"I rode my bicycle past your window last night / ... /Don't go too fast but I go pretty far/.../Some say I done alright for a girl"

I'm now able to cruise in style thanks to my new mountain bike!  I'll admit that I haven't had much opportunity to use it (I need to purchase a backpack as opposed to a shoulder bag), but I'm looking forward to putting a good number of miles on it in the coming months.  I stupidly rode into the neighboring town during a rainstorm for Internet access this weekend.  The clay road - already treacherous and bumpy under ordinary conditions - became a slick, muddy mess.  It was mildly dangerous, but I'd do it again for the excitement of it all and the chance to get some much-needed Skype time in with a friend. 

It's amazing how many small things we take for granted in the States become such processes here, from obtaining water to doing laundry and making meals.  I'm lucky that my water situation isn't too bad all things considered...it just takes time.  I get my bathing and drinking water from a local well with a wheel that I turn by hand every morning.  I'm lucky that the Peace Corps supplies us with a 5-gallon filter so I'm able to treat a lot at once.  The water drips through this and is then ready to drink, though I'm encouraged to add 2 drops of bleach to every liter. 

Water for laundering, however, comes from a well that is several hundred yards away.  For now, I've chosen Sunday as laundry day as it allows me the opportunity to "sleep in" until 6:00am.  After trekking to the well and hand-dipping water out, I carry my water jug (bidon) back to the house and commence the time-intensive process of doing laundry.  Doing laundry was actually one of the chores I most enjoyed in America.  Here, I'm not so much a fan...  Everything gets washed by hand, rubbed together in a particular fashion and scrubbed with a brush when needed.  Then, it is rinsed similarly, rung out, and hung up on cables around the homestead (I hang my unmentionables around my room rather than having every village member have the opportunity to see my bras and undies.)  Despite it being quite hot here, things take a long time to dry because of the humidity.  It's important to either iron everything or wait 3 days after the clothes are dry to wear them.  This is because the mango fly apparently likes to lay her eggs in wet clothes, and the larva can unknowingly burrow into your skin if you wear them.  Fun, right?

The cooking adventures continue, albeit with more carbohydrates and oil than I plan on having when I'm on my own. There must have been a memo that went out to all the host families that Americans like rice, omelettes, and spaghetti, as we seem to all be getting a lot of these dinners.  Neither are quite like I'm used to in the States, but they're still pretty tasty.  Occasionally, my host mom will combine the ideas and scramble an egg with the spaghetti.  It's sort of like fried rice, and I can't complain.

We've been to a few health centers (centre de sante), of varying size, type, and condition.  All have been enough to convince us that it's in our best interest to avoid getting sick, though.  (And especially to avoid getting pregnant after seeing one Delivery Room...yikes.)

The scenery is still amazingly jaw-dropping.  I literally stood in awe of the stars one night while the power was out and we were making dinner around the fire.  My host family thought I was strange, but it was an impressively clear night and it nearly took my breath away.  Without getting too over-the-top, I tried to explain that these were the same stars my family and friends see and it was a way to feel connected.  Enough philosophical mother-earth hippie observations for now...(But I would encourage you to look at the stars this week...I'll be doing the same.)  

"Putting all the vegetables away / That you bought at the [grocery store] today / It goes fast / You think of the past"

Training is going okay, though the entire experience is intense and can be overwhelming at times.  On top of everything else, there's the fishbowl effect that we're new, different, and unlike anything many Cameroonians have seen in person.  Whenever we go somewhere, it's not uncommon to hear either shouts or murmurs of "Les blanches" (the whites)!  It's a little crazy to be watched all the time, but so far people have been friendly and welcoming. 
My comrades and I all comment on how out of control our moods seem on a day-to-day basis.  It's hard to feel like you're bipolar, going from one emotional extreme to another, but at the same time, nice to know that others are feeling the exact same way.  You start to learn your own coping mechanisms for the bad days.  For me, this means retreating to my room, listening to music, reading a bit (in English!), and occasionally eating the peanut butter sandwich crackers I brought and am carefully rationing.  It's amazing what that 180-calorie snack can do for my mental health!
In other food news, I'm pretty content.  Most days, for breakfast I either have coffee (I wasn't a coffee drinker in the U.S. but don't think it's worth causing a fuss over for 5 weeks) and a piece of bread, or my new favorite: beans and beignets.  Those who are familiar with New Orleans know that a beignet is essentially a doughnut.  These beignets are fried dough, sans the powdered sugar you'd get at Cafe du Monde in NOLA.  Add one of these greasy balls of goodness to a few kidney beans in the morning, and it sounds like a digestive nightmare...but I'm doing okay.  With this, I usually have bouille (pronounced "bwee") that I help make. It's essentially a bit of corn meal soaking in water that you add to more boiling water and keep stirring while adding several cubes of sugar.  The result is a papier-mache looking paste.  Appetizing, right?  While I don't think it will catch on at Starbucks any time soon, I'm coming to find some  comfort in it, and in my role as official "stirrer."
Lunch is usually rice and beans with pimante (an extremely spicy pepper mashed up with oil in a paste).  I LOVE spicy food, but I'll tell you right now that 1/8 teaspoon is all you need for a serving.  Along with this, there are miscellaneous cooked vegetables, (legumes). fried plantains, and occasionally I splurge and get an amazingly delicious piece of fresh pineapple (anana).
Dinner varies, so I'll try in some more posts to describe other dishes, but I'll start with a Cameroonian staple: cous cous de maize.  First off, it's nothing like the cous cous you're used to.  It's prepared by sifting handfuls of cornmeal into piles of dark yellow grits and light yellow powder.  This is then added to a large pot of boiling water and stirred with a giant stick in a particular way before it is scooped out in large gelatenous  portions.   Not the most flavorful thing in the world, but I tell myself it's like cornmeal mush as I dip it into the green side dish that accompanies it.
My integration into my host family has been fine, but very clearly aided by the game Uno.  Seriously Mattel, thank you.  Uno is a genious idea for foreigners as it allows you to play with a limited knowledge of the nuances of more complicated language.  If you can count to 9 and know the four basic colors, you're pretty much set.  Plus, I get to make exaggerate facial expressions, show off my awesome ability to shuffle a deck, and precariously build card houses.  The kids are pretty good about respecting my privacy, but they have started hanging outside my door not-so-subtly saying "Uno, Uno" when they want to play - and I usually oblige.
The other way I hang out with my family is to sit outside the cooking area (la cuisine) helping shell pistaches (not pistachios, but a flat white seed), cut vegetables, and just take in the experience and try to learn rustic cooking techniques for when I live on my own.  My host mom is a pretty good cook, despite preparation practices that would make most people shudder.  No modern conveniences here, folks.  Just two meals where all the meals are prepared over two fires.  It also serves as a storage space for the cooking pots/water/firewood and doubles as a home to the goat and her baby kid as well as several chickens.  I made the mistake of trying to shoo the chickens out one evening before someone told me, "The chicken sleeps here."  Obviously...
There is just so much to learn, it seems.  Language aside (1-4 hours of French class every day), there are development work practices, Cameroonian culture, the health system infrastructure, common diseases and prevention techniques, and the list goes on and on...
Okay, slowly but surely getting you up to speed on my first month in Africa.  More to come...

“Come on, Come on / Put your hands into the Fire / … / Pull up, Pull up / From one extreme to another”

(Again, sorry for the delay in posting – electricity was out for a few days which knocks out the Internet.  This should get you caught up to the first week of my life in Cameroon.)

          Anyone who knows me is aware that there are three things in this world that strike absolute fear in my heart – getting my picture taken, personal contact (i.e. hugging), and children.  I’m convinced that my homestay experience is an opportunity for me to confront these fears head on as there is no such thing as a “comfort zone” in Cameroon.  For the first 5 weeks, the health volunteers are in a rural setting and then we’ll switch with the agro volunteers for a semi-urban town.  I knew going in to my first homestay experience of PST that I had been placed with a large family – “14 members” the paper said.  During that first greeting to my village, however, it felt like 140 came to welcome me.    

          The first night, the electricity was out in the village (a common occurrence), so our fragmented introductions took place by lamplight on the front step.  As a side note, I completely bombed an attempt at shadow puppet entertainment for the kids.  Everyone seemed curious, from the dozens of questions about my family and my marital status (“Je suis celibetaire” to indicate that I’m not married), to the children touching my back, legs, and bare arms.

         I’ve tried to figure out a family tree (l’arbre genealogique) structure for the dozens of people at my house.  From what I can gather, I believe the grandfather - now deceased - was polygamous and the two “grandmas” of the house were his two wives.   I’ve shown pictures of my friends, family, home, and college, which they loved (they thought my female friends were beautiful and that the fire department guys were all married to me…so there was a lot of explaining to do).

          All things considered, my room is small but nice.  It has a separate door from the house so I solely control access and can come and go without disturbing others.  I’m getting used to taking a bucket bath, though.  Bath is somewhat  a misnomer as you never completely submerge yourself.  Rather, I fetch 2-3 gallons of water from the well (une forage) and carry it to the latrine where I douse myself cupful by cupful, attempting to lather in between.  At some moments, the utter silence and oneness I feel with nature is refreshing and exhilarating.  Other times, I long for the water pressure of a shower and the ability to actually feel clean.  The latrine in general is something that still takes a bit of mental fortitude to use every day – especially since there are at least 10 giant cockroaches and crickets that like to hang out there after dark. 

         I actually love sleeping under my mosquito net (les mousquitaire) at night.  There’s something comforting about feeling semi-protected as the buzzing goes on around you.    Plus, it doubles as a place to dry clothes so I sleep beneath my outstretched scarves.  Despite my affinity for normally sleeping in the fetal position, it’s quite hot at night so I find myself stretched out, reaching all four corners of the bed.

         Morning comes early since, even though I’d prefer to get up at 5:00, the roosters actually tend to start crowing a little after 4:30am.  Peace Corps Training takes up the bulk of the day, from 7:30am-4:30pm.  Our days are full of primarily lecture after lecture after lecture.  Everything is scheduled and well thought out though, with trainings ranging from intensive language study, safety, medical, cross-cultural, and specific technical knowledge.  We’ve also met various government officials, each interaction with its own set of cultural norms, traditions, and rules/regulations.  During an official meeting with the village chiefs, we presented gifts and were treated to a traditional dance.  My family is related to the chief of the village (le chef), though again, the general concept of family is different here and not always based on shared DNA.  After the formal event though, the celebration continued at my house, though it was striking to witness  the Westernization as the music changed from traditional drumming to Katy Perry. 

          Although life in the village (we call ourselves village people) has its quirks, you can definitely tell that we’re protected by a very caring community. 

Vaccinations received during the first week: Hepatitis A, Typhoid, Hepatitis B, Meningitis, and Rabies

Bug bite count:  Well beyond 50 on my legs

My next post will hopefully explain some of the food I’m eating (and making!) and general integration into my new family.