Exactly 3 months ago today, I left the Peace Corps. Most people already know my reasons, but the last 2 entries on this blog are for those people who haven’t kept as closely in touch. This entry describes my last month and a half leading up to my departure from Cameroon. The next entry will describe my reasons for leaving the Peace Corps and what I am doing now.

Just a few days after New Years, I went to a District Strategic Planning meeting for all the health centers in my district. The head coordinators from over 20 health centers attended. I went with the coordinator from my health center, and I when I met him at 7am he said he had stayed up the entire night working on finalizing the numbers for the report, even working by candlelight when the power went out. We had to transfer twice in order to get to the district hospital in Baham, so it took a long time and there was a lot of waiting around at each transfer. Finally, we made it and the meeting was pretty interesting from my perspective just to see what they talk about at these meetings. The head of the district hospital gave a talk about a new technology they are using, a website that allows the coordinators of each center to upload their health data online to track changes and outbreaks in real-time. It does have major advantages because data could be compiled faster rather than waiting until the end of the month to turn in the paper copy. There were 3 cases of cholera in the last month in our district, including one woman who was admitted to the health center that I work with and referred to Baham. Cholera is thus a very real and dangerous problem, and anything to improve the detection and case management of this and other diseases would be beneficial. However, our health center doesn’t even have a computer, much less internet. Using a website to upload information doesn’t seem at all practical until those things are addressed. Then the staff would have to be trained how to use it. Nevertheless, it’s possible that this could become a reality in the future. The rest of the meeting was pretty boring. Each of the health coordinators talked about how their health centers are working and what challenges they are facing, but mostly the district head did all the talking and he repeated the same things over and over. I enjoyed the experience of seeing how they run their meetings and was really glad I went.

A few days later, I went down to Yaoundé to pick up Shivani. She came to visit for a month and a half and everything about my life in Cameroon changed. In addition to going “clando” several times (leaving my post without permission) and breaking a few other Peace Corps rules, everything about my perception of the Peace Corps and why I was devoting 2 years to being there changed.

Although much of my time during that month and a half was spent showing her around Cameroon and my village, and spending quality time together, we also did quite a lot of work. For instance, I introduced Shivani to the staff at the health center where I worked.

We met with women at the health center on pre-natal consultation days and vaccination days and discussed common health problems they face in their community. We presented information about disease prevention and maternal and child health for women who are pregnant or breastfeeding. We also screened Scenarios from Africa films, which are short films related to HIV/AIDS topics, with women at the health center and facilitated a discussion about the films with the patients at the health center.

We also worked with a youth group at a local church and screened the Scenarios from Africa films with them on a couple occasions. They really loved the films and we had really rich discussions. Some of the issues they brought up included practicing abstinence and fidelity in relationships. We demonstrated the proper way to put on a condom and helped the youth plan a sensitization campaign to educate community members about HIV/AIDS. The youth were really excited about this project and showed a lot of enthusiasm; however, I had to leave before I could help get this project off the ground. Although more could have been done if I had stayed longer, I hope that the effort that I did make had an impact in their lives and inspired them to do more.

We also met with traditional dance groups, the Poohmendjeu and Lissa groups. They had weekly meetings and we met with them and explained our purpose of being there and how we hoped to collaborate with them to address health concerns in their community. We did an exercise using appreciative inquiry, where they listed resources available in their community. We also helped them identify major health problems in their community and we planned a community mapping exercise. We discussed potential projects and next steps to take, but unfortunately there wasn’t enough time to continue collaborations with these groups.

We also attended many community events such as funerailles (a celebration of someone’s life usually held 6 months to a year after they died), including a really big one for one of the sub-chiefs.

At the funeraille in our matching outfits. Click any of the pictures to see full-size.

Another activity we did was hosting a junior youth group, which is based on the Junior Youth Spiritual Empowerment Program, using the French version of Breezes of Confirmation. Just like the group that I started during pre-service training, this group studied the lessons from the book and planned out a service project. I got to know the parents of one of the junior youth very well and although her son appeared very shy and quiet when I first met him in the market, he really lit up when he joined the group and helped organize and lead the other junior youth. Unfortunately, I had to leave before the group got very far off the ground and there was no one to continue the group, unlike the one that I had started during training.

Shivani and I went to meet the superior chief of my village and he showed us his livestock and fields before serving us a grand meal.



We also had a potluck on the Chinese/Lunar New Year where we invited a few PCVs from nearby villages as well as several friends from my community. We prepared a vast array of dishes, including vegetable stuffed cabbage, Pajeon (Korean-style pancakes) with dipping sauce, and vegetable lo mein. We also served fresh pineapples and another PCV brought guacamole, so we had a big feast!

Since I’m on the subject of food, we also prepared chocolate cake, banana bread, pancakes with M&M’s and bananas inside, and helped Mama Monique prepare her food for the lunch that she sells at the boutique next to my house. We made pommes pilés, koki, and other local Cameroonian dishes, and we also taught Mama Monique how to make tofu from soybeans.

We hiked Mount Batchingou with Sawa, a close friend from my village who I played guitar with, and a guide. This mountain is located just behind my house and every night I watched the sun set behind it. It was a long hike in the hot sun, and frankly it wasn’t very fun. Cameroonians have a peculiar habit of burning all the land in order to plant new crops because that’s easier than tilling the soil, although far worse for the environment. So there was no shade the entire way up the mountain and the grass was a burnt stubble so that with every step we kicked up dust and ashes. When we got to the top, there were too many clouds to see anything so there wasn’t much of a view. However, Sawa and the guide were fun to be with and they made lots of jokes, so it was still a relatively pleasant time. We also got to visit a sacred waterfall, where we had to take off our jewelery and hats before entering and weren’t allowed to take any photos.

Look how much dust and ash there was

We also traveled quite a lot. We took a trip to Limbe, a beautiful beach with black sand. We had poisson braisé (grilled fish) by the water and met an American expat Marine who showed us around and introduced us to some of his friends, who ate wood-fired pizza with us and took us to see the Botanical Gardens. When we weren’t able to leave on the day we had planned because of issues with the bus, he hosted us at his house another night.

We also attended the National Youth Day parade and met with the Prefet in Bangangté. The classes from each school had different colored uniforms and they all marched down the streets for hours, singing songs about unity, education, health, and HIV/AIDS.

The Prefet of Bangangté and his wifeIt’s hard to properly summarize a full month and a half of activities, especially when writing about it 3 months later, but that gives a pretty good picture of the wonderful time we had together in Cameroon during the end of my stay. The next post will talk about the other side of the picture, why I decided to leave Peace Corps.

Having grown up in a household that rarely had fewer than three cats in its presence during all of my childhood, I figured, when I arrived in Garoua nine months ago and found myself living completely alone for the first time in my life, that getting a cat would be a nice way to make [...]

Epilepsy Myths Promote Stigma, Prevent Care in Cameroon An article written by our friend, journalist Comfort Mussa. http://www.globalpressinstitute.org/global-news/africa/cameroon/epilepsy-myths-promote-stigma-prevent-care-cameroon

Bakweri Sunday Wrestling

In 1968, when this film was made, teams of young men and boys from the Bakweri villages near Buea, on the slopes of Mt. Cameroon, had wrestling competitions on weekends. Villages scheduled matches. As the film shows, opponents picked each other. To win, a wrestler had to force his opponent to the ground. The revival of this sport has been chronicled on Youtube by gefcasting. I made this film with a windup 16mm. camera as a Peace Corps volunteer. -- William Smock From: wmsmock Views: 0 0 ratings Time: 09:57 More in Sports

Bien Integre is a term the Peace Corps uses for volunteers who have successfully integrated into their communities. If someone is bien integre, the community thinks of them as one of their own and the volunteer rarely does something that the community deems odd. Bien integre can be used as a term of endearment or a joke. For example, if you marry a Cameroonian, you are bien integre. If you carry pimont (a local spicy condiment) in your purse, you are bien integre. Even though we joke about the term a lot, it is one of the most important aspects in a volunteers service. It not only means that you have a network of people to help you when you hit a difficult patch, but also keeps you secure because you are less likely to be attacked if the community has accepted you as one of their own.

Lately, this term has haunted me. My community has always been friendly, but never welcomed me into a specific circle of friends. My community host has been friendly, but never shows up to appointments that we make. The teachers have been nice, but until recently we have never gone out to do anything after school. The ladies that hang out around my house are, again, nice but have never taken me into their homes. Surprisingly, it has been children that have really accepted me. Since the beginning of my service, they have come over to my house to help me learn to find water and clean, and also to play, listen to music and just hang out. Some months back, I came to the conclusion that in aside from colleagues at work, I would just be friends with the children in my neighborhood. Every volunteer and every village has to find their own balance and that was going to be mine. So in a way, I mentally bunkered down for a long solitary service in my village. After all, I have friends, Cameroonian and American, in the next village over.

Two weeks ago, the situation changed. One teacher, Dama, which moved away from Lara months ago, came to my house to say hello. We had chatted for a few minutes, when another teacher drove by on his motorcycle. Dama went to go say hello while I waited at my house. When he came back he informed me that the other teacher said that "I never do anything. I stay in my house and never come out." I was taken aback by this comment, since I have fulfilled all of my responsibilities at school and started working on the map project at my school. Not only this, but no one has invited me to do anything. No, let's go get a drink, no let's go sit under a tree, no want to play football, no come over to my house to eat. It has only been the children that invite me out. The only other person who has invited me anywhere was Dama, and he had since left the village. I took this as quite a blow. After completing nearly one year of service and developing mental norms, I will have to start over. I thought that maybe Dama, who is going to do a transfer program with China, would understand a little bit. It is hard to figure out what to do in another community with another culture and language. He did not understand. He stated that I just like to be alone all the time and it would be easy for him to go into Chinese society and make friends. So, it was just me.

So, after a small mental breakdown and a weekend with friends, I decided to go back and infiltrate my village, without any invitations. I hung out with different people and went to school, which I walk about a mile in 120 safari-like conditions to get to, even when I had nothing to do there. Actually, I have a lot of things to do (about 500 papers to grade and report cards to fill out), but I can't do them around people, because they don't focus. Instead they play the TV super loud , and ask questions/talk. Which is one reason why it takes so long to complete basic tasks. So I went to school anyways, and I invited myself to drink bil-bil, the traditional wine, with a group of men from my school. Just the week before they told me about it and so I waited and left when they did. I walked with them until they awkwardly asked if I was coming with them. I answered "Oh that sounds like fun, sure I'll come" and we went to the house. We had a few bowls, which turned out to be difficult for me because "women are not supposed to drink the wine because it is not good for them. Women are weak." I was well aware of this assumption before that day. Additionally, in general women who drink bil-bil are less respectable. Most just make it for their families and drink very little. However, since it was the only "invitation" I had received in months, I went with it. Petit a petit I drank the bil-bil and we all chatted. After we finished the men sent me on my way.

I went to the market to search for mangos, and then chatted with some women. I brought out a Cosmo to show them. They enjoy looking at all the pictures and sniffing the perfumes. Eventually, Mr. Haman, one of the men I drank bil-bil with, walked by. He was surprised that I was still out, but after a while he invited me to drink more bil-bil at his house. I took him up on his offer. We had fun and chatted at his house with his other friends. I sat with them, which was the men section. (The women sit in a different section.) The conversation was good and I learned a few things in Mondoung. Eventually, Mr. Haman stated that I never come out of my house. Basically he thought the same things as the others. I was taken aback, again. It seems especially weird to me that people seem to be offended, but have not invited me anywhere and when I try to go talk to them, they just stop talking and stare at me with a funny expression. I explained the American invitation process to Mr. Haman. He seemed to think that our system was bizarre, and said that I should come over to his house whenever I can. He added that, "If you don't come over, now that you know, I will understand that you did not want to hang out with me, specifically." We all had a good laugh and eventually the conversation drifted to less awkward topics.

Now, after doing another environmental camp in Kolofata, I have to go back to village and I am feeling awkward about it. I feel like while last week was weird, it was also good. I learned ways to mesh into my community, that I would have otherwise never known. But now, it will be hard for me to go back and do them. I suppose I never thought of Americans as having strict culture that we had to adhere to. Our country is made up of so many different cultures I thought we had it all. But, there are some basics that everyone abides by and it is taking a ton of work to overcome them. Unfortunately for me, I don't think the practice of stopping by unannounced and entering the home of a relative stranger will be well received when I return to the states. I suppose that it is an aspect of Cameroonian culture I will have to leave behind.

Well, since embarking on this little Peace Corps adventure in Cameroonian, I rarely mention William and Mary in my blog. And that, to me, is a shame. So before I put this blog off any longer, I’m going to have … Continue reading →

After much pestering from my dad, here is the long awaited for update.

A lot has been going on since I’ve last written. A friend came to visit me in my village, before I went up to the Extreme North region of Cameroon for my Spring Break, finished up for the school year, and helped design training for the new training for the volunteers who are coming in June.

Sean, a Science teacher, decided to come to my post before going to the Extreme North, since his post is so far away. It was nice having a visitor for a chance. He came to help teach at my school and my kids actually paid attention for once. I think they were curious just to find out if he was my mythical husband. Unfortunately Sean had to go back to Yaoundé early to get post-exposure rabies vaccination. We had an unfortunate run-in with a chimpanzee near my village. It wasn’t bad, but better to be safe than sorry.

Once Sean left, Justine and I took a bus from Bertoua to Meiganga, in the East Adamawa, to visit Danielle at her post. It was definitely different than my post because she has 4 other post mates, so she has completely different experience than I do in my little village. After a couple of days at her post, we took a bus to Ngaoundere. The normal way to get there is to take the train, but we decided to check out the countryside on the 10 hour bus ride. The ride involved profuse sweating, arguing, and a baby shivering in his snow suit, against the 120 degree climate. In Ngaoundere, we visited the Lamido (the chief) and luckily we were there when all the important people had to go to pay homage to the chief.

For all of those of you who aren’t accustomed to washing their clothes in a bucket and line drying them in a tropical climate, you should know that you have to wait at least 4 days until you wear your clothes, for fear of the dreaded mango worms. In stage, we had heard of a male volunteer getting 40 mango worms in a very delicate area. Needless to say I always wait to wear my clothes. Unfortunately Justine didn’t, so we got to pull a worm out of her foot! It definitely motivates me to wait to wear my clothes.

The next day we took the 9 hour bus to Maroua, the regional capital of the Extreme North. I think it is one of my favorite cities in Cameroon. All of the streets are tree lined, I think mainly to protect everyone from the heat. But although everyone complains about the heat, it really isn’t that hot. I had more of a problem with how dry it was up there. But like everything in this world you can get used to it. Our first full day in the Extreme North we went to a lake 100 K from Maroua to visit a lake. We decided to take a boat on the lake. Comically enough the boat had a hole in it and it was constantly leaking, so there was a boy bailing us out for the whole trip. Luckily we were able to see hippopotamuses. We didn’t get that close, but close enough for me to see that they are not that cute.

A picture of the leaky boat

The lake was really close to the Chadian border. In fact every week women from Chad walk across a river to go to the market in Cameroon. A couple of us decided to do the same, just in reverse, we walked across the river to Chad, or at least attempted to, we didn’t make it all the way.

The next day we left to go to Mokolo and unfortunately in the market there I stepped on a piece of stick that got stuck in my foot. It wasn’t pretty nor did it feel good. Luckily someone was there to pull it out and help me clean it up. But it made walking a bit more difficult for a couple of days. In the market we bought some grasshoppers to eat, which were surprisingly good, kind of like the termites. Afterwards we continued on to Rhumski, which was gorgeous. There are all these giant rock formations that appear to have come from nowhere.

In Rhumski, we went to see “The Crab Sorcerer,” who is basically an old man who spits on crabs and puts them in a bowl and lets them knock over sticks and things in the bowls, then he reads the knocked over sticks and tells you your future. Apparantly I am going to come back to work in Africa, not Cameroon, but another African country, where I will work for a long time. (I don’t know if I should believe him because he told Justine’s mom that she would have 3 boys and she has had 1 girl and 1 boy). Although one member of my group was told that in 3 years she will have a child, so I guess we’ll know if he was right about something in 3 years.

After Rhumski, we left to go to Toro, where women wear hollowed out gourds on their heads as hats and they also double as bowls! How convient! That night we stayed in a caseor an African hut and let me tell you it was HOT. There was not air circulation at all and also we broke the water faucet so water was continuously flowing. Thankfully it was turned off soon.

Even though all this was fun, I think the highlight of the trip was Waza, which is the national park. Although we didn’t get to see a lion or an elephant, we saw a lot of giraffes, a lot of really cool birds (secretary bird, wooden hoopoe, Abyssinian roller, vultures eating a monkey (gross!) etc…), a jackal, warthogs, antelopes, topai, monkeys, and Zazoo from the Lion King. Even though this was my first Safari (it is Swahili for voyage), it was pretty cool because they actually let us walk around and get out of the car ( which was nice because it was hot and there was no AC).

After Waza, I went to visit my friend at his post. There we went to an old quarry that they have filled with water and somehow crocodiles. There were about 30 crocodiles there and the weirdest part was that there were Cameroonians who were actually swimming in the quarry! I can’t imagine that that is safe.We left the Extreme North early, so we could hang out in Ngaoundere because I was told that there were waterfalls in the area and since I had never seen a waterfall I had to go. In Ngaoundere I got to see not one but TWO waterfalls, and I went swimming in both. It was a lot of fun and really pretty , so I’m glad I left the Extreme North early.

On our way back South we took the train, but unfortunately we weren’t able to get a sleeping wagon, so we had to travel 1stclass, which is a seat that won’t recline for 16 hours overnight. At least our train didn’t break down or get derailed which is pretty common. So that was nice. I didn’t get much sleep though because they didn’t turn the lights off nor the music off. But it wasn’t that bad… I just don’t think I’ll travel first class again.

After hanging out in Yaoundé for a couple of days, I went back to post to continue teaching. But now I am done! I really can’t believe that my first school year is already over. I have been talking with my principal and I think that next year I will be teaching the other teachers computers to help them do their grades faster. I basically was only teaching for 3 weeks, because I had to go to Yaoundé for the Training Design Workshop, where we create the training for the new volunteers who are coming in June. I didn’t realize how difficult it was, because I remember complaining a lot last year, but now I see that you can’t make everyone happy when it comes to training.

Now I am done until September when school starts back again. I will go back to Bafia for a couple of weeks to help out with training and then in the end of July I will go to Ethiopia for 26 days, with my friend Sean. I am really looking forward to this summer!Hopefully my next post won’t be too long.

Happy Mothers Day family and friends, I, along with 6 other Peace Corps Volunteers, are facilitating a 10 day Life-Skills summer camp, Joie de Vivre (Joy of Life), at an Orphanage in our region in June 2012. We are doing our own fund raising and trying to raise funds here in Cameroon and abroad. Our budget is about $2,000 and this is needed to maximize the fun and learning during these 10 days for 50 campers. It cost $40 to sponsor one camper and we know these campers will not be able to pay. There is no pressure but if you would like to sponsor a child.

Check out the link to my postmates blog with photos of last years camp.

http://tessincameroon.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html

All donations matter even if its $25 USD. Help provide love and support to these orphans but sending in a small gift today.

I came to Cameroon to "save the world." But I have found that through this experience that I am learning more about myself. June 1st will be my 1 year in country. To me, it feels as though I have been in Cameroon for just a few short months. When I asked my Dad what he thought, he responded immediately, "YES! It feels like you have been gone for 2 years!" There are days when I feel like the end of my 27 month service cannot come fast enough, but now that I am reflecting on this past year; I do not want to leave. I keep thinking of ways to get back; if not Cameroon someplace in West/Central Africa. I feel at home here. When I am away from Meiganga, I miss my friends, work, the comfort of seeing familiar faces greeting me as I pass.

Before I came to Cameroon, I knew absolutely no French. One of our family friends told me before I left, "Bon voyage!" and I responded, "Bon voyage!" Now, when I am upset I have an easier time expressing myself in French rather than English. For example: I was in an Anglophone village (English Speaking part of Cameroon) and a Juju hit me in the head with a stick. I was so upset that the first words out of my mouth were in French.

I know certain character traits about myself. I am a perfectionist, Type A, like things done my way and done on my watch type of person. Well, let me just tell ya, that is not the way things are done here. Its this weird thing that happens now when everything is in chaos, its literally as if all I hear is static like when the TV or radio is on a bad channel. I am able now to sit of long car rides, next to smelly people, goats in the trunk and having a goat snack on my ponytail and all I hear is static. Things do not phase me as much anymore.

With that being said, I have now become more feisty. If someone is bothering me I have no qualms letting the person know how I feel, yelling at someone, or saying a witty remark to make the other person feel uncomfortable. When someone tries to rip me me off, I normally say something like, "You are a thief!" or "You are a comedian!" I tell people I am Cameroonian, which generally their response is, "You cannot be Cameroonian. You are white, only blacks are Cameroonian." Then I will respond, "I cook your food. I wear your clothes. I speak your languages. I live here. I have an I.D. card. I am just as Cameroonian as you are."

I still would love to change the world, but I am; just in a way that I did not think I would. I am changing the people around me. It might be small changes, but those small changes mean the world to them. Its the conversations that I have. Explaining to people, that is both not normal and not healthy for a 13 year old girl to get married to a 40+ year old man. I am 24, unmarried and kid-less. That is a monumental idea to a lot of people. I also feel like I am empowering the women I work with. When I walk into a meeting where the women are taking French classes, then introduce myself in Fufulde. They are shocked that English is my first language, that I just learned French and that I trying to speak Fufulde. When I show them by example that what they think is impossible, learning another language, is possible, their eyes light up. Those are just a few things that I feel like that I have had an impact with; but here are a few more. Introducing saving 200 CFA a week (about 40 cents), what a Piggie Bank is or making new types of products to sell.

Yes, there are extremely difficult days. Times when I almost get robbed, a rock gets thrown at me, the kids wake me up at 6am yelling in all my windows, men tell me that I need to be their wife, or have their babies. But I think the most important thing I have learned is to brush things off and laugh about something that happened. If I let the uncontrollable bother me too much, if I let the hard times get to me too much; then I would not be here.

After almost 1 year in country, I have reach a sense a peace. I am more comfortable in my skin than I have ever been. I have reached a sense of calm that I did not think would be possible for this Type A person.

My transformation.

Claudia* is our age, early to mid thirties. She is strikingly pretty, petite and slender with a ready smile and a sparkle in her dark eyes. She lives in and works from two rooms in a neat little duplex in a shared compound, off a dirt road on a hill and down a dirt path between planted crops. The compound shares water. She puts her stove under a table during work hours, and puts her work under the table when she cooks for her small family. She has two little girls, Joyful and Grace, 4 and 18 months. Joyful is exactly as her name would imply, seeming to find utter delight in every breath she takes, constantly laughing and making her sister laugh too. Grace toddles around, sharing her discoveries of the world with her sister and her mother. Claudia does not send Joyful, with Grace tied on her little back, to run errands, or send the girls away until their needed for work. She’s attentive and loving, and they thrive in the utter confidence of her care. Joyful goes to nursery school, and Claudia always says customers can come by at any time, except when she goes to pick Joyful up from school. They are delightfully under foot and ready to share their fascination and enjoyment and games with customers who come to drop off or pick up orders. Claudia sews beautifully, creating unique, made-to-order clothing from the fabrics we bring her. We try things on in the bedroom, sometimes asking for the fit to be adjusted here or there. Some volunteers say she is a little expensive. The little girls love each other and are growing up as sisters, but they don’t have the same parents. Joyful is Claudia’s granddaughter. Joyful’s mother is in Claudia’s village, going to school. Her father acknowledges that she is his child, but he’s young too, and his family does not recognize his daughter. And children - feeding, clothing, housing, schooling – are the sole responsibility of the mother in this culture. Fathers give gifts, and it’s nice when they do, but not required. Now we’ve seen many men carrying babies, holding the hands of small children, in complete adoration of their children, but it’s accepted and even expected here that men will have different families in different villages, and they can just as easily say that those children are not their responsibility. Claudia makes sure her oldest daughter and her granddaughter go to school. Claudia is our age. *Names changed.

Cameroon is known as "Africa in Miniature," which is exactly what it is. In one day's worth of travel one can go from the savanna to the jungle, then the next day to rolling mountains. With such diversity in landscape comes extreme diversity in culture. Cameroon is divided into 10 regions, which can be loosely grouped into 3 categories - Grand North, Gran South and Grand West. In the Grand North, where I am posted, there is more of a common cultural connection due to Islam.

I find it interesting when visiting other regions how diverse culturally Cameroon actually is. From what I have found, throughout Cameroon there is some aspect of the traditional culture. There is a "Fon," "Lamido," or "Chief" depending on the region. The person is the Traditional ruler. Where I am in Meiganga, the Lamido is not a big deal, in comparison to other areas. From my understanding, his main role is to settle household or land discrepancy matters. But in other regions the traditional life is the life of the people. I first visited Kumbo, Northwest in December for the "Cultural Festival." It was an annual celebration to unify the Banso area and to celebrate their unique traditions.

During this Cultural Festival week it was, to oversimplify, a large party at the palace, home of the Fon. People from all over the Banso area as well as Cameroon came to participate in the festivities. One of the most interesting parts of the Festival was the "Juju." A Juju is a spirit embodied by a person whose face is covered by cloth, a mask, or paint; and only the people in the traditional house know who the Juju is.

Throughout the year in the Kumbo area the Jujus only come out for special occasions: death of someone high up in the traditional house, Holidays, etc. During the Cultural Festival Jujus are out in full force as well as spectators. Each Juju is completely different. Because they each embody a different spirit, each Juju has different appearances and mannerisms; there is also a power structure. Some Jujus are more powerful than others, and the more powerful the Juju is, the more the people respect it.

Some Jujus are reigned in by a group of men trying to control the spirit. Some will dance around, others will do flips down the road and most have sticks or daggers in their hands commanding the respect of the people around them. When a Juju passes you, you must crouch down (like the catcher's pose), put your right hand in a fist and cup it at the bottom with your left hand and lastly, bow your head if you do not want to see the wrath of the Juju. I have seen one Juju beat and drag a man around for not following the protocol.

I went back to the Kumbo area this past weekend to attend a Shey Coronation ceremony of a friend. A "Shey" is someone who has been given title in one of the traditional houses by the Fon. After the ceremony, a group in the community dressed up as Jujus and danced for us. The video below and the 2 pictures above are from the cultural soiree. It was a fun interpretation of such a powerful, important and unique aspect of the culture in the Kumbo area. The rest of the photos are from the Cultural Festival in December. I hope that you find it just as interesting as I did. I showed these pictures to other Peace Corps Volunteers in other parts of Cameroon and they were all so amazed by the Jujus. Enjoy!

Kumbo, Northwest, Cameroon Cultural FestivalDecember 2011

Kumbo, Northwest, Cameroon Cultural FestivalDecember 2011

Kumbo, Northwest, Cameroon Cultural FestivalDecember 2011

Kumbo, Northwest, Cameroon Cultural FestivalDecember 2011

Dancing Juju GroupNkar, Northwest, Cameroon Coronation CeremonyApril 2012

Dancing Juju GroupNkar, Northwest, Cameroon Coronation CeremonyApril 2012

9-5-2012

I’ve had the realization that all of my recent posts have been very topic-driven, I haven’t given an update as to the work I’ve been doing, the life I’ve been living, or the random endeavors I’ve been finding myself on. This post’ll be that, or, more likely, a random assortment of things that just pop into my head. That’s pretty true to form, right?

I’ve now been at post for just over five months, and I can tell you that I’m feeling a lot more comfortable here and a lot more in control than I did even two months ago. Not every day is like that, but more and more, they’re becoming common—it’s a pretty good feeling. Things in Batouri are altogether going pretty well. Still, there are days that I wake up and can’t bring myself to face the world outside my door until about 5pm. Those are days usually coincide with power and water being out for the third day straight, French just not escaping my mouth correctly, illness, or work just not going the way I believe it should. But, luckily, there are plenty of other days in which I can’t believe the incredible luck I have. I’m blessed to have the post I do: I’m challenged in ways I never believed I could be, but more than that, I’m rewarded by my community in ways that I definitely don’t deserve. Free meals, gifts of free fabric, free moto rides, tips of places to find work, neighborhood kids I’ve never seen calling me by name: Batouri continually reminds me that I was foolish to think that I didn’t belong in the East and that I’d be miserable here. I’m glad I was wrong about that. Maybe every volunteer just hits a point where they realize that they can’t imagine being placed anywhere else and maybe everyone thinks that their post is the best of the bunch, but maybe we just kind of learn to make do with what we have. Either way, I’m not complaining: Batouri is home and the generosity and honesty of the people I’ve met here has been refreshing. Where else would someone call me to tell me that they have tea waiting for me at their shop or call to ask about the health of my parents that they’ve never met? Life is a roller coaster here, and trying to keep it all in perspective is part of the fun. It’s all about taking the bad with the good and remembering that although today’s been a rough one, the likelihood is that tomorrow could very well be the best day of your life.
I’m finding little ways that I’ve unconsciously been making an impact, although it’s funny seeing exactly which of the things catch on. I have a habit of calling every kid I see my friend because there are just too many names to learn and it seems more personal/meaningful that just saying hello. My post-mate recently told me that the kids on her street recently followed her down the street yelling “Hello, my friend! Hello, my friend! Hello, my friend!”—no better feeling than knowing you’re breaking the Blanche/Bui/Nassara cycle with a more positive word: friend. I love the significance of it; it’s the little things that make a huge difference. That same post-mate brought the fist-bump to Batouri, and I’m improving that and turning it to the bump-and-explode. The first person to pick it was a girl in my youth group, Rita, pretty soon it’ll spread like wildfire—the finer points of cultural exchange, clearly. And, my personal favorite: bean, avocado, tomato, and onion salads. The first time I saw a Cameroonian order one after me I was stunned, Cameroonians aren’t believers in “chunky” vegetables—if it’s not liquidized in a sauce, it’s not meant to be eaten. Take that, nutrition!

On a less cheesy note, health-wise, things have been interesting these past couple of weeks. After two and a half weeks of an unbearably itchy, burning rash and two misdiagnoses, the Peace Corps Medical Office finally came up with the answer: an allergic reaction to Mango Sap spent from the many mornings I’ve spent picking mangos from the tree in my front yard. Turns out Mango Sap is like the Poison Ivy of Cameroon, and I’m luckily enough to be ultra-allergic, either that or just not intelligent to connect the mango-picking to the rash in time to prevent it from getting unbearable. Anyhow, Prednisone is a miracle drug, and I’m beginning to feel a million times better and no longer look like a leper—kaaaaaaaching! Feeling healthy means that I’m been able to return to early morning work-outs, cooking, visiting friends, and recommencing work, all of which have been HUGE mood brighteners for me. Cat-sitting probably also helps, as do the many, many movies that I picked up while I was stuck in Yaounde for medical.

Work-wise I’m finding myself fantastically busy. I’m working on a project for my host institution planting soy and moringa (thanks again to the volunteers who are donating and transporting the seeds down from the Grand North!) Eventually I’ll be organizing the kids in managing the plantation; I want them to be as responsible for it as possible because I believe it teaches invaluable lessons in leadership, teamwork, and causality. Once things grow, I’m going to lead the kids in an income-generating activity (read: opportunity to teach about financial planning) and teach families in the communities how to cook with soy and moringa. Ideally I’ll be extending this project throughout the Catholic Diocese (my host organization is Catholic and my counter-part is a priest) and teaching nuns how to lead similar projects in their communities. That in and of itself is pretty much a two year project that gives me the opportunity to touch on so many things that I’m passionate about, especially the battle against malnutrition. Outside of this, I’m helping out with the painting of a World Map at Lycee Bilingue, continuing with the handicapped youth group, helping lead French literacy sessions (in today’s I taught the Heimlech Manuever to the women—BAM!,) helping out at malnutrition clinics when I have the time, and trying to arrange a Life Skills Seminar for the girls at Lycee Bilingue to encourage confidence and positive decision-making. Read: biting off more than I can chew and thrilled about it.

I’ve found a favorite Cameroonian food (Folere with Rice Couscous) that I’m pretty sure I could eat every day for the rest of my life, which is impressive considering that the majority of food out here is definitely not up the American palate. Folere is a delicious green, tangy sauce made out of some kind of leaves, usually with chunks of beef. The obsession has grown so much that the one restaurant in town knows to always have it on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because I’m always there at least one of those days for lunch. My next step is to find a Cameroonian woman to teach me how to make it myself, which is a little more difficult than it sounds because although I’m female, I definitely have way more in common with the men in the community and therefore don’t really know any women to teach me—I’m way more educated than your average woman in Batouri, have neither a husband or children, and hold a job. These differences definitely limit conversation topics a lot. I invade the bro-sphere on a daily basis…what exactly DO women here talk about, anyways? What I can, say, however, is that I’ve spent more time over the past few months debating polygamy and polyandry with men than I ever thought was possible—turns out I have that French vocabulary memorized so well that I could probably debate this in my sleep now. Professional feminism: doing it right.

Looking into the next couple of months, I’ve FINALLY got a month which might potentially have no travel (June)—I haven’t had a single travel-free month since February. This possibility is looking fantastic! I’m feeling tired from this back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth thing that keeps happening. It’ll be nice to be fixed at post and not get harassed by everyone who thinks I’m leaving too much. Two of my post-mates are finishing their service as well as three other region-mates, and the new batch of Community Economic Development and Education Volunteers will be arriving in August, I’m excited to see what the new CED will bring to Batouri! And, going along with the theme of Close of Service, my cousin will hopefully be coming to visit me in August. My friends in town have already started talking about organizing a big party to celebrate his arrival, the hospitality in this town is ridiculous.

That’s about it for right now. I’ve got a date with the fantastically non-Cameroonian salad and tea waiting for me in the kitchen, a movie, and a cuddle sess with Mike’s cat. Life is good. Take care!

With Love,

Steph

2May2012 There are, it turns out, many international aid workers in Cameroon not affiliated with Peace Corps and for some reason I am always shocked when I meet one. "What are you doing here?" is often my first questions followed quickly by some sort of explanation as to why I am so impolite - I usually affectionately blame it on Cameroon. Many of these volunteers are here for shorter visits than we, three or six months, often living with other volunteers from their same host organization, and often self-funded. The biggest difference I notice between us and them is the integration. I know what you’re thinking, that “integration” is a buzzword that you couldn’t be more sick of hearing and that is only used to make us feel more like participants than observers – or maybe that’s me thinking that, until recently that is. I was at one of those parties we all end up at – a mélange of Cameroonians, PCVs, and other assorted aid workers – when a Swiss volunteer who is in country for three months made the observation that all the Cameroonians were sitting together and all the non-Cameroonians were sitting together. This observation was made by him standing in the middle of the circle and announcing (now say this is a pretentious Eurotrash accent please), “I am so disappointed in you guys, look at how you are sitting. It is like all of the white people are over here and all of the black people are over here.” Everyone quickly became uncomfortable. I realized then how lucky we are, as Peace Corps Volunteers, to have been given such an amazing opportunity to integrate with patience, to integrate slowly with host families, with coworkers, with neighbors, with employers. I had my problems during stage and its mandatory integration, but in retrospect, had I not been forced to integrate fully, immediately, but at my own pace, I would be the asshole standing up at a party to reprimand people for their seating choices. I know I was supposed to feel guilty for not sitting between Cameroonians and exchanging cultures. I was supposed to feel motivated to switch seats, to go talk to the gentleman in the bou-bou and casquette who for some reason kept calling my name. I was supposed to applaud their traditions, share mine, and press our temples together at the end of the night. But sometimes I am just sick of integrating and I want to talk to Americans about things like graduate school, Taco Bell, and when was the last time they had running water. I spend all of my time exchanging culture with Cameroonians – every time I walk down the street I exchange culture with Cameroonians, every time I buy food, every time I go to work, every time I step outside my dungeon. There is something to be said for reminiscing culture with the Americans when I see them. Sometimes I just want to sit on some cement steps with some Americans and talk about their favorite season of The Real World. My point here is not that three-month volunteers on the whole are less integrated than we are, I spend sometimes up to four days at a time inside my house consuming American media and eating the granola bars and fruit snacks that my lovely friends and family send to me so graciously. My point is solely that this one particular volunteer was kind of a douche-bag and should probably reexamine his own level of “integration.” I have spit my toothpaste onto somebody else’s shit while living with a host family in Bafia. Switching seats at a party to sit nearer to a Cameroonian does not mean integrating; it’s just an inconvenience when I already have a perfectly comfortable space on the staircase between the people with whom I came to the party in the first place.

First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their kind and generous support for this project. It truly amazes me how quickly word of this project has passed. The world can be a small one sometimes! Since we have reached half of our fund-raising goal, I thought I could add another post as to why I am pursuing this project. The reasons I chose this project are many, and although the main ones are included in the first post, there are many other reasons and events that have led me to pursuing this project.

So... Why a Library - Part 2.

Last summer I received a generous donation of English books from Darington Book Aid. They shipped us one, 20-lb box of new books for free as a donation to our library project. But because the books are in English, it isn't everyone who can read them. Some of my coworkers at the health center have read through all the chapter books since they studied enough English in prior years to understand the material. Some older kids from the village who are going to high school in the city (and therefore have more advanced English levels due to better education) would rotate through the different books and trade them among themselves. The donated books included a wide range from simple reads like the Giving Tree, classics like the Lion King to advanced books about how to build castles.

Because the idea of books are new to many members of my community, the knowledge of how to take care of them is also new. I found this out quickly after first giving a group of kids a stack of books to go through. Atleast I realized this before a book went missing, lost a cover or a few pages, or ended up with some kids name in it. I took the books back and started from the basics: how do we handle a book, how do we turn the pages, how do we mark our spot, why we can't write in them, why we should make sure our hands are clean first, etc. I'm not sure at what point in my early childhood life I learned these skills, but I've realized that they are skills that are infact learned.

Since that first day of book sharing, I have learned my lesson on teaching kids how to care for books before handing them over. Its a routine now really and is something we've planned to spend a lot of time on when we first open our library. I have found that book care has been a new concept for all of the kids in my village who have borrowed books to read. All except one.

One day when I was walking back to my house, I passed the water pump. My best friend from village was nearby washing her clothes. I stopped to greet her and she saw a book poking out of my purse and was immediately intrigued. We sat down and opened the book. She started reading the first story about Cinderella - the book was a collection of Disney Princess Stories - and I helped her with the pronuciation. This friend was someone I had spent quite a bit of time working on book care with after getting back a dictionary that was split in two and catching her ready with marker-in-hand to write her name across another.

While we were reading, one of my 9th grade students approached us. He is about the same age as me, lives on his own, and is one of my more difficult students to manage. He most often misses class and when he's there, he's either sleeping or chatting in the back of the class. He's known for his wannabe rapper attitude and moves, and even though he is quite the impressive dancer, he is also quite the handful.

The fact that he approached us even surprised me at first. I mean really, we were looking at a book on princesses! As soon as he walked up though, he washed off his hands with some of the water he had just pumped, dried them on a clean area of his clothes and quietly sat down next to my friend. At first he just stared at the pages, mouthing through the words as she read them outloud. When she finished the page, he so delicately turned it for her. He then began to trace over the pictures and the words as if they were gold.

I've never seen someone so gently handle a book before. Its not like he's had much experience with books - I don't think he owns any of the required school textbooks. He was, ironically, the first student I felt completely comfortable and confident handing a book over to. But what amazed me most is the change this pretty pink book brought about on such a hard-shelled guy. Is that all I had needed to capture his attention and desire to learn? A book?

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If you are interested in supporting this project, or know someone who might be, please visit the project proposal on the Peace Corps website https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=694-202

By complete chance, a number of volunteers from the East region of Cameroon were in Yaoundé when I got in for medical. One of these volunteers had their mother visiting, and she was staying her last couple of nights in the Hilton. Apparently, she was pretty curious as to who I was when my name was frequently brought up in the East, but I was never there to actually present myself. When the group invited me to come join them at the Hilton, I figured why not? I hadn't visited this volunteer hot spot yet considering it's ridiculously expensive drinks and what I assumed was a stuffy atmosphere.

From the street, the Hilton isn't exactly jaw-dropping. It looks like another concrete and stone high-rise in Yaoundé. Nothing particularly striking about it. However, upon entering the lobby, with one step, it seemed I had crossed a thousand miles. It was air-conditioned, well lit, sparkling clean, with art everywhere. I found the elevator bank and headed to the top-floor bar. Pretty drinks with expensive colorful liqueurs came in modern ice-cold glasses that dripped with condensation.

After a couple drinks, we headed down to the restaurant. The volunteers at the table absolutely were blown away by the menu. It was nothing like what we were used to, even in the states. The volunteer's mom told us to pick out anything we wanted. We started with a round of soft, hard, and fried cheeses. My main plate was a seafood penne pasta that was true to its name as it was covered in scallops, bits of delicious fish, and small shrimp. Finally, for desert, one of the volunteers ordered some of the best ice cream I've ever tasted. Other volunteers shared a plate of Crème Brûlée. I, along with one other volunteer, had the best chocolate mouse that I've ever tasted.

The next day, a couple volunteers enjoyed the Hilton pool, and when I arrived late in the afternoon, I found them lounging poolside on European style beach chairs. After brief greetings, we once again headed up to the bar. After another couple of drinks, we said goodbye to the volunteer's amazingly generous and sweet mom. We transitioned down into their room and ordered delicious pizzas. What started out pretty energetically soon fizzled, and all of us ended up sitting in front of the huge TV. Eventually another volunteer and myself excused ourselves for the evening and headed back into the real world.

Riding the elevator down, my fellow volunteer became somber, almost grim. He noted the absolute excess of wealth emphasized by everything that was the Hilton, and contrasting that with everything that was the streets of Yaoundé. Rich versus poor. Clean versus dirty. The decadence weighed down on us as we took each step away from the glaring lights of the lobby, and stepped onto the cracked and dirty sidewalk. I think we both felt a little guilty from enjoying that environment so much, and it was nice to settle back into the comfortable reality that was the taxi we caught, smelling of body odor, gasoline, motor oil, and various other unidentifiable organic smells.

The Peace Corps is an organization full of opinionated and intelligent individuals who, mostly, joined together in an effort to make the world a better place. Everyday, I have the opportunity to listen to the opinions of others, and hear their critiques of mine, as we discuss ways to change the world.

Regardless of the amazing ideas we come up with, realistically, we're pretty powerless in the grand scale of things. We're restrained and constrained by the worlds' geopolitical and social construction. We're lowly little Peace Corps volunteers. What if, for a single day, we could take the reigns from the armchair generals, the office power brokers, the selfish and deceptive politicians? Many volunteers think they could make a really significant impact. But, why stop there? Why not give someone like a volunteer the throne for a day? Give them the freedom from consequence after the day is over, regardless of their choices.

I finally asked my colleague what he would do, if he were king for a day, to solve all of this, without the fear of repercussions afterwards. He could take all of the criminally rich, criminally negligent, criminally corrupt, and shoot them to the moon. He could redistribute the gross wealth of where it was least needed to where it would be most appreciated. He could feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and help heal the sick. He could solve the problems with the disparity, the poverty, the absolute ridiculousness of it all. He looked at me, and without hesitating, stated "I'd figure out how to be king forever."

This volunteer is one of the volunteers I most respect and admire. While he might have said this with an air of social commentary, his eyes conveyed a most fundamental truth, that absolute power corrupts absolutely anyone. Only the naive would forget that.

Today my best Cameroonian friend passed away. He has been sick for a

few weeks but I never understood the seriousness of it. In his final

days when he knew and his family knew that he was going to die his

sister told him that he should call me to tell me, but he didn't want

to bother me she said. I went to see him this past Sunday. He was

bedridden, looked emaciated and was not very coherent. The room stunk

of vomit and he seemed to be ashamed to have me in the same room

because he kept glancing at the bucket of vomit like it was revealing

all his secrets to me. I spoke to him for a few minutes. I asked him

what he had been doing to take care of himself. He said the doctor

told him to eat coco yams, which is nothing but starch. I told him

that I was going to get him some fruits and vegetables. I intended to

give them to him today but it was too late.

I met a colleague at school today who told me he was just from Tibah's

house and that he was unconscious and breathing very heavily, which I

think must have been what I have heard described as a death rattle.

Again I didn't really take it seriously. I am good at ignoring

negative realities until I am confronted with them. As I left school I

told the moto taxi to stop in front of Tibah's house. As I walked up

to his house the compound children ran to greet me as they usually

did, repeating "hello, Ben, hello, Ben" as Tibah had taught them to do

in lieu of chanting whiteman at me. One child ran up to me and grabbed

my hand and said "your friend has died." I simply replied with an

exaggerated, "he did?" still not quite believing it. As I got closer

to the house I saw swarms of people all around. I stood at the door of

the house not quite sure what to do. The house was full of old women

screaming, singing and mourning. I didn't know if I should enter or

turn and run. Someone came to me and told me I should enter the house.

I quickly walked through the mud brick porous house trying not to make

eye contact with the mourning women. I exited the backdoor into the

backyard and went straight to a group of men. I asked them what

happened. At this point I knew but I just wanted someone to tell me in

worlds. I sighed. I put down my helmet and walked back to the road to

tell the moto taxi that he should go and that I would stay here. I

gave my 300 CFA and turned to walk back up to the house. As I

approached the house a man in his 60's came to me and said, "You have

lost your friend." I almost lost composure but was quickly able to

regain it. "I always saw you both running together." He tried to

comfort me by explaining the last few hours of Tibah's life. He got a

phone call and I returned to the backyard. The men were sitting around

looking very solemn while the women wailed in sorrowful laments. I sat

down on the bench, no one speaking to me, I sat there and just

observed everyone in this celebration of death. I didn't know how to

be a part of it so I just watched. I had my video camera with me,

because I was just from school filming the dance group. I contemplated

getting my camera out and filming what I was witnessing but I felt

that it would be inappropriate, even though I was very close with

Tibah, I didn't want to appear disrespectful or gawking. After about

30 minutes I decided that I should go. The burial is on Saturday so I

will come back and spend the day with the family and taking part in

the traditional death celebration called a cry die.

Tibah was the first Cameroonian to befriend me. He was my colleague

and he always made sure that I was aware of what was going on at

school with meetings and cancelations, as things like that are hard to

keep track of in the Cameroonian system. He always made sure that I

wasn't alone at community and cultural events. Sometimes people

perceive me as a novelty to gawk at rather than a human to cultivate a

friendship with, and they avoid me. It may sound funny to someone who

hasn't lived here for two years but another reason that I valued his

friendship so much was because he never once asked me for anything. In

a culture where whitemen are seen as the saviors who come to

modernize, educate and give, it takes a special Cameroonian to look at

a westerner as an individual rather than a money tree. Tibah was

someone who I would have kept in touch with the rest of my life. It is

frustrating to know that whatever he died from could have easily been

treated in the developed world. I get to go to South Africa for a

simple ear infection costing Peace Corps thousands of dollars to treat

something non life threatening while others have to sit in their homes

and slowly waste away wondering who cast a spell on them.

The last couple times I went to see Tibah he told me that he was

trying to figure out what he had done that had caused someone to cast

this evil spell on him causing him to fall ill. The witchdoctor that

Tibah had been seeing told him that he must have shown affection

toward a married woman which compelled the husband to have this

sickness brought upon him. In a place where medical expertise and

equipment are lacking and unavailable in order to provide explanations

people resort to other was of explaining the mysteries in their lives.

R.I.P. Tibah….. Thank you for being my friend.

Africa may be the birthplace of man, and therefore, may be the place where nature has had the longest to figure out ways to kill you. Even though I was far from death from the last week, some of the photos I put up on Facebook may be a peek into how the smallest prick of a thorn can lead to an infection that could be a serious handicap or a life threatening injury depending upon the situation.

In many ways, I take my health for granted. I've never broken a bone. I've never had more than a couple dozen stitches. I've never been hospitalized or even in a hospital bed, just one of those ones you sit in for doctors' exams or minor operations. I've been lucky that's for sure.

When I was four or so, I was playing hide-and-go-seek in my babysitters' house. I don't remember much except chasing after someone and rounding a corner really fast. My parents had to explain the rest to me. I rounded that corner, and at full speed, inserted the corner of a glass coffee table just to the right of my right eye. Girls generally say they like the scar, which means it was worth it right?

In middle school I tried a double front-flip off a stage into double thick high jump pads. I stuck the landing so well that I shot my face into my knee, knocked myself out, and moved my left Maxilla (upper jaw bone, where your buck teeth are) about half-an-inch backwards into my mouth. Someone dragged me to the nurse's office where some distraught lady simultaneously made the mistakes of crazily begging me not to fall asleep (which sounded really similar to "don't go towards the light") and calling my mother and opening the conversation with the words "I'm sorry, but your son's had an accident." Genius. The pain wasn't so bad until the doctor made me reset it by clenching my teeth and pushing it back into place using my lower jaw and teeth. Bet that made you cringe.

In college I was riding mountain bikes with one of my closest friends. While I wasn't quite the daredevil he was (this guy would hit 10+ foot drops, and pull backflips and 360's on a full-size heavy downhill bike), I tried not to shy away from some of the more moderate stuff. We were cruising pretty quick, pumping over rollers and lips, pressing through steeply bermed turns, and soaking up the flex from our forks as the greenery blurred by. We stopped at a fork in the trail, and he mentioned that my leg was bleeding. I looked down and saw blood soaking my sock and dripping down my shoe. Six miles of riding, 45 minutes of speedy driving, and an illegal parking job later (if you know OSU meter maids, you know how awful this is), I was getting 26 stitches and a courtesy bottle of Vicodin.

It wasn't truly until Africa until I realized how lucky I am, how lucky so many of us are. There are reasons that extreme sports never become popular in extreme places with extremely limited medical care. Risks, even the smallest ones, cannot be afforded. Life is hard enough, and the benefits of fun never outweigh the costs of potential medical expenses and lost time earning a living that often just takes the edge off of hunger. In these places, Darwin still reigns supreme. Only the strong and smart survive, and doing even the smallest of reckless of activities can put you at risk of not seeing your golden years. Our grandparents knew this, and we are a young and new era of humanity. An age where many of us have been blessed by being born in such an affluent generation where we have the comfort and flexibility to take our health for granted, no matter what liberties we take with it.

Three mornings after getting stuck by a thorn. Two mornings after getting stuck by a thorn.

Five mornings and one minor surgery later.

Holy cow—it’s already MAY! My apologies for my blog absence (and I do mean it). I wish I could say it was because I was up to my neck in activities that involved changing the world, but in all honesty, it was pure laziness (too honest?). Believe it or not, these past three months have been quite eventful, and it will take me more than one post to sum it all up for you. Be patient with me…or as the Cameroonians would say—Ashia!

Youth Day is on February 11 every year. It’s Cameroon’s way of celebrating, well, the youth. There is normally a week of events that leads up to the big day. Schools will put on talent shows for their students, soccer matches are also a popular event, and this year there was the first ever Miss Ngaoundéré pageant. I attended a talent show the Wednesday before, held by one of the high schools. It was so much fun to watch! Groups of students would make up dances, lip sync, perform short skits, play music, sing, dance…you name it. It wasn’t a competition, just an opportunity for the students to showcase their creative talents (which doesn’t happen very often).

Traditional dance

Salsa dancing!

Live band

I also went to the Miss Ngaoundéré pageant. There were about 18 contestants, comprised of both high school and University students (but they were all around the same age). For the first pageant ever held in the city, it went pretty well. They girls had choreographed and practiced their walks and formations on the stage. They showcased their casual wear, traditional-wear (from their village), and formal wear. The talent portion wasn’t really a talent portion, just the girls dressing up in their favorite sport gear (tennis players, basketball players, soccer players etc.), and then there was the bathing suit portion….I was surprised they even decided to have one considering how conservative it is in the city…not to mention the governor was there!! It was a little…riskay…if you ask me. Anyways, they ended the pageant with the Q&A portion. Overall, the girls did great and a winner was chosen! I have to say it was definitely a good time and great experience, and something I think I would like to help with for next year as a youth activity!

The contestants and the runner-ups! Miss Ngaoundere 2012

On Feb 11 all of the schools in Ngaoundéré participate in marching/parading at the Place D’Independence (a big field with a sitting area for spectators—it’s where they hold all major holiday celebrations). All the schools—elementary, high school, university, and technical—show up with their matching pagne and parade in front of the governor, government officials, and a group of spectators. I’m not really sure why they do this, but it’s a tradition for all major Cameroonian holidays. At the end of the day, everyone parties, eats, drinks and the clubs are open and poppin until dawn. Just as Americans look forward to holidays as an excuse to celebrate and party (i.e Cinco de Mayo, St. Patrick’s Day etc.), the Cameroonians do too. Youth Day is no excuse.

A group of students parading in front of the Governor and spectators Some of the crowd..there were more

Now, International Women’s Day is also one of those holidays. Same basic premise, except this day/week celebrates women and their accomplishments, and how far Cameroon has come in its efforts to empower women. So the parading involved most, if not all, women’s groups and associations in the city and surrounding villages. Most of these groups are involved in doing some kind of income generating activity, like a savings and loans group (they call it “Tontines”), or they make and sell things. These are usually the most dynamic and motivated women in the community, so why not give them a day to celebrate? Every year there is a pagne made for International Women’s Day. You can sort of see the pagne in these pictures: The "former" Governor (he actually just got replaced)

20 "Men of the Year"-they received awards for helping out the women in the community....on Women's Day (go figure).

Here they come! Both the pink and green pagne were the chosen pagne for this year

An all women's band!

After the parading is over, the women go home to feed their husbands and family (But wait! It’s Women’s Day…and they’re still cooking for the men?), then go back out to party the night away--at least those who are allowed to leave home, and those who drink. I say that because even though there is a day specifically for women, it doesn’t really include all women in this society, especially the conservative Fulbe community. Many women are only allowed to leave their concession/house only when they get permission from their husbands (that also includes going to the market). Yes! Women are making strides in Cameroon, but they still have a long way to go…

So during Women’s Week I went to a couple of events. I sat in on a Women’s Association meeting and made some contacts with some important ladies in the city (score!). Then I went to a Women’s Exposition, which was basically a food fair because all the women’s groups were selling food out the wazoo. The highlight of this day: I ate grubs, python, and porcupine. Yep. I sure did and it was tasty! Well, the snake and grubs were (surprisingly) but the porcupine was a little to gamey for my taste. I call it my “Andrew Zimmern moment”. He’d be so proud of me.

So that was basically the entirety of both holidays. Next year I plan on actually holding activities (especially Youth Day/Week!) so I’ll have plenty more to say. In my next post I’ll talk about In-Service Training and my trip to the beach!

Oh P.S--MANGO season is in full swing, ya'll! I made mango salsa for the first time...sooo delicious, and I taught my friends how to eat a mangos the easy way! More to come... stay tuned, folks :)

Here's a picture of my city from the top of Mt. Ngaoungere :) View 1: Those two towers are the Grand Mosque--I live right down the road from there

View 2

View 3...it's a pretty big city

Pretty view! You can see Cyrus's village (my postmate) just below the rock

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.

March 8th: The girls and I in our matching women's day outfits. The Journey East: Liz and I in front of a "prison van" a very specific type of bush taxi, noted for the prison -like bars separating the driver from the rest of the passengers. Luckily for us, Jannel knows the agence owner so we got to ride vip style in the cabin. This made a HUGE difference. We could not escape the red dust that blows through the windows and sticks to your sunscreened/sweaty body ... fortunately this picture is not close up enough to see our rather red skin and hair. It was really cool to see the east, the entire landscape/vegetation is sooo different from the extreme north. It felt like we were driving through a jungle at times. We also got to check out the cool cities along the way and visit our friends who are posted out there. It was a lot of fun!

After a long but really fun trip through the east, we arrived in Yaounde just in time to celebrate Liz and I's birthdays. Claire's mom and brother were still in town on their visit and got us this beautiful cake from the fancy Yaounde bakery. Then we celebrated Lindsey and Claude's wedding! Lindsey and Claude met during our training and have been dating ever since. Their wedding was really beautiful! First was the official signing of documents in the mayor's office (pictured above). Then there was an elaborate photo shoot in the park followed by a reception with lots of dancing, eating and drinking. Lindsey looked so beautiful and everybody had a ton of fun. The main reason for coming south was for C.O.S. (close of service) conference. This is supposed to help us figure out our transition back into the states. Some former volunteers talked about how they "figured out their lives" etc. after getting back and they gave us some resume and job searching tips which were pretty helpful. They also took us to the U.S. embassy when I decided that I definitely do NOT want to become a career diplomat (I'm so good at crossing things off of my list) but they did feed us delicious enchiladas, well worth the trip in itself. The conference ended with a field trip to the primate center outside of Yaounde. That is our group in front of a giant tree. This is me with some baboons. After the conference was over we went to the beach one last time! Martine came with us... casually mentioning on the bus that she had never seen the ocean before! So, it was very exciting to share her first trip to the seashore with her. We also ate a barracuda. (Look closely at its face/teeth, pretty cool) It was delicious.

Fostering the growth of the VC4Africa community is central to the daily work that Ben and I do. In our travels and interactions with entrepreneurs in all corners of the continent, we’re also acutely aware of the need for early stage venture finance. Increasingly, new funds, niche firms and angels are testing the waters of [...]

For the past few months I have been working with a local Cyber Café located in my neighbourhood. The owner, Elvis, has been very open to innovative solutions for his business. In Cameroon where internet connectivity is very expensive if even available and where there are few personal computers, Cyber Cafés provide a much needed service. Bandwidth is very [...]

In March my parents came to visit me in Cameroon. I was glad to have visitors and I feel it was an eye opening experience for my parents. I picked up my mother and father at the airport in the capital city, Yaounde, located in the French speaking majority of the country. There I showed them what I perceived were  the western luxuries of the [...]

Yesterday morning, within 5 minutes of opening my eyes, there was somebody banging on my gate door. At first, I thought it was kids with nothing better to do during the power outage. But eventually I stumbled out the door, … Continue reading →

This week has been full of parties. On Monday, was the Fete du Traviller, which is a day to celebrate working. I went into Kaele and watched the parade with Cynthia. They had really great displays. A group who works with plants brought in plants and watered them in front of us. Another had a really big tractor, while another group built a table in front of us. We got to sit in the nice section and watch it all, which was great.

After the parade, we went to Palmier and hung out with our other Peace Corps friends as well as Cameroonians. We played a card game called Forma, which I have played in village and won. We danced a little bit and ate and drank. It was a good time. We hopped around other bars for a little bit, but we did not get as excited as on Women's Day. We did meet some guys at Parc de Prince that were from Doula, and enjoyed some drinks with them, which was nice.

On Friday, I had an Amnical meeting, which is like a meeting for all the teachers and administration. They are supposed to happen once a month. So I went to the May meeting, and it was nice. The food was especially delish and I got a ride home in the principal's car, so I was super happy.

On Saturday was the Assembly General for our village. This is when people come together to give money for the community. I was invited and showed up a little after 10, as the invitation directed me to do. I was one of maybe 5 adults there, with at least a hundred chairs waiting to be filled. I sat around and waited. I talked to one nice man about different things and he explained to me the different music and dancing that people were preparing. We talked about America, slavery, and white man beignets (which are onion rings, as it turns out). He was very nice. Later, more people showed up and started donating money. I didn't have any with me, so I just watched. Eventually another nice man next to me gave me 2,000 to donate because they kept calling for me to give money. It was interesting because they conducted the meeting in Moundong, which is the local language that I don't speak. I didn't know what he was saying except for when he would say "nassara" which is white person. Quite frankly I was irritated that the rich people in my village were referring to me as nassara, instead of Madame or Rachel. Anyways, there were also traditional dancers and musicians performing and also people begging for money. Here, people have a different sense of pride, which is apparently not damaged by asking people for money frequently and publicly. I stayed at the meeting until about 3:30 and then bowed out to travel to Maroua for the Cinco de Mayo party.

The Cinco de Mayo party was fun. We had amazing mexican food including tacos with beans and ground meat, guacamole, mango salsa, and fresh tortillas. Everything tasted delicious and we were very happy campers.

Today, I will go back to my village to give a final test. Then I will just have to grade my tests and fill out the report cards. The fete to celebrate the end of school and Cameroonian independence is on May 20th, which will be a lot of fun!

Ok, so we need to work on photo composition - I'll get a better group shot next time. Yesterday was awesome - one of those uber satisfying moments when something you've been planning for months, and anticipating for much longer, finally comes together and goes off better than you dared hope for.

These 25 individuals who attended a soap-making training all have AIDS, and are all following ARV treatment through the regional hospital in my town - couldn't they be an add for the restorative power of taking your AIDS drugs? Most of them do not live here but travel in from nearbye towns for annonymity- even so, they are impressively open and unashamed of their status compared to what we see in tiny no-privacy villages. Finding strength in numbers and away from their chatty neighbors, they form an active community of PLWHA (People Living with HIV/AIDS), regularly attending the educative talks sponsored by the hospital where they pick up their drugs once a month and meeting with nurses who provice counseling.

In getting to know the services offered and the pressing needs of the patients, it became clear that financial stress was holding many people back from maintaining good health. While international donors help keep the ARV drugs free to patients, the regular testing needed to track the disease's progress, plus the medical charges for opportunistic diseases (such as tuberculosis, which bodies with weakened immune systems have a harder time fending off), and the transport to and from the hospital are not covered and add up quicly. Many people miss their check-ups and get off track with treatment because they do not have the money to come in, others spend money on school fees for their kids, or clothes and shoes, instead of on medicine and nutritious food to support their treatment.

We decided that doing income generating activity trainings, taught by local Cameroonians, could give people a leg up in becoming more financially stable, the hope being that even just a handful will start selling on their own (most commerce here is completely entreprenurial - selling peanuts, flip flops, burned CDs, or phone credit on the side of the road or out of a hut). After getting the hospital on board, identifying needy, enthusiastic patients, activities that were excessible to anyone (and did not require a fridge for example, which making yogurt, juice, or jam would), and local trainers, I applied for a PEPFAR grant through Peace Corps to finance the labor, materials, food, and transport. PEPFAR is the US's biggest fund for AIDS relief, started by Bush and considered by many as one of his most successful legacies. I've learned about the program for years, so actually getting to do a project on the ground through its backing is exciting.

I was worried everyone would be late, and really tried not to get my hopes up for how the day would go - but when I arrived at the hospital at 8AM (program started at 9) there were already 15 participants there, cleaning up the site and eager to get going! Look how studiously they are noting all the steps and details of the process as our leader gets started mixing ingredients (those who do not write are drawing the process). I was thrilled with their active participation, good questions, and interest in trying this on their own - our hope that they would find this practical and concretely beneficial for their life came true - and the motivation of this being able to generate money definitely gave their energy a boost. The woman leading the session actually has a daughter with AIDS also on treatment at the hospital - she knows how expensive it can get, and herself started making soap to raise money to help her daughter keep up with health-related costs. When I asked people if they could see themselves making and selling soap on their own, the response was always "Absolutely! If only I had the money to get started." With the dilhema in mind that you have to spend money to make money (start up costs like this cutting table came off as prohibitive to most), we (myself working with several hospital staff) are hoping to launch a second phase of the project in which we offer start-up grants to those who develop (with our support) and submit the most promising business plans for taking their skills to the street. Yesterday it was easy to pick out the man below in the red track suit jacket and the woman further down in the orange t-shirt as particularly motivated - they were leaning on every word and scrambling to get their hands dirty in the process. This is the kind of enthusiasm we have our eye out for, and which I hope will turn into a tangible way for them to safeguard their health and imrpove their quality of life.

We are incorporating as much business training as I know how - luckily a couple of nearbye Community Economic Development volunteers are going to help me out when we bring everyone back together to focus on understanding your market, doing a feasibility study for your project idea, creating a business proposal, marketing, pricing etc. Yesterday I wanted everyone to see how what their profit margin could be doing this, but when I asked the woman how much she could make from this quantity of soap, she had not the slightest idea, nor had she thought about it or knew how to figure that out. She can tell she makes money, but she has never recorded her expenditures or earnings. So we crawled through calculating the bulk pricing of ingredients, how much of each we were using to make two trays of soap, how much we could sell the total product for, and what that came out to in terms of profit. We realized that only by buying in bulk and selling for more than she was could you come out enough ahead that people would even be motivated to try it. This warmed my heart as a health volunteer, seeing everyone use our new soap to wash their hands before lunch! Side note - the legs and grey skirts on the stairs belong to nurses, who are in a row intricately braiding each other's hair while on the job. This is one of the most common scenes I observe here many times a day - there is a lot of downtime, in school, at work, at home, and much of that time and whatever money is available to women goes toward hairstyles. I love how this group exemplifies the total mish-mash of styles you find here - traditional African dresses, button down blouses, athletic wear, mixing and layering loud patterns - women and men are constantly going between traditional and western styles, or wearing them all at once, with trendy shoes, blinged out handbags (see below!) and shiny jewelry to accessorise (thanks to the excess of Chinese imports you can get any of those things for $.20, though of course they last about a week). It's a part of the culture I love, anything goes. Another everyday occurance is people scrambling to keep any potential profits or benefits close to home. Every person I have talked to this program about has asked if we already have people doing the trainings, preparing the meals, etc, the hope being that either they can do it (even if they don't really know how, they will figure it out!) or that they can bring the work to someone in their family, which will guarantee them a piece of the profit pie, as well as a "now you owe me" one-up-manship type of advantage: I help you, you help me. If you ever ask anyone where to buy nails, curtains, or eggs in this part of town, its never the closest or best-liked or well-stocked shop they will point you to - instead they will take you on a wild goose chase to track down their cousin, who has a little hardware shack - and if he left for a four hour lunch break, you should wait for him and not go anywhere else. If someone is out of tomatoes, she will take you to her friend's stand, making it clear she is the one bringing business...hint hint for when she is next in need of a helping hand, which is sure to be soon.

So naturally when I brought up with the hospital staff that we needed someone to prepare our lunches, the team leader jumped in with, "Yep, I know someone, don't worry about it." Guess who? Good ol' mom...who turns out to be an AWESOME cook - yesterday we had delicious ndole with plantains and baton de manioc. All the trainers have asked if we already have someone for the other topics- they are hoping they can lead us to someone or get booked for that gig as well. It's an interesting aspect of their extremely interdependent society, all these favors for others help build up your safety net. When systems like bank loans, health insurance, damage insurance, credit cards, orphanages, and welfare don't exist, your family and friends end up playing all those roles in ways that as Americans most of us could not imagine getting tangled up in. This is one of the reasons its extremely hard for people to save money; even those who work never seems to have $1.00 to their name. First off, hardly anyone has a bank account - what you have is in your pocket and gets spend immediately, partially because otherwise ten family members are imploring you to help them with school fees, medicine, housing, food. If you are lucky enough to come out ahead in your work, your money is never your own, a challenge that is emphasized to me each time I try to talk to someone about saving for college or to start their own business. This famous culture of African solidarity unfortunately seems to keep many people from being able to move up

as individuals.

And on that note of people being stuck in the cycle of poverty and need, I want to share an article that hits the nail on the head of what I see as a grassroots worker in Cameroon: "You can cram all the nongovernmental organizations you want into a country, but if there is no rule of law and if the ruling class is predatory then your achievements won’t add up to much." While I love what I'm doing and do not doubt that the information and skills I get across are impacting the lives of certain individuals, change at the larger scale that can impact a whole society requires action and coorperation from national institutions, something that is desperately lacking here. David Brooks gives an articulate, insightful wake-up call to social justice-lovers like myself, and to my generation of do-gooders about the shortcomings of our preferred approaches and where big change really stems from. A must read! http://www.nytimes.com/2012/​04/13/opinion/​brooks-sam-spade-at-starbucks.h​tml?_r=1

I know it’s been a while since I posted anything here, but I hope this story of my surreal weekend trip will make up for it. I am going to call this story, “How I came to star in a Cameroonian music video with some guy from Solvenia.”

Last weekend, I and my two good friends from training, Rachel and Ashley, took a few days off and went to this tourist village called Rhumsiki. It’s this valley in the mountains near Nigeria that has a bunch of cool rock formations. Plus there is a nice hotel with air conditioning and a pool overlooking the valley. It’s one of those places in Cameroon that nearly every volunteer makes the trip out to see, and with about six months left in my service I’ve decided I need to start checking things off the bucket list.

To get there, we had to take motorcycles for about an hour and a half over bad roads, but we got there just in time for dinner without any problems. I wanted to go hiking but Ashley and Rachel were giving me a hard time and made a point of only packing flip-flops to prove their point. Being good friends though, they did reluctantly agree to hike down into the valley the next morning.

After the hike we were all relaxing in the pool. Things seemed a little off when this guy started to set up a video camera pointed in our direction. After a year and a half in Cameroon, our creep radar is a little sensitive so we immediately called over a hotel staffer and told him to get rid of the guy. Then this middle-aged woman came out. We watched confused for a bit as she clung to the ladder of the pool in a panic. Then the camera guy we told to get lost a few minutes before told us that that women was in fact Amina Poulloh, “La Reine du Sahel.”

Amina Poulloh is by far and away the most popular Cameroonian singer in the grand North. Her songs are blasted on every bus traveling in the three provinces. Being well integrated volunteers we were all incredibly star struck. We got a photo with her poolside and were happy because this would be enough to make everyone in village flip their shit. But it didn’t end there. She bought us a round and invited us to be in her new music video that she was filming the next day. We agreed in a sort of baffled/what the hell/ why not I’m in Africa /the chances of this actually happening are nil/ way.

Meanwhile, the only other guest at the hotel, a 30-year-old guy from Solvenia who didn’t speak French, had latched on to us. He seemed nice and harmless enough though, so we talked for a bit and argeed to meet up for dinner.

The next morning we went about our business assuming that Amina Poulloh had forgotten the whole thing. We rounded out the morning by going to see this old man called the crab sorcerer, who for about a buck will tell your fortune using a crab and a clay pot. Three times in a row the crab settled on “comme tu veux” to our questions about what the future holds for us.

We were hoping that by the time we and saw the crab sorcerer, Amina Pollouh and her entourage would have left. Nope. She was sitting in the lobby watching her own music videos and waiting for us to turn up. We then piled into a minivan and drove to an outlook. Amina pulled out pange and a bunch of local jewelry. She saw that were struggling to tie the wraps, so she insisted on giving us a lesson. Next we’re all in our bras as Amina Pollouh personally tied on some fabric to each of us in a tube top fashion. I’m wished that I’d shaved or at least worked on my farmer’s tan a bit.

For the next hour and a half they filmed us doing all the classic Cameroonian music video dance moves. We turned our heads back and forth to the beat, we shuffled around with bowls on our heads, they even filmed us sitting in a circle telling fake secrets to Amina Poulloh and giggling. All while the whole village looked on.. Amina then moves on to the Slovenian and dresses him up in a hat and gives him a horse-hair whip. Then she shakes her ass while he playfully whips her in time with the beat. Finally, it’s a wrap.

But no. They also film us in the car and stage a receiving line with all of the hotel staff. For the finally scene they sit us at a table and give us all mint syrup (how fancy) to toast with. At last it really is over. Amina Poulloh announces that she’s going to take a nap and asks us to give back all the fabric and necklaces.

We pack up and head back to the city.

Relaxing in the pool before things got weird

After the shoot, photo-op

Amina dancing with the guy from Slovenia. It was clear she preferred his moves to ours

The two weeks of training are finally over. UNICEF and myself have just released 40 newly trained Community Relief Agents in 40 rural communities in the near Sahel Desert of Northern Cameroon. Even with the workload, I still found time to go enjoy myself as best I could. Because training started at 7:30am and ended at 5:00pm, I didn't really have time to do anything during the day. This schedule forced me to get up at before dawn for my daily workouts, and I haven't been at all dissapointed.



After leaving my house I can head out onto the plains outside Pitoa. I can literally choose an objective on the horizon and head towards it. The Benoe River is about 5k from my house. A couple of steep and rocky hills are about 4k away. Garoua, is about 16 kilometers away, and certainly not out of reach with time. I never really thought of myself as a morning person until here. Dawn is gorgeous, and the freedom to go anywhere, it's nearly intoxicating.

Below are some pictures I took of what I've been running around in.

At the edge of the Benoe River, 5k out. The Benoe River  An average morning, about 2k out. 

The vertical face of these rocky hills is 20 to 30 feet.

Evelation gain: 300 feet. Lateral distance, around 75 feet.

View from the top of the butte, looking ESE.

Looking towards Garoua.

Last weekend I went to the nearby village of Meri to help with a Peace Corps Environmental Camp. Some volunteers in the anglophone regions in the south started developing sessions to teach kids about their environment, and the project has since expanded to the north, where we are translating the sessions into French and adapting them for the desert rather than the jungle. The hope is that eventually we will have a toolkit of sessions anyone can use, so if a volunteer wants to host something like this, they don't have to start from scratch but can pull off the lessons and activities volunteers before them have developed, tried out, and modified. Meri is a small town in the mountains a couple of hours away from my village. We had about forty sixth graders come to the day-long camp, between the ages of about 10 and 15. There were around ten Peace Corps volunteers there too, which meant we had a lot of resources to wrangle kids and a lot of energy to keep them interested. The kids were split into three teams (the Champions, the Lions, and the Pharaohs), given different colored headbands and a team leader, and earned points every time they correctly answered a question. Volunteers led sessions on land, water, air, food security, and fauna. We talked about desertification, pollution, purifying water, and endangered animals. A lot of the subjects were completely foreign to the kids, even though they dealt with things happening all around them every day.

Perhaps the most exciting part of the camp involved the numerous activities that we did, beginning with a recycling activity where kids strung together bottle caps to make what we had intended to be a neat snake toy to drag around on the ground. The kids rapidly figured out, however, that it doubled as a noisemaker and also as a nunchuck to whip each other with. I guess we did accomplish our goal, though, of showing kids how to reuse an everyday object in a new and exciting way. A couple of girls asked me as I was walking around with a giant bag of bottle caps where they had all come from. They were astounded when I told them they came off the ground in their own village.

Another excellent activity involved handing three unsuspecting students each a glass of water. All three glasses looked the same, but one secretly had sugar in it, and another salt. A lot of spitting, throwing water, and fighting over who got to chug the sugar water ensued...but I think they also learned a lesson about how water that looks clean may not necessarily really be clean.

It was a learning experience for us volunteers, too. A lot of the questions we asked the kids elicited answers that we did not expect. For example, while talking about climate change, a volunteer asked what will happen if the Earth keeps getting hotter. Without missing a beat, a girl raised her hand and said, “All the white people would die because they can't handle the sun.” The volunteer tried to point out that everybody would be effected, and this caused a lot of indignant shouting from the students. “No, the white people would all burn up because their skin isn't strong! It's true!”

I helped teach the session on fauna, where we talked about the difference between domesticated and wild animals, and then endangered and extinct animals. Again, a lot of the answers were pretty surprising. When I asked kids what it meant for an animal to be endangered (in French, en danger), a kid raised his hand and said, “it means that they will try to eat humans.” I explained the difference between endangered and dangerous, then moved on to talking about why animals became endangered. “What are some reasons why people kill animals?” I asked, hoping to talk about bush meat and poaching. “Because the animals attack people!” was the first response.

We eventually got around to talking about some of the other reasons animals become endangered, and then moved on to the difference between being endangered and being extinct. I held up a couple pictures of a T-Rex and a triceratops. “What kind of animals are these?” I asked. “Crocodile!” “Hippopotamus!” shouted the excited kids. Finally a confident hand went up in the back. “Dinosaurs!” A murmur of “ohhhhs” went around the classroom. I continued, “Are there still dinosaurs here today?” There was some confused muttering, and a few nodding heads. Finally one of the more ambitious students called out, “Yes, but only rarely!”

Although there was a fair amount of confusion and hilarity on the part of both the volunteers and the students, by the end of the day we all felt like we had accomplished something. At the beginning of the day, most of the kids could easily describe the water cycle or give a memorized definition of desertification, but by the end of the day I think we had done a lot to make them think more critically about their environment. By asking questions like “where did all these bottle caps come from?” and “what will happen if the world keeps getting hotter?” (we did eventually arrive at a more thorough response than all the white people burning up), we pushed kids past the rote memorization they were used to in their regular schooling to thinking about how to apply the facts they learned to better understand the world they lived in, and maybe even change the way that they lived in it.

One of my favorite moments of the day came when a volunteer asked the students what they could do if they went to a store and bought one small thing, and the storekeeper tried to put it in a plastic bag. The first kid's response: “Ask him for a smaller bag!” Progress...when asked for other ideas, there was a puzzled pause, then finally a lightbulb clicked on for one of the students. “Tell him you don't need one!” Maybe you can just carry that soda home in your hands, instead of wrapping it in one (or multiple) plastic bags that you will later just throw on the ground. Revolutionary!

As many of you may already know, I'm reaching the end of my two years of Peace Corps service and will be returning home at the end of July. As we get closer to leaving, we are all reflecting on what we've accomplished and how much we've changed in our time here. Last weekend, in a new village with new students and a mix of volunteers at all stages of their service, was a nice reminder of that. After two years, us teachers have no problem standing up in front of a group of people, talking about pretty much any subject (English grammar? Endangered animals?) in English or French. We've learned how to get inside the heads of 6th graders, how to present information and pose questions in a certain way so that they will know how to respond. Some of these skills, like public speaking, make me excited to come home and use them in a new context. Other things I've learned here, like speaking Mandara, riding motorcycles, or being able to list ten different wild animals you can eat, are less applicable and make me sad to leave. For the next couple of months, though, I am going to try to enjoy as much as I can the culmination of two years' worth of knowledge and friendships.

04/05/2012 Well, I done did it again. I have not put an entry in almost a month. I’m at the case in Yaounde and its surprisingly quite. Usually there is atleast a dozen people here passing through, doing committee work, or visiting the PCMO. There is actually SED steering going on, but they’re in their meeting right now until 3. Why am I here? Because I’m going to be back on American soil in A WEEK. It still has not hit me yet. I’m going back home for my sister’s graduation, and of course to relax with my dearly missed loved ones. Getting here wasn’t bad at all. From Batouri and Bertoua I took the first buses out and neither broke down. There were plenty of stops along the way to pick people up. I had 2 chicken at my feet from Batouri. One of which pooped on my bag. C’est la vie. I got my signs all the way here without any damage and LaHomma and Kim loved them. LaHomma is our Country Director and Kim is the Director of all 5 programs. Both of these amazing humans will be leaving us in June which is a real bummer. I hope whoever replaces them can fill their shoes. I’ve only known them for 8 months and had a few conversations, but these are the humans that make things happen and do it well. I have pictures of these signs on my fb. I actually almost forgot the signs on the bus in Bertoua because right when I arrived I got a text from my post mate saying she couldn’t find where I left my keys. I hid them in my yard so she could check on my house periodically when I’m gone. This consumed my mind and by the time I got to the Bert case I realized what I left behind. I rushed back to the agance and they were still there, thank God. The dude who works for Alliance said someone tried to steal them, but he knew it belonged to the one white guy on the bus. I did my banking in Bertoua just to get it over with before I came to Yao. I take out as much money as I can from my bank. I don’t trust it in there because of corrupt reputation this country has. Banking is interesting here. I don’t think I’ve shared my experiences with my bank yet so I will now. I bank with BISEC. PC gave all of us a list of “acceptable” banks to use for our 2 years here. My bank doesn’t post it hours? But I found out from speaking with the guards out front that they are from from 8:30-12 and then 2-5. I was there at 7:45 after eating breakfast so I just decided to read so I would be at the front of the line to get in. Front of the line because once the bank opens everyone rushes to the 2 only tellers to take care of their business. During that time people slowly started showing up, and by 8:20 there were about 30 people waiting outside the doors. The bank opened late, like 9:10. This hasn’t happened to me before, but schedules don’t really exist in Cameroon. When the other guard inside comes to the door to start unlocking everything everyone swarms to the door. Luckily I was still in front. People will try to weasel their way to the front, and more often then not Cameroonians don’t care. But I do. “Que faites-vous?! Respecter la ligne!” The more French I learn and the more I’m in country the sassier I have become, but it really is necessary here. People speak loud and emotionally. Its just how it goes. I could go to the ATM, but it only gives the largest bills 5.000 and 10.000. Those are hard for me to break in Batouri and also perpetuates that I’m a rich white man in Cameroon. This is why I go inside and specify what bills I want. Once I’m processed all I get is 10’s and 5’s. I ask where the smaller bills are and he says they don’t have the money. Don’t have the money?! Your a bank. But this is Cameroon. Thats how it goes, c’est la vie. The bank is the closest thing to nice here besides the embassy. I always go to the bank in frip (used) clothes and look disheveled. I’ve heard of other volunteers getting robbed right when they leave the bank. Besides that tatic I always walk to the bank and then drop all the money off at the case right after. There’s also a TV in the bank and people in line make noises like “aye, oy”, and click their mouth after a disappointing story about some other African country with problems. Right now it seems like theres a lot going down in Africa. One time at the bank there was this mama right up on me from behind while we were waiting in line. Like both breast on the shoulder blades, so I broke wind. Didn’t even phase her. I have checks here that I haven’t picked up yet because I know it would be about a 2 hour activity to get something simple like that. Customer service also really doesn’t exist at the bank. When I banked in America it seemed like all the tellers were on Zoloft. Everyone happy to take or give you your money. Not here. Straight faces. Theres also a lot more protection in the banks here. Guards inside. Gendarmes outside with guns. There is a guy who stands by the door to slide up and down the gate when you enter or leave. Banking can take a long time, so if you ever find yourself complaining about your bank in America just be happy your not banking in Africa. I’m sure if your a person with tons of money you get the proper treatment, but for the most part its comme ca. So I left for the bus at 5 am Thursday to make sure I got a ticket and didn’t have to wait in line. Waiting in line at a bus agance is even worse. People cut every time and people rarely say anything. The last time I waited to buy a ticket from Bertoua to Batouri I was in line for an hour and a half and got the second to last ticket for that bus. The bus I took this time to YAO was the VIP bus. Air conditioning, didn’t work, a bathroom, unusable, but the seats were comfy. They also have a TV playing music videos the whole 6 hour drive. I finally got to see the videos to the music I hear blaring outside my house in Batouri. I slept most the way except with Stephanie woke me up for an ID check. The gendarme stops buses to make sure everyone has an ID. They breeze through the Cameroonians with IDs and scrutinize the white people who have IDs. Thats how its been for my post mates and I. They also make stops so people can drain the main vain, women too. I forgot to mention Stephanie, my post mate, came with me to YAO to see the PCMO. We arrived around 2 at the PC HQ. I took care of most of my business to get ready to leave for the states. Get my WHO card so they know I don’t have diseases, my no fee passport, my drivers license so I can drive a car back home. Which I haven t done in 8 months. Dropped off reimbursement forms, checked for mail, and gave the signs to Kim and LaHomma. They liked the gesture. Cleaned up, ate dinz, and then copied some movies from other people hard drives. Its amazing how many movies/videos/music are available and get swapped between PCVs. One girl has the Billboard top 100 music from 1950-2004. Now it is friday morning and feels tres comfortable. Its just 4 other humans and me in the case. I’m going to miss the East regional meeting on the 5th, which is in Bertoua. Plans for today? I’m gonna write letters, finish this post, complete my VRF, and probably go on a stroll through Yaounde. VRF is volunteer report form. Every volunteer has to fill out a very lengthy electronic report about what they have done the last 3 months and what they plan to do the next. Its very in depth. We learned all about it at IST. I would prefer that over the paper version that was phased out last year. I’ll be reporting mostly on the last month which was real busy for me. Preparing everything before I leave for a month. Thomas Marie (my CP) is a solid hard working human being. I’ve said it before, but that dude does not fit the mold of your typical Cameroonian. I hope to return to most of the TODO list check off we came up with at our last meeting. All of this reporting goes to PC Cam HQ then PC Washington, and finally the government to evaluate the process and productivity of the PC program. Whats new/changed for me at post. MEEP MEEP (my cat) is growing and becoming more of an outside cat. She sometimes gets in fights with another cat who lives at a boutique down the road. One day they were fighting on the metal bars that cover the windows. My neighbors grabbed my cat and I told them through the window it was mine, so what do they do? Chunk it over the fence into my yard. She uses one side of my sink as a litter box which I’m cool with. I wouldn’t even mind cleaning it up off the floor since its all concrete, but I’m happy she uses the sink. I also got a monkey. I don’t know the species or genus but I have a hommie PCV who is great at identifying animals. I got him from Esperance, one of the institutions I work with. I’ve been to Esperance multiple times and never knew they had a monkey, but the last time I was there pere Gaston pointed him out and asked if I wanted him. This monkey was in poopy living conditions. He was tied to a small twisted rope in a cage that most people would keep a small rabbit in. Pere Gaston said they have had him for over 2 years. After seeing all this I said I would love to take him. His name is Africa. He’s pretty docile. He wasn’t so docile on the trip to my house, but I feel he's much happier in my front yard. When I’m in the US I’m going to get him a harness and one of those running zip lines for dogs for him so he can move around more and get into the trees. You know those zip lines for dogs who need exercise, but can be trusted to stay in the yard? Comme ca. MEEP MEEP hasn’t warmed up to Africa yet. Africa doesn't really care about MEEP. He acknowledges the creature but doesn’t really care. He actually presented his butt towards MEEP the first time they met. There are pictures on FB of that first encounter. He also pooped all over the crib when MEEP was around, so those two won’t be in the house together again. MEEP gets close to him when he’s outside to investigate. I feel after 2 years they will warm up. J'espère que. My house still has a leak in the roof in my back room. Rainy season has started and we’ve had some awesome storms. With the tin roofs it gets so loud I can barley hear anything. But its just starting, I hear its going to become stronger more frequently. That also means power will be out more often. I will see the flash of lightning and then the powers out. I like it when the powers out because its quite except for the few electronic shops that have generators going. There are also the huge stadium lighting that comes from STBK, the logging company because they have huge CAT generators. It takes away from being able to see the stars clearly. Speaking of power being out, I went out to eat dinner one night when the power was out and there was an important soccer game going on. I don’t follow it much but I guess it was the finals. There were literally 30 people outside about 5 different electronic shops that had generators watching the game. Thats love for the sport, and the excitement that exploded after a great move. People running in the street cheering. That was a groovy first experience. I don’t know the teams that were playing. Radom note. Stephanie just reported that the Yaounde “dermatologist” diagnosed her and said she is allergic to the sun. Seems weird, but she has to completely cover her body with clothes for the rest of service which will be quite uncomfortable with how hot and humid Batouri is. She is also get 5 blood test done. I finished two books. It seems I always says the books I read were great and I highly recommend them, but it continues with these two. Deep Survival is a great book about what goes on neurologically to make a person survive. Very well written with collection of great survival stories. I just finished my other book on the way over here called Zeitoun. Just read the wiki summary: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeitoun_(book). Reading this book really took me back to how terrible Hurricane Katrina was handled, but to read the personal experience of this man and his was eye opening. Out of all the books I have recommended to read. Read this one FIRST. I also just read that it will be a movie in 2014 which I hope is truthful. I started a book in training called Two Ears of Corn but didn’t finish, but my loving family sent it to me in a care package:) Most AGRO post already have the book at their post but I’m opening one and a health volunteer was there before me. It was written in the 80s, but its spot on for the topic of agriculture development in developing countries. Hopefully I’ll finish that on the trip home. I have a hommie from the South coming in today. There’s also some cinco de drinko party going down in the East. Glad to be missing that. Oh, this past month my post mates and I also made soy and soy milk, both of which didn’t come out too well. The soy wasn’t solid, but it still tasted great. The milk was just bad. I think there was too much water in the mix. I added cinnamon to it thinking it might make it a little better, but it just tasted like crappy lemonade. I still drank it all because I dislike wasting. But like scientist do, experiment. I’ve got to get it down pat before Thomas and I start giving animations on how to plant it, processes it, and eventually use it as an IGA. It will hopefully also help with the malnutrition problem in Batouri. Another random note. You know Eddie Murphy has a song, #7, on Billboard’s top 100 for 1986. L'année je suis né. I never knew that dude made jams. He should stick to movies and standup. Another interesting song New kids on the block - This one’s for the children. If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on let me know! Anyone know that song. I love but don’t know the artist or name of the song. I should have put this at the beginning of the post, but when I left Batouri it was the Fait du travail. It’s like labor day here, but they still celebrate the same as other faits. Its done at the place de fait. The put down the white walking lines. Companies get T-shirts made and march with signs representing their business. Comme many all the other faits everyone gets drunk to celebrate. By the time I arrived in Bertoua I already missed their march but saw everyone with their tshirts. People still work, but the hours just change. Nothing changed for me when I took the first bus out. I also forgot to mention how terrible the roads are getting. I met the cheif at the depart of transportation, he liked my homemade wine. He told him it will help him get his member up. He was already a couple beers in. His job is to maintain the road between Bertoua and Batouri. I asked him if they ever level it out and he said they do it only once a year and in June. I hope thats true especially since the rainy season has started. The trip to Bertoua gets a little longer every time, but the plants next to the road are now green and flourishing again because of the rain. I also see at least one overturned logging truck or other vehicle because they drive crazy down a crappy road. I’ve said this before. People drive crazy here, but its kinda like the chaos theory. There is harmony in the chaos. Definitely not all the time. For example, in Yaounde with all the taxi drivers. They are quite skilled at getting very close to each other without hitting, but the evidence there from scratches on the cars. One more random note before I wrap this up that I forgot to mention when I talked about women’s day. On the panya they had 2035 written as they day of success? I dunno. When Cameroon will become something so much better. I don’t know why they picked that year, but I have a hypothesis. I think Paul Byia just decided to pick a year that is so far ahead he doesn’t have to worry about actually meeting that goal. He’ll be dead or replaced before that time. Good political move. I hope Cameroon is a better place come 2035, but thats 23 years away. Imagine what Africa will be like 23 years from now, not to mention the world, but so much is going on this continent. For those Americans on the 24 hour news cycle I’m sure your seeing all the change. I rarely watch TV or see one in Batouri, so seeing the news is a trip. I just got two packages from 2 SUPER solid humans! Thank you Ralf and Kyle. Made my Friday like you can’t comprehend: ) It’s 1 now and I’m gonna get some ef double oh dee and do the rest of my stuff today. Du courage mes amies. A la prochaine.

My new house !

So almost an entire year and a few close calls later but I finally have the house that I want. And while it may seem ridiculous to be moving now when I have only 3 months left, it’s worth it. My first house was really great itself but there were problems more so with location. I’ll just say the problems were due to culture differences - some people here don’t have the same ideas about personal space and what’s appropriate as a neighbor. And for anyone who’s visited me, I’ll say one word – kudjo. So it’s better now that I have my own compound.

My new house is literally across the street – maybe 10 steps. It’s owned by the Lamido and was recently finished. It’s pink and green with a giant living room and high ceiling, two bedrooms and bathroom that even has a toilet seat and cover, an indoor kitchen and a detached kitchen for wood fire cooking. And there’s running water and power (most of the time)

I’ve only been here a few nights so far and still have a lot of work before it’s all pulled together, but it’s already been amazing being here and not having to worry about the many things I did before. I will most certainly thoroughly enjoy my last few months in my new house. And I hope my replacement will enjoy his or her full 2 years in this great house.

My old house is on the left - again literally like 10 steps away

My new room

Living room before...

And after

Indoor kitchen

It’s been a while since I last had an opportunity to write. Things here in Mogode have been pretty busy. I’ve been preparing to go to the states for a month while at the same time, working on enlarging some projects and beginning others.

Work wise:· Women’s Peer Education Group: They elected a board and started collecting money for a group project (yet unknown). They also came to me yesterday and asked if we could take the group to the next level and start learning an Income-Generating Activity to help the women in the group.· Water projects: I started asking around about getting a water committee started· Health Education: I started working with the primary school health club. Tomorrow we are meeting to talk about water borne diseases and how you can prevent them. · Hospital: I’m still taking part in the vaccinations “en brusse”. I’ve taken over weighing babies to track their nutrition and try to prevent malnutrition. We are also still doing small educational sessions before vaccinated women’s children.· Women’s Literacy Group: A group of women in a nearby town contacted me to ask me help them start a class to learn French and how to write. I’m helping them with their lessons plans and materials to get started.

So basically, I’ve been keeping busy. Since being back, I’ve really made an effort to learn how to prepare Cameroonian food. I’ve spent many an evening at a friends’ house “turning” couscous. It’s a lot harder than it sounds, trust me. My biceps are rapidly developing to handle the new demands.

Also, the rainy season has arrived! The rainy season is partly to blame for why I haven’t been able to write. The rains wash out the electricity poles, leaving me without power about 50% of the time since I’ve been back. The first time it rained was just a few days after I got back to post at the beginning of April. The whole day looked gray and I thought it looked like rain. I asked locals: “Hey, do you think it’s going to rain?” “No, it couldn’t possibly rain. It’s hot. And it’s not June yet.” Even after it rained that first time, and then the second time, and then the third time, I would ask: “Hey has rainy season started yet? It looks like it’s going to rain again today!”and they would respond with “No, it couldn’t possibly rain. It’s hot. And it’s not June yet.” That’s what I love about Cameroonians. They can predict weather down to a day. They know that every year on February 15th, the cold weather breaks and it gets hot. The first rains of the rainy season always arrive the first of June. And the heat will break exactly 6 days after the first rain of rainy season.

Well, considering it has rained numerous times in the past few weeks (and before that, I had never seen it rain up here), I’m officially declaring it rainy season; I am disregarding the Cameroonian Farmer’s Almanac for actual weather patterns. Call me crazy, but it just makes sense to crazy ole’ me.

The first rain was crazy. I was sitting out in my hammock, after dinner, reading by flashlight. The power was out. I was enjoying Mansfield Park (I’ve been on a classics kick-electricity-less nights find me reading Jane Austin right now) when I took a break to check out the sky. It was incredible. I mean, I’m from Florida. Despite it’s name as the Sunshine State, Florida has the most lightning out of any state. I’ve seen my fair share of lightning: hurricane lightning, heat lightning, streaky lightning, behind-clouds lightning. But I have never seen anything like this. This was like someone had taken a strobe light and was waving it around the sky. Every second the sky light up. I probably didn’t even need a flashlight to read it was so bright. I’ve never seen anything like it. Soon after that, the rain started. It absolutely poured. The thunder was so loud it scared the dog. The rain came in under the door and started flooding my living room. The best part about the rain: washed the chicken poop from my porch!

The next day I woke, my room was at least 10 degrees cooler. I walked outside and immediately noticed a difference. Where the day before, everything was just brown, kitty-littery and dead, little shoots of grass started coming up out of the ground! The trees were looking less pathetic and the dust in the air had settled. Since then, it’s rained a couple of times and my yard, while looking a little untidy, finally has some color in it! My neighbors are appalled that I’m letting my grass grow (the typical yard here is swept everyday to keep the kitty litter looking nice and fresh and brown.

Things are starting to look up here in dry Mogode. Although water is still expensive and a bit hard to find, I’m sure the wells will start filling up soon and the hardships will ease.

In preparation for my departure to America, I eased another “hardship” of mine. A few months ago, Luke and I got two chickens, a hen and a rooster, to try and get some eggs out of them. When I got back to Mogode, I was so disappointed to not be finding eggs left and right. I figured maybe she just didn’t lay any. I searched my whole yard, even crawling behind my kitchen (which is a tight crawl space and a little dangerous because I threw a bottle back there that wouldn’t open that I’m just waiting for it to blow up. It could blow at any time! There’s fermented juice in there that’s just creating pressure.) One day, Luke came over with his friend and they found an egg in the middle of my yard! Turns out, my dog had been eating them before I found them! I was so excited. The next day, I had two fried eggs for breakfast. It was glorious. My free range, organic chicken laid the most delicious tasting egg.

So you can imagine my horror when, a few days later, I woke to find the chicken dead. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t get close enough to inspect the body (Luke was coming over, so I just asked him to take care of it). It could have been sick, or maybe the rooster had been hogging all the food, or maybe an animal mauled it, or maybe it overheated and cooked from the inside. Regardless, the chicken was dead. No more eggs!

All I was left with was the rooster from satan-ville (trying to keep this PG). This guy was evil! A couple of times I slept with my door open, sometimes in the living room, to try to escape the heat. At four in the morning, he would sneak in and cockle-doodle-doo in my face! I finally figured out how to block the door while keeping it open. So then, he would just stand there, cockling for hours, right in the door. During the day, he would sneak into the house, get into my kitchen and peck at everything. I would come into the room 20 times an hour and find him there, pooping on my floor and eating whatever he could. I would chase him out with a broom only to have him come back in two seconds later. On mornings when I did sleep in my room, he would sleep right beneath my bedroom window, cockling of course.

The rooster had to go. Now, fyi, rooster in French is cock. Le cock. In my frainglais (mix of French and English) state of mind, that is how I think of him. The evil cock, minion of the devil. I decided long ago that this cock would grace our table some fine evening, and with the chicken dead, it was only just a matter of time. So the date was set. Last Saturday, my cock crowed his last cockle. We had a cock-party. At noon, my neighbor came over and helped me catch the rascal.

Then we took him next door and she handed me the knife. I killed that cock. I slit its throat and watched it die. Then we plucked it, cut it up and then I cooked it. We ate that rooster that night. Let me tell you, it was delicious. Whether that can be attributed to the fact it’s the first chicken I’ve eaten in months, or the psychological taste of happiness is an unsolvable mystery. But he was delicious! And big and fat. I had fed him well. Since then, I have slept like a baby in my quiet little house.

So that’s what’s been going on here in Mogode. Saturday, I leave town for a month. I’m headed to the states to celebrate my little sister graduating from Tufts University (Go KATIE!!!!!! I’m so proud of you). So this might be the last post for a while. But I’ll see you all soon!

It has been long since I posted on here. For a couple of reasons.

Number one, I had several blog entries ready to post in early February

at which point my computer was stolen with the unposted blog entries.

I was annoyed with that and didn't want to spend any time writing a

post. Secondly, I have lost interest in the blog because I have little

to write about. Most of the things that are occurring in my life are

just a rehash of things I have blogged about before. So for the sake

of saving my time and your time I haven't been able to justify

writing. I don't want to give the impression that I am capricious and

unable to finish what I have started so here goes.

I did get robbed in early February. My computer, external hard drive,

Internet key and camera were stolen. Luckily I had insurance and was

fully reimbursed for all the loses. The robbery was my own fault. I

got involved with an individual who I shouldn't have gotten involved

with and I let him get to close to me. I have tried to learn from the

situation. I want to be defensive without totally blockading myself.

Part of my joy of living here is integrating with people and culture

on a personal level which is impossible if I am always afraid that

someone wants to hurt or rob me. I think I have been doing an okay job

lately of keeping myself safe. If you would like more details of the

robbery let me know and I'd be happy to explain it to you personally.

For those of you who donated to my computer lab project, thank you

again! You all should have received a letter and photos in the mail.

If you did not please tell me. If you donated and did not opt to have

your name given to me as a donor I have no idea that you donated to my

project so you didn't get a letter. If you would like one let me know

and I will be happy to mail you one.

The project is finishing up nicely. We bought 7 computers and I have

been teaching weekly courses there to about 10 students. Next year a

Cameroonian teacher will be hired to continue teaching thus providing

sustainability to the project. The students are at very intermediate

levels with the computer so we are doing basic things like mouse

functionality and keyboard, etc.

I have been given my official Close of Service date. It is scheduled

for August 10th. I have requested to stay in Cameroon another year and

be reposed to Francophone Cameroon so that I may improve my French. I

am not sure yet where I want my career to go when I return to the

states but I would like to take a marketable skill from these two

possibly 3 years. If I am able to continue working in the

international sector after Peace Corps I would love to become better

in French. As of now I have yet to hear back from Peace Corps as to

wether I can stay. I would be teaching at the university level next

year and calling upon my education background at a higher level than

what is currently required of me now.

One of my good Cameroonian friends has been very sick for a while now.

His legs have become swollen and he looks terrible and just isn't

himself in any aspect. He has been in and out of doctors, both medical

and traditional to no avail. The traditional doctor tells him that

someone has cast a spell on him because he tried to hook up with a

married women. Also something about how his family is jealous and or

mad at him for being a teacher. I wasn't quite able to follow that

train of thought. I go to visit him in his house and I bring him

healthy foods like carrots and fruit. I wish there was something

someone could do to help him. He goes to the medical doctor and they

just through a multitude of random medicines at him. I ask him what

the medicines are for and he has no idea and doesn't seem to care to

find out. The traditional doctors give him strange things to drink and

rub grass on his leg, who knows what all that does.

I went fishing with some children the other day. The process was

simple, we just tied some hooks with grasshoppers on them to bamboo

sticks and let them rest in the stream. You go back the next day or

days after and there is supposed to be a mud fish on it. The kids

caught a few and have invited me to their house to eat mud fish

tonight. It doesn't sound very appetizing, especially since the kids

told me that they don't even like it. Well, we'll see how it goes. I

am sure it won't be the worst thing I have eaten here.

My postmate has left to go back to America. I will mis him a lot. I

saw him usually at least once a day and we both spent hours

commiserating to each other about our lives here. We were good outlets

for ear other. I often wonder what my two years would have been like

without any western friends here. I see my western friends at least

once or several times a week. It is just now that so many of the

volunteers have been leaving and the new ones that have come in I

don't have a chance to get to know because we won't be going through

any types of trainings or seminars together. My Peace Corps experience

is slowly changing into a different one.

I'll try to get some more pictures up on Facebook. Every time I have

fast Internet it seems the last thing I have time for is uploading

pictures. I did post some on Facebook a few months ago, so go there

and check them out if you are interested.

As of now I should be back in the states around mid August as my

service will have finished by then, or I will be back just for a visit

during october/november.

I’ve been doing a lot of travel and haven’t been consistently at post since February (not my fault as there was In-Service Training, Steering Committee, and now Regional Meeting,) so it seems logical that, with my “Travel” playlist playing in the background, I write a blog entry just on what travel here entails for me. I can’t claim that my travel experiences are typical of what any other Cameroon volunteer experiences, mostly just because there is no typical experience, and I definitely haven’t encountered it all yet. Travel is something that I didn’t think about before coming, because it’s nothing I’ve ever really needed to consider since getting a driver’s license and a car. Turns out, travel is a whole lot more difficult and interesting once you can’t just hop into your car and drive wherever you wanted/needed to be. I don’t know that I ever actually did public transportation in the States outside of taking metros and the occasional taxi in DC; learning to rely and adapt to public transportation is a huge part of life here, one that’s giving me a whole stockpile of ridiculous anecdotes that y’all are going to be hearing for a long, long time in the future. So, with all that said, I’ve done my best to give an accurate summary of just what kinds of travel are available in country and the very basic idea of what it looks like.

In Batouri/Bertoua:

Motorcycles. Yep. That’s right, yours truly rides many, many motorcycles a day. They’re a pretty common form of transportation throughout Africa from what I understand, and as a result, every PCV has a super-stylish helmet to wear (and I accentuate super-stylish, there’s nothing like sticking out with a shiny blue and silver helmet in a community where no one wears helmets.) Some volunteers in remote villages take hour or more long motorcycle rides to reach post—that’s not an option for where I live, but I’m looking forward to visiting friends at their posts and having my first long moto ride. I’ve seen as many as six people crammed onto one moto, and I’ve also seen Moms carrying their babies on motos so that they’re hanging off the moto—terrifying. Within Batouri, all of the moto-drivers are men and most of them are pretty young. Some drivers wear heavy down coats and woolen caps for protection, which is mostly just comical because it’s so hot here; I recently saw a motorman wearing a tee-shirt from Great Lakes Elementary which is not terrifically far from where I grew up, which was cool.

There are a few private cars in town, most of which are owned by either officials within the government or international aid organizations—the aid cars are always giant white SUVs with huge decals on the side proclaiming Red Cross, UNFPA, WFP, UNDP, UNHCR, GIZ…we’ve got many, many development organizations in Batouri, clearly. I’ve ridden in a couple of cars in Batouri and it’s always a surreal experience—comfort, radio, windows, and a seatbelt. Most of the time I’m in the car with my host organization, Esperance, doing site visits with the families they work with in the community, but I’ve been in a couple of government-owned cars and a few privately-owned cars as well. It’s great and fantastic being in cars, even the crappiest amongst them. Still, I would never want to drive in Cameroon: the roads are terrible and Cameroonians are ridiculously aggressive drivers—even when street signs or traffic signs exist, they don’t mean anything, nor do Cameroonian drivers like to stay in the correct lane most of the time.

Leaving Post:

For me to get to either Bertoua or Kentzou (the two cities closest to me with other volunteers,) I take a bus called the Saviom…all the volunteers call them Prison Buses because that’s what they look like, as there’s a metal grate that separates the driver from the rest of the passengers. These exist in my little section of the East (“Extreme East,” as we’ve taken to describing ourselves,) as well as parts of the Adamaoua. They’re supposed to fit 28 people (Five people a row, five rows, plus three passengers in the cabin sitting next to the driver,) but oftentimes there are people standing up in the back, holding on to the ladder that leads to the top of the bus where luggage is stored, or sitting on top of the luggage. Each row is composed of two benches with a fold-down seat in the middle, the fold-down seat in front of the door being the most uncomfortable spot to ride in. The spots in the cabin are reserved for the Grands (the important people in the community)—male PCVs are almost always guaranteed a spot in the cabin, but it’s a lot more difficult to secure a seat there as a woman. The potential benefits of a cabin seat are huge, though: more leg room, more space on the bench, less dust, etc.

The prison bus into Batouri is an adventure that’s not for the weak-stomached, lovers of personal space, or impatient. There are usually various animals being transported either inside the bus or on top of the bus, which makes the ride really fun: nothing quite like combining the sound of crying babies, bleating goats, and hens in a small vehicle. The sides of the bus have a reminder not to vomit, spit, or talk to driver, which is clearly very confidence-inducing. Luckily, I’ve yet to see anyone vomit on a ride (knock on wood, inshallah, and on espère.) The bus has no radio, is overcrowded, feels like it’s a million degrees most of the time, dusty, and often makes a million stops either for prayer, to pick up more passengers even though the bus is already full, or to buy various food products (plantains, manioc, grilled beef, milk, etc.) The roads are unpaved and in need of serious reparation, I often get off the bus with some pretty impressive bruises. Breakdowns are not uncommon, and neither are accidents. I’ve had three flat tires and one broken belt in my four months at post, but another friend who visited had the treat of her bus needing to get towed in by a logging truck because it broke down so badly 10km from the bus stop. Normally Cameroonians have an amazing talent to MacGyver solutions to automotive problems out of the most ridiculous items they find on the side of the road—they could definitely teach a few tricks to American auto mechanics.

Basically, traveling to leave Batouri makes me feel like I’m an en brousse BAMF. As much as I complain about the prison buses (which is, admittedly, a lot) it’s a fantastic bragging point :) I’ve made the 90km trip in anywhere from 2.75 hours to 4.5 hours, but with rainy season picking up, I’m expecting the travel to get worse. I’ve also been informed to prepare myself to do have to get out and push in the mud or to trudge through the mud so that the bus can more easily navigate.

Other Forms of Transport:

In bigger cities, motorcycles are substituted for taxis. There isn’t anything terrifically exciting or fantastic about these, although drivers do sometimes decorate them with flashing lights, weird paint jobs, furry seats, fake flowers, and weird sayings. We don’t have any in Batouri, but they’re all that you can take in Yaounde (the country capital) because Moto-Taxis are illegal. Given a choice between taking a moto or a taxi, I usually prefer the moto-it’s faster, less crowded, and the likelihood is that it’ll smell less like BO since there’s the wind. Oh the things that inform our preferences….

To get up to the Grand North (Adamaoua, North, Extreme North,) volunteers take a night train that has beds in it. I haven’t taken it yet, although there is a stop in the East at 2am that I could technically use to get to Yaounde, but it’s more expensive. I do plan to take the train at some point, but there’s an alternate route through the East by bus that I want to try out someday, too.

There are US-style Mega-Buses for most trips from a big city to another big city. I took a great one from Yaounde to Bertoua recently that had padded seats, radio, and a tv that played music videos. Most of the time on these big buses there’s some guy (or guys if you’re really unlucky) that stand up and try to sell you some weird kind of medical products. The speech is almost exactly the same every time, and the products are always the same: toothbrushes, toothpaste, ginseng rub to get rid of headaches, some weird pill that’s supposed to clean any liquid and turn it into water, various products to increase male and female potency, something to erase STIs including HIV, etc. Someday I should write down the things they say—I’ve heard weird statements about the Chinese reproducing like rabbits because they’ve unlocked the magic of a special herb, for instance, as well as more anti-feminist comments than I care to remember. I’ve listened to these speeches for as long as two and a half hours, and then had some other idiot get up and give the exact same one; the speeches are basically the Cameroonian version of a bad, late-night infomercial. Plus side: mega-buses usually make some really excellent stops for food—bananas, pineapple, peanuts, mangoes, grilled meat, beignets, etc. These stops are way, way better than American fast-food, and one of those little things that I know I’ll miss when I return.

I think that’s about it transportation-wise. I’m sure there’ll be many, many stories to come in the future, although hopefully soon it’ll be coupled with stories about fantastic new places. In August, I’ll be heading to the beaches of Kribi to help run the National Girl’s Forum—a conference that my program is running for professionals involved in fields that promote women’s empowerment. Kribi is about three days worth of travel from where I live. But, before that, I have at least two more trips back to Yaounde for the Program Advisory Committee and Steering Committee. Needless to say, travel in specific and life in general is always an adventure out here. And, as for all of you, as school is about to let out for the summer and the weather’s getting warm and sunny again, have a happy vacation season, everyone! Miss you all and wishing you my best!

With Love,

Steph

Being a woman isn’t so bad. To clarify, being a woman in America isn’t so bad. I have the opportunity to at least be considered for most jobs, I can walk down most streets without being aggressively pursued, and I can go days and days and days at a time without someone asking me what’s wrong with me that I don’t have babies yet. On the list of things I miss about being in America, being a woman in America is far and away the most significant. “You are not a woman” they tell me, “you are a girl.” This because I have decided, made a conscious decision to remain husband- and childless. When I try to explain that I have chosen this life, that I am living in this country to meet people and help them (that is the reason I came in the first place, that changes day to day now that I am actually here) they tell me that I should be home having children instead. Having children is our purpose, being a woman is empty if we do not procreate. And the look on these faces when I express that I do not plan to have children ever is one of pure sadness, as though there is something wrong with me. I even tried to explain to my class that this is a cultural difference, that in America women have so many choices – careers, education, travel, singularity – and that forsaking these options to have children is as noble as a choice as not to. They respond by telling me that my mother created me and I owe it to the world to do the same. In the same way that they seldom understand my English and I seldom understand their village language, we do not understand one another’s feminine “purposes.” The difference being that we can teach each other language, we cannot teach one another what our purpose is because neither of us knows for sure. The distinction is that these women are certain, they do not question their purpose, whereas I question mine every day. Maybe they are the ones with the most sense. Or at least the most conviction.

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A year later, here’s what we brought and wish we’d brought, with a few things taken off the list that we didn’t need. Happy packing to the new volunteers!

3 tank tops

3 T-shirts

7 shirts

1 sweater

3 skirts

4 pants (1 capri)

bathing suit and rash guard (diving shirt)

jacket/sweatshirt

belt

assorted underthings and socks

hat

sunglasses

umbrella

headlamp

travel towel

hammock

camp mirror

iPod

insect repellent

Benadryl gel

toothbrush and paste

shampoo

soap

deodorant

moisturizer

Japanese washcloth

razor and replacement blades

mask and snorkel

shoe polish kit

dress shoes

flip flops

Vibram five fingers

neti pot

Gatorade powder

kitchen knife

pour over coffee basket and filter

assorted spices

vitamins and prescriptions for three months

sandwich size Ziplock bags

journal

mini travel sized bible

laptop

flash drive

external hard drive

Peace Corps Volunteer paperwork and handbooks

chapstick

bobby pins and hair ties

measuring cup

measuring spoons

travel Scrabble, Uno, and a deck of cards

underwater camera housing

camera

sunscreen

extra soap, shampoo, sunscreen, toothbrushes and make-up (3 months worth)

passport/money belt

can opener

hair cutting scissors

speakers

duct tape

straight razor and strop

shaving brush and cup

combination padlock

hand sanitizer

wash cloths

travel sewing kit

favorite junk food

tea/hot chocolate

calendar

crossword/sudoku books

ear plugs

hashi (also known as chopsticks)

sleep mask

Our most recent initiative, Phase II which brought over 21.000 French language books to mostly rural schools and communities, has just been completed – thanks to the help and support of many friends like you! Photos are now up on Facebook of the ceremony (generously hosted by the elites of Batie) so please take a [...]

Health care in Cameroon has made great strides, thanks in large measure to the dedicated efforts of the Cameroon Baptist Convention Health Services (CBCHS). Providing quality health care to all regardless of their religious beliefs, the CBCHS operates 6 hospitals at Banso, Mbingo, Mutengene, Douala, Mbem, and Banyo, , offering some of the best health [...]

The Race of Hope is a marathon up Mount Cameroon in Buea, Cameroon. Each year in February, a few hundred runners ascent 26.2 miles up and down the 10,000 foot volcano in search of challenge. I’ve run three Los Angeles Marathons, but typical American marathons don’t compare to the Race of Hope. During regular marathons, there are thousands of people supporting you. It doesn’t matter if it’s Mile 12 or 22, there will always be someone cheering you on perhaps by name if the respective marathon prints it on your running bib. In the Race of Hope, there are spectators for the first 6 miles or so, and then it’s just you and the mountain. American marathons have bands playing at major intersections, fifth-graders giving you Gatorade, and porta-potties serving as life-savers. I even had a Verizon wireless volunteer run next to me and dial my parents’ number while I said hello after a mile mark. Take all that away and it’s just crazy you running up a live volcano. So it was one of the best decisions that I made to come watch as a spectator because I like marathons, but I don’t like mountains. At 6:30AM, a fellow Peace Corps buddy and I headed to Upper Farms to scout out a great rock to sit on while watching the race and cheering on our crazy friends that were running the relay. The Race of Hope has a relay portion in which three people split the race: Person A will run to tag Person B who will run to tag Person C. Person C will run up to the peak and then on the way back down will pick up Person B before they both pick up Person C. If that doesn’t make sense, just know that all three runners meet back up to cross the finish line together! Originally, only men were allowed to run the relay, but thanks to Peace Corps Volunteer Zachary Drefus, this was the first year that women could run the relay as well! Upper Farms (the bottom base of the mountain) was a huge block party! Hundreds of people came to watch the marathon while meat got cooked, music was played, and drinks were had! Mind you, this was 8AM in the morning! Perhaps the most inspiring and innovative part of the race this year was that blind and visually-impaired runners from the Buea Rehabilitation Institute for the Blind (aka Bulu Centre for the Rehabilitation of the Blind) were accompanied by their family members or volunteers up and down the mountain for the 10k race. Even a 10k up this mountain was crazy as there are parts where you physically cannot run and are forced to walk because it’s so steep. Way to go! As the rain came down and we huddled underneath the prison awnings (Upper Farms is Buea's prison center and ironically, where most people wait to watch the Race of Hope), the crowd immediately roared! It was nobody else but "The Queen of the Mountain" Sarah Etongue. Seven-time winner of the marathon, everybody came out to see her as after the moment she passed, 3/4 of the crowd disappeared! She didn't win this year due to sickness, but her legend lives easily continues.We soon learned that they eventually stopped letting people summit because the conditions were too cold to run in. Yes, nothing like the sunny marathons I took part in while in Los Angeles! That night we celebrated our friends' achievement with an all-you-can-eat buffet of chicken, fish, vegetables, and surprise crepe desserts at Cuisine Royale. A great race and a great day!*For those interested in learning more about the Race of Hope, please see the documentary Volcanic Sprint.

Buea, Cameroon, capital of the Southwest region, was a German colony during the early 1900s. As it is located at the base of Mount Cameroon, the city holds a comfortable cool climate with just a small hint of humidity.

We started the morning at Heartland, a Western store selling everything from Snickers bars to Pantene Pro-V shampoo. The winning products that filled my basket? Nothing else but peanut butter and Ramen of course!I wish all taxis had stuffed animals this adorable

We walked up the street to The Strand where Sean Denny ordered the spiciest white bean combination I’ve ever tasted. Note: When in the South of Cameroon, you always need to ask if the food is spicy! It usually is. On a whim, we decided to head out to the tea plantations towards the beaches of Limbe. Luckily we stumbled upon a tour agency who told us it was only 200CFA (~$.40US) to Mermox Hotel and another 200CFA to the tea plantations. The taxi driver was extremely nice (as were we!) and we convinced him to drive us all the way to the tea plantations no questions asked. Tea plantations on the way to Limbe

At lunchtime, we headed off to Red Lobster. Yes, there is a Red Lobster here in Cameroon, but no, it’s nothing like the ones in the US! I ordered fried rice and chicken for 1.000CFA (~$2US) before Sean and I headed off the University of Buea. What impressed me about the University of Buea is that it strikingly resembles an American university from architecture to landscape. There are dorms (though they are for the more “spoiled” children according to Sean’s university friend), lecture halls, and tennis courts. Very impressive down to the wireless internet and all.Faculty of Arts staff building at the University of Buea

Dorms - This is where the "posh" students liveUniversity's quadI wish we could have found out what this was for! The rest of the evening was spent helping the Southwest Peace Corps Volunteers prepare for the HIV/AIDS awareness booth for the Race of Hope Marathon the next day. Can’t wait to see the runners!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Yes, Valentine's Day even makes its way to the smallest parts of West Africa. L'hotel Adamaoua, located next to Touristique Agency, opened up in December 2011 and easily takes the "Best Hotel in Ngaoundere" Award in this local's eyes! With European-imported furniture, the hotel goes for a trendy and posh modern look and unlike most West African hotels, there are clean tiles everywhere!

Luckily by word from the organizer of the Miss Youth Day Ngaoundere competition, I headed out for the February 14th celebration on the hotel's rooftop with a couple other PCVs and my Lebonese friend. While waiting for our meal, I realized that I hadn't been on a rooftop in almost two years. The celebration was perfectly organized as there were comedians, breakdancers, salsa and waltz dancers from Fecadansa, and models from the University of Ngaoundere's Modeling Club strutting their stuff on the runway. It was nice to have a little getaway that night!

This garland is made from pink toilet paper!

The desserts were pretty and delicious

Salsa dancers from the Fecadansa dance group in the center of town

Four happy kids

Welcome to Youth Day! And most importantly, welcome to the Miss Ngaoundere Youth Day Beauty Competition*!

Held at Alliance Francais, this year was the first Miss Ngaoundere Youth Day competition. They asked me to help out, but unfortunately I was meeting with the Governor when the pre-competition training occurred. It looked like the contestants didn't need help though as there were all-stars!

Beyond the typical sportswear, evening gown, bathing suit, and Q&A portions, there was also a "traditional outfit" portion where the girls wore clothing from their respective villages. Have a look!

Contestants showing off their village outfits

Congratulations Miss Youth Day of the Adamawa!

*Note: As a former beauty queen, I can say that we much prefer the term beauty competition in lieu of beauty pageant!

Each year on February 11th, Cameroon observes National Youth Day celebrating who else, but the youth of the country! Leading up to the holiday is a week full of activities from sports tournaments to talent shows.

Today was the official Youth Day Exposition sponsored by the Ministry of Youth Affairs at the main high school in town, Lycee Classique. The teacher and girls that I work with to design and sell calabashes showed up for the day long exposition. While there, I taught the girls various marketing and sales techniques. Beyond the publicity created, a fellow high school art student also committed to helping the girls with composing more intricate designs.

The best part of the day? As the Delegates and government officials took a tour of the room, they announced that the girls' booth had won the first place prize! The 4.000CFA (~$8US) prize will go towards the girls reimbursing their micro-loan. Well done girls!

First place prize at the Youth Day Exposition

The finished calabashes! The girls are still learning how to carve them, but they're learning quickly!

Youth Day is one of the best Cameroonian holidays because the kids get so excited and thus, everybody else does as well. Click here to read about one of the best Peace Corps memories I have from last year's Youth Day.

Today was the second workshop of a two-part community health series with Cameroon's Red Cross. Personal health topics included discussion and prevention of common diseases such as malaria, typhoid, cholera, etc. as these are the all-too rampant reasons people become sick (and die from) in the community and worldwide. These are diseases that can be prevented and cured, yet the facts from the World Health Organization are startling:

-A child dies from malaria every minute

-A person has less than a five-day window to receive medication for the harshest type of cholera before dying

-1 billion people are affected by one or more neglected tropical diseases each year

The session was spoken completely in Fulfulde, the main local language, with the women and Red Cross staff members trading off stories and clarifying myths. Everyone was highly participative and the session went well (of course with the exception that we started two hours late because of "African time!").

A secondary project I took on was organizing a two-part community health series for illiterate women in conjunction with the local chapter of Cameroon's Red Cross.

The Red Cross Ngaoundere chapter is full of dynamic staff and volunteers and they were more than open to extend their services. Their usual local development work includes organizing high school Red Cross clubs, providing first aid trainings and assistance, and sensitizing the community on physical health issues.

For our training series, a new population was targeted: illiterate mothers that spend the majority of the day in the household. They're the caretakers of their children and the whole neighborhood's children. They're the ones that will be teaching their treatments to others because let's face it, you eat chicken soup when you're sick because that's what your mother fed you as a child; you put aloe vera on burns because you had an aloe plant in your house growing up.

Today was our Basic First Aid session tailored specifically for everyday situations. The Red Cross holds a 5.000CFA ($10US) intensive month-long course, but everything was simplified into a 500CFA ($1US) one-day course of the need-to-know basics.

As most women were illiterate, the class was highly interactive and required no note-taking. We covered common problems such as motorbike burns (motobike is the main means transport in the city), tree falls (as children climb during mango season), and kitchen cuts (women spend hours in traditional kitchens).

The Red Cross members translated from French into the local language of Fulfulde and we discussed when individuals could handle accidents by themselves, when it would be appropriate to visit a traditional medicine man, and when it would be necessary to go to the hospital. Very culturally appropriate and the women loved it!

Basic First Aid training with Ngaoundere's Red Cross chapter and local women

Last year, a primary school teacher named Esther found me and stated that she needed help: former female students and their friends kept dropping out of school due to pregnancy or poverty.

What first struck me about Esther is that she didn't ask for any kind of funding (which is usually expected when people find out that I'm here for development projects). I want to know if you have any kind of projects that can help these girls either get back in school or support their families. I don't want a handout for them; I want them have something more in their lives than nothing, she said. What further amazed me about Esther is that though she works six days a week as a teacher, she meets with the girls monthly to discuss everything from how to care for their children to how to make healthy choices in life.

Not soon after we met, I applied for a $200US pilot micro-loan project from A2Empowerment, a nonprofit designed to provide young women with tuition scholarships to complete high school (in Cameroon, students have to pay for tuition and uniforms on top of materials). The project would provide 10 girls with lessons and materials to learn how to design and carve calabashes as an income-generating activity. Ideally, the girls would reimburse the loan and then either save money for school and/or have money to support their families.

Fortunately, the project was approved and today was the first day of classes! All 10 girls showed up on time and a previous student during my tenure in Ngaoundere is teaching in the local language. Let's do this!

The 10 recipients of the A2Empowerment pilot micro-loan project learn how to design and carve calabashes

On an unrelated note, here is the Secretary of one of my VSLA groups, Hadidja! People love Obama here and they're always sporting his t-shirts!

Everybody has an Obama shirt here!

In the outskirts of Ngaoundere, Cameroon lies the highly impoverished neighborhood of Mbideng, population 8,000 (estimation by community members). If anyone wants to buy goods, he or she has to motobike into town or to neighboring markets. However, what is paid for in transportation could buy a dozen tomatoes or a kilogram of rice each day! Community members have wanted a market for 20 years and no one really knows why there hasn't been one. Thus, the traditional neighborhood chief, his wife, and I gathered with local leaders and organized a 10-person project management committee to lead the process of creating a community market. In a previous meeting, I explained Participatory Analysis for Community Action (PACA), a community mobilization tool that has been utilized around the world. The PACA tools allow communities to target specific problems based on their qualifying needs. Thus, during a planning meeting, we created the Agenda for a large community meeting with PACA tools. As the meeting would be spoken mostly in Fulfulde, it was necessary that I spoke as little as possible! Without my knowledge, the committee members actually held another meeting to “practice” public speaking in front of everyone. With the management committee for the Mbideng Market

Today was the awaited town hall meeting. At 7:30AM, I showed up and only 30 men were in the school room (this was after they told everyone to show up at 6:30AM/7AM and don’t be late!). Thank goodness, it was only "African time" and by 8:15AM, we were ready to go with over 150 attendees. The schoolhouse was completely packed for the town hall

After the normal prayer and introductions, the project leader asked, "Why Are You Here?" to begin a dialogue. Community members agreed on the same reasons: waste of money to take transportation, tired of treking so far for basic foods, want of making their community great like the other communities, etc.

The first activity was Community Mapping in which the community members would draw a map of their neighborhood. Groups were split into Men, Women, and two groups of Young People (ones who worked and ones that went to school). The individual groups first drew a map with important landmarks such as schools, water sources, empty spaces, etc. before choosing the three best places for the market. After we reunited, each group explained their map and why they chose what they did.The "Young People" group mapping out the community

Mariamou Souley, one of the projects secretary, taking attendance

The groups were separated again for the Daily Calender activity. Each group reflected and wrote down their activities throughout the day including prayer, school, work, market shopping, etc. Then they had to pick one day for the market (the market would be every day, but there is always one traditional large day). When we came back together, the women and two groups of young people had picked Wednesday, while the men had picked Monday. When asked what day would be best for the community, each group tried explaining again why they picked the day that they did. I finally stood up and said, "Let's try this again!" as everyone seemed to miss the obvious.

Me: What day does this group want (pointing at men's map)?Community: Monday!Me: And this group?Community: Wednesday!Me: And this group? Community: Wednesday!

Me: And this group? Community: Wednesday!

Me: So what's the best day for the market? Community: Wednesday (laughter)!

Traditionally, men usually make all the decisions, but the men couldn’t say much after they were the only ones that wanted market day to be Monday and the other three groups chose Wednesday! The activities worked well as the community saw that women and youth were the ones most likely to go to the market, so they needed to have priority in choosing the location and day(s) for the market. There was also much debate, but at last, we were able to choose the top four spaces for the community with the women having priority in picking the space. The community of Mbideng

A board member has already offered up his own land for a smaller market until the larger official space is acquired. Thus, there is currently a "petit marche" with women selling vegetables while the project committee is negotiating with landlords for the market spaces. Really great to see the community working together!

Woohoo! One of the first VSLA groups that I organized as a Peace Corps Volunteer finished their first cycle. The result? The women received a return on investment of over 15% on their savings on top of receiving small business loans and becoming unified as a group over the course of a year.

Over 80% of the 30 group members are illiterate and as 100% of the members do not have bank accounts, the micro-credit cooperative served as their only source of savings and access to capital. Good work, ladies!

Pauline was quite happy to give everybody their money

Plantains and fish to celebrate the year anniversary

Cameroonians like to call this the "family photo"

9AM – Andrea DeRocco and I leave for Kousseri, the final Cameroonian city before one reaches Chad. This time last year, we met Joserine and Esther whom we later visited in Maroua, the regional capital of the Extreme North region. They closed down their salon and spa in Maroua and invited us to Kousseri to visit their hotel/cabaret/night club (very strong entrepreneurial women!). Joserne stated the city was only two hours away, so why not?The road from Maroua to Kosseri, Cameroon

9:30AM – I ask the man next to me how long the trip would take. Usually about six hours, he says. Joserne = fail. At least I have a delicious fruit smoothie drink that resembled the ones I drank in Mali! Still traveling from Maroua to Kousseri

3PM – We arrive in Kousseri. With trucks inundating the roads, it is easy to see how Kousseri is a transport city. Joserne picks us up from the Touristique agency and takes us to Hollywood Hotel (96 79 94 84 or 79 66 22 44). We get fed a delicious late lunch of fish brillon brought from the beaches of Kribi.Joserne's three-year-old daughter

4:30PM – Kousseri has an amazing market selection as goods come from Chad, Nigeria, and the Central African Republic, so it’s shopping time! Esther’s son, Freddy, and his friend show us around. The number one good to buy: the beautiful scarves!

Kousseri's main market

7PM – Time for the Cabaret! In Cameroon, a cabaret means that a singer/dancer or two will perform.

Cabaret at Hotel Hollywood

8PM – More fish for dinner! There are local “fish mommas” that grill fish on the hotel’s premises, so we eat grilled fish with cassava and onions. I ask Joserne why she told us it only took two hours to get to Kousseri when in reality it took six. “I lied to you because I wanted you to come!” Well played. 10PM – Nightclub time! The beauty of Hotel Hollywood is that the hotel, cabaret, and nightclub are all next to each other (or it might not be so beautiful if you like to sleep!). We mosey over to dance, but as Cameroonians like to arrive to clubs at 2-3AMish, we are the only three on the dance floor. It’s a good time though and fun to watch the bartender/DJ; the equipment is ancient to say the least and he rushes from bar to the DJ stand every time he changes a song. 1AM – I go to bed as the nightclub continues on. 4AM – I hear Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” playing from the club. Cameroon loves Celine Dion. I think it’s the last song of the night, but as I drift in and out of sleep, I hear at least half a dozen more songs by her. Oh vey. Good night, Kousseri!