Thursday, May 17, 2012

"Shall I stay / Would it be a sin / If I can't help falling in love with you"

Although the travel to get there was traumatic, Kenya was a perfect destination.  Although it gets a bad reputation, I LOVED Nairobi (“Nai-robbery” to naysayers), and definitely want to get back there again in the future.  From the moment I landed, it was obvious – “Toto, we’re not in Cameroon anymore.”  Nairobi is incredibly developed compared to the Africa that I’ve seen, and even better is that that way of life seems accessible to a greater share of Kenyans.  Although I didn’t think I’d be hit by culture shock very hard, I stood in a supermarket aghast when I saw half of an aisle devoted solely to toilet paper!  The sheer number of choices and options blew my mind and was a little overwhelming.    Although a bit odd to constantly see other foreigners in and around the capital, that lent itself to a weird sense of anonymity that has been missing in my life for the past year and a half.  Everyone was incredibly friendly, from the family we stayed with, to connections made through “friends of friends”...even chatting with artisanal vendors was a pleasant experience!  I was meeting up with four former Cameroonian Peace Corps Volunteers who had started their travels in December and had spent the last 3 months backpacking across the continent.  I’m slightly jealous of the travel these ladies did, but glad that I got to be on the tail-end of their adventure.

On the first day, we visited Karen Blixen’s house (of “Out of Africa” fame). 
 



Having just had pizza for lunch, I was already on a high, but lemon cheesecake and chocolate mousse at a nearby restaurant had my head spinning.
 

The next day we kept up the tourist vibe and headed towards Lakes Naivasha and Oloidien, pausing first to enjoy the incredible views of the Great Rift Valley.  

Because we were traveling on a slim budget, we avoided the official parks and their entrance fees, but found a few locations that were hidden gems and we were able to see several animals for free! 
Can you spot the baby?



Not just silly lawn ornaments
Fun fact of the day:  They're rosy pink from pigments in the organisms they eat.


 
We literally had to stop our car to avoid hitting these baboons crossing the road.  I rolled down my window to get this shot and was within 5 feet of this creature!

Another detour led us to even more wild animals:  
 
 

















The Great Rift Valley, again...

...even more beautiful at sunset?!

Thanks to a little online searching ahead of time, we were able to find a St. Patrick’s Day celebration at a club.  I felt a little out of place at this establishment given the disconnect between their outrageous cover charge and my flip-flops as footwear, but it made for a great night.  There were legit Irish step-dancers as well as the hilariously named featured entertainment of the evening - Murfy’s Flaw, purportedly “the latest rock/pop sensation in East Africa.”  Their original stuff was hit or miss, but their covers weren’t that bad, and we all enjoyed getting into the Irish spirit.















The next day we kept it low-key, enjoying some Lebanese food at a nice restaurant, lazing around the house listening to music, and eating family style with our generous hosts.  We stayed up late into the night chatting about politics/international development/economics/conspiracy theories and it was so unbelievably refreshing to have a real conversation with engaged and intelligent people. 
 
My last day in my whirlwind tour of Kenya was full of last-minute shopping, errands, and meals.  Before I knew it, we were saying our goodbyes and headed for the airport.
Seriously experienced world travelers (a.k.a. my heroes)





Monday, May 7, 2012

“I've seen the way you deal with things / The troubles that this life will bring / If it gets to you then I can tell by the way you sing / You act like it just doesn't mean a thing”


I’m ridiculously behind in updating this, but I’ll try to get everyone caught up petit à petit.  The first two weeks of March were spent trying to be as productive as possible with my upcoming vacation looming. 

I worked with a volunteer in the neighboring village to help with some events leading up to International Women’s Day (March 8th).  There were diabetes/hypertension screenings, soap-making and hand-washing presentations, a round table discussion on the year’s theme (“Rural Women’s Role in Eradicating Poverty”), and a lecture on female leadership.  I enjoyed these more than the actual day itself, as that followed the normal course of national fêtes and involved the requisite skits, songs, and marches.  There’s so much potential for Women’s Day, but it unfortunately ends up being a day of big talk by big men and a lot of drinking.

Per the request of my village chief, I used the monthly Vaccination Day as a time to talk about the importance of oral hygiene.  I had hoped to feel a little like Oprah at the end (“You get a toothbrush!  You get a toothbrush!!  EVERYONE gets a toothbrush!!!”), but somehow 20 cent gifts don’t quite have the same draw.  I did have an incredulous moment that day though, when a petite teenage mother plopped her 6-month baby on the scale and he weighed in at a whopping 11.5kg!  What can I say?  We grow ‘em big here in Bamileke country…            

Food-wise, I had very little time or motivation to cook but found a few good alternatives.  In fact, I might have gone on a caramel corn binge as there were several nights where I considered that an acceptable dinner.  You can get carried away when you realize you can take a few routine things in your kitchen and turn them into a new dish/snack.  There’s also a woman in nearby Batie who makes delicious braised mushroom kebabs (brochettes de champignons).  Yup, this former mushroom-hater might just be a convert.  A few of us also did fondue one night thanks to a package from America.  Who knew dipping bread in melted cheese could be soooo good?  

There’s no good way to segue from cheese to my next tale, but I’ve put off sharing it with many back home for long enough so here goes:

I promise to share my wonderful vacation experience in the next post, but getting there ended up being an incredible ordeal.  In order to make my afternoon flight out of Douala on the 15th, I planned on spending the night before at the Peace Corps office in Bafoussam and leaving early the next morning.  However, as I talked with more people about this plan, I was advised that it would be cutting time short and I risked not catching my flight.  Thus, I decided at the last-minute to take the night bus from Bafoussam to Douala.  (A move I thought at the time was only “discouraged” by Peace Corps...)  I arrived at the bus agency at 9:30pm to confirm the details and again at 11:15 to board.  I was told that the bus would leave at midnight whether or not it was full.  We loaded the bus and I rested for a bit before another vehicle stopped around midnight/12:30am and we boarded it.  I had a seat in the very back of the large bus, second in from the rear right window.

I was in and out of sleep as we set off and I awoke approximately an hour later to the bus stopped, very forceful pounding on the windows, and loud yelling.  Buses stop all the time so I wasn’t too concerned but people began quickly exiting the bus and there was a lot of confusion (compounded by the fact that I was groggy).  Like those around me, I crouched down low as everyone tried to file out, but I still didn’t understand what was going on amid the chaos.  As one of the last passengers, I eventually reached the door and the gun-wielding man up front suddenly saw me, exclaiming “Oh, la blanche!  He demanded money to which I responded, “What money?”  It’s become almost second nature to play the “I’m-a-volunteer-I-don’t-have-money” card so it tumbled out before I could even consider the absurdity of the excuse when faced by robbers.
As I was pushed down the steps out the door, the seriousness of what was happening became apparent.  I could make out in the dark that everyone was laying face down on the ground.  I was encouraged to move faster by those behind me but this meant stepping on/over people.  Another aggressor to the right also noticed me, saying “Oh, la blanche!”  He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me to him but I (fortunately) fell down to my left.  This gave me the opportunity to crawl toward an open space of grass in the ditch.  In retrospect, that accidental slip probably saved me dearly. 

I could hear the men yelling and demanding money and phones, threatening that if they found anyone who hid either from them, they would shoot.  Although not trying to be intentionally stubborn, I lay on top of my bag, not realizing that people were actually complying with the bandits’ demands.  I stayed frozen with my head against the gravel road.  From this angle, I could see that another smaller bus/van was in front of ours with the same scene played out. 

People were shaking and praying; the men ordered crying babies to keep quiet.  At times I struggle with my French comprehension, but suddenly I had an acute ear for “I’m going to kill you.”  A few on the ground yelled “Les hommes – cailloux,” which I believe was meant to be a rallying cry to try to overpower the bandits.  However, this angered them, and we heard multiple gunshots fired.  People were absolutely terrified.  Feeling like a dream until this moment, the weight of the reality that I could be killed started to sink in.  Lying on the cold wet grass, my bare legs and arms shook uncontrollably as my pupils constricted despite the pitch black night surrounding us.  I clung to a stranger, a female passenger reciting scripture in English and I joined in chanting along in my own broken attempt at prayer. 

I think at this point the men ordered that the luggage compartments be opened, but someone tried to explain that the keys had been lost in the scuffle.  More gunshots were heard.  People were scrambling to move away from the worst of it while remaining as close to the ground as possible.  They ended up crawling over one another and I was pushed even further into the asphalt.
                   
A final few gunshots sounded, and then I heard a vehicle peeling out.  Not sure what to do, the crowd got up quickly but cautiously.  Papers, identity cards, wallet contents, and pieces of broken phones were strewn about.  We got back on the bus and surveyed the damage.  Almost everyone had been robbed (money/phones/other personal effects) - even those that had quickly hid their things on the bus in between seats, under cushions, and in overhead compartments.  It was a devastating loss for many – men carrying wads of cash to do business transactions, a woman with nearly $600 going to Douala to pay for her son’s surgery, etc.)  Without insurance or even a good system for reporting and receiving follow-up for crimes like this, innocent Cameroonians are forced to walk away and call it a loss.  Miraculously, all my belongings (remember, I was about to leave the country so had my passport, Visa card, and a few hundred US dollars) remained on my person.  In fact, my only consolation in the incident is that as the criminals detailed the story amongst themselves later, they likely realized that I - their most obvious target - was untouched.

As I attempted to determine where we were exactly, I learned that we were just outside of my post in the West.  Knowing this area well, I offered that I had phone numbers for the associated officials (police, gendarmes, the Sous-Prefet, etc.), but was told that they wouldn’t/couldn’t do anything at that hour.   
There was a lot of arguing about whether to continue or turn around.  Meanwhile, everyone tried to recreate the event, sharing their version of the story and piecing together the details. From what we could gather, potentially 5 or 6 vehicles had been similarly attacked and there were 4 or 5 wounded and possibly dead, who were gathered by one of the vans and rushed to a nearby health care facility.  Our bus started in the direction of Douala but turned around due to people protesting.  Those few of us that still had cell phones offered them to others so they could call friends and family and make arrangements for our return. 

Back in Bafoussam at the agency, those of us who wished to continue to Douala waited until the others had gotten off.  Various people on the bus asked if anything had been taken or if I had been injured.  They were in disbelief that I had not been robbed, but also expressed that they had feared for my life when I had been singled out.  I remained essentially catatonic for the rest of the trip - stone-faced, silent, and in disbelief over what had taken place.  I felt an unbelievable sense of relief that I had walked away relatively unscathed, but also dealing with the accompanied “survivor guilt” of such a miraculous intervention.

I got to the Douala Airport in time for my flight, but my phone battery was dead at this point and the electricity was out at the airport.  Five minutes before boarding the plane, the power returned and I was able to charge my phone enough to let a fellow volunteer know that I was safe. 

Superficial scrapes covered my legs and I looked absolutely disheveled with matted hair, grimy legs, and a dress smelling of road debris, dirt, sweat, and fear.  Emotionally frazzled, I lost it at the curb when a man demanded money.  Through narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, I exclaimed that I was leaving Cameroon and considering not coming back.  I boarded the plane wiry and hypersensitive, but by the time we had reached our cruising altitude, exhaustion kicked in and I passed out.   


As I said, I’ve struggled with how to convey this incident to family and friends back home.  It was obviously scary at the time, but I processed it and moved on quickly.  I didn’t want this to define me and/ or my Peace Corps experience, and I also worried that it would paint a bad picture about what life is like for me on a day-to-day basis here in Cameroon.  So as I said, I survived, am doing fine, and have the support and encouragement of many on this continent and beyond which has helped.