How many acres, how much light / Tucked in the woods and out of sight / Talk to the neighbours and tip my cap / On a little road barely on the map

Recently, a few of us were tasked with cleaning the home of a fellow volunteer in the West who had decided at the beginning of the year to terminate her service early.  It was a strange feeling to go through someone else’s place item by item, but there certainly was a lot to find…including an extensive family of mice.  In the end, I walked away with quite a few items for my house.  I was lucky to receive a second mattress, a table, and a living room set of bamboo furniture.  These were delivered in two trips – the first on the roof and trunk of a car and the second with miscellaneous items (including a large loveseat) strapped to the back of motos.   After a little elbow grease and some bleach water, they are like new.    

I may change the fabric, but it already makes the place more homey.

    

I was especially glad to have the furniture (meubles) when three other PCVs spent the night chez-moi a few weeks ago.  To think that I had been making due with a tiny table and a floor mat seems ridiculous now, as the new set-up is much more conducive to having visitors.  It was great showing off a little bit of Bapa, and we commented on just how varied the West is as a region.  Plus, as is the custom with PCV get-togethers, we ate well (guacamole for an appetizer, rice cakes and curried lentils for dinner, and mango cake for dessert) and had fun laughing, listening to music, and playing games.

Cameroonians have a few basic “sauces” that they serve with various dishes – among them, peanut (sauce d'arachides) and tomato (sauce tomate).  The youngest child in my concession told me that he was going to make me dinner (be still my heart - a man who cooks!), so together we attempted to create a rice dish with a mixture of tomatoes, tomato paste, onions, garlic, and a few spices.  In the end, I’m not sure it was either riz américain  (if such a thing even exists) or riz camerounais, but it was enjoyed nonetheless.  My culinary adventures with the kids continued one day as not all of them were into coloring with the crayons I had given.  Thus, the youngest ones helped me make banana bread…which we call banana cake (gâteau des bananes)  because it really isn’t like bread that they’re used to.  We had fun mashing bananas and watching the masterpiece come together – eventually culminating in the chance for them to present their family with the creation.      

As the school year came to an end, we had our last English class at the primary school.  After the final lesson, I was truly touched as each kid came forward and presented me with a gift.  In total, this meant 40+ avocados, a bunch of plantains, literally a limb of bananas, a dozen or so passion fruits, and even a pen.   I tried reciprocating with the American gum I had brought (even tearing pieces in half so they would go further), but as more and more kids came forth, I was forced to re-gift produce I had received. 

"Class photo" - I swear, they were happy 5 seconds before I took this picture; Cameroonians just don't smile for photographs.

There was also a final ceremony for the end of the academic year.  Kids sang songs, presented skits, and ate rice and cookies.  In the midst of this came the bizarre practice of publically announcing who had passed (the top performers in each class received a pair of pants or a skirt/dress) and who had failed.  You would think this would cause angst amongst the students - I as a bystander was holding my breath and nervous for them - but they received their news in the same casual attitude whether they were moving on next year or were going to repeat.       

This skit was about a women who buys and prepares rice.  Seriously, Academy award worthy stuff...

 

Every two years in my village, there is a ceremony featuring the local traditional dances.  This kicked off a few weeks ago and will continue once a week for the next month or so as different quartiers display their customs.

Only women who have had twins (a sign of good luck) can participate in the dances.

"So You Think You Can Dance" has nothing on this kid.

In funny transportation stories, a recent trip to the regional capital turned deadly.  Two elderly village “mamas” had said they wanted to be dropped off in one of the towns along the way, but hadn’t specified where.  When they finally clarified with the driver (chauffer), a bickering match ensued as he realized he would have to take a bit of a detour.  Apparently, this detour meant we had no alternative but to take a path down a steep hill that was cut up with several ruts and slick with mud thanks to the morning rainstorm.  Sliding down the path resulted in a flat tire so our car wasn’t moving from the 30-degree incline in a hurry.  While attempting to fix it, another passenger decided to remove his cargo from the trunk while we waited.  His cargo turned out to be 30 chickens on their way to become dinner at a funeral celebration.  Time marched on under the sun though, and it became an odd game of “Chicken Survivor” as they started dying off one by one.  Body count by the time we arrived in Bafoussam?  3 perished poultry.   

Last week, I submitted my first summary report for the Peace Corps.  At first, this left me feeling a bit frustrated by my seeming lack of work, but it took a long walk through my village to renew my dedication to this experience.  I realized that I’ve been in-country for 9 months, meaning I’m 1/3 done with my time.  While time seems to be ticking, I have to be patient with myself and my community.  In other news, a new group of Peace Corps Trainees have arrived in country.  I haven’t met them yet, but I’m excited that I’m no longer considered a “freshman.”