Haves and Have Nots

I put together a list of things that are and aren’t available in Bafang.  It’s not exactly comprehensive and there are some gray-area items (like pringles, which are found in one store but kind of too expensive to be considered available).  Anyway, it was just for fun in case you’re curious!

 

(starred items are either kind of rare or expensive)

 

AVAILABLE:

-          Bananas

-          Pineapple

-          Papaya

-          Apples*

-          Oranges

-          Lemons

-          Limes

-          Watermelon

-          Black fruit (more like an olive than a fruit)

-          Coconut

-          Corn

-          Pringles*

-          Green beans

-          Avocados

-          Green bell peppers

-          Hot peppers (pimante/pepe)

-          Onions

-          Garlic

-          Ginger

-          Okra

-          Tomato

-          Squash

-          Lettuce

-          Cabbage

-          Leaves (huckleberry, bitter leaves)

-          Carrots

-          Eggplant*

-          Plantains

-          Potatoes

-          Macabo

-          Cous cous de mais

-          Mangos, apparently, seasonally

-          Inyams

-          Cassava

-          Rice

-          Bread, baked goods

-          Spaghetti/pasta

-          Fish

-          (Live) chicken

-          Beef

-          Pork

-          Beans (kidney beans are everywhere, black and white beans available)

-          Peanuts

-          Popcorn

-          Corn flakes

-          “chocolate”

-          Soft serve ice cream (with amoebas included!)

-          Yogurt

-          Orange or strawberry jelly

-          Wine

-          Some liquor: Whiskey, vodka, gin.  Mostly unknown brands plus a few familiar expensive ones.

-          Many unfamiliar cookies

-          Bleach, liquid dish soap, bar soap, powder detergent

-          Toilet paper

-          Ovaltine and related

-          Pads

-          Toothbrushes and paste

-          Sunscreen and bug spray

-          Pens, pencils, notebooks, tape, rulers, etc

-          Palm oil

-          Olive oil*

-          Margarine

-          Real butter*

-          Fresh basil

-          Some spices: Pepper, cloves, paprika, cinnamon, thyme, I think weirdly herbes de provence?

 

NOT AVAILABLE:

-          Pears

-          Grapes (Although I saw them in Bafoussam, apparently for the price of 50 CFA/ten cents per grape!)

-          Dried fruit

-          Any nuts except peanuts

-          Berries of any kind

-          Peaches

-          Salad greens other than one kind of lettuce

-          Spinach

-          Broccoli

-          Asparagus

-          Mushrooms L L

-          Shrimp L L L

-          Milk other than powdered milk, cream

-          Cheese other than the laughing cow (*although one store in my town has swiss, brie, and camembert for lots of CFA)

-          Brown rice/quinoa/kale/whatever you hippies eat

-          Actual cous cous

-          Actual chocolate

-          Cereal other than corn flakes

-          Ziplock bags

-          Paper towels

-          Already-jarred peanut butter

-          Chips or crackers or cheese its, etc

-          Tequila L or margarita mix L L or cocktails anywhere at all

-          Familiar cookies or candy (one store sells snickers and mars bars though!)

-          Face wash

-          Body wash

-          Contact lens stuff

-          Tampons

-          Deodorant

-          Frozen food of any kind lol

 

Of course Bafoussam has slightly more available than Bafang (like oatmeal and cucumbers) and Yaounde has more available still (burgers and pizza and margaritas!). 

Cue My Blog's Dream Sequence

The other night I dreamt that I took a hot air balloon to another planet.  It was so far that it wasn't even in our solar system and I don't think I was ever planning to return.  During the balloon ride, I couldn't remember the name of the planet I was going to.  I kept thinking it was called Cameroon and then remembering no, I've already gone there.

I guess my brain is feeling pretty far from home right about now.

I'll Be Home for Christmas...

I am kind of rushed as I’m writing this, so here’s a bit of what I’ve done for the past week and a half:

-          Last Friday I went to Bafoussam and had a sleepover at Danielle’s house with the other girls in the West from my stage.  It was great fun and we ate cheese and talked about all kinds of good stuff.  The next day we went to Dschang to go swimming for Erich’s birthday, but then the plan changed from swimming to paddle boats, but then the plan changed from paddle boats to sitting around and chatting all day.  Dschang seems like a really cool city, with cute cafés (which I miss so much about America) and a nice market and, I mean, come on, paddle boats!  We ended up crashing the night like hobos in a recently departed PCV’s empty house in Dschang, which was sketchy and mildly thrilling.  Then I made my way back navigating the Cameroonian public and private transportation systems. [Which brings me to my first cultural note of the entry: Hitchhiking.  It’s super common here and generally seen as the better method of travel, since buses will wait around, possibly for hours, until they fill up, and even after then they might stop along the road to pick up more passengers.  Private cars charge the same as the buses but take less time and are even considered safer by some.]

-          The next day, Leonard invited me to come to a meeting of teachers from his area in the North West.  It was a lot like the other meeting I went to, also with cous cous de mais and legumes served, but without the dancing and with a lot more financial dealings.  The group’s main function, I guess, is as an “njangi” – village savings and loans group.  People put money in each time they meet and then if someone has a project or whatever they can apply to withdraw a loan from the group.

-          Monday I went into my host organization, the Center for the Promotion of Women and Family (CPF).  I can’t remember how much I’ve said about it already, but it’s basically like if they had vocational school that was all home ec class.  There are three classes of girls, maybe about 50 in total, and they sew and cook and learn how to make tofu and cocoa butter.  On this day when I went in, my counterpart told me she hoped I could help the girls with English and yes, right now.  So that was the time I taught an impromptu English class to a group of Cameroonian girls.  I am kind of hoping that I don’t end up teaching English long-term, but we’ll see.  At least I hope that I get some advanced notice next time.  In the afternoon, I helped grade their final exams in cooking, which is to say, I was basically the guest judge on Iron Chef CPF.  I sat there with two of the women who work there as the girls served us meal after meal and we graded them on presentation, explanation, and taste.  It was, all in all, a good day’s work.

-          The next day was a big one.  I saw the new building where the CPF will be moving, and then my counterpart invited me over to her house to meet the chief.  We sat on the couch together watching TV and eating crepes and drinking Fanta and it was very surreal because he is the king of Bafang.  He’s also SUPER nice and speaks some English and was much more relaxed than I expected.  I’ve heard a ton about how you can’t greet the chief, you must just clap twice, and you can NEVER extend your hand for a handshake first.  So I was caught a little off guard when he approached me, smiling, hand extended, before I could even think to clap.  But he was super chill about it and basically we’re buddies now.  Then I went home and dug up those old tires full of dirt and planted some basil, cilantro, and rosemary seeds!  I am not optimistic about their chances of success but I’m happy to get my rubber tire urb garden up and running. 

-          I had been feeling like I’d been having a hard time meeting my neighbors, and that everyone said people would just come over to my house and introduce themselves but no one actually did that.  So that afternoon I swung both sides of my gate wide open and hung out in my porch hammock, messing around on Lee’s guitar.  Well, it worked like a charm!  It was a huge turning point in my integration because finally people approached me and we had conversations and some of the neighborhood kids came into my yard and hung out.  Friendships are happening and integration is happening, slowly but surely.

-          Wednesday I finally got some furniture for my big empty room!  My bamboo living room set of a couch, two chairs, and a table (plus a set of shelves for my kitchen which have made me SO HAPPY), cost 12000 CFA altogether – that’s, $24 USD.  Not bad!  In order to get the stuff from the market to my house, I paid one of these kids who pushes carts from the market.  His name was Boris and he turned out to be an absolute sweetheart.  He told me that when he grows up he hopes to go to America and become an FBI agent.  When I asked him why not join the police here, he explained that it was too corrupt.  How old is this kid, ten??  He was awesome.  He also told me that Cameroon is a dangerous place to live because of all the sorcery.  :-/  Sometimes living here is weird.  And then that night I got a beer with Ricky, and John, and Yvette, and Martin and my neighbors Geoffrey and Barbara, (all of whom, minus my postmate Ricky, are Anglophones from the South West) and I felt like maybe I do actually have friends here after all, and it was cool!  And John started crafting a plan for a group of us to the South West together and I don’t know how serious he was but I was just excited to have that as a thought!  Cameroonian friends!!

-          Thursday there was this big event at the chefferie to welcome the new Prefect.  I met him just after I arrived when I was doing protocol, and he’s really nice and friendly.  The event had all the public schools in Bafang represented, plus groups of drummers and dancers and singers, and all kinds of delegates and important people.  I managed to score an invite because of my sweet connection with the chef’s wife, and I was treated like her special guest.  It was pretty cool!  I was sitting up on stage with the VIPs, and when the Prefect arrived, Anne Marie had me come with her to line up to greet him.  One by one, everyone in line said their name and affiliation and he shook their hand.  When it came to me, he smiled and remembered me and said, “Antonia!  Comment ça va?” Oh did I blush.  Then there were speeches.  When the chef ended his speech by wishing us all a merry Christmas and happy 2014 I got a little choked up realizing that it was the first time I’d heard anyone say that all season.  Next, there was a feast, and I miraculously again was allowed to attend.  So that was pretty cool.

-          Friday I got a care package of Christmas presents!!! :D  :D  I also finally went to meet the Sous-Prefect.  When I originally was going around meeting hot shots, he wasn’t in the office, so I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself.  Then when he was at the event the day before, I started to feel self-conscious that maybe he was seeing me there, feeling offended and insulted that I hadn’t gone to introduce myself to him.  So when I did go in on Friday, I was trying to read if he seemed at all hostile.  After my introduction, I said to him, “Well, I hope we can have a good working relationship for the next two years,” (or something along those lines).  I waited.  He opened his mouth.  “No.”  Oh god.  Oh god.  I have to switch communities, I’ve already blown it in this one.  “No, no problem.”  That’s when I remembered cultural note #2: Cameroonians often begin affirmative statements with “no”.  It’s very confusing.  For example: “Did you have a good weekend?” “No, no, it was fine, thank you.”  Whose idea this was, I have no idea.  But anyway.  Pretty sure the Sous-Prefect and I are on good terms after all.

-          Saturday I had a list of things to do which all when to hell when I slashed my thumb open first thing in the morning.  I was trying to get a can open and was pulling on a piece of it.  I thought to myself, “You know, this is really stupid.  I am almost certainly going to hurt myself.”  Approximately  three seconds later, the thing I was pulling broke loose and I felt it cut my finger.  Of course.  And then I looked at it and it was WAY DEEPER than I expected and I FREAKED OUT because I was alone and what do I do and there are no paper towels so what towel do I use to control the bleeding or do I just bleed all over my house and who will find my dead body in however long if ever??  Anyway it’s fine now but it definitely freaked me out and my thumb has been out of commission for a few days.  That being said, it’s surprisingly not painful and not inconvenient.  I thought thumbs were all important and stuff but it has been pretty easy to keep out of the way.

-          Later I hung out with Alima – she showed me a little around the neighborhood, and answered some of my French questions, and then I went over to her house and played cards with her and her siblings.  They kind of remind me of my host family – there’s a boy around Fit’s age, and Alima is very reminiscent of Ericka, and I am also friends with their mom (and friendly with their dad).  They’re also like my host family because they’re the ones who wake me up at 6 am with noise that sounds, every time, like it’s actually inside my house.

-          Today I went to Saint Mary’s, an Anglophone Catholic school where there has been a significant PCV presence, to introduce myself.  Everyone was really nice and the kiddos are absolutely adorable.  Ricky and I went into every classroom from kindergarten to sixth grade, and each time the kids all stood up and greeted us in unison.  As the kids got older the greetings got longer.  It started with the five year olds: They stood, did a little bow/curtsey, and chanted in slow, drawn out melody, “Good moooorning”.  The 7-8 year olds got a little more complex; as Ricky walked in first, then me, they all chanted “Good moooorning sir.  Good moooorning madam.”  Finally, when we got to fifth and sixth grade, our entrance was met by, still painfully slow and drawn out, “Good mooorning sir.  May God bless you this day.  Good moooorning madam.  May God bless you this day.”  These students are so freaking cute and seem so well behaved and nothing like those scoundrels I taught to in Bafia.  Anyway, I am not sure yet to what extent I’ll be working with Saint Mary’s, but it seems like a great school and I hope to find something to do there.

Other little notes:

-          Is it possible to overdose on bananas?  I ask because I ate 14 bananas in 5 days.  When you’re living alone and you get a gift of a dozen bananas, most people would regift or let them go bad, right?  NOT THIS GIRL.  I AM WAY TOO CHEAP FOR THAT SHIT.  Plus with my newly-discovered blender, I can have banana milk for breakfast and pretend I’m back in Taiwan!

-          In case you are wondering what my typical morning looks like, this is an accurate portrayal:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mx1MmY1Bb50

-          On white people in Africa: I can count on both hands the number of non-Peace Corps affiliated white people I’ve seen since getting here (other than that time at the missionary’s house, which was a Caucasian goldmine).  There was some stranger white guy in Bafang the other day.  I was on the street near the market and Boris, as he pushed my furniture, pointed and said, “look, your brother!” I figured it would be Ricky or Luca (since Lee is out of town) and was SHOCKED to find that it was some other white guy!  I didn’t get to talk to him but my point is just that this is very rare.  One time in Bafia, a big group of us were walking and we saw a group of white people across the street and we all freaked out.  I think people were getting a little competitive; I know I heard the phrase “but WE’RE the weird white people in town!!”.  They turned out to be French, visiting from Yaoundé.  And then there was this one other time there was a white person on the street and that’s about it.  I know some volunteers get offended when people on the street call to them “la blanche” but I, too, get excited and confused with every white person I see, so can I blame anyone else for doing the same?

-          On Christmas:  I had been feeling bummed about missing the Christmas season: carols playing in department stores, rosy red cheeks and noses, decorations and lights and Christmas parties and pumpkin spice whatever, and all that jazz.  The other day, though, it hit me for the first time that on Christmas morning itself, I’m going to have to wake up in my empty house in Cameroon and make my solitary breakfast and open my care package presents all alone and not be with my family for any of it.  So that sucks.

-          I’m getting a kitten!!   Alima’s family’s cat just gave birth this morning to three little orange furballs, one of whom has my name on it.  I knew I had dibsed one of her kittens but I had no idea it would be orange!  So excited to add my little ginger snap to the family! 

-          (In case you’re not already getting it, haha) So far the hardest part of my Peace Corps service has had nothing to do with being in Cameroon or working as a YD volunteer, but just living alone.  Cooking for myself and having an empty, echoey house, and most of all, not having anyone to talk to when random thoughts pop into my head or I need to bounce ideas off someone or I cut my finger and am bleeding out in the sink.  I mean, don’t get me wrong: I hate living with people.  I absolutely can’t stand roommates and all of the dishes they don’t clean and trash they don’t take out and belongings they put… places.  But that being said, I think this lonely environment may drive me insane.  And I mean that literally because I know it’s not healthy to talk to yourself this much.  So that cat will be much needed and much appreciated.  And I might get a dog too, just for good measure.  You know, so that we can have some diverse opinions represented in our conversations.

-          Internet has not been working with my key lately.  About 2/3 of the time, I plug it in and it claims a download speed of 0 and I can’t load a single page.  Half of the time it actually works, it’s excruciatingly slow, and the other half it’s alright.  Might get a different key with more reliable service, but I mean, I still have more internet than many PCVs so I’m not actually complaining or stressing.

-          I finally uploaded some photos to Facebook!  See here:

https://www.facebook.com/antonia.lloyddavies/media_set?set=a.2430530007046.1073741827.1365480179&type=1

-          I’ve been here now for over three months, but I still all the time have these moments of wow, here I am, Africa, I can’t believe this is really happening.  I wonder if that’s normal or if I’m supposed to be used to it by now.  I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.

Okay until next time!

An American Thanksgiving in Cameroon

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  As you may know, Thanksgiving is an American holiday and not widely celebrated in Cameroon.  I say “not widely” because it is celebrated narrowly – among PCVs.  Oh it may be a little different, but who’s to say what defines a true Thanksgiving??  Is it coming together with family and eating Turkey in the cool, crisp days of autumn as the leaves turn orange and red?  OR, is it gathering with a bunch of people you met two months ago, eating bush meat (crocodile?  Lizard?  Unidentified but probably endangered mammal?  Hell, it’s meat!), and getting drunk during an eternal equatorial summer?  I think we can agree the thanksgiving is in the eye of the beholder on this one.

A short while before arriving at post I was informed that the West region Thanksgiving celebration would be held in none other than Bafang!  That is, at my house!  We do have a pretty ideal set-up for hosting something like this – three houses of PCVs right in a row, three kitchens available for cooking many different courses, water that comes out of faucets, electricity, and lots of spare mattresses, sleeping bags, yoga mats, and floor for crashing on.  The fact that my house has two bathrooms became acutely relevant to many of our lives, as you will hear.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Because our stage is brand spanking new at post and everyone is already dying to see familiar faces, we had perfect West-region attendance!  Plus, Anna and Liz, in the nearby Southwest and Littoral regions, came as well.  Some other folks (from Lee’s stage or just somewhere in the West) were there too.  Although our official celebration was scheduled for Saturday (because it’s not like they get school off for it here), guests trickled in starting Thursday night.  On Friday, five of my friends and stagemates were here, plus two of Lee’s, and we all went out together for a nice, jolly dinner at a newly-discovered gem of a restaurant.  It was really great seeing some of the old gang – gosh, it sure felt like more than one week since we were separated.  But seriously, it was a great time.  I ordered goat stew just to be adventurous (my first time tasting goat!) and because I so trusted the food to be delicious after eating one of my absolutely best Cameroonian meals so far at the same place the night before.  When my food arrived, it took me a minute to identify exactly what was on my plate next to the ribs before I realized that it was a hoof!  How fun!  Of course, there was no actual meat, so I left it untouched until eventually nibbling a little at some tender piece of hoof and a bit of ankle cartilage.  Yum, right?  Well, not really, but the sauce was good and I didn’t think there was any way I could possibly regret my actions.

Several hours later as I knelt on the bathroom floor and revisited that dinner, I knew how wrong I was.  Thus commenced the night of the worst food poisoning of my life.  Every hour I got up and returned to my porcelain palace where I made myself at home, as unspeakable things emerged from both ends of my body.  Even when I was able to go back to bed, my stomach was in a lot of pain and I couldn’t get much sleep until the next time I would need to rush to the bathroom.  Happy Thanksgiving, right?  So when my alarm went off an hour and a half after my final bout of heaving up whatever could possibly still be inside my body, I told my guests to go have fun at the market buying the ingredients for the day’s feast because there was no way I was going to make it.  Luckily, they were all really nice and understanding and rose to the occasion.  I got a little bit of actual sleep while they were gone, and then (like a normal Thanksgiving) the morning was spent with pots and pans being expertly coordinated to accommodate everyone’s dish at the right time, as five busy ladies chopped, sautéed, pureed, “baked” (in quotes because I don’t have an oven), and seasoned up a Thanksgiving meal, as I lay on the floor complaining.  They are angels.

More people came throughout the day so by the time we were ready to eat we had 15 (give or take a few) guests and perhaps as many courses to be enjoyed.  There was Turkey (yes, a real one!).  There was stuffing.  There were mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce, and squash, and coleslaw, and green bean casserole, and sautéed green beans, and green bean salad (green beans are great!), and guacamole, and fried plantains, and mac and cheese, and REAL CHEESE brought by Liz (!!!!), and pumpkin pie, and pumpkin-inspired carrot pie, and key lime pie.  It was just about as traditional Thanksgiving as you can possibly get here in Cameroon – even more so, since I’m pretty sure the macaroni’s cheese, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie filling all were care package goodies from the US.  It was a little bittersweet because it was the first time for many of us having Thanksgiving away from our families.  Still, it was so nice having friendly, familiar faces around, and it may not have felt quite like home, but it sure felt like a break from Cameroon.  It was a wildly successful meal, preceded and followed by sangria and beer and laughter and festivities.

Luckily, by the time our meal came around, I was starting to be able to keep some food down, so I put myself together a tiny plate with mini-samples of each dish.  I didn’t come close to finishing that pathetic plate, but I did get to taste pretty much everything, and although I couldn’t drink or dance and I still complained a lot and, from time to time, lay down on the floor in a corner of the room, I still was very happy to be there and would overall consider it a great time.  Oh, and I wasn’t the only one having digestive issues.  We sent out for more toilet paper as several of us negotiated bathroom time based on urgency.  My toilets got a whole lot of love and attention that weekend!

Before everyone arrived, I thought to myself that I couldn’t believe how quickly my one week at post had gone by.  By the time they all left and my house was again spotless, it already felt like I’d been here forever.  Now, can’t wait for Peace Corps Christmas!

As for the rest of my life: First, work stuff (if it can be called that).  The day after I last wrote, I met up with my counterpart to do protocol.  We marched around town delivering letters to the mayor, prefect, sous-prefect, commander of the gendarmerie, and various ministers and delegates to announce my presence in town.  Unfortunately, many of those people weren’t in their office so I think I am supposed to return some time soon.  The most priceless moment of our trip came when Anne Marie and I walked into the office of the commander of the gendarmerie (sort of like police?).  He shook our hands and told us to sit down.  I started talking, saying that I was a Peace Corps volunteer, I have been stationed in Bafang, I’ll be here for the next two years working with youths, etc etc, when he stops me and looks at my counterpart and says, okay, that’s all very well, but who are you??  The one other guy in the room’s eyes widened as he said the French equivalent of “oh shit, man!  You don’t want to ask that!!” and the guy in front of us returned, “What??  I don’t know who she is!  And if I don’t know, I’m going to ask!”  She was very gracious, saying (translated roughly), “of course!  It’s no problem!  If he doesn’t know, he should ask.  Don’t worry don’t worry.  Um, well, I’m the queen of Bafang.  And I’m also the director of the Center for the Promotion of Women and Family.  So yeah.”  The gendarmes’ eyes also widened.  He visibly slunk into his chair as he stammered out a bashful apology, explaining that she really did look so familiar and he’s so sorry, your highness.  I hope this little encounter means he will be extra careful to look out for my safety and not embarrass himself again!

The next day, I went into the center again and we all went to a local high school to do a presentation.  I knew nothing about the presentation before going, and was not expected to say anything.  It turned out to be on the importance of dressing decently.  This is a hot issue in Cameroon, with a law being discussed (or maybe already passed?) that essentially will enact a national dress code to keep teen girls looking a little more respectable. (*for my non-blog suitable thoughts on the issue and the experience, feel free to shoot me an email.)  The assembly was something like a thousand students, and because they had no room to fit them all, they gathered outside around the flagpole as I and three people from the CPF (Centre de Promotion de la Femme et de la Famille) stood in the center.  Of course it was a terrible setup for a presentation because they were surrounding us, so the presenters had to alternate shouting at various segments of the circle.  That being said, everything went fine and at the end a few kids started insisting that I talk (oh, to be so sought after in America!).  So I introduced myself and said hi in French, English, and Fe’fe, which is always good for a few laughs.  After the presentation, the principal arranged for the four of us from the center to have spaghetti omelets, bread, and tea!  I was shocked that this was part of the package, but not complaining!  And then, crazily, after we finished, he told us that actually the students have also prepared us some food and he hopes we saved some room.  So we went into a classroom where the students had done a project preparing food from all the regions of Cameroon, and the students served us even more.  Not bad pay for just half an hour’s talk (and for me personally, about thirty seconds of talk and preparation put together).

Yesterday I called the center and asked if they wanted me to come in, and Anne Marie said sure, that they were going to another workshop in a neighboring town and I should come along.  Getting to the neighboring town turned out to be a little complicated – every gas station in Bafang was out of gas, and Anne Marie didn’t want her car to run out somewhere on the way there or on the way home.  So we got a taxi, Cameroonian-style: two in the passenger seat, four in the back seat, and some guy hopped in the trunk at the last minute.  During the drive I realized that this was actually the first time I’ve been to any village.  Between Bafia and Bafang (and Bafoussam, Bamenda, and Yaoundé, the only other places I’ve been in Cameroon), everywhere I’ve visited has been either a pretty large town or city.  As we took a dirt road as wide as our two tires, it became clear that my experiences have not been telling the whole story.  It was beautiful, the whole drive, and when we arrived, it looked like we were in the middle of the jungle with just a small building up the hill ahead.  It was really magical and made me realize the cost of all my city’s amenities.

The workshop turned out to be on making cocoa butter as an income generating activity.  It was given at the Babone community center to about thirty adults representing economic interest groups in their respective communities, plus us.  I think the day showcased several key elements of Cameroonian culture that I had heard about but never really experienced (and some that I had).  The invitation said we would start precisely at ten; we started shortly after 11.  After the lecture section, we all went outside for a demonstration, and they served us lunch!  And palm wine.  And beer.  And we all prayed before eating.  Can you imagine, in America, mixing religion and alcohol with work??  If you can, you’ve been watching too much Mad Men.  I chatted with some nice Cameroonians (who asked, of course, “Two years?? But – what about your husband??!”) in French, English, and Fe’fe, which again won me some laughs.  Plus, I learned how to make cocoa butter!  It seems really easy and the best part is that from the leftover stuff, you can make chocolate!  Not sure why it wasn’t “with your leftovers from making chocolate you can make cocoa butter”, which seems far more logical to me, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

Other stuff I’ve been up to:  I have my first Cameroonian friend in village!  She’s nine years old and her name is Alima.  She lives directly behind me.  After meeting once in the neighborhood, I bumped into her in town and she called my name and hugged me.  After that we were fast friends, and she accompanied me on my errands around the market and we walked home together.  She invited me over where her super nice mom fed me a huge and delicious meal.  When I casually asked her if there were any beignet mamas in our neighborhood, she told me yes, and then knocked on my door later to tell me that the woman was already frying if I wanted to go, and then knocked on my door again later to say that she was going to that area if I wanted to come, so she could show me who made the good ones and who’s weren’t really that good.  She is sweet and respectful and doesn’t invade my personal space or leave a mess or break crayons.  She also came over today and we played cards and looked at countries on my inflatable globe.  There’s also William.  He is not exactly a friend but he is the only other visitor I ever get, usually to ask me for money or food or if he can do any of my chores for money or food.  He’s around Alima’s age.  One time he came to my door and told me how hungry he was and how there was nothing to eat at the house, and don’t I have anything?  A little money?  A little food?  Just some bread?  Just some.. flour?  Feeling uncomfortable, I told him (honestly) that I really didn’t have much food but I was sorry.  After carrying on like this for a few minutes, he finally broke into a smile and said, “Ha!  I was just derangin’ ya.  I already ate dinner at home.  Bye!”  So that’s William.

The exploration of my new house and belongings continues… I recently discovered that one of the mysterious tools I inherited is a handheld blender!  Needless to say I have made myself several smoothies, consumed through pink bendy straws while lying in my porch hammock in this tropical paradise.  It’s a serious quality of life booster.  I also finally explored one of the other mysterious instruments.  You’re probably not familiar with it because there’s no effing way this thing is legal in the US.  It’s basically a metal coil that you stick in a bucket of water to heat it, and, if you’re lucky, electrocute anyone or thing nearby.  I know I mentioned before how cold my shower water is… I have been mostly taking hot bucket baths by heating water on the stove.  I also discovered that on warmer mornings, the shower water can be kind of refreshing, so I’ve done some of each.  But today was my first shot with the metal death stick!  Being very careful with the order in which I inserted or removed from the water, plugged in, and turned on this crazy device, I figured everything would be okay and I’d have a hot bucket bath with just a little bit less effort.  Well, after a while I started smelling burned rubber and found that the wire for the power strip this thing was plugged into was burning its own coating.  I think it might harness demonic powers to operate.  Today was the first and last time I tried that guy out.  I am too scared to see what more damage it can cause.  Into the give away pile it goes.

Lee and I played scrabble at Leonard and Karine’s!  I am honored to be a part of this tradition that predates my presence in Bafang.  Also they are the closest I have to Cameroonian friends (past the age of 10) in this town.  I didn’t win because I wanted to, you know, take it easy on them all, but next time I’m ready to dominate.  The next day, we had our first TVP adventure.  One of the strange things left for me when I moved in was two untouched bags of TVP (that’s, textured vegetable protein) and a TVP cookbook.  The package boasted that it is a meat substitute that is high in fiber and high in protein, probably the two things our diet most lacks here.  I finally got up the guts and inspiration to give it a try, making a chili-like concoction with beans (also my first time preparing beans but I guess that’s less exciting), TVP, tomato paste, pasta, and seasoning from my extensive spice cabinet.  I thought it turned out well!  The TVP turned very ground beef-like and soaked up the flavor of the seasoning nicely.  Lee brought over leftover thanksgiving coleslaw plus some squash, so we had a fine three course meal.  Living alone isn’t so bad!  I can feed myself after all!

Random little notes and anecdotes:

-          The reason so many places start with “Ba” is because that means “the people of”.  So, this city is basically the land of “the people of Fang”.  I know a lot of people have been confused between Bafia (where I was) and Bafang (where I am), so that’s the explanation.  Also one time someone casually referred to Bafoussam in a text message as “Baf”, which I found funny given that it clarified exactly nothing since Bafia, Bafang, and Bafoussam all start the same way.

-          My water was out for a day.  And sometimes it goes out for a few hours in the middle of the day.  And sometimes I lose electricity, for like, 10-30 seconds.  So yeah it’s not all posh corps all the time!!!  Just wanted to be clear!!!!!!

-          When I applied for my bank account, I needed to provide information about where I live.  In America, you would write down your address.  Here, because no one has addresses, I had to draw a map to my house.  It was absolutely ridiculous because I’d only been in town for three days and did not really know what to draw.  My map literally looked like this:

     … And that’ll get you a bank account, ladies and gentlemen.  I guess if they need to find you they follow the map as best they can and then call out your name loudly until your head pops out of some front door.  Also if anyone is planning to come visit plz print out that drawing so I don’t have to give you directions.

-          Can’t remember if I’ve ever said anything about the seasons here, but we just transitioned from the rainy season to the dry season.  When I first was learning about them with my host family, I thought it sounded silly how exact they were about dates.  It rains every day during rainy season and then BAM.  November 10^th or 15^th and it stops altogether.  But weirdly it kind of worked.  In Bafia, it was raining, hard, every single night until one day it wasn’t.  And maybe it rained once a after a week or so, but it basically stopped on a dime.  Here it was a little rougher, raining almost every day for the first week I was here (effects of climate change, according to Rose Nichole), but now it has stopped and it turns out dry season really is dry after all.  That makes it hotter, which is eh, but I can leave my clothes on the line for a couple days if necessary without worrying about them getting wet again.  But yeah we don’t have winter or anything and I’ll only be dreaming of a white Christmas this year.

-          Peace Corps stressed in the application process that we will be “living in a fishbowl”, where people notice us and observe us all the time.  My first real “fishbowl” moment came last week when Ricky introduced me to this Cameroonian guy he knows, Martin.  Martin immediately, “Oh yeah!  I saw you at express union, getting your money out.  I said hi, and you said hi back, but you didn’t know me then.  And then I also saw you sitting over there the other day eating koki for lunch.”  Those times when I felt totally alone and independent?  Just a fish swimming under the watchful eyes of many.  It was kind of jarring to fully realize.  Also, several moto guys have dropped me exactly at my front door without me directing them at all, so unless they somehow got their hands on my bank account map, people in town just know where I live.

-          This one time this cop asked me if I was single, told me he was single, and that he wanted me to be his wife, but he wanted me to be his second wife.  I think this is an insult because everyone knows the first wife is the one a man really loves the most.  Then he and the other guys around all laughed because America doesn’t have polygamy and isn’t that silly?

-          Today I was walking and exploring and trying not to feel creeped out by the guy walking toward me with a bushy beard and winter hat.  As I passed him he stopped in his tracks, stared me dead in the eye, and pointed to his tooth, and then his foot.  I have no idea.  I kept walking.

Thanks for reading, folks.  Until next time.

Home Sweet Home!

I’m in my house in Bafang!  Let the next two years begin! 

But let’s take it back a week or so…

Sunday, 17-11-2013:  Our last day of “language class”.  Luckily, everyone was on the same page and no one went to (or expected their students to go to) language class.  After hanging out at the training center for a while, Alizabeth, Danielle, and I went out for spaghetti omelets (*cAN’T believe I haven’t mentioned that this exists – that’s right people.  It’s exactly what it sounds like.  Freaking spaghetti. In an omelet.  Revolutionary.  It’s also apparently like the Cameroonian version of Ramen – students make it a lot because it’s cheap, easy, delicious, and devoid of nutrients.) and to pick up a few items in Bafia proper.  We made it back in time to watch the big game!  Since I’m sure you were all following it, I’ll be brief: last month, Cameroon played Tunisia in a soccer game to qualify for next year’s world cup.  The score was 0-0 and they were scheduled to play again last weekend.  If they were to tie again, Cameroon would be out and Tunisia would proceed to the world cup.  The only way for Cameroon to make it would be to WIN.  So what did those indomitable lions do?  They freaking CRUSHED IT.  Final score was 4-1.  What???  What game is this, basketball??  I have never in my life heard of such a high score in soccer!!!!!* (*partly, admittedly, because I don’t follow soccer at all)  So the Cameroonian Indomitable Lions are headed to the world cup next year, and I will be here to revel in it!  So excited!  When the game was over, we danced and whooped and cheered with the bartender and a 6 year old boy as the other Cameroonian patrons looked on coolly.

This was also the night that I had to pack up all of my belongings minus a 3-night bag.  So naturally I stayed up until 1 am NOT packing and woke up at 5 to frantically throw everything into my suitcases.

Monday, 18-11-2013 (happy birthday Daddy!): Last day of actual training!  Unceremonious.  Also my last night with my host family L also unceremonious. 

Tuesday, 19-11-2013: Bright and early this morning, I moved out of my host family house.  I left a thank you card and a small pile of gifts on the table (which I had intended to give them the night before, but everyone was sleeping and/or not home).  When they were discovered, I finally got some of the pomp and circumstance I craved for my departure.  We all hugged, they vowed to display my thank you card in the living room (which really made me regret not putting more time into the painfully lame cover), and my dad gave me a bottle of champagne!  I am really going to miss them – they ended up being the best host family ever and an amazing first experience having younger siblings!  I hope they come and visit me in Bafang, or that I can go back to visit them sometimes.  The saddest part of the morning of my farewell was that Michael was still sleeping by the time I left – I never got to say goodbye!  God I love that kid.

After arriving at the training center, we all boarded a bus for Yaoundé, for banking and swearing in!  We arrived a couple of hours late due to rain, so then we had a very harried explanation of the banking activities we needed to do throughout the day, only to arrive at the bank and find that we had to wait around for several hours.  I did get to eat a pizza (30% authentic, 65% delicious) and chocolate éclair (100% perfect) from a nearby boulangerie, which was a treat.  Then we waited around more, horrifying countless Cameroonians by our American habit of sitting on floors.  After waiting and waiting and waiting, our banking was successful and we headed to the embassy.  Then I was handed a surprise care package which absolutely made my day!  (Lissa, you are amazing!!)  It was perfect timing to get little American comforts and ebooks the day before leaving for post.  And it was so clearly put together by a Peace Corps Care Package Pro!

Peace Corps arranged for us all to spend the night with embassy home stay families.  AKA to live in palaces and be treated like royalty.  Maureen and I walked into our homestay and our jaws dropped.  Not only was there air conditioning, but dehumidifiers!  The house was huge and nice and there were multiple bathrooms, all with running water and hot showers.  We each got our own room with spring mattresses (not foam!).  The couple that took us in was really nice and generous – they even gave us goodie bags!  And dinner was TO DIE FOR.  It started with a salad.  Maybe the best salad in the world.  It had lettuce from the garden, tomatoes, cucumbers, kalamata olives (!!!!!!!), sheep’s milk feta cheese (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and an herby vinaigrette.  Maureen and I each had two plates.  The next course was an amazing bourbon chicken served over brown rice, with string beans and freshly made rolls.  And then there were brownies for dessert.  And lots of wine.  Maureen and I also each had two servings of dinner, two servings of dessert, and more servings of wine than I’d care to share.  We were in heaven.  And the whole meal was on this screened in porch which was beautiful and amazing. 

Wednesday, 20-11-2013:  Breakfast was just as thrilling – banana bread, pumpkin bread (just in time for the holidays!  This was the first semi-seasonal food or pumpkin-spiced anything I’ve had of the year!), yogurt, fruit, two cups of perfectly brewed coffee, and BACON, which isn’t available in country and they had to import in their freezer shipment of all the American foods we miss most.  I had a gorgeous night’s sleep and heavenly hot shower and by the time I arrived at the embassy, dressed in my swearing in pagne, I was up on a cloud in an incredible mood.

Wednesday was the day of swearing in.  For those who may not know, this is the ceremony where we trainees officially become volunteers.  There are speeches, performances, an overdramatic oath where we all swear to protect the constitution of the United States OR ELSE, important people (as David kept reminding us), and matching pagne* (*fabric).  This was also kind of an event to induct our new Peace Corps office, which is switching locations in Yaoundé shortly.  Anyway, we all took lots of pictures and gave each other hugs and HAGS’s and promised to come visit each other at post.  Not sure if I mentioned that all the trainees had been practicing our performance of Peace Train, by Cat Stevens, but it went off pretty well and all of the VIPs were presumably impressed.  Trainees also presented speeches in French, Pidgin, and Fulfulde, which were well done.  Oh yeah and we were on national television so that was cool.

After tossing our figurative caps in the air, we feasted with each other, our language trainers, Peace Corps staff, VIPs, and our invitees – my host mom!  It was really nice to see her again.  She told me that Michael had been knocking on the door to my room and she had to break the news that I had heartlessly abandoned him.  Absolutely killed me.  She also confessed that I was, without rival, the best trainee they had hosted!!!!!  Not sure if she was just trying to flatter me, but I’m going to go ahead and declare that a MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.  So all of those nine other bitches can eat me.  No matter what happens from here on out, I can leave Cameroon in peace.

Then it was back to Bafia for our “graduation” party at the esteemed Hotel Newpalace!  Some of us made trouble with a couple of bottles of wine in the back of the bus (because open container laws are soo not Cameroonian) and got ready to dance our butts off, together, for the last time before going to post.  The party was lots of fun although it got broken up by a disconcerting incident of someone breaking into one of our hotel rooms.  Everyone was fine and I’m pretty sure nothing was taken, but it put a damper on the festivities.

Thursday, 21-11-2013:  We all gathered at the training center, loaded up our belongings, said some goodbyes, and boarded different coasters* (*like a 24-seater bus) based on where we were posted.  My gang headed to Bafoussam, the regional capital of the West.  Once we arrived to the Peace Corps office of Bafoussam, affectionately termed “the Baffice”, we realized that we didn’t know what the hell to do next.  I knew that I was supposed to stick with the people going to the Littoral and South West regions and get dropped on their way to Nkongsamba, but we didn’t have a clue how to get there.  After bumming around, grabbing lunch, asking questions, and wondering where our bus drivers went and why they still hadn’t unloaded our luggage, a plan was formulated to depot* (*buy out all the seats) a coaster for the eight of us and drop me in Bafang on their way.  Eventually we found out a company, talked to someone, got them to come with a coaster, negotiated and re-negotiated our terms (no, you can’t send our luggage separately, and no, we don’t want to share it with those six strangers, and no, we’re not paying that much), and jumped into the super janky van.  I would be lying if I said I didn’t fear for my life most of the ride to Bafang, but the view was absolutely gorgeous and I eventually made it safely with all of my stuff.  Lee, my wonderful post mate, met me with a taxi to take all of my stuff and showed me to my new home.

And now, what you’ve all been waiting for…

                                    --- BAFANG ---

Well, my house is exactly as it was described to me, so there wasn’t much room for surprise.  I have a big gate and wall for security, and when you get in, there is a small cement courtyard (featuring three tires full of dirt that will eventually become my quaint, urban herb garden) with a sink and a laundry line and a bannister.  Enter the house: small bathroom (flush toilet and running water sink!) on the left, right in front of staircase ascending to the next level.  Big open area (soon to be filled with a living room set) and a kitchen table with bright turquoise walls, a big American flag, a full length mirror (rare commodity!), and the entrance to the bright pink kitchen, which has a sink, counter top, drying rack, counter-top stove (+ giant gas bottle), and under-counter storage, occupied exclusively by cockroaches.  Upstairs: orangish-tiled bathroom with shower area (which has a functioning shower whose water is so cold it should only be used as an interrogation tactic), flush toilet, running water sink.  To your left: guest room and small workout room (I am undecided whether or not to keep it as a workout room.  I probably won’t use it a lot to work out, but I probably won’t use it a lot for anything else.  If anyone has any room ideas, plz inspire me.).  To your right, bedroom and giant second bedroom used as closet room (built in shelving/hanging units!  Wow!).  And that’s the house!  It is wonderful, but the best part of all is the view from the front door.  Wowowowow.  And it appears there are no mice in my room, although there was a lizard blinking at me cutely, curled up on my pillow.  I threw him out the second story window, and felt bad for possibly killing him until I saw him again the next morning, staring in wistfully from the wrong side of the glass.

After spending about an hour wandering from room to room trying to figure out how on earth to start moving in, I knocked on Lee’s gate (since he lives directly next door!!) and we headed over to Leonard and Karrine’s.  Leonard is Lee’s counterpart and Karine was one of Sarah’s best friends, and they are both Anglophone and super, super nice.  They live around the corner and as soon as I walked in they welcomed me warmly and didn’t stop offering me different foods until I had eaten peanuts, roast corn, beans, manioc, and a healthy portion of the bottle of wine they opened in my honor.  And this was all just a pre-dinner snack.  Anyway, they are SO nice and I look forward to spending more time with them!  After that, Lee and I went back to his house where we made pancakes for my special first Bafang meal!  They had banana and cocoa powder in them and we ate them with so many American toppings: peanut butter, nutella, honey, maple syrup.  Oh, and we had more wine. (ikr?)  This is also when Lee revealed that he has read my entire blog and therefore 1) he already knows everything about me and my life and I have no anecdotes that are new to him and 2) I’d better not even think about badmouthing him on this thing (love you, Lee!). But seriously, he is the best post mate ever and I can only imagine how different it would have felt to come to a new scary place to live without such a warm and thoughtful welcome.

Friday, 22-11-2013:  Friday morning I woke up in my new bed(/mattress on floor) in my new house and welcomed the first day of post-training freedom!  I went for a short walk in the morning, where I had the lump-in-my-throat realization that this gorgeous city is my new home and that I live in Africa and this is actually happening and for once in my life I can hear more birds than cars.  And I’m doing it!  I actually joined the Peace Corps and made it to post and am seeing the world!  It’s so cool!

After eating our leftover pancakes for breakfast, I met up with Lee for lunch at one of his favorite Bafang joints.  He raved about the salads, but even after hearing him talk about them, I was surprised by how normal and American they were.  (of course, it was normal and American because I asked them to hold the mayo and condensed milk, so there’s that.)  For a pretty big salad plus a plate with basically a baguette, it costs $1 USD.  Suck on that, $14 Manhattan salads!!  After lunch, Lee took me to what can only be described as happy hour with some of his colleagues.  Because he teaches in the Anglophone section of the bilingual school, all of his colleagues are Anglophone (which is to say, they not only speak English but English as their first language, so there is absolutely no reason to use French with them.).  I got to have my first bottle of Kadji, a regional beer of the West, and it’s really good!  Such a relief because 33 is terrible.  And that wasn’t the only nice surprise – I won a free beer!  Different brands of beer will be periodically “winning”, where you have the chance to win prizes (a bottle of beer, 12 bottles of beer, or 50,000 CFA) based on what’s beneath your bottle cap.  My very first one and I was the lucky winner J  It was fun and cool hanging out with this small group of young Cameroonian teachers, all of whom were laughing and having a good time.

Next, Lee showed me a little around the market (huge! Wow! Amazing!  And it’s not even market day!) and petit supermarket and I picked up just enough groceries to not die for a few days.  It’s a nice distance into town – a pleasant 15-minute or so walk, or a quick and easy moto ride.  Oh, I’m becoming a pro at riding motos.  I don’t even need to death grip anything anymore!  And the best part about moto rides is that to go anywhere in town always costs cent francs, that is, twenty US cents.  Can you imagine taking a 20 cent cab ride in the US?  No, you can’t, because they always set the minimum price at $3.00 or something ridiculous.  I like it much better this way.

I know what you’re all thinking – isn’t this supposed to be an emotional rollercoaster?  Why are you so happy?  Don’t worry, I was thinking the same thing.  When I got home and looked at my still-packed suitcases in the big empty entryway and the kitchen counter cluttered with I had no idea what, I had the same kind of mini-panic that I did the first night in Bafia.  And that I probably would moving into any new place in the US.  Just thoughts like, oh my gosh, how do I even start moving in?   I need to clean first.  And buy furniture.  And sort through all of the goodies left behind by Sarah to see what I actually want to keep and what I don’t.  But I can’t do any of that until I know whether I have any cleaning supplies, or where to buy them, which I don’t, because I don’t know anything about this crazy new place.  And man, it’s kind of lame the way the Peace Corps tricks us into making close friendships for a few months only to tear us all apart and plunge us into isolation.  Plus I burned myself while cooking and remembered that I also don’t even know how to like, cook, or care for myself, or live on my own at all.  Anyway, yeah.  Rollercoaster.  After a couple of phone calls with friends going through the exact same thing, I felt better.

Later that evening I got to meet the elusive Ricky, my other post mate/next door neighbor.  He, Lee, Luca (an Italian guy who lives in Bafang working for an NGO), a friend of Luca’s, Rose Nichole (one of our marvelous Peace Corps language trainers who is originally from Bafang), and I all got a drink in town.  The bar just happened to be the only one on the block lacking electricity, so we sat by candle light and I think Lee nailed it when he said it looked like a bar for pirates.

Saturday, 23-11-2013:  Saturday morning was lazy!  I lay around and reveled in the lack of reasons to get out of bed.  Soon, however, my day was transformed into a non-stop productive clean-a-thon!  One of the nicest but also ultimately most stressful parts about moving in here is the amount of stuff Sarah left behind for me.  A lot of it is important staples that I’m saving money on (coffee!  Woohoo!  Pots and pans!), and some is cool stuff that I might not have bought myself but can now enjoy (camping hammock!!  Four foot long alligator stuffed animal!!), but some will need to go (I don’t even really know what you do with baby powder and I now have five bottles of it.  Also, four yoga mats over here, count em.).  I also guess my mom trained me well and I am anxious to get rid of some of the clutter.  So, that became a big project.  Lee came over to help me out/receive my neurotic rantings about whether I should keep one or two bottles of moisturizer.  Together we went through all of the toiletries and medical supplies left behind, separating into keep-give away-toss, and brainstormed the future organization of the closet area and bookshelf area and each room.  We de-spider webbed and (because really, did you think I would be the only one who wanted to live in a house this nice?) swept and cleared out trash. 

We then tackled the kitchen!  Before departing the US, I had put together a small spice kit, containing baggies of the 8 or 9 essential spices, thinking to myself, “now, this is the perfect amount to get me through the next two years!”.  Now that I’ve moved in here, I have a total of 48 different spices (plus doubles and triples of some), including some spices I have never heard of (what does one do with Turmeric?), and many blends with vaguely poetic names like “Arizona Dreaming” and “Mural of Flavor”.  As much as I love the idea of being a master chef who can navigate this many spices, I am not, and they took up almost the entire kitchen counter.  After inventorying, taking some ziplock baggie samples, and making some real tough decisions, we were able to cut down the clutter significantly.  I also finally figured out what I already have in the kitchen, which occasionally involved some (exciting? dangerous? stupid?) blind taste tests by Lee and me.  I found a bottle of insecticide and gave the cabinets a good spraying to evict (namely: kill) the cockroaches within.

Not sure if I’ve mentioned the Cameroonian sanitation system before.  It doesn’t exist.  Some families simply toss their trash on the side of the road, or in a slightly more designated trash heap, or else they burn it.  PCVs are all pained to do it, but there aren’t really any alternatives.  After gathering a bunch of trash from our cleaning extravaganza, Lee showed me where (across the street) and how (with chemicals!) to burn my garbage.  We lit a nice big Cameroonian bonfire of plastic water bottles, aluminum cans, and other random trash.  I had thrown away an inflatable globe that had a leak, and as we leached carcinogens into the air I watched the world literally burn.  Lee and I were standing around and watching the fire when there was a giant explosion, ball of fire, deafening sound, and shrapnel thrown at us.  We each jumped a foot in the air, convinced the apocalypse was upon us.  Note to self: do not burn aerosol cans in the future.

Upon returning to the house, we began to see the results of the insecticide spray.  There was a veritable exodus from the kitchen as roaches flooded across the living room floor.  We spent the next hour or two chasing, stomping, and tossing every roach we saw, totaling at least 20 or 30 big ones and countless smaller ones of all sizes.  My floor became a battleground, my compound a graveyard.  I confessed to Lee that if he hadn’t been there, it would have been a very different scene, of me crouching in the corner crying on the phone with Peace Corps asking to be sent home.  Anyway, I am thoroughly grossed out that so many cockroaches were living in my kitchen, but I am glad the spraying was so successful!  Apart from finding a few more dead ones in the morning, I haven’t seen any more roaches since.  AND STAY OUT.

Anyway, it was a huge and productive day and by the end of it I felt way more in control of my living space and like I’m on the road to settling in!

Sunday, 24-11-2013:  In the morning: more cleaning!  Sorted clothes!  Washed sheets!  Scrubbed the kitchen counter and stove!  Swept a few upstairs rooms!  This house is gonna sparkle!

One of Lee’s colleagues had invited me to a meeting in the afternoon.  Lee and I headed over 30 fashionable minutes late, so naturally we were the first ones there and had to wait outside the house for the owners to return.  I wasn’t sure what to expect for this “meeting” – it’s a group of people living in Bafang who come from the same town/tribe in the Northwest.  Anyway, as it turns out, I still don’t know what went on because the business was all conducted in their local language.  Lee and I sat there, clueless, as our glasses of palm wine and corn beer were refilled and refilled. 

[Oh, palm wine – a staple of Cameroonian culture, not sure why it doesn’t exist in the US.  It’s interesting because it comes directly from palm trees and is served unadulterated.  It’s naturally alcoholic and effervescent and it continues to ferment even after being tapped from the tree.  For this reason, it must be consumed the same day it is tapped and they apparently haven’t figured out how to bottle it.  I like it.  It tastes, to me, like a Smirnoff Ice with a shot of white vinegar that has the mouthfeel of movie theater butter.  This was my first experience with corn beer, which is creamy/cloudy like soy milk and smells like sweet corn and tastes okay.]

Finally, as the business part of the meeting concluded, they served dinner of fou fou and njamma njamma, which we ate with our hands (naturally).  Lee and I were both surprised by what came next, which was music and dancing.  Someone pulled out a big bag of musical instruments, very reminiscent of a nursery school birthday party, and started passing them out.  People grabbed whistles and shakers and big tubes that made farting noises, and someone had a drum, and everyone started seemingly randomly making their noise and continuing with a semi-pattern as they started thumping their feet and shaking their hips.  Lee and I sat on the couch, watching as this group of fully grown Cameroonian men played with musical instruments and acted like it was music.  I said it reminded me of the dance scene in Snow White; Lee said it reminded him of a skit on SNL.  And we continued to sit there as they ridiculously continued thumping and banging and shaking and tooting.  And then I started to realize that it wasn’t ridiculous, and that they were all on the same page and this was definitely a familiar song/dance to all of them and it even had specific moves to it.  And then we were pulled from the couch and made to join in and learn the dance step as we all circled around the musicians in the middle.  By the end I fully appreciated it as a cool cultural experience – that here I am in Cameroon getting randomly sucked into a Banso’o cultural dance in someone’s living room!  Wow!

Monday, 25-11-2013: Today I had a great, productive, independent day in town!  I felt like a functioning adult for the first time since arriving in country as I took a moto to Express Union, got my $$ (without any Peace Corps staff telling me how to fill out the forms!), found my way to the bank, and opened myself a new account.  I even had some French conversations with Cameroonians.  I passed one woman on the street wearing an outfit made from the same pagne as mine.  I pointed it out to her, to which she responded, “Oh!  You stole my dress!  Or.. maybe I stole your dress!”  We laughed.  Integration J I milled around the market area for a while, since it was market day.  Bought some stuff.  Grabbed some beans and bread for lunch at a chop house near the market, where people stared at me and made fun of my bad French.

After dropping my goodies back home, I set out to find my counterpart.  After our meeting in Bafia, I had promised to call her as soon as I arrived in Bafang so that she could help me settle in, find my house, and show me around.  Unfortunately, I put her number in my phone wrong and so when I tried to reach her it didn’t work.  Stumped for how else to contact her, I saw a sign on a building near my house that mentioned the promotion of women and family (the name of her center), so I went in.  I awkwardly introduced myself to the one guy in the office and explained that I was looking for Madame Tchouamo and hoped that maybe she was here.  Turns out, this guy is actually the delegate for (something) and is kind of a big shot and it was probably a huge faux pas to come knocking on his door asking for someone else.  Despite that, he was very nice and explained that she worked at the other office downtown, but that he would drive me there and we would find her.  So I grabbed shotgun in the delegate’s Toyota and he nicely took me right to Anne Marie’s doorstep.  As I feared, she had been worrying about me and why I hadn’t contacted her (why she didn’t try calling me, I will never know).  But we resolved the phone number issue and finally linked up and agreed to meet up tomorrow to do protocol and meet some of the big shots in town.  So, glad to get that resolved!

When I got home I continued on my cleaning streak and swept and scrubbed the bedroom, workout room, bathroom, stairs, and kitchen.  I’m not done with sweeping and scrubbing yet, but it’s coming along!  Oh, and it turns out that clearing spider webs is less an event and more of a lifestyle.  I guess it has been added to my daily routine. 

THAT BRINGS US UP TO PRESENT DAY!  I hope you don’t mind that this was essentially a transcript of my diary but with all of the juicy stuff taken out.

A few notes:

-          At some point since being here I found myself thinking that there were fewer beggars than I expected.  When I picture third world countries, I picture something similar to the slums of India where hoards of children bombard each passing person for loose change.  It’s not like that here.  I have seen a few beggars on the street, mostly in Yaoundé, but they don’t exist on any grand scale.  But now my view is kind of shifting.  I think that in reality, it’s just that the line between beggars and everyone else is more blurred here.  The person in line behind you at the bank might turn to you and tell you they’re hungry and don’t you have anything for them?  Or someone who is selling vegetables might ask if they can take your moto helmet.  Pretty much anyone and any setting is fair game to ask for something.

-          After living with a Cameroonian host family and now moving into my own place, I am struggling with some integration pains.  During one of our training sessions, they talked about grappling with learning a new culture while preserving and being aware of your own.  Now that I’m on my own, I can’t decide if I should be cooking manioc and gumbo or American favorites with Cameroonian ingredient substitutes.  While still in Bafia, I tried to fit in by eschewing cutting boards and cutting in my hands like my whole family did.  Now that I’m in my own place using good quality, sharp, American knives, made for use with cutting boards, my thumb is covered in tiny, shallow lacerations, the physical manifestations of my integration pain.  When do you give up what you’ve always known for the sake of integration?  How do you decide which aspects of a culture should be changed to improve quality of life?  And how can you attempt to live in a completely different place for just two years, give yourself over to learning a new way of life, and then bounce back and fit snugly back into American culture when you return?  When I look down at the cuts on my thumb, I know that this issue won’t be resolved simply.

-          Not sure what internet access will be looking like.  I have an internet key but it was so slow that I couldn’t load a single web page earlier.  There are cyber cafes in town.  Neither of these options is free and I am very cheap so we will see!  If you're reading this, it means my internet key successfully uploaded it... on va voir.