

Last Wednesday we got a little break from Bafia to go visit current volunteers at their posts!  I went with Maureen and Kim to visit Bali, a post in the Northwest region.  We stayed with Georgia, a youth development volunteer who is at the end of her two years and will be heading back to the US in a few weeks.  Someone from our stage (maybe me!) will be replacing Georgia at her site, so it was extra neat to see the place that one of us will be living and working.

            About 24 out of the 55 of us were visiting the Northwest, so we all took a van up together.  The driver had one CD of American-friendly music, which was full of heartfelt love ballads.  The first time we heard Enrique Iglesias’ “Hero”, everyone laughed.  The second time, we got really into it, everyone belting at the top of their lungs.  It was only by the fifth or sixth time that the majority of the van would have preferred a bullet in the head to one more round of “Hero”.  Overall, it was a fun 6 hour bus ride to the regional capital, Bamenda, and it was cool to drive through a new part of the country and see what the West and Northwest regions look like.

            When we arrived in Bamenda, famished, Georgia whisked us off to PresCafe.  It took me a while to realize that I haven’t been to a single restaurant since arriving in Cameroon!  But PresCafe is no ordinary Cameroonian restaurant.  In addition to flushing toilets, it has very western-friendly food including salads, pasta dishes, coffee drinks, and chocolate cake.  I have to admit, I went a little crazy, getting a fruit smoothie, cappuccino, mushroom bruschetta, and chocolate cake.  We were all in heaven.  Although I’ve been enjoying Cameroonian food for the most part, it was still really nice to get a break from it.  And I hadn’t even noticed how much I miss mushrooms!  We returned to PresCafe a few days later and I had the best burger of my life – fried egg and caramelized onions with the meat cooked in a balsamic reduction.  It cost a whopping $7, but every bite was pure ecstasy.

            Georgia’s apartment is amazing and she was a magnificent hostess.  She has it pretty posh corps – wifi in her apartment, electricity and running water, finished walls and tiled floors (re: not cement).  During our visit, however, water and wifi were out, so it was TOTALLY hardcore Africa.. right?

            Since the Northwest is an Anglophone region and we had a break from host family life, the whole visit felt like escaping from Cameroon for a few days.  We went to a couple of  “white man stores,” which are basically just store full of things that white people like, like peanut butter and hand sanitizer.  I got a bottle of French wine (if it’s not sold in a box, let me at it!) and we all salivated at the Lindt chocolate display.  Georgia made us delicious fruit smoothies each morning and we even had a visit to “little America” (as I now call it in my brain), the home of some incredibly generous and kind missionaries.  Every Friday, they open their homes to other Americans (including missionaries and Peace Corps Volunteers) and serve pizza.  REAL pizza.  With real cheese!!!  I had five slices.  Or maybe I’m joking.  But I’m not.  Plus, salad, cole slaw, brownies (I ate three of these), and other dessert bars that were magnificent. Their house is gorgeous – seated on the top of a hill, looking over the city of Bamenda - and has running water, fast wifi, and is full of kind people who speak English.  And to top it all off, after spending the night there, we got to use their HOT SHOWERS!  My first in a month.  It was a glorious moment.

            One of the objectives of the visit was to better acquaint us with Cameroonian transportation.  We took a couple of cabs “Cameroonian style” (as in, four passengers in the back seat and two in the passenger seat) when it was just us Americans.  We also had the chance to squeeze in with some Cameroonians already in the cab, for a total of seven passengers.  In this case, the taxi will have what is called a “petit chauffeur,” which is when someone shares the seat with the driver.  Don’t worry, it’s all very safe.  Kim got the honor of being our petit chauffeur as we crammed four people in the back and four people in the front.  Also, there aren’t really lanes here.  Technically Cameroonians drive on the right side of the road, but in reality they drive on whichever side has fewer potholes, even if that means swerving back and forth in front of oncoming traffic.  I have been using Cameroonian transportation as a chance to improve myself – reduce my anxiety and exercise tranquility.  It hasn’t been working, but I’m hopeful. 

We also rode motos for the first time!  It’s Peace Corps policy that if a volunteer rides a moto without a helmet they are sent home immediately on the first offense.  I think this is dumb, but I’m not about to break the rule… mostly because I’m so nervous about the safety of any types of transportation here that I am even considering wearing my helmet on bus or taxi rides.  For my first moto ride, my knuckles were white from gripping the seat.  I also realized that I had no idea where he was supposed to be taking me, since Georgia had given him the directions, and it would be really easy for him to just whisk me off to his evil lair and turn me into his slave or something.  Luckily, this didn’t happen and I arrived safely at my destination after a few excruciating minutes.  The second ride was better.  I’m learning.

            The Northwest is absolutely beautiful – mountains and waterfalls everywhere, a colder climate without humidity, warm sun and cool breezes.  We hiked near Georgia’s apartment and took hundreds of pictures of the landscapes (to be uploaded sometime soon).  Walking around the big city of Bamenda we could see three or four waterfalls off in the distance – it’s like paradise there.  Maureen, Kim, and I all debated texting our program manager and changing our first choice post to Bali.  And a big part of what made the visit so nice was that we just didn’t have to deal with training, and sessions, and French class, and homestays.  Even though I love my homestay family, speaking French and being polite and trying to help with chores all the time is exhausting.  It was great to have a few days of relative freedom.  Plus, we got to hang out at the cause (I don’t know why they are called this, but that’s the name for Peace Corps buildings/offices in regional capitals where volunteers can crash for the night or use internet or a printer, etc) and meet some current volunteers.  On the last night, all the trainees got hotel rooms in Bamenda so we could leave early the next morning, and we went to the hotel night club and celebrated our first night without a 7 pm curfew.  Much fun was had by all!

            Although I was almost dreading coming back to Bafia and the humidity, sessions, and constant French that come with it, as soon as I opened the gate to my family’s house, Djiebril and Ericka and Michael came running up to hug me, screaming in delight with huge smiles on their faces, and all I could think was, “Home sweet home.”

            Later today we find out our posts!  I am so excited!!!  I wanted to squeeze this entry in under the wire to really build up anticipation for this important news.  Cameroon is a very diverse country my expectations are very dependent on where exactly I will be for the next two years.  Can’t wait to find out!  Will update soon!

Quarantine Weekend Chez Nous

Well, the bad news is, I’m sick.  The good news is, it’s not Malaria or HIV!  Today’s training sessions focused almost exclusively on those two health issues, and I have been successfully scared into never leaving my house without a mosquito net, insecticide, and ten or fifteen condoms.  I have a mere throat infection, which is practically welcome next to those alternatives.  Friday morning my throat suddenly started hurting, and I lost several nights of sleep in pain.  Although somewhat delayed because of the elections this Monday, I was finally able to get on an antibiotic on Tuesday and I’m already feeling much better.

To be cautious, Peace Corps volunteers country-wide were asked to lay low and stay at home all weekend and Monday because of the elections.  That made it a very convenient time to be sick, where I didn’t miss out on any social events and I kind of had an excuse to skip chores and sleep in at home!  I also finally got the chance to do my laundry for the first time, an event that came none too soon!  My host mom showed me how.  As she worked, her hands really looked like washing machines, sloshing and slapping and spurting suds everywhere.  The clothes were moving and churning and spitting.  I tried to imitate her; my shorts rolled around lazily in my hands.  Not one sud emerged.  She looked disdainfully at my work and grabbed the shorts so that they could get a real cleaning.  Until I accrue greater strength or greater skill, I guess all of my clothes will be washed on “delicates”.

After spending a little bit of time at a fellow trainee’s house and talking with others about their host siblings, I have come to appreciate mine all the more.  Some of the other trainees are ready to pull their hair out.  “How do you deal with them??” They asked.  They all talked about needing to escape their homes just to have a few moments away from clingy, crazy, aggressive, or bratty kids, all of whom would be heavily medicated if they lived in the US.  And after interacting with some of these other kids, I totally understand.  Why are you chewing on an electric wire?  Stop hitting your three-year-old sister.  Don’t climb on that.  No, you can’t have all of my belongings.  Etc.  That was the first time that I realized how miraculous my host siblings are!  I have an eight-year-old brother – the very age that most of these other wild rascals are – and what does he do?  He giggles a lot, buys me earrings, and eats heaps and heaps of food.  I am so lucky.

I can’t remember whether or not I have mentioned this about my family, but sometimes, they randomly break into song.  There are certain songs that Fitte plays on his phone a lot, and everyone will chime in and sing together.  Well, the other night, our spontaneous karaoke evolved into a spontaneous dance party.  The parents were eating in the living room, and Fitte was playing music on his phone, and eventually everyone was up and showing off their moves!  Ericka is an amazing dancer!  Fitte taught me some of his moves and I’m starting to learn some of his favorite songs.  Djiebril was a clown, doing silly dance moves that more often than not ended up with him giggling on the floor.  Michael wiggled a little to the beat, but didn’t contribute much more than that.  After a little while, my host mom came out and joined us and we all formed a dance circle where we went in one by one and did our thing.  I sufficiently embarrassed myself (resorting to classic moves such as the lawn sprinkler), and man, my host mom can get down!  Overall it was adorable, lots of fun, and definitely memorable.  Here's a snippet!

That night I also discovered that kids in Africa are just as afraid of cockroaches as I am!  It was comforting.  Through all of this I have felt like a pampered princess, unequipped to deal with daily African realities, but when Djiebril jumped up and squealed at the sight of a cockroach on the wall, I felt a little comforted.  Maybe we’re not so different after all.

As all the trainees have been talking about cultural differences and things they are struggling with, one common theme is that people are confused by the family structure in their home.  There are people introduced as siblings who don’t sleep there, or people who sleep there only some of the time, and in Cameroon, anyone can be your brother or your sister if you care about them.  This was a problem I couldn’t identify with.  Sure, a few other people have popped into our house, but we are pretty solidly two regular parents plus four regular kids (plus a few in college).  UNTIL TODAY.  When Ericka casually mentioned out of the blue something about “Djiebril’s mom”.  And it turns out, Djiebril and Michael are technically cousins, not brothers!  And they have only been living here for two months!  This whole time I thought they were experts on this place, but they actually are almost as new to Bafia as I am.  When I asked Ericka why they were living here, she said, “because they wanted to!”  I decided to leave it there.  I guess I will have to learn to love them even knowing that they aren’t my real brothers!

Today Ericka and I prepared dinner as part of my cultural learning/integration!  It was tasty!  It was actually the first time I have ever prepared a whole fish.  As with most things, I was much slower at removing the scales than Ericka.  I’m also trying not to feel insulted that I’m being taught how to cook by a ten-year-old.  If they had, like, a microwave, or an oven, I’d be all over that.  Ericka would be so impressed with my oven skills.  Maybe then she wouldn’t think I’m completely incompetent at everything.

Oh, one thing I’ve been meaning to mention.  I have heard since getting here that it is typical for male PCVs to lose weight and female PCVs to gain weight.  !!!!! ????  Well, there goes my whole Peace Corps diet plan!!!!!!  Plan B is to get Malaria.  Cross your fingers for me!

But seriously, weight is viewed very differently here.  It’s considered attractive for women to have curves and padding.  One morning at breakfast, I was yelled at for not eating enough bread.  My host dad told me that if I’m going to live in Cameroon, he’s going to need to fatten me up like my host mom or Ericka!  And with all the starch in my diet, that shouldn’t be a problem.  Apparently some people will compliment you by saying, “Wow!  You are so fat!!”  I can’t decide if it’s better to get that compliment or not!

My dress is finished!  I am really happy with the way it turned out, and thrilled to have my first piece of African clothing.  When I wore it to the doctor’s office, I thought, “Finally, I can blend in and not stand out at all!”  And then I remembered.  It’s going to be a long two years.

Lookin' real Cameroonian!