“For every daughter, every son / Of the last great American”

(Sorry for the delay in posting.  Our Internet access is limited at best - and spotty when available.  I'll try to get caught up soon.)

          Everyone in the Peace Corps tells you that the key to surviving service is patience and flexibility and our group got to experience that within 48 hours of coming together.  Due to an impromptu storm in New York, our flight was delayed enough that we missed our connection in Brussels and would not be able to fly into Yaounde (the capital of Cameroon) as expected.  Plans developed to have us stay overnight in Belgium, and fly out the next day to Douala (the largest city in Cameroon), instead. 

          The view from our descent was beautiful, but there wasn’t even a moment to process it as we were immediately welcomed upon stepping off the plane.  Even in the late afternoon, the African heat presses down on you and quickly turns your clothes into a moist second-skin of sorts.  Our first encounter with transportation here came in the form of a van/bus in which we managed to cram 30 people.  Doula is a fairly dangerous city in terms of crime and tourists are advised to stay away.  Luckily, the Peace Corps has the support of Cameroonian constituents and a police escort was arranged to block traffic and secure the premises of our hotel during our stay.  While I can appreciate the safety it provided, it brought even more attention on us as les americains were on display. 

          Loading and unloading luggage for 50 people is no small feat, but we eventually made it to our rooms.  (I’ll admit I felt guilty when my roommate and I were upgraded to a large suite after realizing that our initial room assignment had a broken air conditioner and toilet.)  Dinner and breakfast literally gave us a taste of the cuisine to come (fresh avocados, mango, watermelon, pineapple, and plantains to name a few). 

          In retrospect, the travel problems allowed us to better see the country, since we got to take the 4-hour bus-ride to Yaounde the next day.  From the urban areas to the minute villages and road-side stands between, it seems everyone is trying to sell something.  At our hotel, we were greeted with more machine-gun carrying security officers before venturing to the Peace Corps Office and transit house to meet staff and a few current volunteers.  At her invitation, we dined on a feast of local foods at the house of the PC Country Director (CD), amidst top staff and American officials.  I definitely won’t starve in Cameroon, and am trying to be conscious of my meals as this is a very carbohydrate-heavy diet (rice, potatoes, plantains, etc.) – especially for us vegetarians.  My “after-dinner” snack was Mefloquin, the anti-malarial medication I’ll be taking weekly for the next 27 months.  It’s known to have some interesting side-effects like vivid dreams and hallucinations, but the alternative is likely death from a preventable disease…so I’ll take my chances. 

          Although our group had spent a lot of time together by this point, we hadn’t really had a chance to do extensive introductions, but we did this on Monday and I’m so glad we did.  I feel honored to be surrounded by such interesting, passionate people.  Our education, work history, and life experiences are extremely varied, but we’re all joining together on this service adventure and will soon be not only a social network, but a temporary family.

          Traveling into downtown Yaounde to obtain our national identification cards at the police station was yet another reminder why I’m glad PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) aren’t allowed to drive.  There aren’t very many traffic signs to be found, let alone a stoplight.  Instead, cars, buses, trucks, motorbikes, and even pedestrians,  proceed at breakneck speeds, yelling and honking to signal turns/merging/frustration.  We also received a brief description of our host family for the next 5 ½ weeks before we set off for our 2-hour bus-ride to the training center where we’ll complete our Pre-Service Training (PST).  Our host families were waiting for us and it was yet another chaotic event matching trainees, families, luggage, and available bus seats.  It was a cramped, yet joyful, song-filled ride to our individual sites, and I couldn’t stop smiling by the emotion of it all.  Next time, a description of my host family (ma famille d’accueil) and my room (ma chambre).