"Wherever you go / I always know / 'Cause you make me smile / Even just for a while"

I’ve now put several months and thousands of miles between Cameroon and I, and need to gain a little closure on my experience by finishing this blog so I’ll wrap-up my last month in village - November.

To thank some women in my village that helped with the Field Trip, I spent one morning making chocolate cakes with my neighbor, Monique.  Although the recipe is simple and it comes together quickly, it took each cake an hour to bake inside my makeshift Dutch oven on my indoor cookstove so it was a long, lazy morning.

Election Day brought sun and time to run errands, with a few of us volunteers coming together to learn the results.  Leading up to the election I had a few conversations with Cameroonians about the way the process works and how I was voting.  I even got to tell my anecdote about eating breakfast “Obamelets” since the joke works in French, too.  I had wanted my vote to be informed, so spent an entire day in October using my slow Internet connection to research all of the candidates and issues on my absentee ballot.  Perhaps it was the fact that I was wrapping up my service, but I was especially patriotic this Election Day.  In between reading exit-poll projections, I enlisted the talented Kim to cut my hair.

I’d been in need of a cut for awhile and, in typical Cameroonian fashion, the power went out just as she was about to begin so the initial cut was made by candlelight.  She did a fantastic job and I was really pleased to get rid of more than 11 inches, which I was able to donate to Locks of Love.

 

By 4am, I was the last one still up clicking “Refresh” to learn election results so I threw in the towel and got a couple hours of sleep.

I got to head to Bafia yet again to teach First Aid one last time to the newest group of trainees.  Luckily, I was there on the day they got their post assignments (many of them replacing members of my group) and was able to share in their excitement and answer questions about the unfamiliar names of villages they knew nothing about.  It was a surreal and bittersweet experience.

In making my way back to Bapa, I took a detour and made a side trip to celebrate with my friend Marcelle as she was honored with the title of Mafou/Queen of Bandrefam.  I was nearly late since the car I was in had radiator problems and overheated every 10km but I made it to the ceremony just in time.  It was such a pleasure to see her village show their appreciation and I was surprised that, unlike so many fêtes, it remained fairly tame and low-key.

In response to a need expressed by women in my village about the frustrations dealing with saggy boobs,  (see earlier blog post [near the end]), my final project at post was an odd – but important – one.  I walked away from that day’s presentation happy with the information exchange that had occurred, but unsure how to do anything in a meaningful and sustainable way.  Several months later, a woman in the U.S. came across my blog entry discussing this issue and reached out to me.  She asked if I would be interested in providing free bras to these women if she organized a collection among her friends, neighbors, and co-workers.  I spent a month reflecting on the offer, knowing that the gesture was generous but that becoming the Oprah of Bras (“YOU get a bra!  And YOU get a bra!!  EVERYONE gets a BRA!!!”) didn’t exactly fit into the Peace Corps model of development.  Eventually though, I conceded with the justification that it met a community need and, as my post was not being replaced, I had no personal responsibility of ensuring that my successor didn’t walk into a situation where they’d be confronted for two years by people asking where their soutien-gorge was.

Once she had the go ahead from me, the woman got to work collecting and shipping 170 new and gently used bras.  On my end, I organized a Women’s Health Day, advertising that this would include a bra distribution campaign.  Want to get people interested in attending one of your events?  Mention that there will be something free and hang up posters all around your village with hand-drawn pictures of bras… :) 

One Sunday afternoon just after church let out, we opened up the health center for this day, including a discussion and proper fitting where women were measured and informed what their true band and cup size was.  We touched on the causes of sagging breasts (again, mentioned here) and a few other health lessons and also had shea butter made by a Bangangté women’s cooperative for sale - highlighting its use in minimizing the appearance of stretch marks and softening skin.

Sorting

The day wasn’t as organized as I had hoped (always to be expected, for sure, but not helped by my involvement in a minor moto accident en route to the event, counterparts not showing up, and a general lack of time to prepare due to it occurring in my final weeks at post).  However, I envision that a similar project could be carried out using the opportunity to thoroughly talk about women’s health issues, including numerous topics surrounding the theme of breast health such as: breastfeeding, breast cancer detection screenings, and the traditional but tragic practice of breast ironing/massage.

         

In the end, the lesson I learned was that what at first seemed to be a vanity issue - a matter of simple aesthetics and concern with appearances - has deeper implications.  Understanding the true obstacles and consequences to this particular behavior (that we assume should be relatively easy to change) showed itself to be quite complicated the more I probed.  It is an unfortunate reality that women in Cameroon must typically rely on men financially – not only for themselves but to ensure their children’s health, education, and other expenses are covered.  Thus, their concern with how they look is a direct link to economic insecurity.  It’s a complex and nuanced problem, but a fascinating reminder of gender inequality and how we must bridge the gap and involve both parties in taking ownership of the health of their families. 

The highlight of that day though, was the fact that as I was walking home a Cameroonian friend stopped to tell me that her daughter had recently given birth to a baby girl and she asked that the baby be named Charmayne!  (Finally, having an obscure French name was useful!)  I was walking on Cloud Nine the entire way home.

The power remained out in my neighborhood for the last weeks of service so I decided to head to Nkongsamba a day early for a presentation – without notifying the volunteer who lived there (no electricity = phone dead).  Unfortunately, I first had to walk the hour-and-a-half to neighboring Batie in the rain since there were no motos to be found.  Then, I relied on my hitchhiking prowess to catch a ride with a tanker truck hauling palm oil in that direction.  Hoisting my soggy self up into the cab, I had no more than gotten settled when the driver demanded 7000CFA ($14) –  7 to 10 times the actual price.  I used the last shred of patience I had and countered with a joke: “Do I LOOK like Paul Biya (President of Cameroon)? … Do I RESEMBLE his wife, Chantal?  Do you think if I HAD that kind of money I would be searching for a ride by the side of the road?”  We all had a good laugh, and proceeded…though he insisted that I’d have to spend the night with him if I couldn’t get ahold of my friend.  I assured him that she would be there and, although I did indeed somewhat surprised Tess, I received a most comfortable welcome.    

The next day we did a soap-making demonstration at a hospital followed by fabric dying.  The technique was fun to learn, though there wasn’t a great system for moving people through quickly.  In the end, I was proud of my work and left with a few great pieces.  

 

Beautiful mountain in the distance

  

I also helped lead a soap-making demonstration in my friend Martine’s home.  She has 6 daughters and was looking to supplement her income in order to afford to send them to school.  One day, we made the trip to Bafoussam together to buy all the ingredients so she could get her business started.  I was so happy that someone was going to actually put the skills to use and that this could indeed be a sustainable project.  The woman that runs the shop where I buy all the supplies was terse, but in the end very helpful in helping Martine learn how she could economize even more and still turn out a quality product.

For our last Girls Club, we held a small party at my house.  In anticipation, I made a carrot cake and a chocolate cake.

My counterpart, Silvere, had been at my house in the morning and, while she braided her daughter’s hair, agreed to help out by giving her testimony of how she became a nurse.  I didn’t know all the struggles she had encountered along the way (failing the tests, financial set-backs, etc.), but I was in awe of her story and proud of the girls for listening intently and asking really perceptive questions.  We paused for refreshments and an informal discussion of strong African female role models (researchers, a Cameroonian pilot, etc.)  They gave me a woven basket as a gift and a summary of what we had learned and then it was time to get silly taking pictures.

For Thanksgiving, I made a pie using the precious apples I had found in Bafoussam and then chocolate chip cookies with Monique and Laure.  Sometimes all it takes to put you in the spirit for the holidays is to bake.  Pamela, a neighboring volunteer, brought tofu and we made a festive little meal.

Closing my bank account in Bafoussam took a handful of hours and nearly as many people to interact with.  Blatant corruption came in the form of various responses for the closing fees to shut down my account.  I had to eventually hand write a letter essentially begging the higher authorities to let me close my account.  This, from the same institution that had me draw a map of my residence when I opened the account.  Oh Cameroon…   

The last week in village was spent alternating my time between cleaning my house to close it up and walking around saying my individual goodbyes.  The Chief had asked if I wanted a customary large send-off but I told him that I preferred more personal interactions so it was a win-win.  There was a lot of koki (my favorite meal) eaten and a lot of pictures taken:

Koki in the banana leaf it is cooked in

Unwrapped

   

Bapa Health Committee

On my second-to-last night in Bapa, a friend collected the furniture she had purchased from me and then, I settled in for a quiet evening with Monique and her family.  We had arranged to make koki together.  Then, as a farewell soiree, the kids read goodbye letters to me and I started crying.  Even today, as I write this, my eyes well up remembering that very special night.

Pouring the liquid mixture into banana leaves and tying the bundles off to cook

Giresse and Derick

Family photo

Laure and me

I never realized how much I towered over Mimi (and baby Derick)

  

Cristelle reading a sweet letter the kids wrote for me

A touching moment between Monique and her youngest sons

My last day in village was a day for laundry, packing, and thorough cleaning from floor to ceiling.  I gave the last of my gifts and spent the night by candlelight in an eerily empty home.       

   

    

“One day baby, we'll be old / Oh baby, we'll be old / And think of all the stories / That we could have told”

I left Cameroon behind in December but still feel that I need to wrap-up this blog by writing about my last few months there.

We had an interesting conversation in Girls Club about thinking about problems in terms of their root causes versus symptoms.  Then, we continued with our paper bead-making while listening to music and stringing necklaces.  Part of the scholarship funding for the A2Empowerment recipients covered other incidentals related to school so I spent a whole day in the outdoor market (marché) bargaining for a math textbook and a bookbag.  

The girls showing off their jewelry creations

In the middle of making rice one evening, my gas bottle ran out which meant going to my neighbor’s to cook over their fire.  The kids watched in disbelief at what I prepared – “What?  You’re going to eat that rice without a sauce?”  (And I didn’t dare let them see the chemically-induced orange powder I had for making macaroni and cheese.)  As it turns out, when I can’t heat food, I eat like I’m going on a picnic: potato salad, salsa and bread, pasta salads, etc.  The day that I could finally break away to refill my bottle, I unfortunately had trouble finding a moto so had to carry the tank all the way to the center of village.  By the time I got there, I was sweaty but (un)luckily, we secured it to the moto and took off just as it started to rain.  I arrived to Bafoussam looking worse for the wear - which seems to be my normal appearance when I reach the regional capital.   Once I had a stove again, the kitchen creations resumed.  I tried being adventurous with a recipe I found for carrot/ginger/banana/lime soup.  Unfortunately, it sounds better than it tasted so I stuck with the standbys from then on.

Rosemary onion pizza

Oatmeal cookies

For the second monthly meeting of Girls Club, I prepared beans to the best of my ability.  I can’t say they were used to the taste of tomato paste and cumin, but they were good sports and ate it all.  We had a roundtable about a current event from an online newspaper which turned into a fascinating discussion about domestic abuse and the messages that revolve around it from their various spheres of influence.  I was so proud of the girls for their candor and sharing their insight.

At the end of the month, I welcomed the next group of Peace Corps Trainees to my village for their field trip.  Because the length of training had been cut down, trainees no longer get to see their actual posts on site visit so this was intended to be an opportunity for them to see a “real” PCV in action to give them a glimpse of our lives and the work we do.  I programmed a very busy day for them which, in retrospect, I should have known would never be accomplished in its entirety.  With 24 of them and only one of me, it was a little overwhelming, but also great to share my experiences and answer questions.

The day started late (what else is expected?), and of course involved being delayed even longer at a gendarme check-point where they accused us of having more people in the vehicle than stated (simple counting could have cleared that up…but I digress).  The bus slowly trudged to Bapa but we finally reached a point where the driver refused to continue due to the steepness and instability of the dirt path (sometimes I forget exactly how “en brousse” my village is).  With a last-minute change of plans, we changed the location.  Murphy’s Law continued to reign as I attempted to have the soybeans ground.  The machine broke halfway through meaning I waited while a few men tried to fix it – a repair literally involving splicing wires and shoving them directly into the outlet.  The soy demonstration took awhile and involved a heavy downpour just to keep things interesting.  We also managed to squeeze in a quick soap-making demonstration and a lunch of beans and beignets before the group had to depart.  I helped with the general clean-up and returned home exhausted. 

(Field trip photos courtesy of Jaclyn Escudero)

The kids pitch in to help me grate the powdered laundry detergent

 

Finally, I rounded out October by seeing my former counterpart be officially recognized as the new chief of a neighboring health center.  It was a proud day for me to see her recognized and the potential that this new post provides her.

One of many long speeches necessary for an event like this

"I came to win, to fight, to conquer, to thrive / I came to win, to survive, to prosper, to rise / To fly / To fly"

As the academic year kicked off, I was able to pay school fees for the 4 recipients of A2Empowerment scholarships.  These bright girls were each chosen earlier this year to receive money that covers the bulk of their annual academic costs, plus a few other incidentals.  We decided to roll out our mandatory meetings into a larger Girls Club to reach more young women in the village.  We’re meeting twice a month and kicked off the initiative listening to music while putting together a group timeline and resume of our collective skills and talents.  At our second gathering, we discussed financial matters and the importance of budgeting.  An engaging, informal conversation followed the teaching points, and then I introduced them to making paper beads.

Diokene Maiva

Tchamegne Fezeu Amelie

 



Teneng Germerie Wondon





Tchuendem Simo Gabrelle Cynthia



Having been away from village for nearly half of August, I tried to make up for it by touring Bapa, delivering homemade soap and greeting people I hadn’t seen in awhile.  This included a trip to the chefferie to see the chief and one of his wives.  The Chief of Bapa is extremely well-regarded within the Bamileke culture, and I only wish our conversations weren’t so awkward (though admittedly this is largely my fault).  Our interactions always make me nervous and I invariably end up sitting there with furtive darting eyes as I feel the sweat collecting behind my knees.  He was just back from his third (yup, third) trip to the United States which should have given us loads to talk about but I left feeling even less prepared to have normal conversations with people when I leave Cameroon. 

Although I was hoping to have another “film screening” chez moi, the projector wasn’t working well so instead the kids and I crowded around the tiny screen of my computer and watched “She’s the Man.”  The older kids liked it (soccer, teen humor, Amanda Bynes impersonating a boy…what’s not to love?!?!), but the younger kids were a bit lost so I indulged them in watching the animated “Kirikou and the Sorcerer” which by my tally means we’re into double digits viewing. 

One the eleventh anniversary of September 11^th, I was able to pay tribute in a most unusual way.  I spent the morning at the Health Center where, in between prenatal consultations, I read a few chapters from Nine Parts of Desire, a book about the role of women in Islam and what the Koran says about such matters.  On my way home, I stopped to chat with the Father of the Catholic Church in village and ended up having a lengthy discussion with a few people about development, politics, peace, and the lingering effects of 9/11 on Americans and throughout the world.  Building my global cultural perspective is perhaps the best way I can pay homage to the tragedy that unfolded that day.  In commemorating the lives that were lost, I think the best piece of advice I can give is to reflect on the power each of us has to do/feel/love – and pursue endeavors that convey this.

In somewhat disappointing news, I learned that the nurse at the health center and my pseudo-counterpart had been affected to a new post in the region.  This sealed the nail in the coffin that I wouldn’t be replaced by a Health PCV, but I was hopeful that perhaps the time was ripe for a Youth Development volunteer given my increasing work in that area.  Unfortunately, this is not to be, so Bapa is officially being closed this round.  I am very saddened that it seems all our efforts were in vain – not to mention it means I must pack up and deal with getting rid of *everything* instead of just passing it off to my replacement.

Of course, it was bittersweet thinking about leaving as September marked my 2-year anniversary from starting this entire crazy adventure.  A volunteer in a remote village in the West Adamawa had invited us to her post to celebrate.  It was a journey to get there (from Bapa to Bafoussam, then Bafoussam to Bamenda, and Bamenda to Kumbo for the night, followed by Kumbo to Songkolong to arrive at our party destination), but I’m so glad I went.  Along one of the legs, I was crammed in the backseat of a car with three other volunteers from my training group.  Despite the lack of wiggle room, I was content.  It down-poured at first but eventually we settled in and enjoyed the drive while sharing earbuds to listen to music as we made our way to Kumbo.  Kumbo is a great town and it was nice to just relax and enjoy each other’s company.  Plus, the street food is fantastic and I enjoyed “fried Irish” (fried potatoes) topped with an omelet. This was eaten with my hands out of a black plastic bag - which has a way of making anything you eat seem a little more shameful - but was delicious!  The next day, we filled two cars going to Songkolong but this time around, four in the backseat got uncomfortable fast so I offered to take “petite chauffeur” (i.e. you share the seat with the driver and make do as he reaches over your thighs to shift).  In total, there were 15 visitors to Songkolong, which delighted and slightly overwhelmed this village where water, electricity, and cell phone reception are rare.  It was a jovial night as we recounted our initial meeting in Philadelphia, first roommates, and the incredible memories we’ve made up to this point.

The morning brought omelets for our bellies and saying goodbyes as we headed back to Kumbo and the half-way point to get back to the West.  I visited a Cameroonian artist’s gallery and was so impressed I did a very adult-like thing and bought a 3-piece painting of a tree at sunset that I fell in love with the instant I laid eyes on it.  Forget the fact that I don’t know where I’ll be living or what I’ll be doing after Peace Corps, I know this art will be a fixture that will remind me of my time here.

Being the good Bamileke cat that she is, Cardamom “blessed” me with 6 more kittens.  Her fertility is infuriating and I’d be more angry with her if the kittens weren’t so darn cute.  Unfortunately, this is yet another thing I need to deal with as I wrap up my time here…    

Deric is my friend Mimi’s baby and he turned 1-year-old near the end of the month and I promised to photograph the guest of honor. We all laughed as he wobbled about on unsteady feet but refused to let that stop him from getting down and dancing to the music.  Mimi had also made quite possibly the best Cameroonian cake I’ve had in this country (she told me her secret is to add yogurt – genius!).

The birthday boy!

Dance party!



My favorite 1-year-old



September wrapped up with the biggest Peace Corps party to date – PROMEROON – hosted by the West region (I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again - the *best* region).  Since many people were coming in to celebrate, I invited people to my house the day before.  Although my 2-bedroom apartment is small, we had a cozy Girls Night with seven of us.  It was well after dark by the time we arrived, and we commenced dinner preparation in the dark, eventually enjoying dinner of naan, rice, and Indian curry (potatoes, canned peas and tomatoes, tofu, and coconut milk) by candlelight.  We thoroughly stuffed ourselves before the storm passed and the power returned.

We had planned on doing yoga the next morning, but the lingering effects of rainy season meant that plan was scrapped and we instead settled on a relaxed morning of lazing around the house listening to music and watching TV while making coconut French toast for breakfast and fried rice and roasted potats (white sweet potatoes) with lime and chili vinaigrette for lunch.  We packed up and walked to the nearby village for the Prom festivities – taking a “short cut” and blaring music along the way.

I had intended to arrange a late-night car that would take those interested back to my house, but we were unable to find a willing driver so instead returned to my house to pick up bedding.  This turned out to be another adventure as the moto men refused to follow the directions to my house (or me yelling the entire time that we were going the wrong direction).  We ended up taking the “scenic route” through Bapa and, just when I thought I couldn’t get more exasperated, one of the motos ran out of gas.  We trudged along on foot, thankful for the full moon and trying to find the humor in the entire situation.  Eventually, we made it to the party and kicked off the festivities and I was impressed that guests went all out with dresses/suits, hair, and makeup.  Much of the evening involved sitting around the bonfire in our finery, and I even presented my friend and fellow Health volunteer in the West, Marcelle, with a chocolate coconut cake I had made for her birthday. 

Sequined beauties in the middle:  Inspired by "Toddlers & Tiaras" but perfect for a "Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion" re-enactment

Me and the Birthday girl

In the world of other kitchen concoctions, I attempted to make bagels but didn’t quite succeed.  While all were moister than the typical doughy delight, half of the batch strangely tasted like English muffins and the rest like plain doughnuts.  Bizzare.  Of course, I smeared them with some Vache Qui Rit and ate them anyway…  Also, despite not usually liking mayonnaise, I had a strange craving for my mom’s potato salad so attempted my own version (along with egg salad sandwiches another day).  To make up for the caloric laden meals of late, I’m trying to get back into yoga and running, but it remains a struggle to make this a part of my routine.