Final Countdown to Post

Sorry it has been so long – internet was out in Bafia for a week or so and we had the training equivalent of finals week.  Anyway, I hope I haven’t forgotten too much from the past two (and a half?) weeks…

First of all: the mouse is dead.  My feelings on the matter were surprisingly mixed.  I definitely felt way guiltier about killing that little guy than the chicken that I slaughtered with my bare hands.  It was just 24 hours after buying the mouse poison and sprinkling it in the corner that I saw her lying dead on my floor.  I had to pick up her body and bring her out to the trash, all the while feeling grateful that she didn’t die under my bed and start decomposing and smelling.  But I did seriously feel regrets – like, okay, sometimes she ate my food or kept me awake at night, but did I have to murder her for it?  Why couldn’t I live with the mouse in peace like every other Cameroonian??  Another drawback is that now when I hear critters scrabbling around my room at night, I don’t know what they are!  Cockroaches?  Lizards?  More mice??  The not knowing actually makes them way scarier.  Anyway.  RIP roomie.

Secondly:  the defining feature of the past two weeks would have to be Work Hard, Play Hard.  There was a ton of work and assignments but also a bunch of parties of all sorts.  Intrigued?  Read on!

Work:  Last I posted, Maureen and I had delivered our goal-setting lesson to the smaller group of students but not yet the larger group.  Well, we both figured that the first round was so difficult that there was no way the second time could possibly go worse.  Oh, wrong we were.  Our class was a true horror story of a hundred disrespectful students who were not only impossible to control but also outright disrespectful.  It took a lot of shouting to ever get their attention and even then it only lasted for a moment or two before everyone went back to their personal conversations.  They were flat out RUDE, too.  When our French was imperfect, they said things like, “just say it in English!” When they were all instructed to work independently, one student called me over and made trouble while another showed me a teeny, simple scribble which she jokingly claimed was her drawing of her future as a journalist.  At one point we asked for someone to share with the class and a boy stood up and faked a speech impediment, cracking up his classmates to no end.  After him, we called on a girl to read her answer, but when she opened her mouth to speak, a fistful of beads fell out.  They were all basically just awful brats and the experience was not really fun or encouraging.  

Also, a week ago was my IEP presentation.  This was kind of like our training “final project”, where each person chose a topic of Cameroonian culture and had to do a 15-20 minute presentation on it completely in French.  I did mine on Cameroonian weddings and marriages, which was a pretty interesting topic.  I explored different proposal and wedding traditions in various regions of Cameroon, as well as the subjects of dowries, polygamy (which is legal here, if you didn’t know), fidelity, arranged marriages, domestic partnerships, and divorce.  If any of you are dying to know about any of these topics, I will gladly inform you!  Anyway, preparing for the presentation took time and it felt oh-so-much like being back in school.  I had a dramatic(ally stressful) moment when, after hours of working on it and finally getting into the flow, with only thirty minutes left in the training day before I presented, my Open Office closed and lost the whole presentation I had been working on (which I had never saved, obvi).  Just before I had to resort to quitting the Peace Corps and returning to the US, one of our PCV trainers magically found it hidden deep in the bowels of my hard drive and saved the day.  When it came time for the actual presentation, I had never done a run-through and had no clue what my timing would be like.  Any presentations under 15 minutes had to be redone, so I was hoping I could stretch it to 18 or 19. Well when all was said and done, it took 34 minutes as I breezed through the last six or seven slides and skipped a few discussions and the final revision.  Whew!  Maybe should have done that run through after all.  Alas.

There was more work in the past week – an assignment for all YD volunteers to evaluate the needs of Bafia, and a mini-final exam for all of our YD training, so we all had that “finals week” feeling, and since the IEP training has become much more relaxed, with YD training taking the form of making play dough and playing mafia, and language class... well, not happening at all.  School is almost out!

Play:  Two Saturdays ago, I had a PARTAY day!  First, I went with my host sibling’s to the birthday party of Ericka’s best friend.  It was so much fun.  I haven’t been to a ten year old’s birthday party since I was, oh, ten years old, but I have been MISSING OUT.  A 6-year old girl named Tatiana instantly became my best friend as she dragged my too-cool butt onto the dance floor (/ living room floor) to show her how to shake it.  The whole gang – maybe 20-25 Cameroonian children plus four adult Peace Corps Trainees – danced until we were dripping sweat, but the absolute stars of the show were Fit and Ericka.  I was absolutely in love, in love, in love with my host siblings the whole time.  Michael was wearing the cutest little white sweater vest you’ve ever seen, and he was just plopped down in the middle of the floor binging on popcorn for most of the dancing time, until he wiggled around a little bit and then collapsed on the couch for the rest of the party.  Djiebril was just a baller as always in his super sweet, shy, but also totally goofy way.  And Ericka and Fit DOMINATED the dance floor.  I was non-stop bragging to all the other trainees about how no other kid at the party could hold a CANDLE to my siblings as they knew all the dances (coordinated) and performed them flawlessly all while smiling their perfect beautiful smiles.  They’re all so darn lovable and I was bursting with pride and affection the entire time.  I won the host family jackpot for sure.

            Immediately from the birthday party I went home to change into my costume for that night’s Halloween party!  We rented out a conference room at the local hotel and brought speakers and danced (dare I say it?) even harder than at the previous party!  Everyone dressed up and people had some really amazing and creative costume ideas, many of which were culturally relevant – including a banana tree, Maggi cube, Peace Corpse, moto driver, a break out session (of which we have 5 or 6 on a typical day of training), and a bunch of other good ones.  I went as an agroforestry volunteer, borrowing cargo pants, an earth day T-shirt, fanny pack, and sun hat from my dear agro friends, and filling a watering can with beer to serve to my fellow partiers.  After dancing ourselves to the point of collapse (and the point of why does my hair look and feel like I just took a shower), we decided to head to Bafia’s hoppin’ night club!  It was our first time going and it was actually really busy and cool!  Light shows everywhere, a wall of mirrors which was magically clear when we arrived and all steam by the time we left, and derangy* (*excuse my franglais, which is obnoxious but completely unavoidable in this environment.  PCVs/Ts only ever use the phrase “derangy”, never the English equivalent, which would basically be bothersome or, like, heckling.) Cameroonian men who were just a little too grabby and aggressive.  Just when you thought the night couldn’t get any better, it ended in a big heap of cuddles, bread crumbs, and jolly ranchers.  A good time was had by all!

            The following Saturday, I finally followed through on my big sister promise to Ericka and we joint-hosted a little picnic!  We invited over a small group of friends of hers who had trainees living with them or friends of mine who had siblings around her age.  She and I went to the town center together to buy supplies (namely, cookies, lollipops, sodas, rice cakes, and Pringles, which were stale, overpriced, and considered an absolute essential by Ericka).  It was super cute – we played Uno together, danced a little, all reached an inappropriate sugar high after several packs of cookies and multiple lollipops per person, etc.  Fun, fun.

            The next day, this past Sunday, was Diversity Day at the training center.  It was an event to celebrate the diversity of Cameroon but also include some American cultural exchange.  There was food from all the different regions of Cameroon, plus American food made by trainees such as fried okra, macaroni and cheese, French fries, and peanut butter and jelly.  The event began by all the trainees singing the American national anthem and the Cameroonian trainers singing the Cameroonian anthem.  Then the trainers all put on this skit which literally put tears in my eyes, where they all fake argued about different Cameroonian ethnic groups’ stereotypes and then all joined together to celebrate their differences in a heartwarming (if predictable) end.  They also put on for us a fashion show, showcasing styles from the different regions.  There were professional drummers and dancers doing traditional dances from the West and Northwest, and both Americans and Cameroonians performed songs, dances, skits, and talents for everyone.  Not going to lie… I got choked up at several different moments as everyone really did a great job performing and the whole thing was really touching. 

Many people have told me (before and since arriving in Cameroon) that your emotions are heightened during the Peace Corps and everything is just more volatile.  I have found this to be absolutely accurate for me, ever since day 1.  When I feel happy, it is the purest, most moving joy in the world.  I can physically feel it in my chest and cannot wipe the smile off of my face.  And then some days, for no reason or for a stupid reason that can crash into this intense crankiness, where every person and everything about training and every thought or fear or worry I might have is JUST SO ANNOYING.  And then it will swing right back!  Every day and week here has been an emotional roller coaster but never more so than during the diversity day performances.  I swung from absolutely joyful to intensely hungry to crestfallen and furious when I found myself at the very back of the food line, to suddenly WAY too full after only eating a few bites, to just feeling overwhelmingly touched at everyone who put their heart in their performances, and how great our Cameroonian trainers are, and how many people are so, so talented, and how we’ve only known each other for two months but the connections we’ve formed are so intense and important because we’re about to go live all alone in this crazy place where we are speaking a new language and learning a new culture and trying to help people (which, I mean, can we even help people?  Who knows!) and it’s all scary but also exciting.  And then missing home, and people from home, and then laughing my butt off at Elijah and Hannah’s skit that they performed.  So anyway.  Yeah.  Roller coaster!

I think that covers it in terms of work and play, but here are some more things I have to say:

-          I also randomly had a stomach thing in the middle of last week.  Felt crappy, threw up a few times, had a brief stint with diarrhea (on the morning of my presentation, just to keep things interesting!), ugh, gross, yeah.  Feeling better now and hoping that there isn’t anything out of the ordinary living in my intestinal tract.

-          Tuesdays we are supposed to spend with our families doing some kind of integration activity, which, for us, is always making dinner.  The Tuesday before this past one, my mom taught me how to make poisson braisé (braised fish).  It’s a popular Cameroonian dish that I had never tried but heard much about.  Anyway, it turns out to be really easy to make and absolutely delicious!  Excited to make it at post (and maybe even in the US?).

-          This past Tuesday, I finally prepared an “American” meal for my family.  I made what could basically be considered pasta alfredo with tomatoes and basil.  I thought it turned out pretty well and my family acted appreciative, although I’m not entirely sure whether or not they enjoyed it.  I tried not to feel offended when I noticed they all ate half-meals of Cameroonian food as I was preparing dinner, I guess just in case they all hated it.

-          Last week was our community host workshop!  Our community hosts are Cameroonians from our communities who are assigned to help us integrate and show us around when we first arrive.  For many people (including me) they are also supposed to be our counterparts who we work with in our youth development activities.  So this past week all of our hosts came and we got to meet them!  Mine is named Anne-Marie.  She seems nice and also happens to be the queen of Bafang, which was kind of a surprise.  When we were doing introductions and were supposed to share something about our culture, she explained the proper way to greet the chief.  About an hour later, I asked her what her husband does for a living and she revealed that, well, actually… he’s a chief.  Cool!  Making connections!  But besides that, I hope she and I will get along and become friends and co-workers.

-          Today we all went to Yaoundé to get a tour from current volunteers.  I am not sure if I can yet navigate my way around the city at all yet, but it felt SO good to get out of Bafia, and I got to eat ice cream, Cameroonian-version fig newtons, a delicious cheeseburger with avocado, and a margarita (!!!! I think the first cocktail I’ve seen in this country!).  We also had some fun bus rides full of laugher, good conversation, gorgeous “wow, we are actually in Africa” views, and hours of sing alongs.

-          There was this moment a week or so ago where I was sitting on the steps of our house and looked up and saw what can only be described as a perfect picture of what not to do in the US.  I think I’ve actually seen the exact image on a poster on my pediatrician’s wall.  My host parents weren’t home and I look out and see the 3 year old playing with a machete as the 10 year old lit a fire and the 8 year old swung around a bottle of toxic chemicals.  Meanwhile, in the background, I could hear the sound of an axe chopping something (the work of 14-year old Fit).  But here, none of that is bad parenting!  They were all doing chores and helping out with housework and it’s only the cultural context that makes it bad or good.  Well, except the three year old.  He definitely had no good reason to be dragging that machete around.

Little things about my homestay: The last time I described my typical breakfast, it was bread and butter plus hot cocoa.  That was only true for the first couple of weeks!  After a while the typical became a Cameroonian omelet (eventually prepared by yours truly, expert Cameroonian chef!) or beignets and beans, a combination that would never occur to me in the US but is inseparable here.  There is a beignet mama who operates just outside our house, so we have beignets and beans for breakfast up to four or five times per week!  And oh, they’re so delicious.  The first time I had one beignet and felt decadent taking another (as it’s literally just deep fried dough… how can you eat more than one in good conscience?), but by now I have fully integrated and a regularly eat four beignets per meal (much more standard and delicious).  Yum yum yum.

Also, we have these goats.  Two of them.  They’re both tiny and adorable and for some reason the family refers to them as one entity – “it” instead of “them”.  And they even have the same name.  It’s so weird.  “Did anyone bring in Manda?  Where is Manda?”  I don’t get it but it’s just one more lovable quirk of my host family.

Sorry it has been so long and that my entries have been kind of boring.  I’ll try to do better.  Once I get to post and have nothing to do each and every day, I think I’ll be able to put a lot more effort into each entry.  Until next time – when I will be a fully-fledged volunteer at my two year home!  Today I am packing, on Tuesday we all head to Yaounde, Wednesday we swear in as volunteers and by Thursday night I should be settling into Bafang.  Oh, also, my new Bafang address:

Antonia Lloyd-Davies

St. Paul's Bilingual College Banka-Bafang

BP 119

Bafang, Cameroon

Get those letters and care packages flyin!!  The previous address will still work but this one should be much faster.  Hoping to find some goodies in my mail box (other than from you, Mama...).

Oh and happy holidays?  Is it too soon?

Another week closer to post...

            When I sat down to write this entry, I felt that nothing noteworthy had happened since the last and that I didn’t have anything to write about.  And then I remembered that between some intense conversations with my family members, traumatic first teaching experiences, disciplinary action taken against me, and the normal day-to-day of life in Cameroon, I could probably think of something.

            Last Thursday, Mama told me to come home straight from school so we could tour Bafia together.  It was really nice!  We drove around town in the family car (yeeeee) and saw noteworthy buildings and the market and the area that my family used to live.  I felt like I could finally ask her questions that I had been holding back and we could finally talk a little more personally.  Finally, the tour concluded at a bar, where she ordered a juice for herself and a beer for me. 

Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned before, but all the beers here are, like, 40s.  They’re all light lagers that lack, you know, flavor, but sometimes they’re served cold and it’s only $1 USD for a big bottle containing the equivalent of about two regular beers.  (For those who are curious, the most common brands we have been drinking are 33 Export (“trente-trois”) and Castel, but Guinness, Heineken, and Smirnoff Ice are readily available too.  There’s also a pre-mixed whisky coke that we stagiaires frequent called Booster.)  Then these guys at our table bought me another one, which I politely refused until my mom told me she’d help me finish it. 

To cut a long story short, the night reached its climax when we had a spirited debate about homosexuality in the bar as I drunkenly shouted French retorts to her arguments for why it’s bad and wrong.  I woke up in the middle of the night as memories flooded back from our conversation and I realized, with dread, what a really stupid idea that was.  For anyone who may not know, Cameroon is one of the most homophobic countries in the world.  Committing any acts of gay-ness is punishable by something like ten years in prison, and this past summer an LGBT activist was brutally beaten to death.  I believe the protests that arose in response to that incident also ended violently.  And while I think it’s important to talk about the issue and try to change some opinions while I’m here, the best medium for that is probably not loudly, publicly, drunkenly shouting about it in a bar with my host mom who needs to house me and cook me dinner for the next three weeks.  Fortunately, everything is fine; I don’t think she is going to disown me even after I shouted that “I HOPE ONE DAY GAY MARRIAGE IS LEGAL IN CAMEROON, TOO!!”  In fact, everything is totally normal and it was overall a lot of fun to hang out with her in a different setting.  And who knows – maybe some of my super well-articulated drunk French arguments planted seeds of thoughts in her mind.

Oh yeah, the disciplinary action thing.  While we’re already all thinking how stupid I am, let me briefly add that I’m officially getting the reputation for being the badass of Bafia.  By which I mean, I got a couple of “talking to”s in the past week for a few minor, miniscule offenses like, you know, speaking English in a language immersion zone, hanging out at the bar (which is, might I add, the only place to go and hang out other than my house or the training center) when we were technically forbidden, and breaking my 7 pm curfew.  Watch out everyone.  I’m a loose cannon over here.  Hide your kids, hide your wife.

Earlier this week we had to conduct a life skills lesson entirely in French in front of a group of about 20 Cameroonian students!  It was terrifying.  Maureen and I worked together and we picked a very simple lesson on setting goals.  When we did the practice round for the other American trainees, it seemed far too easy and self-explanatory to take up an entire half hour lesson.  In front of the Cameroonian students, however, things were a little different.  I would be exaggerating if I said it went as badly as it could possibly have gone, because, you know, we all technically survived, but it was much, much harder than I had anticipated.  Our problem was just that the students did not understand us.  It wasn't even the language thing – they could comprehend the words we were saying, but not the concepts.  Our first activity is for each student to draw a picture of him/herself in ten years.  I think we spell it out very clearly, saying “For example, will you have a family?  Where will you live?  What kind of job will you have?  Draw yourself as you want to be.  What will you have accomplished?” Meanwhile, on the board, it says as a title “VOS OBJECTIFS” (your goals).  For some reason this was the most challenging assignment these kids had ever seen and it took a full three and a half minutes of trying to rephrase what we had already instructed before anyone actually started drawing.  And that was just the beginning.  Every single sentence we uttered – all designed to be clear and succinct – had to be rephrased, and rephrased, and rephrased, and explained, and explained, and explained.  And with limited French, that is no easy task.  Anyway.  Eventually we got through the lesson and everyone did it correctly and we ended on time, so it was kind of a success.  Tomorrow, we get to do the same thing over again but in front of 100 students.  Goodie.

Now what you’ve all been waiting for – a success story!  We have spent the last two weeks of YD training focusing on sexual and reproductive health education.  Magically, I got to put all my new knowledge into practice immediately as a Cameroonian youth shyly asked me all of his most hidden, embarrassing sex questions!  It was amazing!  We talked about everything from pornography and masturbation to oral sex to why condoms have that “oil” on them.  And we talked about the risks and consequences of sex and why he should wait, and why when he does choose to become sexually active he should use a condom instead of the rhythm method or cervical mucus method of birth control (both of which he was weirdly aware of).  Anyway, it was a huge success in two areas: 1) that he apparently trusts me enough to come to me about this stuff and 2) I am actually capable of being a useful youth development volunteer!  Although we don’t technically start any of our projects until three months after we get to post (mid Februrary), after our conversation I felt like I’ve already done part of my job.  So, that was really great.

This afternoon I went to the market with Ericka!  It was great – I got to see a little more of Bafia and Ericka was great for helping bargain and call the moto drivers over.  Plus, I bought apples (!!!), a much-needed new notebook, and some – wait for it – MOUSE POISON!  Bwahahhaa!  Victory will be mine!  Also, Ericka is awesome and the best sister ever (sry Madeleine).

Earlier this week my mom also taught me how to make foo foo, also called cous cous de manioc.  Basically there are two types of  “cous cous”, neither of which are at all like what Americans call cous cous.  They are both blobs of starch that you serve with some kind of saucy dish.  The difference is that the blob can be made of either corn or cassava.  We have cous cous de mais (corn) all the time, but this was my first time trying the cassava variety, and I loved it!  It’s a lot like a lump of glue, and for some senseless reason you’re supposed to only eat it with your hands, even though it’s physically impossible to capture any sauce on the gluey mass before shoving it down your throat.  Wait, now that I’m describing it, I’m forgetting why I liked it so much.  Huh.  Well anyway.  Come visit and I’ll make it for you so you can see for yourself!

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!