Pictures

Health PCTs on a field-trip to a local clinic.

                                                     

The regional capital of the West, Bafoussam.  Also where I do my banking...

...just a "quick" half-hour walk, 10-minute moto ride, and 45 minutes in a taxi with 7+ people and a chicken/baby/branch of plantains to get there!

Herd of cattle that passed through the center of town on swearing-in day.

Some newly official Health PCVs!!!

Moving to post

"Two weeks and I'm here in the same place / The same rhythm for most of my life"

The transition from health care provider to health care educator has been a somewhat difficult one for my antsy gotta’-do-something personality.  In the States, I was certified to start IVs, administer cardiac medications, intubate, etc.; here, I’m qualified to give a lecture on malaria or the importance of hand washing.  Such is the work of international development, but the hands-off methodology and the fact that for three months I’ve been in the classroom setting felt somewhat passive.  I was glad, then, that my first week in village included an end of the year Vaccination Campaign with the Health Center.  Day one was at the center, and it was encouraging to see dozens of mothers bring their babies.  The next few days the campaign continued en brousse (literally, “in the bush”/in the middle of nowhere).  There are 6 quartiers (areas/neighborhoods) in Bapa, and within a month I will have hopefully figured out their exact locations in relation to one another.  For now, we split into teams and took motos to different destinations.  Occasionally, for example at schools, we saw groups of children.  Mostly though, we just walked and walked along ruggedly hilly terrain, searching for kids whom we could administer Vitamin A (good for eye health) and/or Mebendazole (for worms).  Needless to say, there were quite a few children, which meant a lot of hiking in a skirt for yours truly.  

There are approximately 250 languages in Cameroon, as many people speak a particular patois.  I’ve had a few informal language lessons to learn some Bapa phrases (yup, the name of the village is the same as the maternal tongue), though it’s difficult as it resembles neither English nor French, yet similarly has its own set of rules.

I feel like I’m getting into a groove at home.  It’s starting to feel – dare I say – normal?  I’m loving having control over my meals.  I finally got the opportunity to prepare Cameroonian couscous the way I believe it is intended – lightly seared in a bit of oil with spicy piment pepper – like polenta.  As good as it was, I fear I may not be able to go back to eating it in its original mushy form.

I eat a banana or two for breakfast, pack my lunch (never has spreadable cheese, lettuce, tomato, and onion between crusty bread tasted so good!), and usually spend more time making dinner than it takes to consume it.  Nevertheless, it’s comforting to sit on my steps and snip green beans, or listen to music while cutting up vegetables for spaghetti sauce (the radio blaring within the compound seems to alternate between Cameroonian political talk radio and American classics like Whitney Houston, Brittney Spears, and Boys II Men).  For now, the children in my compound are content to hang off the bars of my windows, peering in at my every move while repeatedly attempting to say my name.  I often feel like a zoo animal, but I’m hoping the fascination wears off…          

I’m currently cat-sitting for a neighboring PCV (neighboring in the sense that my door to hers is a two-hour walk!).  It’s nice to have this built into my weekly To Do list since there’s a lot of downtime.  I also had to return to the regional capital, Bafoussam, to take care of protocol (meeting with officials…or at least dropping off the formal letter of introduction) and run errands.  I got some much-needed supplies for my place and it was great to catch up with another new volunteer in the West.  Not even the chicken in the taxi pooping on my market bag on the return trip could dampen my mood!

"I left all my friends at the morning bus stop / Shaking their heads"

On December 1st, before the US Ambassador to Cameroon, the Peace Corps Country Director, and various other dignitaries, I swore-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer!  It was so great to be surrounded by the 47 other newly-official volunteers, everyone able to be there despite sickness.  We all wore the same fabric and had new outfits made for the occasion, and it was fun to see what each person ended up wearing: shirts, pants, skirts, dresses, kabas (think flowing muumuu), boubous (the male version of the flowing muumuu), vests, hoodies, and even overalls!  The event coincided with World AIDS Day, and it was a nice touch to be able to raise a bit of awareness at the same time.  After the ceremony, we each dined with our two sets of host families, and the party continued into the night for the volunteers.
The logistics of moving set in the next day, though I certainly can't complain given how relatively close my site is from where we trained (less than four hours).  A few of us spent the night at a hotel in the regional capital city, which was just what we needed to recharge from the chaos of traveling, banking, and bargaining for household basics at the large outdoor market.  The next day, I hired a private taxi to take me and my stuff directly to my house.  This was necessary considering my belongings now include: the two bags I brought with me from the States, a large footlocker (dozens of books care of the Peace Corps, miscellaneous paperwork, mosquito net), a water filter, bicycle, 2 helmets, tank of gas, small cook-stove (plaque a gaz), household items (buckets, cookpots, etc.)...  We bounced along at a pretty quick clip on the paved road - sadly hitting a stray dog along the way - and the dust clouds rolled as we turned onto the route for Bapa.  The driver sat while I unloaded everything myself, but the neighbor children quickly arrived to help carry it into my house.
Ah...my house.  When I first saw the place a few weeks ago during site visit, I'll admit that I was a bit worried.  However, a few people in the community have really worked together to transform it in a way that I think makes it a rival contender for Extreme Makeover: Home Edition should that show ever make its way to Africa.  Improvements continued this past week when the painter arrived and I contributed a fair amount of elbow grease myself, scrubbing all tile and wood surfaces.  No fancy cleansers or Swiffer sweepers here, just me on my hands and knees with a bucket of bleach water and a cut-up T-shirt.  People keep asking if everything is okay with the house, so I feel like the village has a real interest in my happiness and well-being.  If only they knew that I survived living in the Wilson Apartments for two years (Kenyonites, you know what I'm talking about...)!
My house is really more like an apartment, with two rooms and an attached bathroom.  I have electricity (fairly consistently, I'm led to believe), a toilet with running water (what?!), and an overhead shower (I had forgotten those even existed) and I'm very conscious and appreciative of these luxuries.  Thanks to the new paint job, I'm surrounded by pale blue walls, with gray-blue doors and windows.  The outside is white with purple trim (shout out to Kenyon College!) and faces a courtyard area.  I live in a compound, which adds extra security, though it does mean I have to knock every time I want in the gate.  There are A LOT of children, but they've at least been friendly.  Many of the children are Monique's, a woman who lives in the same compound and has been invaluable already.  From lending me a table and chairs for the first week to brining me impromptu meals or things from her garden, I already feel so blessed.
My body wasn't used to the cool temperatures at night, made even more apparent while sleeping on a thin inflatable pad on the cold tile floor.  I must have been quite the sight wearing three layers of clothing, a jacket, socks on my feet (& hands!), clutching my thin fleece blanket while shivering the first few nights.  I have a bed now, though, so all is better.  Plus, I put my stove together and can always cut up some ginger and enjoy a warm cup of tea or make some pseudo-hot chocolate when it gets a bit nippy.  Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that I'm in Africa.  Luckily, the reality sinks in as I trudge up and down my mini-mountain to and from the health center and take in the stunning view.

Who am I to think I can go it alone? / We've been through some changes / Always seem to hold on / Forever my friend

Thanksgiving seems so long ago, but it's worth mentioning because of how fabulous the day turned out to be.  A week before, I took fabric (pagne/tissue) to the tailor in anticipation of being able to wear a new dress for the celebration.  This was an experience in and of itself because I had spent time writing up exactly what I wanted.  My inspiration was the Zac Posen dress Lauren Conrad is wearing on the cover of the October 2010 cover of Cosmpolitan magazine - only less risque (not as low-cut and definitely not as short)!  Hilarity was trying to explain these wishes, in French, to a male tailor who took my measurements in between eating a sandwich.  Despite this, the dress turned out pretty nice, and it happened to perfectly match the bracelet my first host sister had given me so I was able to accessorize - who would have guessed I could occasionally be more put together here than on an average day in the States?
A few of the trainees had been raising a turkey (dindon) behind the Peace Corps training center.  The morning of Thanksgiving, they killed/feathered/prepared/cooked it - a pretty impressive feat even if I didn't plan on eating any.  My host family also raises a turkey and I'm convinced that he knew what had happened to his comrade in feathers because when I returned home to make my dessert, he tried to attack me!  The large classroom was converted into a dining area complete with long tables so we could all eat together.  And what a FEAST we had despite limited supplies: mashed potatoes, bread, macaroni and cheese, corn bread, tamale pie, squash casserole, green beans with carrots, pasta salad, cranberry sauce, Skittles, sugary peanuts, corn on the cob, clementines, and my faux Key Lime pie.  Everyone was really generous with the care packages they had received from home.  It was wonderful to relax and enjoy everyone's company and, even though we're all away from our families, realize that we've become a new family.
The last few days of training were pretty low-key with a lot of downtime and final cultural celebrations.  I imagine very soon we'll look back to those days fondly for the time we were able to spend with friends before we embark on our individual assignments.

“But before you can rise from the ashes / You’ve gotta’ burn, baby, burn / Welcome to your barbeque / Where we roast all the dreams that never came true / Welcome to your barbeque / Pig out and dream anew”

Coming back from site visit left most people anxious.  We’re wrapping up our time in training, and, while we’re all eager to get started at our individual posts, I’m sure I’m not alone in worrying if I’ve read enough/learned enough/done enough/asked enough questions… I have reached my required language level for my region (one of the 8 francophone provinces), and even gave a 26-minute presentation in French, but it’s still scary to think that the “training wheels” come off and I’m on my own soon.

I’ve tested my ability to function independently by shopping solo a few times.  It’s probably the best way to feel like you’re being “fed to the wolves.”  I like the hustle and bustle of the outdoor market (march é) , and even the confident persona I embody (or at least imitate) in this scenario.  Completely focused on the task at hand, I ignore the chaos around me and zero in on my list of items to purchase.  I walk with a purpose, disregarding the smell of smoked fish, the crowd of people, and the vendors loudly hawking their wares.  Whistles, hisses, and shouts become background noise as I become ballsy, bartering over the price of avocados, limes, peanuts…  It’s both exhilarating and draining.      

Meanwhile, with my home-stay family, I’m slowly integrating.  Some days I feel like I’m connecting, having interesting conversations about educational systems, politics, gender roles, youth culture, AIDS, etc.  I’m learning that Cameroonians are not a subtle people, and this kind of frank honesty is usually refreshing, but it still takes a little to get used to it (like when my host mom saw a college photo of me and called me fat – a compliment!).  

She and I seem to have worked out a nightly ritual: she insists that I eat more (“Charmayne, tu manges très petite... très très petite”), and I kid her that I need to call an army to help me eat the enormous spaghetti omelet she made.  Meanwhile, my host dad thinks I should learn how to tress/twist hair.  This is amusing given the general state of my own hair at any given time, and even more laughable when I think of working with the health center by day and becoming a coiffeur by night.   

Due to a gas shortage, we’ve been cooking outside lately, which is frustrating to my host mom (“See how I suffer, Charmayne"), but appreciated by me.  There’s something about making your meal over a fire and then eating it under the stars that makes it taste that much better.  One of my favorites has been simple (no salt or butter) grilled corn on the cob.  The corn here is tougher than the sweet corn we’re used to in the states.  This may be my palette changing, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say, when it is grilled by an open flame, I actually think I prefer this corn.  It’s chewier, but also a filling meal or snack.

Of course, I’m trying to impart culture, too.  In honor of reaching my required French language level, I made the family “French” toast.  Only, without cinnamon or real vanilla extract, I called it Cameroonian toast.  They at least pretended to like it.  I’ve also insisted on putting my omelet in between the bread in the morning so I can eat while I walk to school (“Je mange pendant que je marche") – a very American thing, right? 

As a whole, the group is in good spirits, even if the overall health isn’t 100% right now.  A few have contracted malaria/typhoid/dysentery, but they’ve gotten medical help quickly and are on the mend.  It’s like playing the real-life version of Oregon Trail (am I dating myself with that reference?)!  Or, if you prefer, you can play Peace Corps Bingo:

(Created by a PCV in 2009)

Today is Thanksgiving which I’m sure will bring its own set of stories, but I’ll save that for another post.