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.

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.

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.

Of those who visit foreign countries, very few people have to visit foreign hospitals. Of those unfortunate enough to have stumbled upon some ailment severe enough to send them to the hospital, only the most unlucky have to lie upon an operating table and go under the knife.

I am now one of those people.

My hospital room was better than it could have been. My first walk through a hospital was during training. Fifty of us volunteers were paraded through a hospital grounds like we were going through a museum. If it had been the United States, we would have been violating just about every privacy issue on the books. For all of us, it was a big reality check.

The conditions of hospitals in Cameroon, and I would imagine in all of Africa, range from westernized hospitals in the main cities to darkly lit brick health centers in rural communities. My work has brought me to see the latter of these two.

These rural facilities all look fairly the same from the outside. Cinderblock buildings with faded paint. Tin roofs. Stenciled signs. Inside there's cobwebs near the ceiling. Cracked concrete floors. Chipped paint. No running water. No electricity. The smells aren't exactly refined. If you spend enough time in these places, you'll notice they have complex odors. Body odor, subtle in the mornings, but overwhelming in the afternoon, is accompanied by whiffs of alcoholic disinfectants and the copperish smell of blood. These types of atmospheres certainly contribute to why some health institutions are underutilized in many places. However the picture wouldn't be complete without taking a look at the health staff.

While there are exceptions to the rule, doctors and nurses go through patients like Ford builds cars. They do it quick, methodically, and as efficiently as possible. That doesn't leave much room for gentleness or comfort. I've seen emergency births, broken bones, amputations, machete slices, road rash to the bone, and even death. Not once have I seen any of the medical staff comfort those affected, or treat them in any way that suggested they cared for anything other than the patient's physical health. I guess I shouldn't be complaining. At least they're doing that. Mental health will come, but it wasn't there in time for my string of operations.

Luckily, the Pitoa hospital is great. Running water and electricity most of the time, fresh paint, no cobwebs. All in all, it's a five-star resort of an African hospital. It helps to know the staff too. I got the employee discount; I didn't have to pay for the operation, but I did end up having to pay for the medications, and surgical supplies.

When it was my turn to go under the knife, I was lucky, for the scalpel came just out of a sterile package in a room that was decently well lit, and well ventilated after they realized that I was sweating profusely and turned on the fan. Many people do not have the same experience. While my cuts were just enough to cut through the skin, that doesn't mean they weren't painful. I squirmed. I nearly broke a precious necklace that was made from hammered metal by squeezing it. This happened once a day, for three days.

Hopefully it's all over now.

 After last day, being dramatic, it wasn't that bad. 

If I didn't say it before, I'm going to say it now. This place reminds me a lot of home. Too much almost. There are fir trees here that remind me of Ponderosa, and bushes that remind me of sagebrush. Oh and the heat. The heat and the dryness. It's enough to make me miss the crumbly and dusty soil of Central Oregon. Hey wait, even the soil is similar. It's baked, red in places, and when broken very sandy.

Even Pitoa reminds me at home, or I just feel at home. I'm not really sure. I thought I felt comfortable in Tongo-Gandima but I'm starting realize how Stephen Cormier felt when he said he might be the luckiest volunteer in Africa because of his living situation. I bet you he doesn't have a pool a half-an-hour from his house. It's pretty plush as far as Peace Corps goes.

I went to Pitoa again today to check up on my house (I'll be moving in tomorrow) and to spend some time with my landlord. This guy is the exact opposite of my last landlord. He's friendly, outgoing, and generous. We walked around what might be the largest market I've been in, including Bertoua. While they don't have a lot of variety, they have thousands of onions which every little village seems to grow.

I visited quite a few (around six) of these little villages yesterday with UNICEF. It was a mission to monitor and evaluate the ongoing projects and end results of some efforts UNICEF had started in the North to help stop Cholera outbreaks. In the Pitoa area, UNICEF specifically targetted smaller villages and helped them understand the importance of latrines and how to make them using local materials. I was impressed by seeing that all of the houses we went to, in every single village, had a latrine that was recently created. These were random houses as well, not just ones that the community host knew had latrines. Some residences even had soap and water nearby to wash their hands after using the latrine. Blows my mind how much of a difference there is between the East and North regions. What also blows my mind is that UNICEF is actually doing something significant using very little resources.

Here are some pictures from the trip.



Pretty routine sight here. 

Christina riding copilot.

Checking out the scenery.

Cameroonians living in a small village near Chad.

Young Cameroonian villager.

Inside one of the straw roof huts.

Christina at work.



More young Cameroonian villagers. 

Sending home for my rock shoes.

After 24 hours of solid travel that included a 19 hour train ride, an hour shuttling gear, and a 4 hour bus ride, I finally made it to the Garoua office (soon to be Case) in the North. Those who were at the office welcomed me by taking me to eat some local street-grilled fresh fish and salad. We ended up splitting what must have been the largest freshwater fish I've seen. When we finally made it back to the office, I slept like a rock.

Two days ago I was really busy. Sylvie insisted I find a tutor for my French (apparently excellent french is required to work with UNICEF), so I met with Francois who happens to be living in Garoua. He was the best language instructor during training and I'll be hiring him for French tutoring in the next few months. Also went and checked out my house which is only about 30 minutes away from the Garoua office. The drive there reminded me of home, almost too much. The landscape gives me flashbacks to the time I've spent in Central Oregon.

Here's my house in Pitoa and a couple pictures of the landscape between there and Garoua.



Font gate 



Yard and detatched kitchen on the left, house on right 



Living room 



 Bed room  One of the mountains I'm going to climb soon

 Goat and cow herds are very common on the plains  If you didn't see from the photos, my house has electricity, and may actually have water. I didn't realize how rough the East was until I ended up with the luxuries of this place.

My first impression of the North region has two important aspects. The first, is that it's hot. While I thought it would be hotter considering the warnings of other volunteers, it's actually not that bad. Heat as high as 110, 120, and 130 aren't unheard of. Today it's a cool 95 degrees, with humidity it feels right around 100. The second is that everything in the North is bigger. Houses are bigger. Yards are huge. Farms are bigger. It's pretty impressive really. I'd have to say that this is due to the land being so much easier to clear and resources being transported far more easily. Even off road, the soil is compact and hard from being baked in the sun, and often times it's smoother than the pot-holed pavement that makethe highways of Cameroon.

Yesterday, UNICEF and I had quite an adventure that led us to within 30km of Chad and into six small villages. More on that later.

I know I already posted about Kribi, but Joe Cooper and I rigged a triple decker hammock setup that was just beyond cool. They tried sleeping in it one night, but someone was burning piles of leaves that night so it was too smokey. Anyways, the hammocks are from Trek Light, and they're great. I ripped mine a little dropping into it from the branch on top of everything, but nothing too serious. Here's some more photos of the project.

After IST, about 13 volunteers, mostly from the Health sector, headed down to Kribi for a couple days of rest and relaxation.

I could write about exactly what went down on these four nights of bliss, but I think I'll let pictures do the talking.

View from the hammock, which I spent all of fifteen minutes in.

Ryan and Eddie enjoying the surf. After jumping off a 25 foot waterfall into the ocean, we waited for an amazing shrimp meal.

Kristin and Eddie

Look down the beach from the hammocks.

Suzie and Geoff relaxing beachside.

Crystal and Cynthia.

Even with malaria, Geoff is still a hit with the ladies.

Eddie and Ryan

Alissa taking a break from the sun. Kristin drying off.

Laura and Suzie

Ananya Joe, Ananya, and Crystal on the triple decker.

Me, Ananya, and Crystal on the triple decker.

Bonfire!

The smaller of the waterfalls into the Atlantic.

A few weeks after moving to their new posts after swearing in, many volunteers start looking forward to an event known within the Peace Corps community as IST.

Inter-Service Training is a way for Peace Corps to help volunteers and community members find direction and funding when starting projects together. It also is a time for volunteers to come together after three long months of isolation, share experiences, and reconnect.

The first couple days of the week-long event are attended by both volunteers and their hand-picked community counterparts. Together, the counterparts and volunteers participate in a few long days of pretty dry lecture sessions based on understanding community problems and program funding. A couple of cheesy ice-breaking activities are thrown in just for kicks. The last days of IST are attended only by volunteers, and the emphasis during this time is on reporting.

Unfortunately, Peace Corps seems to have taken most of its inspiration in IST's design from timeshare salesman that give you great deals on a vacations, and then plant you in some stuffy banquet room for hours trying to convince you to buy into whatever they're selling.

Throughout the week, volunteers (and counterparts) took advantage of the free time after sessions by drinking, catching up, and generally having a good time. It ends up being less restful than you'd imagine. Nights often go long, and morning's sessions come all too early.

Our Stag's IST was in Bamenda. Although the last Stag's IST was in Limbé, (which I hear is a beach paradise) Bamenda was a neat city to see. Watching some of the other volunteers demonstrate their Pidgin speaking skills was incredible. Many are almost fluent. Pidgin is a language you have to hear to appreciate. You can't help but smile when hearing people speak it.

Our venue in Bamenda was a pretty swanky hotel. Certainly would be rated Five Stars by any Cameroonian standard. Hot water and electricity (sometimes), TV's, and an overpriced bar. We even got them to open up the night club just for us, and then it was shut right back down. Actually when the club finally did open up on its scheduled nights, it was pretty fun. They did have pretty awesome food, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all catered.

All-in-all it was a pretty amusing experience. I felt like I had gone to prom without a date for the first couple of days considering my lack of counterpart. Finding meaning in the sessions was also a bit difficult as well, as I'm just starting at my new post, and what they were covering doesn't mean anything to me for another three months or so.

Before heading to Bamenda, some people mentioned they'd be making plans on heading to Kribi after IST. I held off on making a commitment one way or the other. As things developed during our free time at the hotel, I found myself enjoying the idea of spending some more time with some really amazing people. A couple days after leaving Bamenda, I was jumping into the warm waters of the Atlantic.

"I used to get a big kick out of saving people's lives. Now I wonder what the hell's the point, since they all have to die anyway."

"Oh, there's a point, all right."

"Is there? What is the point?"

"The point is to keep them from dying for as long as you can."

"Yeah, but what's the point, since they all have to die anyway?"

"The trick is to not think about that."

The trick is not going crazy. Somewhere along the lines of aid work, one probably stumbles into this general question, and to most people's disappointment, there isn't an answer. The only answer is not going crazy thinking about the question. That and just doing your job.

However, my job for the last week has been confined to a Peace Corps office trying to arrange for my move, get my police report from the Gendarme, and collect a few items that I left in Tongo when they finally make their way in, and scouting a couple villages for future volunteers. This has left considerable amounts of time unaccounted for, and therefore a considerable amount of time for me to think.

"The trick is to not think about that."

I woke up this morning to a ceiling fan spinning around much the same way Martin Sheen's character did in Apocalypse Now.

"When I was here, I wanted to be there. When I was there, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. I've been here a week now. Waiting for a mission, getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room I get weaker. And every minute Charlie squats in the bush he gets stronger."

"Each time I look around, the walls move in a little tighter."

It's true. While I'm not as strung out as Mr. Sheen was, I've been thinking about being in village a lot, about what I'm doing there, and about how every minute I'm cooped up here, trying to save money for the move up to my new post, some kid out there is losing the fight to some disease.

Fighting disease. That's what I'm here to do, right? That's what I signed up for?

"The trick is to not think about that."

"The important thing is to keep them pledging."

"It doesn't matter whether they mean it or not. That's why they make little kids pledge allegiance even before they know what 'pledge' and 'allegiance' mean."

Now I realize that I was a little kid, and my pledge means more than I ever could have imagined. It costs, more than I ever could have imagine. It also rewards more than I ever could have imagined. So does my allegiance.

My allegiance, or being faithful to this mission requires something pretty strong. Life's speed bumps at home are entire mountain ranges here. It requires you dig down everyday, and on some days do a lot more digging. It requires mental discipline, and that's something I've been seeking since I signed up for my brief stint in the military. Sometimes it comes and finds me, but as soon as it leaves, I realize how temporary discipline isn't true discipline. Discipline is constant by definition. Discipline is also constricting. Like the walls of this place, I feel my mental walls closing in with the weight of emotion behind them. The emotion I tried to leave behind, classify as non-important, or regulated to being dealt with later.

"The trick is to not think about that."

From the beginning, I said that emotions would be the hardest thing for me to deal with. So often being the antagonist to logic, emotion is in many ways a crazy element of us all. We all go a little crazy. We all learn to live with a little crazy. Trouble starts when you stop finding logical reasons to continue, and you rely upon something crazy like hope.

Hope is what we often classify as a wish that defies all odds of ever coming true. Faith is then the emotional weight you put behind hope. Things start falling apart at the seams when you realize that reality never really had a place for your hope, and that you really shouldn't have invested so heavily in that faith. Things get twisted in ever stranger ways when, for reasons unknown to you, you cannot give up your hope or faith because you start believing in the impossible.

"The trick is to not think about that."

No. The trick is to not go crazy while thinking about everything that you do while you're here.

Heading out to check on some villages for future volunteers.

Peace Corps Gear Reviews was started as a way for volunteers to talk about the stuff they brought along with them and show how it's all holding up. It also works to find companies that are willing to help volunteers get great products at prices that volunteers can afford.

Well, PCGR has had its first success!

Vertx, a newer clothing company, produces great clothes made to look good and take a beating. The Vertx review on PCGR was picked up by Vertx and placed on their Facebook page. Vertx now offers Peace Corps Volunteers a 40% discount on all of their products!

Joesph Kony is an evil human being. I've seen some refugees from CAR, and while they are too proud and reserved to tell their tales to some foreigner, the fear that they possess is palpable. KONY 2012 has the potential to be an incredible endeavor, and I hope, a genius global grassroots campaign.

First of all, KONY 2012 is an awareness campaign that has started off in a way that all politicians and interest groups are watching and are probably jealous of. The short documentary is captivating. I even waited a half an hour for it to load on the slow internet here. The long and short of it is, Joesph Kony is a very, very bad man, and that capturing him is only possible with our continued support and interest. Unfortunately, the public has a bad habit of losing interest in causes, even the most noble of ones, with the passing of time. After all, Hitler got away with the Holocaust for almost 10 years, and was only stopped because Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and we eventually put a stop to it. This KONY 2012 campaign video is a bomb that is dropped every time someone presses play. The target is your soul, and every time the video ends the viewer can feel its detonation in that sensitive place where we decide right and wrong.

This campaign is a beautiful amalgamation of timing and strategy. Arguably, the timing could be part of strategy, but it's so important that I'm going to consider it completely different. KONY 2012 is hitching a ride on the momentum of political energy that only takes place before an election. If KONY 2012 keeps spreading like it does, some politician is going to have to pick up the issue, giving it even more press!

The strategy of the KONY 2012 campaign is something that many politicians and movements have tried with some success domestically. Globally, I cannot remember a single similar effort succeeding. Obviously, international peacekeeping and justice are doing only a marginal job. The most recent example of this is Syria, where there are rumors of summarized executions taking place, but the UN is helpless because of external political international conflicts. Top down international movements aren't successful, but maybe KONY 2012 will show that global grassroots movements are possible.

Check out the video in the link above, and pledge to help bring Joesph Kony to justice here.

Official word finally came down the pipeline yesterday. I am heading to Pitoa for sure. Peace Corps was hoping to send me as part of the UNICEF program, but they're taking a little bit too long to respond. My program manager just placed me and hoped that between now and my arrival, UNICEF will get to figuring me into their program.

From the picture above, you can see that Pitoa is of large enough size to be on Google maps. If you search it, and look around, you'll see that it's 17 kilometers away from Garoua, the regional capital. From what I've been told about the people of the Grand North (the regions Adamoua, North, and Extreme North), they are "real Africa," if there was such a thing. I'm actually not even sure what volunteers were referring to when they said "real Africa," other than maybe it's closer to what they saw on National Geographic. Regardless, if Africa had a heart at its center, Pitoua wouldn't be too far away from it.

Explore Pitoa!

Logistically, things are difficult. Peace Corps is not giving me any additional money to purchase new things for my house. Which means really, I'm going to be living in a very basic place for quite some time. Not that things weren't basic before, but this is going to be extremely minimalistic. Hopefully I'll be able to replace the generator and gas stove with replacement funds from Peace Corps after mine were stolen, but still, it's going to be quite an adventure.

The actually move will not happen until after IST, which makes timing a little difficult. I didn't have any big travel plans like most volunteers, except for maybe going to ACREST to work, which isn't' really travel at all. Most of the other volunteers will be taking a few days off and exploring Cameroon. I'll be slogging my way through train stations and crowded busses trying to move my gear. Not exactly something I'm really looking forward too, but oh well, it'll build character right?

I have some work in Bertoua that I'll be jumping on in the meantime. ACREST wants me to scout for a market and supplies to manufacture and sell charcoal briquettes in the East, with possible growth and expanding to markets in the Adamoua and CAR. I also have an assignment from Peace Corps, and that is do some preliminary scouting of possible new posts for next years' volunteers. Hey, it gives me something to do and I get to see new places.

That's all for now.

Children's Day in Tongo-Gandima

I got a letter today from one of my past colleagues at OSU. She has been invited to join Peace Corps and serve in a West African nation. She asked me for some advice on what to expect and what to prepare for. I guess every PCV writes something like this sooner or later, so I decided not to do it twice. Here's what I wrote her, and I hope it helps anyone else who's interested as well.

-

Wow,

I didn't expect this, and I certainly didn't expect to have internet when I got it, but I certainly will do my best to help!

First of all congratulations on receiving your assignment. You're going to see a lot of things in a country so recently war torn, and up until recently, unstable. These things will change your life. Even the day to day things will change your life. You will see people dying from AIDS, starving, suffering from malnutrition, and dying from other easy curable diseases that could be solved with a liter of water, a pinch of salt, and some sugar. You will be almost killed trying to get water, buy a inch of salt, and some sugar. You will fall in love with everything, and the next day you will want to leave it all behind.

Second, keep your bags packed, and your stuff locked up tight. Don't trust anyone with what you value, because no matter how much you value it, they value it even more. Even simple things like photos, keep them tucked away. Books they don't care about because often they can't read (often in any language). I just recently was the victim of a robbery where they got away with about $1250 worth of stuff (hence the reason I can email you from a cozy office). It's tempting to settle in, and you always need to compromise for your own sanity, so do it slowly and carefully.

Thirdly, take care of yourself. This relates somewhat to the previous point, but your mental and physical health are paramount. You cannot help anyone when you yourself are needing help. Sometimes you need to be proactive. Take a day off when you feeling a burn-out coming on. Even though that burn-out could be a day away, you are more productive taking a private day than burning out a day later and being less productive for a week or more. Never underestimate the ability of a drop of water or a morsel of food to royally screw your body up. Don't drive yourself crazy and eat local food. How does this work? You'll understand when you get there, but you'll drive yourself crazy trying to stay healthy, or you'll starve to death in places scared of getting sick.

Fourth, establish a support network before you get here. People here have a tendency to get out of college and not have any idea how to act professional. Their idea of Peace Corps is to booze on the government dollar and figure out the rest of their lives in the meantime. The excuse that is commonly used for this is "building a support network." I've taken a lot of flack over here from other volunteers when I start talking about a lack of professionalism. I think they don't like being told the honest truth about what they're doing and being made to think about why they're really in Peace Corps. Stay in touch with your folks anyway you can. If you have a boyfriend, don't count on him sticking around. Very few leave with significant others and return with them, and just because you love him, don't' think you're special enough to fall within that very few. Rely on friends at home with letters, emails, Skype, and expensive phone calls or text messages if you can. They'll always be there. Some PCV's check out early. With all of that said, have a sometimes, just for making it one more day.

Fifthly, don't expect to do anything. Corruption will drive you crazy. Apathy, literally, kills, and it will slowly, metaphorically, kill you. Learn to appreciate the little things. No one here is going to give you an A, B, C, or even a grade. Often your results are never seen because you've kept people from showing up to hospitals or made people smile, and smiles are not statistically reported to the WHO. People often leave the best opportunity they've ever received just because they can't recognize what just being in a community does. It shows the community that someone, high above them, cares. That the rest of the world cares. Most of all, that you, a warm blooded, beer drinking, greasy car fixing, American, care.

Sixth, have a sense of humor. Many times you'll find yourself in situations where you'll want to scream. I've been driven close to losing my temper only once here, and I haven't lost that in nearly 4 years of making some very poor choices in my personal life. You have to learn to laugh at yourself. You're going to be awkward, and it's going to be frustrating, but embrace it. Laugh at it all. My father, a great man, reminds me of a comic series by Bill Mauldin. Mauldin was one of the last war correspondents to illustrate the effects of war. He did it in the most humorous way possible. You may not get his work now, you may never get it. You may wonder why I even brought that up. The answer is that this is a war. People forget it. Everyday people are dying of things that small actions could prevent. It's a war much like Mauldin's WWII, in that isn't easy, and to those of us fighting it, it's been going for far too long. Pick up his book "Up Front." You might find some parallels to reflect on, and new ways to laugh.

Seventhly, buy a case for your Kindle. Get one of the Pelican ones that can survive a nuclear holocaust and the ensuing nuclear winter and ice age. Seriously. They're fragile, and you will be too once you realize that your collection of 1,500 books is instantly lost due to a cracked or no longer functioning screen.

Eight, bring books wherever you go. I know that they're heavy and burdensome, but trust me. The pain your shoulders and neck will feel from carrying around a few extra pounds will redeem itself with interest when you realize how bored you would be waiting, and waiting, and waiting for hours in a bank lobby for what in the U.S. would be a 10 minute trip.

Ninth, pack light. Africa isn't as remote as National Geographic makes it out to be. Even in tiny villages you can normally find all sorts of clothes that are well warn, comfortable, and normally better suited for the climate than you're rough and ready for anything Carhartt clothes, or your stylish and flimsy garments. Besides, standing out is for tourists. You do it enough already. Wear local clothes. Business casual here is nice sandals, pants or skirts, and a t-shirt. You can also get toiletries most everywhere as well. Everyone, wants to be clean.

Tenth, don't be afraid to get dirty. It's going to happen. It's Africa. It will wash out, trust me. African women can scrub out stains that were impossible to remove at home.

Eleventh, remember the permanence of how Africa changes you. You'll have plenty of time to think. Don't spend it on how much you're going to love your first Big Mac. Spend it on how you, as a person, will carry what you've seen and have it help you for the rest of your life.

Twelve, start planning the rest of your life. I was in the headquarters building awhile ago talking to some volunteers at their Close Of Service (COS). Replying to a question about their future activities, this volunteer responded "I don't know." Don't be that volunteer. Network. Look for future opportunities and plan for them. Have a plan. Make a plan while you're in country. Change that plan as you change. Never stop looking forward.

13th, look to your left, right, and behind you quite often as well. Be alert. Be serious. Hold your shoulders up and square your jaw. Walk with purpose. You will be amazed the difference it makes. Even though you're a friendly person, Africa will make you hard. People will annoy you. Everyone wants to talk to you. You don't have time for everyone.

14th, you have so much time. Learn to manage it. It's nice having a class schedule, coaches, and parents decide what and when to do things. You will have virtually no structure. You cannot get fired easily. You will be attempted to abuse this flexibility. You will abuse it. Don't beat yourself up, but learn from it. Learn to plan on African time, and that means show up on time, expect things to start very late, and don't count on the occasion accomplishing anything.

15th, learn from your mistakes. People are watching you. You're the envoy from America, the emissary of Freedom, French Fries, and the Fresh-Prince of Bel Air.

16th, start a blog, or a journal, or something. You'll need it to release stress. You'll also need it to keep from stressing. People will want to know what you're doing. If not now, than in the future. It's difficult to write 20 different emails when you have 10 other volunteers waiting in line to use the office computer.

17th, get an internet key. You'll pay for it, but it'll help out with waiting in line for the computer during PST. Unfortunately, you won't be able to get any free time during PST to get one (so if you're clever you'll contact a current volunteer and pay them back for one).

18th, don't get reliant on technology. If your computer isn't stolen, it will break. If it doesn't break, the internet won't work. If the internet works, it takes forever to do anything.

19th, bring two cameras. One will break. The other one will get stolen. Africans like cameras.

20th, wear your purse tight up against your body, or your messenger bag across your chest. Wear your backpack backwards. There's a reason Africans do it, even though it looks silly to us. People will try to rip them away from you.

Finally, I'd have to say that don't expect all of my advice to be relevant. Some people live in mansions, with hot water and televisions. Some people live in houses slightly larger than a prison cell, with no water, electricity, and they have to shower in the same place they defecate. Some people never see death. Some people see it everyday. Some people have plenty of western company. Some people are completely alone.

I think you're starting to get the idea. Just in case that didn't help, here's an excellent blog post from another PCV that illustrates the highs and lows of your future life in Peace Corps.

http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwaidsworld.wordpress.com%2F2011%2F08%2F07%2Fthe-real-peace-corps%2F&h=dAQE8H7n8

I hope this helps. I'm always here if you need any help or have any questions. Once you get in country and make it past IST (you'll know what that means all too well very soon), you can come visit anytime.

June will come faster than you ever thought, or wanted. Eat a lot of crappy junk food.

Sean

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Field trip during PST

This last week has been quite a story.

I left Tongo-Gandima for Bertoua, and from Bertoua to Yaoundé for a meeting with UNICEF. While there, I decided to get checked for medical (a really good idea, and you'll find out why in a bit), and had a brief meeting with Sylvie, my program manager.

Ultimately, all of these things were incredibly productive. My meeting with UNICEF restored a lot of my faith in that organization as they are starting to tailor-make their programs to accommodate Peace Corps Volunteers by using their observations and judgement about their communities.

My medical appointment turned out to be quite extensive. Apparently, if you have gastrointestinal issues for three weeks, they make you give one sample for three consecutive days. While I did go pretty stir crazy in the Yaoundé case, I hung out with some really cool PCV's that I hadn't met yet. I did get the opportunity to play frisbee at the U.S. Embassy with some Embassy staff and other volunteers. After that, we went and made sushi at one of the staff member's house. It was an incredible night.

Unexpectedly, the last meeting was most certainly the most significant. I went to talk to Sylvie about my big project in Tongo. A half hour later the conversation had drifted to my living situation. A half hour after that, I was leaving her office shaking my head with surprise, I was on my way out of Tongo.

Up until that conversation with Sylvie, I didn't really realize how vulnerable I was in village. My working counterpart and my community host had both all but disappeared completely. I found out that Tongo's school director was stealing funds and selling UNICEF donated goods, and my work with UNICEF would have made it necessary for me to report her and invite her vengeance. Finally, from the beginning, my house was never up to Peace Corps standards for security. I asked my landlord to make some improvements but he never did. Basically, all of this together and verbalized left me feeling pretty alone out there. It hit me like a sack of bricks. At first I was in denial, sure that I had good friends in the community to watch my back. Then, slowly, I realized they couldn't be there all the time. In public, I was never worried about my safety because was pretty close to some important people there. However, at home, I was hardly secure.

When I returned to Tongo, I realized how true this was. When I opened the door to my house, I realized immediately that something was off, but I just couldn't place it. Then, slowly, as my eyes scanned my living room from one side to the other, that my generator, my propane bottle, and my stove were all missing. I ran into my bedroom and found my clothes scattered all over the floor, and my footlocker had been rummaged through.

In the end, I lost about $1,250 worth of stuff. Some of the stuff I can replace here. Other things like my solar panel, camera, and my Leatherman are going to be harder to find.

The rest of the day was spent packing my things and arranging for a ride back to Bertoua where I will be staying until I get a final decision on my new post.

So much else has happened, like saying goodbye to everyone, my last horrible night at post, but I'll fill you all in on these things a little later and let this settle in.

One of my last home-cooked meals in Tongo-Gandima

I linked an article from BBC today on Google+ and my Dad took a look at it. My caption to the link was "Even though the grass has grown, and time has passed, I hope we never, ever, forget."

The following is his response to the article and my brief caption. I know that he's my Dad, and I know that I'm genuinely biased because of this. He happens to be, in my humble opinion, one of the most intelligent people I've ever met.

"Regarding your note concerning the Auschwitz-Birkenau photos, yes there are those amongst us that will never forget. Yet it still seems unfathomable to me that there is in the world today people, including world or national leaders, that deny that such events ever happened. I guess in that denial, they can also deny their own injustices today. But there is a catch to remembering. As Santayana wrote "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it". But there also is an implied parallel, a postulate if you will, to Santayana's thought, that being for those who remember the past, must also learn from and forgive the mistakes of the past, lest we carry past injustices into the future as excuses and justifications to continue injustices. Simply put, injustice only breeds further injustice unless we not only remember but learn to forgive. It is that last part that perhaps is the most difficult and at times the most incongruous lesson implied in Santayana's proclamation, it's not just the remembering and learning but the forgiving. Mankind unfortunately will always have to deal with the few men, being corrupted or perverted by power, greed, envy, or something else, who will pervert cause and proclaim that they are justified in their injustice to others because of some others past injustice to them. Some leaders today are still fighting wars long, and perhaps not so long, past. They claim to want to right some past wrong, whether perceived or truly remembered. Consequently there will always be a need for an understanding of a moral right from wrong tied to the ability to forgive. Of our own heritage, just remember always that "Justice and Fortitude are Invincible" and that there will always be a need to remember that motto as part of our continued shared heritage, because Santayana was and still is right; and the struggle and challenge for finding and balancing both justice and forgiveness will long continue, hence the need for both "Justice and Fortitude" together."

My journey to Africa has been certainly been a learning experience. I thought that I would be learning so much about the world, but in the end, I think I'm learning just as much, if not more, about myself. My Dad and I are close, and I think he's just starting to realize how hard it is for me to forgive, especially myself.

I know, the acronym needs some work. It's not very inventive and makes one think of looking at cleaning supplies. However, the work I've completed with this self-designed and executed project has led to some of the most fulfilling experiences.

A family and their house in Tongo

The project really started to take form in my head during PST, when we were learning about doing PACA or community research. Figuring out the health needs of the community has many methods, and one of these was mapping.

By mapping a community you can far better understand not just what a community looks like, but what resources it has at its disposal as well.

Another family from Tongo I developed another idea right before starting out on this mapping project, and that was to not only gather the physical information of the village, but also some of the cultural and health related issues. So, I created some questions to ask each family as I marked their house with the GPS.

Finally, after realizing that this project could be a three pronged effort, I talked to the director/head nurse of the health center and got the okay for creating some free exam vouchers to hand out to expecially vulnterable populations. I could track the amount of time it took for the recipients to take to get to the health center, and help guage which populations or areas needed familiarization with modern medicine the most.

Another family from Tongo My first day of mapping, research, and outreach went by without a hitch. In fact, the whole project, thus far, has been slowly getting more and more streamlined. Working with the GPS and my computer, I'm making the first ever map of Tongo-Gandima. When I finish, I'll have collected the first ever census of the community using the questions I'd thought up. While I'm doing it alone, and Tongo is in the middle of a growth explosion, the data isn't going to be spot-on accurate for the numbers, but it's giving me an amazing look at what is lacking in the community. For example, out of 46 families, 8 have mosquito nets, and I doubt half of them use them properly or consistently. About one third of those families have had at least one child vaccinated, even though most vaccinations are free (state subsidized). Depending upon the demographic, significant groups have no latrine access and use the surrounding bush or ditches (hence the Cholera epidemics). I don't document what ethnic group people belong to, what their yearly incomes are (actually I haven't a clue what a good range is), and what their occupations are. I've targeted health stuff specifically.

The town of Tongo.

The quartier I'm currently working in

Some other significant factors I've seen along the way are the significant numbers of malnourished children. While I thought that this was only present in areas with food scarcity, it's actually present in large numbers in areas with plenty of food. Thus, the largest problem these malnourished people face is a lack of education.

Strange cases have also presented themselves. I came across a girl with a terrible hump on her back and was hardly able to walk. I wrote that off as some kind of growth or birth defect and referred her to the clinic for further examination. Later that week, I came across a chapter in one of my readings about TB in children, and how this can be a regularly present itself with exactly the type of symptoms that the little girl showed. Hopefully it's not a true birth defect but a treatable disease and she recovers.

This is just a slice of the project. For hours everyday I'm out exposing myself to the community (not criminally of course) and letting them know I'm here working for them, even if they don't know exactly how I'm doing that.

Headed to work

When I wrote the post about fire being apart of the daily lives of Cameroonians, I certainly forgot about the other and far more powerful firey event that happens almost every night during the rainy season. Yes, if you haven't figured out the post title "Fire in the Sky" by now, well, it's about lightning.

I'm not talking about some cheap thrill either. Not the stuff you see on the horizon and can barely make out the thunder that follows half a minute later. No, this stuff is intense. When the first storm hit my village I decided to try and get a couple pictures like the pros. I had no idea what I was doing, so I just started fooling around with my camera settings. Meanwhile, lightning flared across the sky like I've never seen. I thought, for some reason, that most lightning flashes hit the ground. Most of these never did. In fact, I'm not sure I saw one strike hit the ground. These were just bolts of light stretching for miles in the sky. Thunder followed almost instantaneously. I was mesmerized. I felt it's power as the vibrations of sound rippled through me like the crack of rifle fire. I forgot my camera for a few minutes in the middle of what was the most active storm I've ever seen.

Eventually I returned to the camera and I figured out that if you just leave the exposure on for a long time, you let the lightning expose the shot, and you don't sit there like a fool trying to randomly get lucky by hitting the shutter at just the right moment.

These are the shots I got.

This was absolutely my first attempt with extended exposure. What luck.

The dragon. The talon. I'm not going to lie. Shots like these were on my photo bucket list. I never knew how to take them, and I never knew when I was going to get the opportunity. These made the entire week worth it, and made up for some pretty rough times.

It's offical. I lost my development virginity on my trip with UNICEF. While this seems to be a pretty obsene metaphor for what happened, it's pretty much how it felt. All this build up, grand expectations, and then when the event came and passed, reality was depressing.

Inside the UNHCR/UNICEF/WFP compound When I received the plan for this trip I was immediately struck by the total disorganization and total fallacy that was the "Plan" for the trip. They had a schedule with timeframes that in no shape, way, or form could fit reality. For example, on the first day of the trip, they expected to arrive in Bertoua at 11:00AM and then arrive in Garoua-Balai in two hours (1:00PM). It takes about 90 minutes to get to Tongo, and that's about half way to Garoua-Balai from Bertoua. The rest of the schedule followed this totally dreamt up plan.

I arrived at the UNHCR compound just before 11:00AM on the day of departure. I didn't expect them to be on time, as they're schedule called for a four hour trip between Yaounde and Bertoua when it normally takes seven hours. Remarkably, they showed up only fifteen minutes late, and we'll get to why later. Anyways, the next hour was a total waste. It started by brief introductions, and then followed by complete SNAFU. No one had any idea what was actually happening for the rest of the trip. There weren't any established priorities and communication between UNICEF and their contractors was dismal at best. Eventually, we ate a catered lunch and headed out the time we were supposed to be arriving in Garoua-Balai on the border of Cameroon and the Central African Republic (CAR).

School kids hold up UNICEF gifts The drive to our first school in question made me realize how they took so little time on their crossing from Yaounde to Bertoua. The drivers are insane. They regularly push 140 (just shy of three times the speed limit), and I've never sat in a Toyota pickup that got speed wobbles until then. When we arrived at our first school in question, we found that the beautifully erected latrines (a gift from UNICEF) were locked and not being used, and that the forage wasn't built because the engineers picked a drill site that didn't actually have any water beneath it. The rest of the long first day was basically the same. We saw a number of schools with gifts from UNICEF, in the form of latrines, forages, libraries, school supplies, and sporting goods, that were all being under used or used inappropriately.

Workers opening up a new forage for the program

Locked new latrines

UNICEF program director, her kid, and a couple school authorities

trying to unlock the latrines The meeting that night in Meiganga went well, as I met two other volunteers participating in the UNICEF program, and we sat in on a meeting that allowed us to see the ground level interactions between other aid organizations like Premiere Urgence and UNHCR.

Sam in the foreground, and Carlos behind the group, along with

the director in the center

The next day was more of the same, but we got to see some interesting projects by another volunteer, and a surprisingly successful project started by a community. We sprinted back to Bertoua after visiting the large cluster around Meiganga.

This is the condition of many school buildings in the East region Finally, the third day we visited my home, Tongo-Gandima. We went immediately to the school and was greeted by the director of the school. The director of the UNICEF program asked to talk to two students of the school, one specifically a refugee, and to ask them how UNICEF and the school had been working for them. Of course the children responded perfectly as the director of the school stood standing next to the UNICEF director similing menacingly, but of course no thought was given to this. In fact, this incident brings to light how really little is known by these large organizations about the actual lives of the people that they are trying to help. They have little knowledge of the community dynamics and interactions that can significantly alter the course of their promising projects. However all is not lost, this is where Peace Corps volunteers come in.

The director of Tongo's school, with all of UNICEF's

donations locked away in the "library" or what amounts

to her new office Every single one of the problems to the UNICEF program could be addressed by Peace Corps volunteers who understand these community dynamics. We can also help communities correctly utilize these gifts from other aid organizations. Unfortunately, this partnership betwen UNICEF and the Peace Corps is, as far as I know, the first real effort to work together at an official level.

The director and her two kids talking to some of Tongo's youth

with the director of the school In Tongo, I will have to help develop maintenance and repair groups for the forage and latrines of about 8 schools around and including Tongo's. I also have to help come up with some sports education programs to utilize all the sporting equipment kits that were gifted. During my time at Tongo, I also will be responsible for the oversight of all the contractors work at the schools, and this is awfully good because up until now, they've been operating with zero oversight from Yaounde, and taking far too long to accomplish projects they promised to be completed a year ago.

Currently, I'm in Yaoundé awaiting a meeting at UNICEF's headquarters with the rest of the volunteers. We're actually going to be talking about some really concrete stuff and not just the ideals of the program. Hopefully this will motivate me again, but currently I'm feeling pretty apprehensive, especially with the attitude of my school's director.

My Dad, once and forever a firefighter (structure and wildland), got me fascinated with fire early in life. So now, in Africa, when I stand outside my porch and see smoke on the horizon everyday, I'm pretty curious as to what in the world is going on. I was equally, if not more curious, when I was wandering around the brush 5 or 10 kilometers away from Tongo and I was still finding acres and acres of burned brush. Granted it's dry, as it hasn't rained in over a month now. However there aren't any sources of ignition that I could think of that aren't man made... and that's when the "ahhhhh" moment hit.

All of these fires are man made. I didn't understand for quite some time. I asked around casually, and people told me it was hunters, so I assumed that it was a way of flushing game out of the brush and more efficiently gathering meat. However this conclusion was wrong. It turns out that these fires are set by careless hunters and farmers in the brush, and once they get started, the blaze uncontrollably and quickly. I've seen flames jump up fifteen or twenty feet into the air, and sometimes the horizon is so thick with ash that the sun and moon both glow red for hours.

People here use fire to clear their lawns when the grass gets too high, and they use it to clear their farmland and to help revitalize the soil.

While the community certainly understands the power of fire, I'm not sure if they realize its dangers. Take the above picture for instance? Notice anything? The people in the photo were smiling at me when I took their picture, and they were totally unconcerned with the large brush fire that was burning just behind their house. Their thatch roof and wooden doors house.

Hopefully neither myself or the residents of Tongo suffer from any catastrophic accident due to fire, but the chances are ripe, and until the rains start falling in March, it's only going to get worse and worse.

So I took a bike ride into the bush the other day, and after almost getting gored by giant African steers, I stumbled into a vista with a stunning view of a hill, sparsely covered with trees and brush, with a granite rim and boulders sitting on its edge. Yes. I had done it. I had found my rock garden.

The vista

For the last four months I've had very little recreational activity minus the short daily workouts I do in the mornings. I try and go for runs and bike rides when I can, or have the energy, but that's been difficult as my caloric intake has plummeted recently. I honestly didn't realize how much time I'd have to spend taking care of myself here, about 50% of it goes to cooking and cleaning, rather than work.

Beans, grilled potatoes, onions, and eggs, with a cabbage, tomato, onion salad with vinegar and lime.

Anyways, so recreation has been difficult. Even the daily soccer games in Tongo have been impossible for me to attend due to work or a lagging energy level.

Enter rock garden. This place is beautiful. After I bushwacked all the way up the backside of the dome, I found the boulders plentiful, and the rock is perfect. It's rough enough to smear (using the rubber of your shoes to hold you on the rock, rather than an edge or hold) wonderfully, but not sharp enough to tear up your hands.

Hitting up the summit

Trying to find shade under a boulder

Did I mention the view?

 Tongo is on the other side of that hill in the middle of the picture 

Tongo is visible in the distance, and I can't even describe the feeling I had when I first glimpsed it as I crested the dome and walked through the burnt savannah. It was miraculous. I'll be hanging out here. A lot.

Okay, so technically within the first three months at post we're not supposed to start any actual projects. Instead, we're supposed to be evaluating the community's needs. Well, this is actually a pretty tall order for all of us. Regardless of our community's size and demographics, we're basically dropped off in our community and it's our job to make heads or tails of where to begin, so here's my story of that.

Tongo from my house under a dusty and smokey sunsent

Before arriving at post I made sure I'd be involved with UNICEF's projects in Tongo, but the problem with that is when I arrived in Tongo, school was out for Christmas and New Years break. Therefore starting to get to my community from that angle was out. Working at my host institution, the Community Health Center, meant that I'd end up working actually in the center, because they know of my background as an EMT, and that would be fun and interesting and I'd never get outside to do any development work. So that angle was out too. Well that's about all I had, because I really had no other information on any groups or organizations within Tongo.

Elementary school kids at Tongo's one school of around 1,000 students and 4 teachers

So I started the other route, and that was basically walking around and getting to know people. The longer I did this, the more work I realized I had to do. Without any kind of mass communication vehicle or device (i.e. the internet or community meetings), it was going to take forever to help everyone in the community understand why I'm in Tongo. Luckily, just being visible paid off, as the President of a local committee approached me about helping his group with the mission of educating the public on the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Exactly what I'm here for, and exactly where I wanted to start. However the meeting I attended went the wrong direction, as they are most interested in becoming "legal" and getting T-shirts and stuff. In the end we turned an important corner in establishing that I'm not here to finance their activities or facilitate their relationship with the government, but more to help them with their mission and message.

Community Group meeting members

That was a good start. I figure with more exposure only better things can start happening. From what I've heard Tongo is kind of an enigma in the fact that it's so different than many other communities in the East region because it's so organized, but that is yet to be seen. It certainly has a lot of strong personalities that seem to get things done, and there is a strong commuinity structure for dealing with conflict. Hopefully this same structure is present when it comes the community's health.

Usmanou Haman (left) owns a shop in centre ville

Because just walking around was so helpful for getting contacts, and building a community map is something that I was planning on doing anyways, I've started on a census project. It started with the idea that I could use my GPS to mark the location of each residence in my community, as well as its public resources. Using the bicycle, I can also get the main roads and access paths to the community quickly and efficiently. At the same time, I discussed it with the head nurse at my health center, and I've turned this into an outreach operation at the same time. I'm going to be handing out wavers to families or individuals in need for free examinations at the health center.

School kids line up for the raising of the Cameroonian flag and for singing the national anthem

The map can be used for any number of things, but for with health as my sector of work, I'll be using it to locate problem areas in relation to Malaria, Cholera (when there's an outbreak), and I can use this for demographics and targeting my messages better (people in Tongo generally live amongst like peoples, i.e. Gbaya with Gbaya, Fuble with Fuble, Refugee with Refugees, etc. etc.).

All in all, I'm glad to have direction that's going to have a lot more payoffs than just a simple map.

Christmas started out peacefully enough. I awoke like a had to a couple of holidays in college, alone, and slightly cold. However the sun came up fast enough, and the day turned gorgeous. The house was quiet, but outside I could already hear music thumping outside and down the street.

Christmas eve was certainly an event all to itself. I went to bed before everything really happened, but the aftermath was everywhere in the form of garbage and bottles. The town was a little sleepy upon arising, but children ran around giggling with new plastic squirt guns or carved towns their parents had made them. It was pretty charming really.

I missed mass because I had a pretty bad cold. I was exhausted. I didn't even do my usual core workout, and I just felt pretty gross all over. I rested and read quite a bit, and eventually wandered out to see the Christmas day market (not very different from the market every Sunday) and the people who I had missed last night and during the morning's celebrations. Fortunately, I found some cold medicine produced in Nigeria (with heaven knows what inside it), and it seemed to work okay once I got home. I took a short nap and woke up, read a book a little more, opened a bag of jelly beans I had kept from the states, and as dusk came I headed out to Maurice's bar.

 Maurice  Upon entering, I found Mauric happily busy serving and collecting beer. The bar was packed and there weren't enough chair outside. He had even rented extras, and they too had been filled up. The inside of the bar is no larger than my bedroom, and it's about ten feet by ten feet. At one point, I could swear there were around forty people in there all dancing at once to Cameroonian and some American music. It was fun. I met a few people around town who I'd befriended before, and it was nice to not feel like a total outsider. To think I've only been here a week or so. I can't imagine what it'll be like in a couple years.

 Norbert, the assistant to the preacher at the church  One of the volunteers at the Health Center 

I danced for quite some time, figuring it might be nice to be visible to the community and participating in one of their more energetic events. Unfortunately, I didn't forsee the consequences of the act of casually dancing, and that ended up having a strange spin on the evening.

 The tiny bar 

When I tired, Raphal decided to take me home and a girl, Bridgitte, I had been dancing with decided to tag along.



Raphal, and Bridgitte, the two who walked me home

We ended up back at my house where we went through the photos the DJ and barkeeper had taken with my camera, and I knew the game was up when Bridgitte took her sandals off. Shortly after, Raphal asked why it was a problem if she were to stay with me for the evening, and as much as I tried to explain why it was not okay, they came back with very logical reasons for why it was okay, using Cameroonian logic. This is where I think everyone became pretty confused we started to realize that even while I'm working in Tongo, there's only so far I can integrate into the community before it becomes a detriment to my work itself. Some distance is a good thing, and situations like this are exactly when I need to distance myself a little.

I said good night to Raphal, and walked Bridgitte home. Outside her house, she stopped and asked me again why she couldn't stay with me. With a little explaining, I made it finally clear that work here is work, and there's only so close I can get to people in the community without it ending up making things more difficult for everyone. In the end, we both felt pretty embarassed, and she was awfully sweet about sending me on my way. I'm sure glad that my introduction to this type of cultural aspect was with people who were so graceful, if not completely understanding.

My time in Bertoua, as I realized I was behind a couple of days from the UNICEF meeting, was spent shopping at about the same speed that all the other volunteers were going. I was enjoying my time out of training, and not having to have every second of every day planned for. However, after getting what I could done, I realized that I really needed to get to post. It wasn't even a conscious decision. After all, life in the case in Bertoua might have even been more fun than the one in Yaounde. In Bertoua, there's no Peace Corps staff to watch out for, and the volunteers (us!) have pretty much the run of the place. Sleeping wasn't exactly plush, as I had a mattress on the floor in front of a fan I McGyver'ed back together, but it was a world of difference. It even had a shower, and I don't mind the cold water anymore. When my driver showed up at close to five in the evening, with the sun low on the horizon, I realized I'd be moving into my house in the dark. As I loaded my things into his mid-90's Toyota coupe, I tried to find excuses not to leave until the morning of the next day, but I realized it would never be a good time, and moving to post was something I just had to do, regardless of how difficult it may seem at first.

The ride to post was interesting. It certainly was different. I know that my personal space bubble might be smaller than most people's, but when you have eight people in 3 and a half seats of a coupe, you certainly have to adjust your attitude. That wasn't even the most extreme thing that happened during the trip. Even before we left, I imagine we packed almost 1,000 lbs of stuff into and onto that car. My canteen and backpack, weighing close to 100lbs by itself, went on the roof with four or five bags of concrete that must have weighed about the same. Then, just behind the driver's seat, about 25 small concrete pillars were piled. These would probably be used for somebodies front porch. Then my duffel bag, motorcycle helmet, and miscellaneous other odds and ends were piled in with everyone elses' luggage. Buy the time we left, I realized how much of a puzzle it was to pack these vehicles everyday to make fewer trips and spend less money on gas.

Once I got to post, it was indeed dark. Maurice, my driver (and owner of the nicest bar in town), took me to my door and unloaded all of my gear onto my porch. Once searching for my landlord (Mister Ndoka) and securing the keys, my worst fear of getting to post and being locked out of my place passed easily.

Setting up my tent inside wasn't exactly my idea of luxury, but I knew getting what needed to be done over with was important, as I wanted to go out and greet some of my friends from site visit, and that after coming back home I might be too tired to do anything but fall asleep. After the tent and pulling out my essentials for the evening, I went out to Maurice's bar for a drink.

At Maurice's, I was surprised to not only meet the chief of the village, but also the chief of the neighboring village. This young fellow, the chief of Petit Ngoundere, goes by the name of Patrick, and he invited me out to see his village, something that I still haven't taken him up on unfortunately. After a beer, and quite a bit of small talk, I went back home. With the mattress I bought in Bertoua, and the fatigue that came from a long day, helped me quickly to sleep.

In the morning I found myself surrounded by bare walls, dirty floors, and my bags that I had casually dumped into the living room upon arriving the night before. Raphal, one of the locals, put himself in charge of me and showed up to my front door wanting to take me around town. He took me around, showed me some things, taught me a couple phrases in Fulfulde (which I still haven't quite gotten the hang of), and then left me to my own devices. I talked to a couple of people, but on my own, I found the people of Tongo mostly distant to me, regarding me as a tourist or as the different white person that I am. I met Bithe, a good friend of mine from site visit, who works at the health center. He showed me around village, took me to lunch, and helped me fill and clean my bidons (basically plastic jerry cans for water or gas). Around three in the afternoon, he received a call that excited him visibly. After a brief conversation, he hung up and asked me if I wanted to go to an autopsy. I couldn't exactly decline, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. This could be something from a peaceful and mysterious death, to a violent and mysterious death. Either way, the locals couldn't figure out what to do with the deceased, and it was apparently our job to go take a look.

Setting out for a day in Tongo

We caught the soonest bus out of town, and about thirty kilometers later, we disembarked in a tiny village. An old villager who found the body took us down the road for quite aways. After walking about two or three kilometers, Bithe decided he wasn't a policeman and finding the dead body wasn't in his job description, and at this point, I couldn't blame him. My trust in the old villager was fading rapidly. However, as luck would have it, just as we rounded a turn that certainly would have signaled the end to our excursion, the villager ran into the bush and found the body.

Everyone covered their nose and mouth to protect from the smell of decaying flesh. I had never smelled anything like that before, but had heard of it's gagging qualities. I also used a scarf to cover my nose. When I walked up to see the body, I realized that he was so decayed from exposure to the sun that there was hardly anything left. Even the flies had given up their quest and gone elsewhere. I lowered to scarf to smell the air, and the scent of death had even dissipated. According to Bithe, in the condition the body was in there was really nothing we could do to determine the cause of death. Even if there was, I don't necessarily disagree with his choice to leave. Figuring out how the poor fellow died wouldn't have brought him back to life, and doing an actual in-depth autopsy would have taken up a lot of time and resources that needed to be dedicated to people that were alive and in need of assistance. So, I caught the next bus back to Tongo while Bithe stayed behind to talk to the local chief, and he in turned headed into Bertoua for a little RnR.

The second day, I woke up and cleaned my apartment thoroughly. The dust from the concrete floors seems to get everywhere after a good sweeping, and I understand why so many people use water and rags to wipe down the floor rather than brooms. However I'm stubborn, and after covering myself, and the front lawn in dust, I ended up making my home rather cleanly. I went into town after that, and found myself being introduced to the Sous-Prefect of the region. He's basically like the governor of his small district, and has a lot of power within it. While meeting him, a car burst on fire in the middle of the street. I certainly wasn't the closest to it, but being a health volunteer, I couldn't see myself fit just standing there idly. But, by the time I made it to the vehicle (the owner had fled and left the motor running, pumping more fuel into the burning engine bay) people were packed around the car throwing dirt on the flames.

After saying my goodbyes to the Sous-Prefect and the village chief, I headed back to my house to relax. As I stood out on my porch, some Arab looking men walked up and greeted me. Indeed, they were Arabs, and were traveling by foot in Cameroon, and were natives to regions of Pakistan. They promised to return in the morning for a longer conversation and I wished them well. Afterwards, I once again fell quickly asleep.

In the morning, I awoke to my door being knocked upon and my name called. Scrambling out of my tent and pulling on a shirt, I opened the door to two Arabs, one of which I recognized from the day before. The other was foreign to me, but had a presence about him that the others didn't, and I soon realized why.

This new Arab was a doctor of herbal medicine, or something similar, in Pakistan. He and seven others had been traveling in Cameroon for several months visiting mosques and talking with the Muslim population. We sat on my rug in the living room for a couple hours talking about religion and our experiences in Cameroon. I learned quite a bit about the Muslim culture in those first few hours, and was excited to be invited to the Mosque for lunch and dinner.

I did indeed go the Mosque for lunch, and I found myself feeling awkward going to the Mosque when so many people in Tongo knew that I wasn't Muslim. However the Arabs greeted me, and took me into the Mosque, and we ate an amazing lunch of fried rice. We sat on the floor, as custom, and while it was uncomfortable after awhile, I admired the simplicity of life that these men led on their journey.

After a long conversation about their work, the Muslim religion, and my life in Tongo and at home, I went to find my landlord to get some tools to do some work around the apartment. I found that my door into the latrine opened inwards, and that certainly made entering a 3 foot by 3 foot space slightly awkward. When I asked him to change the direction of the door, he said it was easy, but he needed motivation ($) to get the job done, and I figured I'd at least get it started.

Working on the entrance to the latrine 

When the sun finally got low on the horizon, and I finished my job with blistered hands, I cleaned up and went to the Mosque again for dinner. This time, the food was even more spectacular. Flat bread and yams seasoned with a peanut sauce that reminds me of curry. It was wonderful. The demeanor of the Arabs slowly became more comfortable and they even smiled and joked with one another. After dinner was finished, they invited me to dinner in the morning, and this would be the last time I would see them as they were moving on down the road, and I had to head back to Bertoua to get gas so I could use my stove and cook.

Breakfast the next morning was quick, and slightly sad. I had taken quite a liking to these Arabs and I was sad to see them go. They had gifted me a walking stick and two bottles of Pakistani perfume, and I was ashamed to have nothing to offer them in return. Humbly and happily, they were fine with that and said their goodbyes. I then gathered my things and returned to Bertoua in search for gas.

Unfortunately, once reaching Bertoua, there was none to be found. I was frustrated, but made the best of it by trying to arrange meetings with the Red Cross and UNHCR (UN High Commission for Refugees). I got two meetings scheduled, one with the UNHCR on the 26th and one with the Red Cross on the 27th. The next day, gas finally came and I was able to retrieve it, and I stayed one more night in Bertoua, and then once again departed for post.

Back at post, I found people a little bit warmer to my prescence. Unfortunately, I also found that my neighbors' had been broken into. This scared Bithe and many other people in town, and they wanted me to look for a place to live. Bithe woke me up the next morning at dawn because he hadn't slept, and wanted to make sure I was okay. This guy, mind you, is 250 lbs, six foot even, and a previous boxer. He certainly has a soft side. He took me out and we walked the village looking for the few houses that would meet Peace Corps requirements for living situations. The rest of the day, I napped and cleaned the house again, as I was exhausted and seemed to be acquiring somewhat of a cold.

On the next morning, I woke up and wandered the town for a little bit, greeting new people and getting to know some of the locals. Around noon, I unhitched the bicycle from inside the apartment and took off down the road where the local school was. I thought the road might end around there. Boy was I wrong. As I continued down past the school, I found myself getting farther and farther into the bush. At one point, I stopped and walked a hundred feet into the tall grass and brush and realized how lost I could be if I wasn't paying much attention.



In the bush 

After getting back on the bicycle, I decided to ride until I reached the next settlement or for the next hour or so, whatever came sooner.

Cresting a hill and looking into the Cameroonian jungle

I made it 11 more kilometers before I reached the small settlement of Berrie. It was so small that the residents don't even call it a village, more a quarter of Tongo. The chef was the first person I met, and he was sitting under a thatch canopy enjoying the shade. We talked for a few minutes and some locals joined us. Minutes turned into an hour, and my questions about the small community were becoming better and with purpose. I did a miniature needs assessment and scheduled a meeting for the next week, and said my goodbyes, and resumed the hard ride back to Tongo.

After the ride, I showered, and realized that Christmas was around the corner. Boy was that surprising as the weather that I was accustomed to around the holiday season has never found its way to Africa.  After the 22 kilometer ride

The next morning was gorgeous, and Christmas started out peacefully and enjoyably.

My Christmas morning

I've ridden a few horses in my day. Not that I'm some equestrian by any means, but I did have a few experiences growing up that I'm thankful for. All of these experiences were smoother than the Cameroonian bus rides to Bertoua that I've experienced, and the last one I actually used my bandana like a real cowboy, to ward off the dust. Welcome to the wild wild East.

When someone mentions dust to me, or describes something as dusty, I think of Central Oregon where the sun bakes the soil so hard it's concrete and every step grinds it into fine, airborne particles. However the dust in Central Oregon usually settles pretty quickly. However, here in the East region of Cameroon, the dust makes for an otherworldly experience. It's like riding a turbulent rocket ship into the martian atmosphere. Everything is coated and saturated with red dust. Plants and trees that are normally green are rusty red, not a patch of green showing on most. Even the sun is dimmed in the sky, and the air is so thick with red that visibility is limited to less than 100 feet at any given time.

After having a delicious dinner with some colleagues last night, I met up with a fellow named Raymond who I met on site visit. He is a local to Bertoua and is an excellent carpenter. He was nice enough to take the time to show me around the city and help me get good local (not exorbitant "white man") prices. He then took me to his house, which was expectedly well furnished and many of his works were excellent.

Did I mention that I spent this entire time talking in French? I can't even believe how much it has progressed. My meeting with UNICEF the other day was almost entirely in French as well, and I kept up just fine. It's still amazing to me that I'm actually functioning in French. While I wouldn't say I'm fluent by any means, it's come a long ways since my entrance to the country.

Tonight was really when things started getting amazing. When I was talking with Raymond, he seemed interested in making solar driers. I told him I'd ask ACREST (www.acrest.org) for more info. When I started talking to my ACREST contact this evening, he seemed very excited to get Raymond (and anyone else interested) out to ACREST to learn how to make these or other devices. The conversation drifted to having me come to ACREST to help them with their multimedia, similar to my experiences in Costa Rica. In exchange, he'd send out some consultants to my community to help start some serious projects.

Along with UNICEF, this work has amazing potential for my community, and my career. I am so excited to work with UNICEF and ACREST in the following months and throughout my service here.

Okay, well the big reason I stayed in Yaoundé for so long is a meeting with UNICEF!

When I received my post assignment way back in week five or six of training, I had a job description stapled to it that detailed a pilot program that UNICEF had started in Tongo-Gandima prior to me getting there. While at site visit, I noticed a lot of work had been done in the community to improve its infrastructure. I saw three forages within a kilometer of each other, and that's certainly something rare here.

The forage in the foreground is operated manually

I woke up an hour early for what could have been the most important meeting of my life, and still got there fifteen minutes late. The taxis here are awful, and many of them didn't know where the UNICEF (or the British Embassy that is across the street) compound is. Even when they did, they wanted two or three times the normal fare because I'm not dark-skinned.

When I finally arrived, I was pleasantly surprised that people were waiting for me, because it will be one of the few times that this will probably happen in Cameroon. However, I'll admit the first impression was not awesome. As the meeting progressed past introductions, everyone seemed to warm up to me quite well. In attendance were four Cameroonian women of extensive education, and what I would guess (by the accent) is a very well educated British woman with an extensive background working for humanitarian organizations. While I was and still am quite intimidated by the language and seriousness of the work they do, I know I'm up to it. It's just probably the most serious undertaking of my life.

The job description took about an hour, and included a slide show. We even skipped over the video for times' sake. Here's an article of what the program is about.

Multiple times, the British woman in charge mentioned that I came to UNICEF at the perfect time. Not only that, I lucked out because they normally only offer the opportunity to work with them to Peace Corps volunteers who choose to extend for a third year. She said that my language was sufficient and that she'd be excited to have me working for her on the ground for the two years I'm at post.

I leave tomorrow morning to Bertoua where I'll try to get as much shopping done as possible to furnish my place, and move as soon as possible to my post. UNICEF plans on stopping by next week, and they're taking me to another volunteers' post to see how he's been working for UNICEF in the same pilot program. While this certainly doesn't allow me to start integrating into my community as quickly as I'd like, it certainly does help me get some exposure to the way that many development organizations like UNICEF operate and to observe my community not just for the Needs Assessment of Peace Corps, but also as someone who will be the eyes and ears for UNICEF's resources and program progress.

All cleaned up, right before swearing in,

trying to pay attention in one of the

last classes

Currently I'm stuck in-between training and life at post.

I had to stop in Yaoundé for one night before heading to Bertoua, but got caught here for a couple of days waiting for an important meeting (see next post) and post PEP lab work. The latter of these was a total pain, but I'm a lot more confident taking taxis in big cities now.

To pass the time and sleep, I'm in a Case (pronounced "cause"). These places are basically hostels for Peace Corps volunteers, and Cameroon is lucky enough to still have them strewn about in every region. Basically, budget cuts have caused many other PC countries to close their Case system, but Cameroon has luckily held onto them.

View from the couches The couches

The other couches, where

I've slepta mosquito filled night

Cases a great reprieve and peaceful resting place for Americans to socialize and relax.

I took some pictures from the roof yesterday, and the sunsets here are amazing.

View to the west, water towers

and mountains View to the north, where the

President's Mansion is visible

When I went out with my brother Douleur who is studying in Yaoundé, he told me there was a soccer game the next day in the afternoon. I knew this wasn't a chance I couldn't pass up.

The next morning, when I stepped outside for breakfast, the first thing I noticed was a soldier of some type walking down the street with a large assault rifle, kevlar helmet, and a vest full of ammunition. Along the main route, police were posted every couple of feet and no traffic was the be found. I was pretty curious about this intense law enforcement presence, but I had heard a rumor that a couple of people were killed in a semi-riot at the last soccer game. I figured it was due to that.

When the time finally came to leave for the game, we found some street food (crepes and coconuts), and I learned the real reason for the intense amount of police and military, President Paul Biya was to attend the match. As we started walking to meet up with more volunteers, the presidential motorcade zoomed by. It was about a mile long line of lights and sirens. There was a black hummer in the middle of everything that may or may not have had the president of Cameroon sitting between four giant men armed with Israeli Uzis and their fingers on the triggers.

So security was tight, and enough so to make us all nervous. When we got in line to get into the stadium, many of us realized we were risking a lot by entering a place where anyone and everyone could make our lives very difficult and painful, especially wore any shade of dark green and carried a large automatic weapon. Finally, after being patted down and briefly questioned, we made it into the stadium, and the risk was totally worth it. The views from the stadium were amazing. I was on edge for the whole of the match, but I'm sure I'll get used to that feeling.

Entrance was free, and the game was crowded

Taking photos at the game was tough. You couldn't take photos that had military people in them, or military people that noticed. We accidentally, when trying to get to the top of the stadium to take some pictures, stumbled upon a pretty tough looking fellow manning a large caliber sniper rifle.

Joe and Eddie The President's side,

notice all the empty bleachers

around the box

The game itself was awesome. The skill level was amazing, and while it was fairly dramatic (as football is growing more and more so), it was still great to watch. Unfortunately, we made the poor decision of trying to leave before the crowd, and failed at doing that. Thus, we missed the ending, which actually finished with penalty kicks and a ceremony.

On the top!

When we were trying to exit the stadium, I wanted to take some pictures but the crowd was frustrated and anxious to leave. Whipping out my camera would have been a really bad move. The soldiers actually hit a bunch of people with riot batons and small whips when they tried to climb over the fence of the stadium to leave. Apparently, we were waiting for the President to leave, but he never did. Eventually, they opened the doors and a giant surge carried me, Joe, and a couple of other volunteers out. I almost lost my flip-flops, and this was around the time someone tried to pickpocket me.

I can't even describe the mood as we got shoved out the gate that they opened up for us. The energy was electric and dark. Cameroonians are already pretty high strung, and their normal conversations are interpreted as combative and argumentative. Basically they talk loud and passionately. However people here don't like the police and military, and having so many around is scary to them, and that's certainly scary to me. These military types (police are included in that) do not hesitate to corporally punish offenders, and I certainly could understand why, as normal Cameroonians do not generally have a high regard for any type of order.

We made it back to the Case safe and sound. I actually helped make pizza afterwards, and tried to get to bed early for my meeting the next morning.

On December 8th, at approximately 11:30AM, I took the oath and became and official Peace Corps Volunteer.

The ceremony was held at an outdoor venue alongside one of the main roads in Bafia. The sun was shining, and the air was muggy and hot. Under tents, we sat as Peace Corps officials spoke on our behalf, their wishes for us, and their hopes of our success. Then, a few of our own volunteers delivered speeches of their own, in French, Fulfulde, and Pidgin English. Of these, one memorable phrase has really summarized our mentality throughout training, and will continue to help us as development volunteers; "small, small, we go catch monkey." This pidgin phrase roughly translates to little by little, we'll accomplish our task.

John with Fulfulde Shane with French Georgia With Pidgin

The U.S. Ambassador was present, and also spoke for a time in French, as did the Country Director for Peace Corps, and a couple of the local officials. One official had a surprisingly good sense of humor and was sad that we would be leaving a place 'that is hot, with bad food, and scary insects" and the community would feel orphaned by our absence.

The Ambassador, Dr. Lahoma Rockoni (Country Director), David (Training Manager), and Kim Ahonda (Training and Program Officer)

His sentiments were certainly not all that far off. The ensuing luncheon that we attended, along with two of our family members, was filled with tense faces that tried to conceal emotion. Some Americans were unable to do so, and their eyes were wet with the sadness that comes from leaving loved ones. Instead of spending the evening with the new volunteers from my training group, I spent the last night at home with my family. There, I really was able to see how much they appreciated having me there one last evening, and we were up far too late enjoying each others' company over a dinner of chopped vegetables (which I told my mom was similar to Salsa, and she now calls the dish that), and grilled corn (which is absolutely splendid here).

Mom and me! In the morning, I packed my things, said a final goodbye, and gave my mom one last hug before she quickly turned away and walked back to the house. I thought that I had made her upset, but it quickly dawned upon me that social norms on crying in Cameroon are similar to those in the United States, and she did her best not to let me see her cry.

The truck ride back to the training site in Bafia for our final departure was full of sentimental reflection and appreciation for how lucky I had been. Upon arriving at the training site, I was not surprised to see many people who had celebrated quite well the night before, and I was quite content not feeling ill when we set off on our crowded bus too Youndé. One of the volunteers actually puked on himself, out the window, of the vehicle. A dramamine helped.

Mike finding a bed on our bags in a bus Agro Volunteer Mike after a long night Getting to Yaoundé, I really wasted no time. I immediately checked for a package I was expecting, and talked to the Country Training and Program Officer, who had been facilitating a meeting between UNICEF and I. She informed me that I could stay in Youndé for the next couple of days, and meet with the UNICEF program director Monday morning.

After relaxing for a little in the travel house, I got dinner, and then found an email from another organization that I am hoping to partner with. One of the main leaders of the Cameroonian NGO ACREST (www.acrest.org) had responded to an email about working together, and we proceeded to talk on Skype about my position, what I expected to do in my community, and what I could do to work with ACREST during my stay there.

The last two days have been as full of changes, if not more changes, than leaving for briefing in Philadelphia three long months ago.

Here are a bunch of photos of the swearing in celebration:

Agro Volunteer Shannon

Health Boys - Geoff, Steven, Joe, Jon, and Eddie

Geoff

Youth Development Volunteer Georgia Health Stag

Joe

Stephanie, Amanda, and Crystal

Steven

Alissa Head Technical Trainer Theo Home Stay Coordinator Monique Suzie The Ambassador and Doeleur

Mom and Doeleur at lunch

Lahoma presenting my Mom with a certificate of appreciation for hosting me for three long months

Many of you want to make my life over here as comfortable as possible for the holidays and I cannot thank you enough for your generosity.

To answer your question "What do you want for Christmas?," I have a list below!

- Two plastic travel soap containers - Any kind of smell good deodorant (not antiperspirant, you'll sweat here like it or not) - Any kind of carabiners, from ones for keys to ones for climbing loads (emphasis on climbing ones, because they last and work for everything) - Hand sanitizer in alcohol form - Any books that you have found particularly worthy of a read - Any foods/sweets that can be packaged in a way that is impossible for mice to get to them - Yoga mat - Portable rechargeable speakers (USB preferably) - A survival strap from http://www.survivalstraps.com/ - preferably earthy colors with the shackle ring - Computer software such as Apple Suite - A hammock from Hennesy Hammocks (Dad knows about this one, and can answer any questions about it if you have them). - A sleeping sack similar to this one -> http://www.rei.com/product/690012/cocoon-coolmax-travel-sheet - Apple In-Ear Headphones - A Frizbee - A kindle to replace the one that broke, with a hard case - A Laptop hard case by Pelican, that will fit a 13" laptop - A Travel Towel that dries quickly but is large enough for daily use - Anything else you think would be fun and good!

While I understand this list is extensive, it is a WISH list. I am in Africa, and part of this experience is learning to live without luxuries and modern amenities. However, I certainly will not turn away any items that make my experience more enjoyable and improve my quality of life with the aim of being more productive in my community.

Thanks again for all of your support!

So I'm leaving for the Peace Corps again. This time, I'm leaving a family that I've grown closer to in 3 months than I ever thought possible.

Mom mom, Jeanette, is inspiring. She's a woman of endless energy, that has given up many opportunities to make money and improve her surroundings to support her extended family as they go to school. She has sent her three sons to institutions of advanced education, and one of them has made it to the Philippines, studying English and other religious studies. The other two are in Yaoundé studying for their Masters II degrees. I can't thank her enough for not only feeding me, but being there to talk me through some of the harder challenges that I have faced along the way. From struggles with Peace Corps, to the emotional roller coaster of being away from loved ones. I cannot say enough good things about this woman, and I hope to figure out how to help her during and after my service. Unfortunately, she didn't like being in front of the camera, so I snapped this before she scolded at me for trying to get a picture of her.

Dadi and Tati are the two "sisters" that are actually extended family. Dadi, the older, never ceases to make fun of my for my bad French or use her native language to confuse me. Tati, actually the calmer of the two, was patient and helpful with daily activities. They both attend the local high school and study quite a lot. Both work in the outdoor kitchen of the families house very often, and prepare the food for the children as well as the older family members occasionally. Dadi, surprisingly, loves to do laundry, and while I didn't mind learning how to wash my clothes, I often would accept her offers of washing my clothes.

Armande, nicknamed Dodo, was the silent and strong member of the extended family. The guy never works out, but is built like a tank. We went on a run once, in the middle of a very hot day. He kept up with me the whole time. He's in his final year of high school, and he studies all the time. Sometimes, when the nights are especially distracting, he wakes up a 4AM, two hours before dawn, to study for his final exams. He likes boxing, and often falls asleep watching soccer matches. He figured out how to ride my bike on his first try, and I'm pretty sure he could pick up any sport just as fast.

Charmande, the workhorse of the family, was the go-to-girl for Mom when she had some chore to be done. She goes to the elementary school.

The other little ones I never learned their names very well, mostly because they were all over the place and looked so similar. Mom also never used their names really, just nicknames or words in the local language that roughly translated to "come here." They go to elementary school, and spent a lot of time doing chores in the morning, and causing mischief at night. They love playing cards. In fact, breaking the ice with my family started by pulling out a pack of cards and playing with them and the older guys. The younger ones like playing "poker" which is a Cameroonian version of Uno. It's a good time, and when you play for bon-bons (candy), they get cut-throat.

The family has been incredibly fun and informative. They have showed me not only what it's like to live in Africa (or Cameroon more specifically) but to build relationships and to open myself up in ways that I never have before with people that I've known for such a short amount of time. The two older gentleman in this photo are Kodgo and Doeleur. These two guys are awesome and are the ones currently studying in Yaoundé. Doeleur is wearing the blue shirt and glasses. He bragged to be one of the best players in Bokito. I eventually ended up playing in a match with him, and he held up his claim. Kodgo, the one in black in the back, is the intellectual of the family. He's the quieter of the two brothers and enjoys pretty deep conversations on politics, often ones that put me in a tough position, especially when it came to American politics.

I'm spending an extra night with them before I leave. While all of the other volunteers are out enjoying their last night together, I'm spending it with my family here. I'll miss the celebration and festivities and lots of beer drinking, but I'm not one for much pomp and circumstance. I figure I owe at least one more night to a family that has given up so much to help me transition into my Peace Corps service.

The Peace Corps is a place where you have to learn how to deal with time differently. In the United States, time is money. In many other places, time has no monetary value, and therefore no value at all. Adjusting to this is difficult. Luckily, I spent some time in Costa Rica where I learned a lot about time. Actually I learned a lot more about myself in Costa Rica than how to deal with time, but for the purposes of this post, I'll keep it focused on dealing with time.

Yes, I'm repeated the word time a lot, because here you have a lot of it. The attitude in Costa Rica concerning time is "everything tomorrow." Here, it seems that time is "everything when someone else has to deal with it." Okay, it's not that bad. On a personal level, people are pretty good about being punctual. You just have to understand that they'd rather be clean than on time, or dry than on time, and most importantly, have spent less money than it would have taken to be on time. Well, I guess time does have some monetary value here after all.

Stirring Couscous d'Maize or basically boiled corn flower

stirred to the consistency of dough, and served warm or cold. During training, I've had a lot free time to think. Unfortunately, much of this has been spent on subjects that make my life more difficult, or on things I do not yet have the wisdom to understand. So, I have placated these thoughts with books mostly.

While many would say that I'm being a hypocrite from reading so much here, when I've argued so strongly for more to do. However, I am not a passive reader by any means, and I do what I can to make sure I'm learning from whatever I read or watch, regardless of its entertainment value.

Thus far I have finished…

What It's LIke To Go To War by Karl Marlantes - Excellent book, and anyone who wants to have a better understanding of not just war, but of yourself in conflict, should read this.

If You Survive by George Wilson - Short novel very similar to the Clay Pigeions of St. Lo. However, I'd argue that it tries to do too much, with too little. St. Lo is one of the best books of the period, and its scope of time is so small. If You Survive encompasses much more of WWII in Europe, but leaves detail to be desired.

The Hornet's Sting by Mark Ryan - Hyped to be the real James Bond of WWII. I would agree that his stunts with women are world class Bond, but the rest of his adventure is really a testament to the problems of large bureaucratic organizations.

The Clay Pigeons of St. Lo by Glover S. Johns Jr. - One of my FAVORITE books. Easily the best book I have ever read on WWII or conflict in general. Johns writes from a position of leadership within his story at a very real and human level. Stephen Ambrose's book Band Of Brothers is similar, but Johns covers such a short amount of time with detail that I have never found before.

Some of my African family! Come Home Alive by Robert Young Pelton - One of those travel and adventure tip guides/books. Great for its no B.S. and sarcastic writing. Not a whole lot of new knowledge, and some of it might not apply to you depending upon where you're traveling. However it's entertaining and does have tips that could make your life a whole lot easier.

End War by Tom Clancy (okay not really, it was written by somebody else with his permission) - I didn't realize it until I got to the back cover, but it's a book based off a video game… must I say more?

For Whom The Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway - This is a classic, I'm aware. I'm not going to spend more time talking about this book, because so many people already have. However, it was far from what I expected, and I loved it.

The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde - Another classic. One which I found applies to me far more than I anticipated.

Dispatches by Michael Herr - Honestly one of the best books I have ever read on the Vietnam war, and it wasn't even written by a solider, or from the soldiers' perspective. Being a war correspondent has something I've thought about off-and-on for years, but never seriously. This has really made me rethink that.

The Italian Secretary by Caleb Carr - I'm not one for sequels generally. They tend to tarnish originals. However Carr writes well, and I quite enjoyed it.

Brave New World by Aldus Huxley - One of my fellow volunteers' favorite books. However, far from mine. It's one of the few books that I have read that evoked a feeling of pure disgust. Considering that was probably his aim, Huxley did a good job.

Also, I have finished two seasons of Mad Men, and reflected on many of the poor choices that the main character and I have made.

The last six weeks have been of complete highs and complete lows, culminating in a complete reanalysis of what the heck I'm doing here.

Life between sessions, or during sessions After site visit we came back to Bokito where the life had been sucked out of everyone. We had seen our posts, and seen a glimpse of our life for the next 2 years, and that was awesome! We had lived there for a week, and some of us felt that we could have just stayed there and not come back for the additional weeks of classwork and language lessons. This feeling was only amplified by the fact that our classes ended up being pointless! We spent two hours talking about the effects of alcohol, and two hours discussing the effects of smoking, and countless other two hour blocks discussing topics with equal value or valuable topics with less than informative presentations. To pass the time, I started reading, and dove into books like I haven't since middle school.

Three weeks ago, the climax of lethargy hit, and I internally revolted. The staff here had slowly exhausted my tolerance of BS and wasted time. Combine all of that with the fact that I was told by numerous volunteers that the most I will be able to do at my post is help a couple of people for a couple years. After I leave it's almost assured that my efforts and programs will disappear. Waves, into ripples, into nothing.

I started to feel that I was and would be wasting my time here. I could make a better impact at home that would be better appreciated, and I could be around the people I love. So, I wrote an email to my dad and I asked another volunteer to read it because I wasn't quite sure I was getting my message across. She came back in tears because she felt the exact same thing, and together we saw this as a vacation on taxpayer dollars, or an extended summer camp with a humanitarian organization. We planned to talk to the Country Director, and basically were both resigned to quitting, packing our bags, and going home to the good lives and jobs we had.

Keeping it real, PST style However a phone call to Stephanie and the responding email from my dad changed all that, and reminded me why I'm here. Essentially, it boiled down to one question; So are you a leader or a follower? Stephanie asked me that question point blank during our phone call and I was caught completely by surprise. One of her emails also said that I should be the wish I wish to see in the world, and words like that are pretty inspiring. Both my Dad and Stephanie helped me realize that if I was not satisfied with the way things were going, but had a potential to change them, I then had a duty to change them for many volunteers who feel the same way.

As someone who wants to help people, and who was the potential to help many people, I started to see my potential to help as many people as possible by making the process for future trainees better, so they can go into communities better prepared and be more successful. This completely changed the way I am thinking about service now. Even if I fail at doing anything significant in my village, I can help to ensure than other volunteers will have a better chance at making the impacts I might fail to do.

Stephen in what might possibly be the

best outfit made here. The other volunteer and I, strangely, had come to the exact same conclusions about training. When we finally did go see the Country Director, the conversation was constructive, and we did the best would could to briefly point out the biggest problems with training. During the conversation, we both learned an incredible amount about the design of training and its intent, and the way Peace Corps is changing for the future. I continued these conversations with by the Training Manager and my Head Technical Trainer. The discussions were inspiring.

I also started talking to fellow volunteers and trainees and learned more in 72 hours about humanitarian work than I had learned during the entire previous weeks of training. I learned about the quantitative and qualitative nature of development. I started to understand the relationship, and frequently the lack of relationship, between the tangible and intangible results of development work. I was relieved to see that people here haven't been wasting their time at bars solely coping with the experience that is training, but building support networks for the future, and friends that will help them remain productive throughout their service. I had never thought about that, because for me, I had arranged a support network at home. I wasn't really counting on establishing one here. Those types of paradigm shifts are what I was craving, what gave me the drive to continue.

After much thought, Peace Corps needs to choose a direction to go with training. They need to be responsible with the funds that are given to them from people at home, of whom many are struggling to pay taxes and put food not the table. Not everyone will like the direction the Peace Corps chooses in the future, but things have to change as the belt tightens, and no one should be squeezed out of consideration during this process.

Jon, Alissa, Sophie, and Geoff. I have a meeting with the Training Director next week. The other volunteer (Shannon), and myself are trying something that hasn't been done before in Peace Corps Cameroon, as far as we know. Metaphorically, we're trying to change the hardware of the Peace Corps training, not just patch the software. This is a far more difficult route that opens up many challenges in the bureaucratic rabbit hole that is any large government organization. Even though this is doubtlessly going to be an incredibly hard challenge, I think its difficulty is something that motivates me to continue.

Swearing in is in less than a week. I'm excited to see where the next couple of months will take me at post and away from post. I found out that I'll be working with/for UNICEF a lot. This may be a totally different experience that what I've grown to expect. Now I have to switch gears again, and get mentally and physically prepared for a much more structured life than the one I expected to encounter. In many ways the grass is always greener.

In Africa, Skeletons, especially skulls, have an interesting significance in the religions of many of the local populations. Metaphorically, they also have a lot to do with faith, and trust, between two people, and they have been increasingly important to me over here.

I remember during the first day of Briefing in Philadelphia, the Peace Corps facilitator, a pretty brunette (as I've now been reminded) in a gray suit, asked us what we thought would be the biggest challenges of our service. Many people stood and announced that their thoughts about the hardest challenges of services would be the cultural differences, bad food, or illnesses. When it came my turn to announce my thought to the group of wide-eyed and enthusiastic other trainees, I briefly said that the emotional difficulties would be the hardest part for me.

Many, at this point, had no idea that I had experienced a shorter, but much more intense experience away from home. This experience quickly developed my understanding of emotional hardship. Yes, this 6 week stint was also for the government, but not the peaceful side. I was a Officer Candidate in the United States Marine Corps. For basically a summer, I prepared for, and then participated in what has been called the "world's premier leadership school" by Forbes magazine. Unfortunately for me, I did not have what many Marines would say, my shit together. While I graduated, I felt discouraged. I was not hot shit. There were plenty of incredibly motivated and mature young men who stood next to me, while similar in height, cast far longer shadows. It was a wonderful experience that helped me grow in so many ways, and made me humble and proud in a marvelous mix.

During this short bout of service, I had hardly a moment of rest and/or formulate thoughts. When I had "free time," it was spent cleaning my weapon, cleaning my gear, cleaning myself, or quickly and dreamlessly sleeping on a rack hardly wider than my shoulders. The times that I did get a chance to think about loved ones back home, the emotions came ripping back with interest from so much neglected time. The military taught me so much about how to handle my wits under stress, but it did little to help me handle my emotions, other than fear and aggression,

The Peace Corps has tried, as best it could, to help volunteers handle their emotions in positive fashions with healthy coping mechanisms. Unfortunately, I wouldn't ever consider myself a man of inaction, and coping just does not sit well with me. Here, however, you have no choice but to develop these coping strategies, as daily life is often filled with moments of complete and utter disappointment and lots of free time waiting for things to happen.

None of these coping strategies will do you any good if you never take the time, while coping, to figure out how to solve your problems. In many ways, this is harder than just coping, because coping is essentially trying to forget or forgive a problem, and figuring out how to solve the problem requires that you take a hard look at yourself, and what got you into that situation in the first place.

While many consider topics of the heart too whiny or too romantic, we all deal with them. Some of us, more than others, struggle to make sense of why we are the way we are, and how the impacts of nature and nurturing encouraged us to make choices differently from others. As for me, I had a really bad experience growing up that changed the way I dealt with women and relationships. I made some choices early on that created a pattern of choosing the easy road, rather than the high one. In the end, I lied a lot, and i deceived a lot of people.

Recently, I learned the hard way, that doing the hard thing is normally doing the right thing. It isn't whiny or too romantic to open up to people about why you are the way you are. In fact, people generally respect you as being self-aware. It takes a lot of courage to look at yourself in the most objective way possible, and far too few people do these days. Granted, I only did because I had to, and every day I make sure to remember why.

When you're 5, 50, 500, or 5,000 miles away from the people you care about, it takes a lot of work to maintain trust, and so much more to build it. In the end, the blood, sweat, and tears that it takes to clean out the skeletons of your closet is worth it and empowering. It builds courage and strength that you can take with you anywhere. I'm so thankful for the loved ones I have back home. My friends and family have been invaluable not only in my professional adventures, but in the personal growth and growing pains that have made me a better person. I can't thank them enough.

Hey everyone, sorry it's been such a long time since I updated this thing. I haven't had access to reliable internet since I left Philly for staging. Even there, I should have put up a final post, but I just didn't get around to it.

Okay, so this picture is us driving to our hotel in Cameroon. I have a bunch of pictures from my morning trip to some of the more historic sites in Philadelphia, but I'll get to those later. You're probably reading this to learn about life in Africa, not some tourist traps in the states. Anyways, the drive into Yaounde was pretty scary, as we had to go through the town in the evening, and the people here look aggressive, especially in the city, and even more so when there's a bunch of sheepy-eyed white folk in a fish-bowl like bus.

This is a traditional dance at the hotel we stayed at. Actually, I would say it was more of a prison. I understood why they kept us cooped up there now. It's a rough place out there at night. If you don't know what you're doing, you can easily get yourself into a bad situation. For the most part, we stayed in that hotel for almost a week straight. Then, finally, we loaded up onto a bus and headed out to meet our families.

This is my family! Or at least the kids in it. Currently, because of school, there are about 12 people living in my family's house. My mother is incredible. She makes bad days better. The kids are pretty awesome too. I never considered myself into kids, but here, you have to be. They're so important to the daily activities that dismissing them is really dismissing the largest part of the family. Also, they help me with my French a lot, especially commands like "let me go" or "leave me alone" or "please don't put your boogery hands all over my fresh shirt". Actually the last one is still a little too complex for me, but I think I'll have it down soon.

In Bokito, the town where my Stag (local name for group of trainees) is located, we live in houses similar to this one. This particular house is mine, and the window that is open on the left is what I look out every morning to see the sun rise through the palm trees.

This is the landscape. The red dirt is everywhere. It covers the concrete floor of my house (which is oddly cleaned everyday while they refuse to wash their hands). It covers my boots, sandals, pants, and shirts even when I think they're clean. This red earth turns to the stickiest mud when wet, and when dry is as hard as concrete. The plants are so dense. It's not the golden savannah like you'd imagine off of the Discovery Channel, but thick tall grasses and patches of stout trees. Something I relate more to Jurrasic Park.

Speaking of Jurassic Park, this spider is dinasour like in its size. I know the photo really gives no idea of scale, but the thing was a good six inches in leg-span. I took this on the first night I got into my room. Awesome welcome home present. There was also another one on my desk when I went to sit down to sort out my gear. So awesome. Honestly I haven't gotten my camera out very much in Bokito or in the other towns we've visited. Before leaving I thought I'd be snapping pictures left and right. After getting here, I realized I had made a fundamental error in judgement, and that here, cameras are a sign of money. It's common here for tourists to be the victims of theives. Volunteers have numerous stories of being robbed. Whipping out your camera is like painting a bullseye on your back. It's just not safe in some places.

I have a couple more pictures from Site Visit that we just went on. I spent about four days in my post getting to know the community and introducing myself to its leaders. They're excited to work with me, and there have been many efforts at organizing the community in the past. They're very motivated, and first impressions of the staff at the health center are wonderful. They work incredibly hard, all hours of the night, and are organized and punctual. Such a rare work environment in Cameroon.

I'm heading off to bed. Next month's addition will have much more material, as well as a promised increasing in volume of material here.

I miss you all.

Flew into Philadelphia today and it took awhile for my shuttle to drop me off at the hotel from the airport. I always enjoy shuttle rides because you can see so much of the city without paying for a tour guide. I had no idea how large of an industrial city Philadelphia is, or seems to be. I also saw a battleship, and a couple of folks speculated as to its name. I looked up the hull number (62) and found that it was the USS New Jersey which had a pretty cool history in World War II.

Anyways, I checked into the hotel and found out I shared a room with another volunteer. Walked upstairs and he wasn't there yet, so I walked down the the Hard Rock Cafe for dinner. Had a huge plate of nachos, and then went back to meet Luke.

Luke is a guy from Michigan, and is heading to Cameroon as an Agro-Forestry volunteer. He's in the same position as me, and has a girlfriend that was nearly impossible to say goodbye to.

I woke up early today to go visit Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell. It was great! The tour through Independence Hall was really cool. I got goosebumps standing in the same room that has so radically changed the course of history, and in the same space as men who collectively had an IQ of a gazillion.

Then I went to the briefing…thing… that the Peace Corps set up. While I respect the Peace Corps efforts to make it entertaining and supportive, I think they could have let us see and talk to our family for a couple extra hours. They did some summer-camp style icebreakers and activities that were mildly engaging. It really made me miss the Marines and the way they have large groups do paperwork; sit down, shut up, ask a question only if necessary, and when you're done turn it in. Then get out and go run.

After the briefing was over, I headed out to run some last minute errands. I grabbed some gifts for my host family, and then got a bite to eat. After all that, I went out for a birthday drink with a couple of other volunteers, and then hit the hay.

Here's a couple of pics of Philly.

Skyline

Gotham-esque

Liberty Park (?)

The room where the Declaration of Independence was signed, and where the Constitution was ratified.

The same chair that George Washington sat in

Pewter wear made in Ireland

One of the first copies of the Consitution

The first copy of the Declaration of Independence, that was read aloud to some 2000 people outside Independence hall

Do I really have to label this one?

The Constitution center... was really disappointing, made for middle schoolers

Blast off. At 9:00AM this morning the jet pushed me back into my seat and rocketed into the sky. Stephanie and my Dad were at the airport to see me off, and I'm not sure I've ever tried so hard not to cry in my entire life. I might have let a couple of tears fall when saying goodbye to my puppy. Such a sap, I know.

However, being this emotional isn't completely my fault. It would have been a lot easier to leave if my friends and family were less amazing people. Luckily for me, they've been beyond incredible.

My buddy Matt stopped by last night. He showed Steph how to clean my .22 rifle while I'm gone. That's the rifle my Dad gave to me as part of a family tradition, and it's pretty important to me. Matt also gave me a Leatherman which was freaking awesome. However, there is something to be said about gift giving between males that are friends.

Between male family members, gift giving is often followed with shows of affection and admiration. This is not the case between two young guys who won't even take a leak in urinals that are side by side. It was tough, but I figured out how to give him a hug without upsetting the world's balance of testosterone.

Another slightly awkward goodbye happened yesterday. Emily stopped by, and dropped off some pictures of the previous weekends shenanigans. As she left, she said "I love you" in the friendliest of ways. I could have returned the friendly "I love you" or given her a hug, or a zillion different things. Instead, I said "Bye Emily" and basically slammed the door in her face. Classy huh? Yeah, I was never good with those "I love you" things. Thankfully, she knows I'll miss her plenty.

The photos below are of the last gathering of friends from the mountain. I thank everyone who came, and I wish them the best in the coming months.

Finally, you guys should totally comment on what you want to see on this blog. Let me know what you want to hear about.

I always disliked Sundays as a kid. While many other young ones were out enjoying their last hours of freedom, I usually was somber and thinking of Monday and the upcoming week. I very much disliked that I could never stop Monday from coming. Worse yet, it came faster the more fun I had. This has been exactly the case for the last month, and last week especially.

Monday has come all too soon, and instead of heading off to school or work on Monday, I am heading off for 27 months. Instead of carefree goodbyes and expectations of arriving home later Monday evening, my goodbyes are now more real than ever.

I am happy to say that I am one of the luckiest guys I know. I have a wonderful family, and both sides have helped equip me for my adventure. They have remained supportive and cheerful, and have done their best to hide their concern and worries. Many of my friends have also said their goodbyes, and I am glad that so many of them made the effort to come send me away with a drink and a smile.

Before I go, I must say that there are a couple incredible people out there that deserve mentioning.

Matt Mckinley - While rough around the edges, Matt is one of the finest gentleman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You'd never know it, but deep down, he's as old fashioned as it gets. And no, he is not sponsored by Coors Light, but he should be.

The Mountain Crew - Consisting of folks from Sandy, Welches, and the surrounding areas, this group of people has made many gatherings pure fun. I was a bit wound-up throughout college, and these guys really helped me realize that the journey is just as important as the destination. Just as long as both have beer. Special mention goes to Kirk Sweeney, Jason Fisk, Emily Ross, and Lucas Kosta.

Brandon Nipper - This guy is truly one of the nicest fellows you'll ever meet. College wouldn't have been the same without him and his wife Sarah. Brandon took me under his wing in activities ranging from disk golfing to downhill mountain biking. Together, they made me realize what an important and valuable thing a truly strong relationship is, and I hope to one day enjoy something similar.

My father, William (Bill) Mc Caffrey - If I ever had an idol in my life, he is that person. While I realize that most boyhood role models fade, he has continually shown me that he is exactly the kind of man I wish to be when I finally grow up. I will be lucky to be half the man he is one day.

Last, but certainly not least, Stephanie Walker. While I know that the road ahead will be long and lonely, I hope that she enjoys the time she has to grow and learn from a new job and new friends without me distracting her. If I am truly blessed, I'll be able to enjoy her companionship once I return, and I have little doubt of the strength that she has to enjoy life without her other half.

Oh man packing is a pain. Seriously. It's like moving. It is moving. Just not in boxes or trucks. It's all going on my back or off my shoulder. Seriously?

It started like this...

And has ended up filling a backpacking backpack, sling bag, and duffle bag. I'll unload and load one more time just to make sure I'm not missing anything, and I'll have more pictures of everything laid out then.

The devil is totally in the details. Oddly enough, with space saver bags, the smallest amount of stuff, in volume, has to be my clothes.

Getting my gear together has been challenging, because Cameroon is known as "Africa in Miniature." This means I have to prepare from everything to living on a beautiful coastline, to a sopping wet rainforest, to sweltering deserts, to cold high(er) country.

Even though the Peace Corps multiple packing lists are large, I'm doing my best to do more with less, and bringing along things that will serve multiple roles. However, some large and single-use things are coming along as well, and these need airing out from the Rubicon trip in California.

1.) My tent

2.) My sleeping bag

3.) My sleeping pad (new, and freaking sweet)

These aren't on any of the Peace Corps packing lists, however they have been suggested by volunteers. If you really think I'm not going to take advantage of camping around in Africa while I'm there, you must be crazy.

Well, I guess it's official. I got my boarding passes emailed to me about a week ago. The Peace Corps just publicly released a brief about my intention to serve on their own blog (link below). I'm not sure if they realized that I'm holding a Coors Light can in the picture they used.

http://nextpcvs.wordpress.com/2011/09/12/smccaffrey/

I depart on 8:35AM on the 20th of September.

I'm finishing up my shopping and getting ready for my last family dinner and going away party this week. Every day that goes by it's harder to fall asleep knowing the day is over, and there is one less that I have to spend with my little family.

For those of you gear heads who are interested in what I am taking, I'll have a list some time in the next couple of days, and some insights on some products I've purchased and walked around with for awhile. I'm sure I'll comment more on them while I'm abroad.

For those of you who wait for my posts, I'm glad that you haven't forgotten about me, as I have not forgotten about you.