“Sit beside a mountain stream / See her waters rise / Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies”

December is nearly finished but let me at least catch you up on the prior month.  If the word of October was babies, tofu best characterizes how I spent my time in November with demonstration after demonstration about “la viande de soja”.

A fellow volunteer wanted to show a group of people in her town and asked for help collaborating on the project.  I willingly obliged as I was looking forward to spending time with her and seeing how she was enjoying life at a new post.  The plan was that another volunteer, Julie, would leave from the regional capital the morning of the demonstration and buy my seat in the van heading to Nkongsamba.  Since it would pass right through a neighboring town, I would just meet the vehicle at the intersection (carrefour), climb in, and we’d be on our way.  Of course, transportation never goes as planned here in Cameroon and my car leaving Bapa that morning decided to take an extended detour.  Through several phone calls and texts, I learned the van was waiting for me.  Two kilometers have never seemed so long and I arrived to a vehicle full of very angry passengers, frustrated at the lost 5-minutes of travel.  I feared a mutiny so, to diffuse the situation, I dug into my bag and doled out the cookies I had stashed. 

Because most of my demonstrations happen in villages, I can usually impress a crowd of village mamas if I wear the traditional kaba (giant, shapeless dress).  Nkongsamba is actually a fairly well-developed town though, so I felt very out-of-place helping lead the presentation amongst women in heels, coiffed hair, and painted nails.  Located in another region (the Littoral), I got to explore the area by taking a day hike with two other volunteers.  It was only our intention to go on a casual hike for a few hours.  Several wrong directions later, we were lost and ill-prepared (in retrospect, it was stupid to take less than 1L of water each). 

Luckily, a man up in the mountains led us to some beautiful crater lakes and the gorgeous views we witnessed almost made up for the 7-hours of walking that we did.  I got back to my village the next day exhausted but with no time to rest since I had agreed to lead out in a soy demonstration chez-moi with some neighbor women.

And to think there are students that trek those mountains daily to go to school

 

We also put on tofu seminars for a farming group, a special interest group, and an NGO (ONG, en français) in Bafoussam.  This agricultural organization has an amazing resource room that I look forward to using in the future.  As it turns out, it seems more of my work has been agriculturally-focused than health-related, but I’m trying to go with the flow and take advantage of the opportunities that present themselves to benefit my village.  I had the chance to attend a 3-day Agroforestry Seminar put on by several PCVs and their counterparts.  I invited someone from a farming group I’ve been working with.  The topics were really interesting and it was great to see so many people interested in advancing their livelihoods through improved techniques.  We toured the organization’s fields, impressive work area, and went to the tree nursery (pépinière) to learn the skills of marcotting/grafting for plant propagation.

Pineapple plantation

Seed identification

 Recently, there was also a regional agricultural expo fair.   I’ve been attending meetings with a farming GIC (Groupe d’Initiative Commune) so it was great to see Bapa represented.  From ‘Best of’ vegetable and animal entries to be judged, to witnessing a lot of transformed products, I walked away inspired by the potential and ideas, and with thoughts on better ways to market and advertise goods.

  

I decided to meet one-on-one with the Chief of the village to have a conversation about his vision/goals/ideas.  The prospect of this meeting already made me nervous, but given that he had just returned from a 6-week vacation to Switzerland and had jazz music playing in the background during our chat left me feeling very villageoise to say the least.  All in all though, I learned a lot about Bapa, and feel like we’ve come to a better understanding.  After our meeting, I learned that he has recently taken a sixth wife, a Swiss woman.  I was incredulous, but other people have confirmed it, though I haven’t seen her yet myself.  I’m curious to meet her and learn the story behind this unusual arrangement…    

In sharing American culture, the kids now occupy themselves with the travel-sized version of Connect 4 I busted out during the month.  They’re happy to play by their own rules, not following any obvious strategy, but I suppose I can applaud their creativity.  I also helped a Cameroonian friend set up a Gmail account which proved to be even more difficult than the craziness of opening a Cameroonian bank account.  Between endless username combinations already being taken, passwords being deemed too weak, and failed attempts at reading the “captcha” on my tiny computer screen, it took far longer than I would have imagined.  All of this was being done in French, including the attempted audio captcha which sounded vaguely like someone talking into a megaphone while chickens cackled in the background.  Once we thought we were close, Google insisted on sending a validation code to her phone since she couldn’t link her account to an already existing email account.  At this point, she realized that she had left her cell at home so I agreed to watch her 6-week-old baby while she returned to her mud brick residence to retrieve the cell phone.  Finally…success!…but it makes me wonder just how connected the world will be in the future with the extreme polarization of technological advances and lacking developmental infrastructure. 

I experienced a bit of a miracle during travel one day.  While making a routine trip to Bafoussam, I flagged down a car heading for the regional capital and, like always, put my bag in the trunk.  I’m normally fairly vigilant about watching my luggage when I do this, and that day was no exception, but since I was sharing the front seat with someone else, I couldn’t keep my eyes on the rearview mirror the entire time.  Apparently someone took it out during a stop, but I didn’t realize this until we arrived at my destination in Bafoussam and I opened the trunk to find nothing inside.  I tried to explain what had happened to the driver who seemed genuinely sorry, but unsure what to do.  When he asked what was in the bag, I said the first thing that came to my head: “Ma vie (My life)!”  In response to his puzzled look, I explained: “My computer, Internet phone, bank card, etc.”  The color drained from his face at the thought of losing so many valuables and he sprang into action.  Flagging down another taxi, he urged the other passengers out of our car, apologizing and throwing money at the driver telling them to take them where they need to go.  We sped back to the place where we’d made our only other stop, him alternately telling me that I need to pay more attention and that I should remain calm.   He went from telling me matter-of-factly that he drives this route every day and I won’t get my belonging back because there are bandits, to suggesting that we pray.  To our amazement, my bag was sitting by the side of the road with nothing missing!  I only had a bit of money, but I immediately gave him most of it (5000CFA/~$10USD) with an endless stream of “Merci.”  I told him that I wasn’t in a hurry so we could take our time and return to a town where we could find more passengers.  He was over the moon and insisted on telling everyone we came across about my good fortune.  On my second trip of the day to Bafoussam, I was in such a good mood that I didn’t even mind sharing the front seat with a gendarme who professed his love to me, even offering to marry me and “give” me babies, despite his hesitation that I’m nearly too old.  He even serenaded me in an attempt to woo me through song.  Everyone in the car was jovial as we joked back and forth (me saying I prefer Nigerian pop music to his rendition), and I will admit that he had a clever response for every reason I refused his offer.  

The food adventures have continued, as I’ve tried my hand at quiche, miso-like soup, various stir fry concoctions, and chocolate chunk pancakes.  Also, having always detested the fungus, I’ve found a restaurant/bar in the nearby town that serves a tasty mushroom/rice dish, so I may be a convert!  Even more exciting is the recent discovery of a schwarma place in the regional capital.  Even if you get the vegetarian version (onions, tomatoes, and French fries drizzled in a spicy sauce wrapped in Lebanese bread), it’s hits the spot. 

Speaking of food, I made the bumpy trip up to the West Adamawa to celebrate Thanksgiving.  Spending the night before in Bafoussam, we got up at 4:30am in order to be on the first bus.  We arrived dusty and banged up, but dove right in to helping with meal preparation.  After everyone had taken a bucket bath and changed clothes, we were presentable enough to enjoy a feast that would have made any American spread proud:  cornbread, “chips” and salsa, rolls, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, deviled eggs, cranberry sauce (thanks to a can in someone’s care package), salad, vegetable stuffing, vegetable strata, green beans, carrots, and corn.  For the meat eaters, a chicken and a turkey had even been bought, killed, plucked, and prepared.  It was amazingly wonderful and we all happily stuffed ourselves.  Afterwards, we relaxed, chatted, listened to music, and generally enjoyed the day being with what has become a second family.  The power went out for much of the evening, but that didn’t deter us from enjoying Dinner #2 made entirely of desserts that we’d been to full to enjoy before: pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, key lime pie, coconut and papaya custard, and even three different kinds of homemade ice-cream made by the sisters in the nearby Catholic mission!  Spreading half a dozen foam mattresses on the ground, the day ended with a Friends Thanksgiving episode marathon.  Our return trip consisted of 9 people cramped into a car but it was fun and we only dealt with 1 flat tire.  Our resident New Yorker, having never even gotten her permit, got to pretend to “drive” too, much to the amusement of our actual driver.  

"The last defender of the sprawl / Said 'Well, where do you kids live?' / Well, sir, if you only knew what the answer's worth / Been searching every corner of the earth..."

If I could sum up the last 6 weeks in one word, it would probably be babies (les bébés)!  In addition to waking up to discover that Cardamom had decided to have kittens in my bed on my freshly laundered blankets, several female acquaintances have given birth (accoucher).  The traditional meal after a woman delivers is nkwee, a slimy dish relatively the same consistency as aloe vera, but brown and stickier.  One must eat this by taking balls of corn-meal mush, roll them around in the sauce, and slurp it quickly out of your hands.  While I don’t mind the taste, the texture and technical finesse necessary to consume it takes some getting used to so I have to cheat and gulp it out of a cup.  Needless to say, I’ve eaten my fair share of nkwee lately.  Lest you think I’ve gone completely Cameroonian in my diet though, I’ll be honest and add that recent kitchen concoctions include lemon bars, lemon tofu stir-fry, and chocolate nutmeg cookies.  I’m clearly not suffering here… 

For awhile, I was in denial thinking she was just getting fat.  Nope...she was harboring 5 kittens in there.

My new PCV neighbor, Kim, and one of the chatons

A friendly Ultimate Frisbee match at the beginning of the month pitted the PCVs of the French-speaking (francophone) West region versus those in the English-speaking (anglophone) Northwest – and one game of “newbies” versus veterans.  Because of several weeks of rain, the playing field was very muddy.  People were filthy by the end, but it was a great chance to meet many of the most recent group of volunteers who swore-in.   

After much scrubbing, I almost got my shoes "Cameroonian clean"

I’ve found a great woman who has now helped me with two soy demonstrations and has taken the initiative to sell tofu at the boutique in the village center.  It is always helpful to have a Cameroonian woman take the lead as they can better explain some of the cooking intricacies (especially in patois) and know how to season it so it will be more accepted.  As a thank you, I surprised her by making and delivering a banana cake.   Although I think she’s in her sixties, she said we’re African sisters which kept a smile on my face the entire hour-long walk back to my house.   Bapa is also speeding along into the 21^st century as I recently discovered that they have a website!  It’s in French, but check it out for yourself if you want to learn more about the history of my village, the lineage of the chiefdom, and see a few photos of the places I see on a regular basis: (http://www.royaumebapa.reunis.fr/)

The Cameroon presidential election came and went without incident.  Despite occasional murmurings that this might be the year for change similar to those other African nations have experienced, incumbent Paul Biya (who has held the position for nearly 30 years) took the title again.  The Peace Corps took the necessary precautions of declaring that volunteers were on Standfast and not to leave their respective villages in case tensions escalated.  All in all, I felt pretty removed from the activity, though found being in Bapa eerily similar to living in predominately red-state Ohio as a moderate/leftist political thinker.      

I actually saw more people actively riled up during the national mosquito net (moustiquaire) campaign last month.  The Knock Out Malaria campaign kicked off with community volunteers conducting a door-to-door census.  Despite my multiple inquiries about the process and how I could be involved, I was kept in the dark about many of the intricacies of the process.  I only learned of the distribution day because a neighbor asked if that’s where I was headed one morning.  I quickly turned around to grab my posters and other materials about malaria.  I was hoping to incorporate lessons about WHY mosquito nets are important and other ways to reduce one’s risk of contracting the disease, but was disappointed since overall we missed a major opportunity to sensitize the population.  Instead, it was absolute chaos.  The team tried to be organized, but there were a lot of details in ensuring all the paperwork was filled out correctly (bureaucracy reigns!).  Meanwhile, people waiting became anxious and impatient.  The concept of a line (queue) doesn’t exist here, so people were shoving each other and the crowd nearly broke down the doors to the health center.  The yelling escalated, a fist-fight broke out, and old women got trampled.  The fiasco literally made me lose a little faith in humanity for a bit.

I also finally attended my first wedding celebration.  I had the fortune to miss the actual ceremony (my friend waited more than 5 hours for the festivities to begin), and only went to the evening party because it was close to my house.  My neighbor and I walked to the house at 8pm and, because the electricity was out, sat in utter darkness for nearly 2 hours.  The power returned, but the couple didn’t arrive until nearly 10:30pm.  There was singing, dancing, and a buffet of sorts, but I left at midnight.  

After all, we Americans had our own party the next night – a Halloween bash.  A group of us girls had intended to go as the iconic 90s pop group, the Spice Girls but unfortunately had two people cancel at the last-minute.  We still had fun…and even introduced a new addition to the group: Cameroonian Spice (a.k.a. Maggi Cube).  Maggi is a brand of “seasoning” here - and I use that term loosely - that gets added to everything.  Literally just nuggets of MSG, these bouillon-like cubes come in a variety of flavors.  After all, “Avec Maggi, chaque femme est une étoile (With Maggi, every woman is a star).”    

The Spice Girls - Cameroonian style: Posh, Maggi Cube, Scary, and Ginger

 

“If you get down, Get up oh oh... / When you get down, Get up eh eh... / Tsamina mina zangalewa / This time for Africa”

Just like in the States, I’m finding I get along better with groups of men than groups of women.  As I’ve gone around and done presentations, it seems that the men are respectful and engaged.  They ask questions and seem interested in learning.  They are always wanting to know more and seem enthused by the idea that it’s entirely possible to eliminate – or at least greatly diminish the number of cases of – malaria (paludisme).  Given that Cameroon is in the midst of a free mosquito bed-net (moustiquaire) distribution campaign, I was able to joke with them that they better not use the nets for other purposes (i.e. sell them, catch fish with them, or give them to their girlfriends to turn into wedding gowns – all of which have been known to happen).  The women on the other hand tend to mock me and even went so far as to tell me they didn’t have the TIME to hear me talk one morning.  This, in a country where time is usually irrelevant and I had already courteously sat through an hour and a half of them paying dues…     

I’ve had success with females in one-on-one scenarios, though.  The chief’s palace (chefferie) intimidates me a little, so I had been a bit hesitant in my interactions there.  However, I did a soy demonstration with one of the chief’s wives, who had expressed an interest in learning.  She holds a fair amount of influence within the compound, as she is responsible for raising a number of the children and also preparing most of the meals for the people who live there as well as when they host guests.  As these things often go, we had logistical problems along the way (including me getting caught in a downpour while taking the soybeans to be ground), so the tofu didn’t turn out perfect – but the taste was still flavorful and she was excited about giving soymilk to the kids.  After we had finished, she invited me back to her residence because, as she put it, it was my turn to learn how to prepare Cameroonian food (i.e. stirring the big pot of corn mush [cous cous de maïs]).   We had a good time and I learned so much through this informal interaction.  Whether she ever prepares tofu again is uncertain, but I’m happy to have made an important connection in village.

Speaking of female camaraderie, a few of us PCVs had Girls Night in Bapa on September 11^th.  It was odd reflecting on the day’s 10^th anniversary significance, but wonderful to catch up with friends and encourage each other on post-Peace Corps plans.  Of course, the Indian food (gingered chick peas with yogurt on rice with a side of naan flatbread), salad, and chocolate chip cookies were nice, too.                

Although nothing quite compares to a spoonful of Jif®, I made a homemade all-natural variety by having roasted peanuts (arachides) ground.  It tastes amazing and, I might say, made for a wonderful spicy ginger peanut carrot curry on rice one night.  Of course, it’s not bad spread on store-bought chocolate cookies, either!

The nurse at my Health Center gave birth to a baby boy and, as is the custom, returned to her home within 24 hours of delivery.  In the States, new parents are so protective of their newborns with their car-seats and ten thousand safety measures but here you have no choice but to cram into a taxi and/or plop down on a moto with a new bundle of joy.  Despite my fear of children, I took gifts (a hat and socks I had found in Yaounde for the baby, warm slippers for mom, and a carrot cake for the family) and held the kid.  It still doesn’t make my biological clock tick, but I must admit he’s pretty darn cute.

The new toy I introduced to the kids in my concession this month was a Yo-Yo.  Although I don’t have the hand-eye coordination to do any tricks, I showed them Youtube videos of various stunts which left them wide-eyed.  We haven’t produced any prodigies yet, but they’re having fun seeing who can at least make it go up and down the most times before inertia kicks in.   The funniest thing though, is that the youngest one is so short that he has to stand on my step just to deploy it so that it doesn’t hit the ground before it runs out of string.

I attended a demonstration in a nearby village on how to make soap (savon).  It’s a simple enough procedure, but I’m trying to get some concrete facts and figures on how profitable it really is before I start introducing it in Bapa as an income generating activity.  

 

 

Oh, I’ve also been loaning CDs to a Cameroonian friend.  I know I have a random collection to begin with, but I find it especially amusing that so far, his two favorites are “The Best of Rent” (YOU try explaining what a musical is – and a musical about people with AIDS on top of it!) and “The Red Hot Chili Peppers: Stadium Arcadium.”  Go figure…

“You don’t need to know what I do all day / It’s as much as I know - watch it waste away / ‘Cause I’ll tell you everything about living free”

I’ve been a bit lax in keeping up on the day-to-day events, so I’ll catch up at least to the end of August.

The sensitizations in various quartiers have gone well, though lectures eventually just disintegrate into comedy sessions with the crazy white lady.  Case in point, my attempt to inject some humor while giving a diarrhea/dysentery presentation to a men’s group.  Translated to English, it went a little something like this:

                Me: Raise your hand if you’ve had diarrhea in the last week.

                (I shoot my hand up in the air but no one joins me.)

                Me: Just me?!  Just the American?  Come on!!!  You’re lying!

    Me: Okay…who likes eating feces?

                (Bewildered looks.  Bleating goat even appears to have raised an eyebrow.)

Me: No one, right?  Of course not!  Yet, let’s look at the fecal-oral route of disease transmission.  (Unveiling my artistic rendition of this as we examine the pathways.)

Me: So obviously somehow we’re putting this in our bodies.  How?  Let me give you an example.  Imagine I pooped this morning and didn’t wash my hands.  Now, I know everyone is super friendly here in Cameroon so I see Francois and know I must greet him.

Me: (Shaking Francois’ hand heartily while sporting a big smile) “Hello, Francois!  How are you?  How’s the family?  Everything’s good?”  (Breaking character)

Me: (Turning to the crowd) It’s possible that Francois has poop on his hand now, right?

(Francois is now looking back and forth between his hand and me giving a look nothing short of terrified.)

Me: (Reassuring Francois) I promise, I washed my hands with soap and water this morning.  But, what happens if Francois and I share a meal right now…?

Development work tends to focus on women and children – and with good reason.  However, I find the men seem to be less annoyed by my presence and more receptive to chatting and learning…so I’ll work with whatever audience I can get.  Although they aren’t responsible for preparing meals or caring for sick children, they hold a lot of power when it comes to finances and making decisions as the head of the family, so I’m convinced they’re a good target group.

I didn’t think it was possible, but the rainy season has made it even colder in village. 

We even had a freak hailstorm one day

This means I’ve been keeping busy preparing warm and hearty dishes for dinner, including corn chowder, ginger green beans, upside down pineapple cake, carrot cake, a spicy curry ginger carrot sauce for rice, and vegetarian sloppy joes.  I’ve had fun hosting a few PCVs, too – which is better than eating these meals by myself for 3 days.  Of course, all this cooking meant that my seemingly bottomless gas bottle finally ran out.  I did gain some “street cred” – er, “village cred” – when I carried the empty tank through my neighborhood until I found a moto-man, though.

My village hosted an agricultural expo show.  A woman from a nearby village who has been making and selling tofu with success came to lead out for a demonstration.  Although there were some logistical problems (finding wood, building the fire, locating a working grinding machine), it all worked out and we had a GREAT crowd for the presentation.  It was fantastic having a few other volunteers there to help answer questions and troubleshoot, but to be honest the star of the day was the Cameroonian woman, Nadege. 

Although she initially comes across as timid, she is definitely in her element when preparing the tofu and did a great job describing the process as well as the benefits of soy.  Almost everyone loved the soy milk and tofu – and I always enjoy seeing their disbelief by the fact that not only is it the liquid that results in the firm product, but that there is no meat in it.   

The chief of the village even made an appearance at our “booth”

The jury is still out as to whether or not he liked it though

Speaking of rural-life formalities, we continued our string of cultural events.  This included the traditional dance of the notables.   

Apparently we have a female notable - pretty rare but progressive.

There was also a soirée culturelle one evening with dancing, lip syncing, a Q&A contest for the youth, sketches/comedy, and poetry.  It was really entertaining, but I left at 10pm since I knew I had a half-hour walk in the pitch-black dark to get back to my house.  I’m told the party lasted until 2am.  What can I say?  We like to party in village!

The culminating event was the traditional Pomedjouong dance.  The day of the event, I went all out getting ready – going so far as to take a shower, put on my new “Burburry-inspired” skirt, and apply some mascara.  When I left my house, I was feeling good but the chief of the health center announced multiple times when he saw me how much fatter I’ve gotten since my arrival.  I know this is a compliment here, but it always take a bit of self-restraint to smile and make a joke about loving Cameroonian food too much.  Eventually the dance got underway and we all had fun observing and participating. 

 

I also helped with some camps that neighboring PCVs organized.  These aren’t your typical American summer camps; instead, they were opportunities to discuss reproductive health and sexually transmitted infections with youth.  Being around that many kids each day is tiring (and I wasn’t even there for the entire time), but it is so important that they receive the information that is lacking in their homes and school curriculum.  

Trust falls - a standard camp favorite

Teaching the importance of working together as a team

  

In other PC news, I’ve gained a new neighbor!  Although she is technically in another village, we’re less than 4km apart which makes us essentially “postmates.”  She is within the education sector, so will be teaching computer technology (informatique) at a nearby high school.  In general, our region received a healthy influx of new PCVs, so we’re all looking forward to getting to know one another better and perhaps begin some collaborative projects.