"I don't mean to seem like I care about material things / Like our social stats / I just want four walls and adobe slats"

To celebrate America’s Independence Day, a few of us took a quick vacation to the Southwest region, an English-speaking (anglophone) province.  Getting there ended up being more interesting than even the normally amusing travel.  I was making the journey with a friend, but we struggled to reach a consensus even among Cameroonians on the best way to get to Buea, the regional capital.  I had been informed by a few people that there was a bus service that went directly from Bafoussam to Buea.  However, no such place existed when we arrived at the general area we were told.  After a few confusing conversations, we arranged to be picked up by a bus that happened to be passing through.  After waiting a few hours, we were suddenly whisked away in a taxi to go to the intersection (carrefour) where this exchange was to take place.  When it started raining our “handlers” proposed an impromptu solution – they recognized a man who was driving by in a private car.  As luck would have it, he was driving right to Buea and would be glad to take us.  I’ll admit, climbing into a stranger’s car could be dangerous, but in retrospect, it was a fantastic decision.  As it turns out, he is originally from the Southwest region but is currently working on his PhD in Biochemistry in Finland!  Not only did we not have to be crammed in a van with dozens of other people, but we were able to whiz right through official check-points and enjoyed a fascinating conversation the whole time!                   

After seeing a bit of Buea, we made our way to Limbe, a tourist town primarily because of the water-front geography.  There, we ate delicious food at a restaurant within a gorilla preserve. 

Nothing like eating crepes while watching primates!

Because it isn’t really peak season, we basically had the beaches (les plages) to ourselves.  I can’t imagine a more perfect way to spend the 4^th in a foreign country than alternating between swimming in the Atlantic Ocean and relaxing on the isolated black sand beach.  It was simple, yet gorgeous, and the day ended with dinner under the stars among friends followed by an American dance party.     

 

 

Food update:  The rainy season is well under way which makes Bapa even colder.  In a bizarre comparison to those of you stateside who are suffering an unbearable heat wave, I’m making a nightly cup of tea or homemade hot chocolate before snuggling under the bed covers.  The weather is also lending itself to various “comfort foods” lately: quiche à la cookstove, honey bread, and an endless mélange of beans with vegetables for a sort of vegetarian chili.

On the “work” front, I’ve been attending various neighborhood (quartier) meetings in the hopes of identifying the needs (les besoins) of my village.  Unfortunately, we’ve hit a wall with distinguishing between needs and wants, and I’m now faced trying to explain why establishing electrical lines is not a priority of mine…and I certainly don’t have 12,000,000CFA (approximately $24,000USD) to start that discussion. 

I did compile a rather comprehensive survey for the members of my Health Committee to complete, though.  At a hefty 10 pages single-spaced, it covered everything from the Health Center, Mother-Child Health, education, HIV/AIDS, economic improvements, and general community development.  For their time, I promised a party at my house (une fête chez-moi).  Actually, I was sure not to use the word party, calling it a gathering (rassemblement) instead so the expectations wouldn’t be too high.  Hosting an event for a dozen or so adult Cameroonians was a bit more stressful than I originally thought, but it turned out okay in the end.  Of course, there were some minor hitches: the awkwardness while sitting around my living room at first, the onslaught of a rain storm so intense I had water coming in under my door, the power being knocked out and the room being even darker when we closed the window to keep the rain out.  After the storm had let up a bit and people were on their way making trudge back to their respective homes, I was exhausted and had slick muddy floors, but felt good about the day.

Celebrations are a big deal here though, and mine paled in comparison to the shin-dig my landlord threw for friends and family.  During the school break (congé), it’s customary for students who live in the larger cities to visit and experience village life for a bit – and vice versa.  My normally quiet and empty concession soon became home to 25+ children for two weeks.  Then, overnight, the courtyard transformed into an array of tables, plastic chairs, buffet tables, and tent awnings so accommodate a hundred or so guests.  Sometimes it’s hard to believe I’m in Africa when these Western scenes happen…  The mother in my compound was responsible for feeding everyone during this time, so was busy morning, noon, and night preparing, serving, and cleaning up after each meal.  It was an incredible amount of work for which she got very little sleep and not enough thanks, so I made her a zucchini cake once the last guest had left.      

“It's alright to be little bitty/A little hometown or a big old city/Might as well share, might as well smile/Life goes on for a little bitty while”

As always, a quick shout-out on food:  Having acquired some almond extract in this country, I successfully made (and ate far too many) almond cookies.  I’ve also tried an interesting treat they only sell in the anglophone regions - Scotch eggs.  I have no idea how the name originated and, while they’re alcohol-free, I think they could be marketed as an ideal hangover food.   Step 1: Peel the shells off of boiled eggs.  Step 2:  Dip the whole, intact egg into thick beignet batter.  Step 3:  Deep-fry.  These can be served as is, hot or cold…though I prefer warm with a bit of spicy piment pepper sauce.  They’re fattening, filling, and oh-so-good.    

I’ve been exploring my region a bit more and greatly enjoyed a hike with friends to the rock formations in Baham.  The town also boasts a fantastic museum and it was very interesting to learn a bit more about the history, culture, and traditions of the Bamilike people.

At the end of June, I went to Yaounde for a workshop on Sexual Harassment in a Cross-Cultural Context.  As always, travel was a blend of amusing and annoying as the other passengers refused to open the windows on the bus.  There are usually two trains of thought for this strange habit:  some are certain that they’ll get the flu (la grippe) if they breathe too much outside air, others are afraid of evil spirits entering the vehicle.  So instead, we sit squished together breathing warm stagnant air and ironically, sharing our germs.  Nevermind the fact that whatever “spirits” managed to enter are also now trapped with us – but I digress…

The workshop was informative, as were the conversations I was able to have beforehand with Cameroonians regarding the topic.  While I’m thankful I haven’t had too many overt instances of sexual harassment, it’s unfortunately a problem many volunteers face.  It was enlightening getting the opinions and insight from host country nationals about perceptions and interactions between males and females, and the associated bystander intervention training was also useful.

Because I was in the country capital, I managed to get myself invited to the “event of the year” at the US Embassy.  This party was highlighting the Peace Corps since we’re celebrating 50 years of service worldwide, so many staff members and other volunteers were in attendance.  Being within the perimeter of the Embassy is like entering a wormhole that dumps you into another world though.  The culture shock began at the security check-point body scanner.  Even more jarring than the mechanical innovation was the basic concept of standing in a line – something unfamiliar to most of us at this point.  After all, at the bank, the post office, or the neighborhood boutique, it’s usually just a push and shove system of elbowing your way to the front and crowding around with the others who have done the same.  Needless to say, I think we surprised the guard a bit as we rushed the contraption as a mass crowd and all threw our possessions into the same gray plastic container instead of following the one-at-a-time procedure.  Eventually, we were deemed safe to enter (despite our uncivilized approach) – though opening the glass door to the compound only made me feel even more villageoise.  With perfectly manicured lawns, a pool, and a gently sloping golf course in the distance, I suddenly felt very aware of just how far-removed I was from my normal day-to-day life in village.  Nevertheless, it was nice to escape into the fantasy for the night and mingle with people while nibbling on appetizers that were being carried on trays by Cameroonian waiters wearing red-white-and-blue Uncle Sam hats.  After the Ambassador gave a speech, the music started and we PCVs “earned out keep” by performing a hastily practiced “flash mob” dance routine.  It was a great evening, but I was ready for a more informal get-together.  Good thing the 4^th of July was just around the corner…        

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.”   

"Nothing to do, nowhere to be / A simple little kind of free / Nothing to do, no one but me / And that's all I need"

In July, I’ll be helping to teach a quick First Aid medical session to the new Peace Corps Trainees.  In order to be “qualified” to do so, I had to go to Yaounde in April to learn the Peace Corps methodology of training (i.e. creating formal objectives that address the appropriate taxonomies of learning).  Yes, it’s as ridiculous as it sounds, but it was great to visit the country capital and be able to eat pizza and have cold mango/pineapple smoothies.  It goes without saying: the urban life is considerably more expensive than life in village, so I kept finding myself having those moments of “You want me to pay HOW MUCH?”  It was reminiscent of feeling the dichotomy between rural Ohio and New York or Boston.  I look forward to trying to explore the city a bit more in the future, but in the meantime, I don’t mind being considered “villageois.” 

I decided while I had the opportunity, I would visit one of the top high schools in the country (take from it what you will about Cameroon’s educational system, but it’s an American school that uses a traditionally US curriculum).  I used this chance to talk a bit about my beloved alma mater, Kenyon College, specifically – but in general I gave information about the application process and the personal essay.  It was nice to talk about higher education again!   

As I returned to my post, we passed by Bafia, the town where my 11 weeks of training had been.  The van only stopped for 1 minute – no time to say Hellos, but long enough to pick up a dozen mangoes for 200CFA (~$0.40)!  My rush to return to Bapa was so I could celebrate National (Unification) Day in my region.  May 20^th marked the 50^th anniversary of the event, so it was a big deal in country.  The events in my district were happening in neighboring Bangou, so I walked 1.5 hours to observe the festivities.  Like most Cameroon holidays, the major attraction was the march (défilé). 

I don't even remember which school these students were from - but I loved their bright purple uniforms!

I’ll be brutally honest, I wasn’t much for parades in the States, and I can’t say that Cameroonian marches are any more interesting.  In fact, because there are no floats, vehicles (or even mimes à la the Gambier 4^th of July parade)…it’s really just droves of kids walking in formation.  After it was over, I found I had far too many people approaching me with requests to buy them drinks, so I decided to walk the hour and a half back to village.  Honestly, it was a bit like having my own personal parade as everyone seemed to stop and watch.  Oh, and a few occasionally made the ridiculous comment – “Regarde…la blanche marche à pied (Look – the white is walking!)”  Gotta’ love when people point out the obvious…

I’ve now been to a few tofu demonstrations.  It’s great when it goes well and the tofu turns out firm and tasty (aided by adding the perfect blend of spices right before it is squeezed out for the final time).  The women are excited by its potential as a meal and/or a source of income.  Because tofu is a foreign concept though, we call it soybean meat (viande de soja) since it eventually has a similar taste and texture.  This makes it more likely that people will at least try it.

We PCVs in the West had a regional get-together at the end of May.  The volunteer who hosted it has a pretty swanky concession and, as always, when PCVs get together, the eating is good.  It was like a summer party back home, complete with bean burgers, garlic bread (using the fantastically yummy bagel-like bread that is specially made in that area), pasta salad, and a fruit tart for dessert.  Thanks to someone’s care package, we also had the materials for a water balloon fight.  The evening concluded with outdoor blanket forts and stargazing.    

“Work” (and I use the quotes intentionally because I never feel like I’m doing enough to qualify this as a job) continues to trudge along.  I’ve spent some time attending the weekly meetings in my quartier.  Really though, this is just 25 women who come together to pay dues (cotise) – each according to their ability that week.   There was yet another minor cholera outbreak in the West.  Thankfully this time it has avoided the villages closest to me, but I gave a presentation on the disease (maladie) nonetheless.  Unfortunately, it seemed that no one was really interested in what I had to say– so I’ll just have to continue to persist. 

I’ve also come up with an extensive survey (10 very full pages) for the employees of the Health Center and members of the Health Committee.  It covers everything from general health questions to issues of water availability, hygiene, sanitation, family planning, HIV/AIDS, etc.  My fingers are crossed that when they are turned in, we’ll be able to work together to plan some future projects.

I’ll leave you with the latest sharing of culture chez-moi.  I keep a deck of cards just inside my door which the kids are always asking to use.  They have their own games (the two youngest ones just take turns playing whatever card they feel like – there’s no regard for numbers or suit), but I also took the opportunity to teach them about building card houses.

"Life is too short for sorrow / What have you got to lose? / Don't be afraid of tomorrow / It's all in what you choose"

I’ll admit, I have a pretty nice set-up in terms of my living situation.  With running water, electricity, and fairly consistent Internet, I know I’m living the “Posh Corps” lifestyle.  While a part of me wishes I were “roughing it” a bit more, I’m thankful for the fact that my apartment is cozy and comfortable.  When I returned from vacation, however, I learned that the motor for the water pump 50 meters from my house was broken.  Luckily, the next nearest water source is less than a kilometer away…but when you have to carry your full 20-liter container (bidon) *uphill* with that water, you start to realize how easy it is to take a simple thing like H2O for granted.  You start to re-examine your water use, being even more vigilant about conserving every single drop.  Another PCV told me the following saying: “Some people look at the glass as half-full; others see it as half-empty.  A Peace Corps Volunteer looks at the glass and says, ‘I could probably bathe with that.’”  Thankfully, the rainy season is upon us so I set a few buckets (seaux) outside and nature took care of my needs a few times.    

The Swiss Ambassador to Cameroon recently visited my village to dedicate a water source he had helped finance.   It was a little bizarre to see another white person in Bapa, and people kept asking if he was my father.  All in all, it was a nice ceremony and it gave me the opportunity to chat with a few village “elites.”  This pump is in the neighborhood where the high school (lycée) is located, so it will be put to great use.

Swiss Ambassador to Cameroon...a.k.a. "Dad"

English classes at the primary school are going well.  We’re not covering a lot of material, but I feel pretty good that they seem to be getting the bulk of information.   One day we built upon our knowledge of colors by learning possessive adjectives with articles of clothing (“my red skirt,” “your blue jeans,” “his yellow shirt,” etc).   We came to a consensus…favorite word?  Flip flop.

I’m continuing to go on semi-regular runs and love exploring this village, seeing how the different paths and tiny trails connect.  Eventually, I hope to learn the ins and outs - one district (quartier) at a time.

In the kitchen, I have successfully made vegetarian chili, pizza, onion and rosemary foccacia bread, and zucchini/lentil/rice soup.  The last concoction yielded so much that I shared with the family who lives in my concession.  My neighbor reciprocated by teaching me how to prepare legumes (a leafy green a bit like spinach) in the traditional Cameroonian way.  It has also been exciting to witness a few soy (soja) transformations across the Western regions.  I successfully made tofu on my own a few weeks ago and it’s great to see village mamas prepare it and get excited by it.  It’s amazingly good whether you marinate it with curry powder and lightly sear it…or give it the traditional Cameroon deep-fry in palm oil and put it on skewers with fresh onion and spicy piment pepper.  Besides the taste, there are other benefits –

                *Agriculturally: Soybean plants are nitrogen-fixers.  That is, they put nitrogen back into the soil, which means it’s a great crop to alternate with other staples like corn (maïs).

    *Nutritionally:  1kg soybeans has the same protein equivalency as 3kg meat, 13L milk, or 60 eggs (and far less expensive than any of those)!!!  This is key considering the general rate of protein insufficiency. 

*Economically: Women who make and sell the tofu are able to reap pretty impressive profits, thus making it a great income generating activity.

During the monthly vaccination day at the Health Center, I gave a presentation to the mothers on understanding  growth charts and nutrition.  Babies were routinely weighed on vaccination days, but the results weren’t really plotted or explained.  We were pleased to see that overall, child development is pretty good in village, with most falling between the normal ranges we’d expect to see.  Only a few children are mal-/under-nourished by the numbers, but now we’ll be able to follow-up and monitor them regularly.

Many pain-staking hours spent on the floor with a piece of paper and a ruler to recreate this growth chart.

 

La Maison de Nourriture.  Carbohydrates are the foundation, proteins are the walls, and vitamins/minerals provide protection as the roof.  The kids in my concession helped me draw pictures of various regional foods.

 

 

In other news, I’ve compiled my “bucket list” and have a daunting collection of more than 175 ideas.  I’ve hung it on my wall to give me motivation to accomplish some of these goals in the future, but who knows what I’ll tackle next? 

I’m curious to learn what’s on your list of things to accomplish before you die…