“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.