In just a few short hours I'll be departing Cameroon. I finished packing the few things I'm taking home, said goodbye to folks in my village, and made my way to Maroua last week. A day or two later I arrived in Ngaoundere after the 8 hour drive. Before taking the overnight train to Yaounde I spent a day in town with a few other PCVs that are on their way out. It's a strange time for us all as we continue to make an attempt at understanding what we've just done. It's extremely difficult to make sense of the past two years and nearly impossible to explain it concisely or without contradiction. That's fine by me. While some complex, multifaceted idea or experience may invite analysis, I'm also quite content to take it at face value and appreciate it at the surface level. In that sense Peace Corps was something I did without regret, enjoyed immensely, and will never forget. Enough said.

People in the states may ask me about my service and to save them from an hour long diatribe on Cameroon, something simple like this is sufficient. Any time I'm asked about Cameroon I'm reminded of countless anecdotes I could share. Yet as they will stay crystal clear in my mind for some time to come, I'd never be able to do them justice.

I've done some thinking and decided, that while my service has been far from black and white, I could generally look around me and classify things into those which I will miss and those which I will not. I think one encouraging aspect of this is that the positives of my life here see to have far outweighed the negatives.

What I will not miss:

Hot Season- You've heard me bitch about this enough, but I'm going to do it one last time. I have infinite respect for people that can live and work with little to no modern comforts in such a harsh environment. With that said I think a community project to the tune of “let's all go live somewhere else” would have been wildly successful. No human being should have to endure 130 degree days without central air and a pool.

Bush Taxis (Coffins on wheels)- My knuckles are permanently white after using these death traps for so long. I still fail to understand how most bush taxi drivers have no regard for even their own life. They drive as if they were in a Porsche on the Nurburgring. Unfortunately for the 19 passengers aboard, the average bush taxi is a dilapidated minivan that looks as if it spent significant time in a conflict zone. To make it worse, most of Cameroon's roads appear as though they were shelled by heavy artillery.

Malaria- Malaria blows. That's really all I have to say about that.

Mefloquine- Actually I'm not done with the topic of malaria, as the medicine I am required to take weekly to prevent it also gets a big fat thumbs down. Just reading the warnings for Mefloquine is unnerving, and apparently it's not recommended that people take it for more than six months...super. I can't say for certain if Mefloquine had any adverse effects on me, but I get the feeling that my liver is not pleased. This particular malaria prophylaxis is also a psychotropic, and a common side effect can be very strange and vivid dreams. For a while I just thought the sandman was a big douche. It turns out that in order to keep malaria parasites from invading my bloodstream I have to endure extremely bizarre (and on a few occasions wickedly scary) nights of sleep from time to time.

Cous cous and sauce- I've often heard departed or soon-to-depart volunteers lament how much they miss or will miss eating this Cameroonian staple soooo much. I hate to sound insensitive but I will just say it: get a hold of yourself. Pick up the phone and order a pizza, go grab a burger, hit a diner, or do all of the above. Hell, just go to the market and make a delicious and healthy meal from any assortment of the thousands of available ingredients. That's not to say there aren't things wrong with what we eat and how we produce it, but that's an entirely different discussion. There is a good reason why Cameroonian cuisine isn't popular in America. We have options. If there were other cheap foods available here people would not feel compelled to take leaves off of trees, cook them with oil and a Maggi cube (and a bit of sand to taste), and sop it up with bland millet cous cous (or boule).

Corruption- Moving from something that churns my stomach to, oh wait, something else that churns my stomach. I could tell you that Cameroon is consistently ranked as one of the most corrupt places on the planet or that the president, a lifelong bureaucrat, has amassed a personal fortune estimated in the hundreds of million USD and spends $40,000 per day of state money when on vacation, but my experience has been with the corruption that has seeped through to the bottom rungs of Cameroonian society. To give a brief example, about one year ago the American Embassy donated a large amount of medical supplies to the district hospital in Bogo, a shining example of ineptitude and kleptocracy at their finest. As an American living in Bogo I was repeatedly invited to the ceremony and after numerous approaches I grudgingly accepted. No one from the Embassy was going to be there and I knew that this ceremony would be nothing more than a get together for the local big men who would act composed and respectful before making off with their share of the booty. Will you find any of these medical supplies in the local hospital or health centers today? No, but where you can find most of it is for sale in the market or stocked away in the homes of unnamed individuals. I was asked to say something at this ceremony and it was short and sweet. “On behalf of the American people, I sincerely hope that this will benefit those in need and improve the well-being of the Bogo community.” It's entirely possible that I will draw the ire of any number of people for what I have just written. I've used this blog during the entirety of my service to convey to you my experiences, and I believe I've maintained the required discretion throughout. I have no regrets about expending myself on the behalf of the Bogo community for two years, but at this point it needs to be said that there are individuals who, through their shameless graft, make working in Bogo extremely difficult. I merely want to give you an idea where our aid and goodwill ends up when it is not properly managed. It's sad to see good people trapped underneath such a dysfunctional system. I can't imagine the lives of average Cameroonians will ever change much if it keeps going on like this. Communities will never get the assistance they need to develop. People such as myself will continue to come here with high hopes, but will do little more than slow the bleeding and continue providing the country with the social services that it should be more than capable of providing for itself.

Bureaucracy- The DMV is a well oiled machine. Enough said.

My neighbor's cow- The animal is tied up on the outside of my bedroom wall and he is always the loudest around 5:30AM. I wish they would just eat him already.

The neighbors- Just to clarify I get along swimmingly with all my neighbors. I'll miss this tight knit community within the community a great deal. But much like anywhere else, many neighborhoods have that one household that seems to be auditioning for the Jerry Springer Show. In this case that household happens to be just next door (Not the house with the cow...they're cool).

What I will miss:

The pace of life- I don't know if sitting under a tree all day would be considered an acceptable use of my time in America. Some of my fondest memories here consist of me sitting under a neem tree outside someone's home chewing the fat with a couple of old fulbe guys. In some situations the slow pace here can be infuriating when it's time to get things done. Yet the laissez-faire approach that many have here is refreshing.

Hospitality- As a westerner I sometimes feel out of my element, but rarely have I ever felt unsafe or unwelcome. Theft and other petty crime is not uncommon, but it would probably be less likely to happen here than in any major American city.

It was humbling when first experiencing the hospitality and kindness that is extended by complete strangers. When biking out into the villages around Bogo it is easy to get turned around, and I often stop to ask for directions. A friendly conversation and cup of teas are almost always on offer. Early in my service some village farmer whom I had never met and have not seen since accompanied me over 5km just to see that I arrived at my destination. When on a long bus ride it seems to be customary to share any food you might have with the passengers in your row, and also accept anything they offer to you. When visiting multiple villages in one day I know to eat little to know food the night before and for breakfast as I'll be stuffed to the gills with pounds of food.

The Bogo market- In my book there isn't a single mall in America that can hold a candle to the Bogo market. The market is first and foremost a hub of regional commerce, but it serves a number of other social purposes. People from all over the Bogo arrondissement, Northern Cameroon, Chad, and Nigeria arrive in Bogo every Wednesday evening and Thursday morning. People coming from such diverse locations bring with them all sorts of outside information and ideas concerning their daily lives. There is always some outside news to talk about, whether it be the rainfall (or lack of it), new products available in Maroua, banditry problems on the Chad border, and countless other issues of public interest.

Townsfolk often go to the Thursday market without any specific items they need to buy or sell. Many people hang around all day just to see and be seen, talk and gossip with friends, or sport the new clothes, shoes, bling, motorcycle, etc. they just purchased.

Grilled beef- I've eaten my fair share of grilled beef here. There are few places in the country that do it as well as the guys in the market here. They take long pieces of thinly sliced filet, cover it with salt, vinegar, and hot sauce, throw onto the grill for a few minutes, pull it off, cut it into small pieces, and then serve it with more hot spices, beignets, and hot tea. I can't think of anything I'd rather have for lunch except perhaps for a turkey sandwich. Saying that I'll miss beef sounds strange seeing as how I can get a steak pretty much anywhere at anytime in the states, but it doesn't get any fresher than diving into a plate of grilled beef as someone takes the just-butchered cow's head away in a push cart.

Fulfulde- Sure, when I speak fulfulde most people in my town think I'm slow in the head. Nevertheless I find it to be a very attractive sounding language.

Evening soccer practices- The fellas of Auxerre Marouare FC organized a little match for me the evening before I left Bogo. I honored them by scoring my first and last goal ever in Bogo (and then proceeded to miss a penalty. Afterwards they gave me the trophy we won the past two years. Its been a great playing with them for two years.

Call to prayer- The call to prayer at 5AM is one I could do without, but when evening is settling upon Bogo and people retreat to their homes the Imam comes on the loudspeaker at the Central Mosque. The city is silent for the most part as “Allah akbar” drifts across the neighborhoods. I'm obviously not muslim and have no attachment to it beyond just thinking it to be a very beautiful and calming sound.

Nighttime in Bogo- I was thumbing through a National Geographic a year or so ago and came across a satellite map of the world at night. The Eastern United States, Western Europe, parts of Asia, and many other urban centers around the world were illuminated and visible from space. My attention turned to Central Africa and it was amazing to see it in such a way. With the exception of perhaps Antarctica it is without a doubt one of the least artificially lit places on the globe. Douala and Yaounde, the two largest cities in Southern Cameroon barely show up. Northern Cameroon, Chad, and the Central African Republic are completely devoid of any light whatsoever. From here on the ground in Bogo it is evident, as the night sky is crystal clear. On nights when the moon is full a flashlight isn't even necessary.

Mama Akamba- There's one bar in Bogo. This has not been too much of a problem as it's a very traditional area where most of the population looks down upon alcohol consumption. Yet sometimes I just needed a beer and thankfully Mama Akamba is there to provide me with a cold one every now and again. To her I am 'mon fils' (my child). She is most certainly not from Bogo originally. She's about 300 pounds, has an anchor tattoo on her massive upper arm, and is usually laying outside the bar on a plastic mat trying to keep cool with a fan and a bottle of Beaufort Light. I doubt I will ever encounter a more welcoming or intriguing barkeep.

Djawe- If Bogo was my Shawshank Prison, and from time to time it did feel like I was doing time, then Djawe was Red, the man who knows how to get things. He's one hell of an entrepreneur. Most days he can be found working in his music shop. On the others he splits time between being a moto-taxi driver and a cameraman/deejay for local concerts, weddings, and other events. He knows everyone between Bogo and Maroua, and for two years he's been there to help me out with just about anything. Beyond all that he's helped out with, he's as good a friend as one could ask for. I don't want to be hyperbolic, but I'm convinced that he would at least consider laying across train tracks for me. Saying goodbye to him was probably the most difficult part of leaving Bogo. It's quite possible that I will one day find myself visiting Bogo again. It will be interesting to see what has happened to the seeds (literal and figurative) that I planted here through my work.

So that about does it for my time here. Tonight I'll be heading out of Cameroon for good. A few weeks in Europe with two fellow volunteers is on the agenda. Seeing as I have not a single article of winter clothing in my possession I went to the Ngaoundere market to the section where they sell secondhand clothing from Europe and America. Locals are often shocked by what we often just give away. After much haggling I was able to purchase a nearly brand new winter coat for 4000 francs ($8), and a few woolen beanies. That should help prevent exposure as a few friends and I take a less than direct route home.

Here's my itinerary before returning to the states on December 22:

Casablanca, Morocco

Frankfurt, Germany

Heidelberg, “

Konstanz, “

Basel, Switzerland

Lyon, France

Paris, “

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Thanks very much for letting me share my experiences with you over the past two years. I hope it was entertaining. I hope it was informative. I look forward to joining you back in the U.S. of A!!

It has taken me a little longer than expected to get this posted, but now it’s mom’s turn to describe the Cameroon trip! Ian already covered much of the week, so she’ll fill in with some of her own observations:

Since we’ve been back I’ve been trying to write something but I can’t seem to get my head around it all. It was truly an assault on the senses, so I think I’ll just take it from that angle.

Sights

We landed in Yaounde, got off the plane and before noticing the flat landscape dotted with mud huts I noticed the row of soldiers with weapons lining the side of the tarmac.

Daniel’s height makes him easy to spot in a crowd here at home, but in Cameroon he seems to be just average, if not a bit below! But the nice Irish skin tone made him impossible to miss!

The colors that stick in my mind are green (just at the end of the rainy season) and red brown dirt.

The markets just swell with color, from the colorful fabrics (pagne) to the spices, spilling over the stacked bowls on display.

Sounds

The call to prayer takes place five times a day. A male voice calls out “Allah Ahkbar”, business stops and our car pulls to the side of the road so the driver and our local companions can stop in at the local mosque. Focus is placed on the spiritual.

Little boys (it seems the girls have work to do even at a young age) following along beside us, calling out “Nassarra! Bonjour!” Speaking back to them elicited lots of laughter, on both sides.

Early morning cadence being called out by the training army guys near our hotel.

Booming music coming out of bars along the road in the city. Close your eyes, and you could be anywhere in the US, if not for the smells.

The sound of lizards running around over our heads on a tin roof at night. Don’t those things ever sleep??

The way Daniel’s friend, Oumarou Nassourou, spoke. He had a beautiful voice, a nice laugh, and always prefaced speaking to me with “Daniel’s mother”, as in “Daniels mother, do you like Cameroon?”

Smells

Spaghetti Omelette. Yep, that’s what I said. Take some cooked spaghetti, a really hot wok/frying pan, a kerosene fueled burner. Heat the pasta with some garlic and onions,add some local spice mixture, toss in a couple of fresh, slightly beaten eggs (really fresh - the chicken is sitting right there), cook the death out of it (seriously - no amoebas could survive that heat!).

A slight smoky smell as soon as the sun set. No food being cooked during daylight hours during Ramadan and at sunset the street Mamas start cooking all sorts of things. I didn’t usually smell the food, but the fires were fragrant. Everything we had with us smelled of the smoke for a little while after we left Cameroon.

I can honestly say that I relieved myself in more interesting places than I care to remember. But I did it, and survived!

Flying in our taxi through the streets on Yaounde on a Friday night (heading to the airport) we caught the most amazing smells of food cooking along the road and at many many roadside nightclubs (which consist of a palm roof or a tin roof on 4 poles, some colored strings of lights and booming music).

Touch

Well, I honestly tried to avoid touching much in Cameroon. and if I did touch things I was a little like Mr.Monk with his hand sanitizer wipes. But I managed to stay healthy for the most part! I can admit now that I’m back that I was feeling pretty poorly most of the time there - but hard to complain when your host has an acute case of malaria. And then I was told by Dan’s counterpart that the start of school would be delayed a few weeks because of the cholera outbreak. Talk about getting things in perspective

I did shake lots of hands, and I didn’t do the sanitizer thing then! People were warm, and genuinely interested in meeting Daniel’s parents.

I learned quickly not to touch things in the market. If something is touched, men appear out of the dark corners and begin to show everything in their booth. So I put my hands behind my back and just looked. Then they use the phrase “pleasure your eyes, lady, pleasure your eyes”.

Taste

The most exotic thing I tasted was Follere juice. It was dark red/purple and is made by boiling down the follere flowers and sweetening up and watering down the juice. It tasted like a cross between grape and blackcurrant juice.

Spaghetti Omelette from the night market was pretty tasty. I don’t know what spices were in it, but it hit the spot that night.

I’m trying to decide what my favorite part of this trip was. The kids were a highlight for me, and I didn’t mind them calling Nassarra out to us. At one point I took pictures of some little boys that had gathered around and they were having so much fun looking at their pictures on the camera. And I had so much fun showing them. (However, I did have to get them to put their hands behind their backs because they kept grabbing at the camera!). I liked meeting Dan’s fellow volunteers. I’ve been following some of their blogs and seeing them in person helped make their online news come to life. But I think the best part was meeting the people Daniel has been working with and seeing the impact he and all the other PCV’s there have had. I’m not going to get all mushy here and brag about Dan, and talk about Kennedy and the idea of the Peace Corps, and generally be a sappy mom. Daniel would just edit it anyway! I’ll probably never get back to Cameroon, but a few years ago I wasn’t even sure where it was. So who knows?

By Maeve Archibald

by Ian Archibald

Recently Maeve and I traveled to Cameroon for an adventure chaperoned by our son Daniel. On approaching Cameroon I thought we would be able to categorize our adventure into “the good, the bad, and the ugly.” A week later we emerged from the country with many wonderful experiences, especially remembering the many friends our son has connected with, both fellow Americans as well as local Cameroonians. In hindsight I think it would be more appropriate to think of our trip in terms of the amazing, the surprising, and the downright scary.

The Amazing:

-When your son has been away from home for two years in Africa your imagination has you concerned. Traveling with him to his village in the Extreme North region of Cameroon, we were amazed by the kind of reception and warm welcome we received. We did not get to meet all of Daniel's friends, but these people with very little to offer other than themselves and their hospitality were wonderful and engaging. We could learn some lessons here.

-Daniel's surroundings/living conditions could be best described as a low level Boy Scout camp with a roof. His recruiter at Peace Corps asked him before his departure in 2008 whether he was comfortable living in “sub standard housing.” He has clearly adapted well.

Inside Dan's House

The Backyard

-The Thursday “Grand Marche” was the highlight of our trip to Cameroon. This is the weekly market in Bogo. I think it is Cameroon's answer to Walmart. It's all here. Longhorn cows, goats of many shades, and chickens....yes, alive with their feet tied together sharing space on a long stick so they can be carried around...fast food of a sort. Bicycle parts, fabric, tailors to work with the fabric, fresh produce and meat, beds, spices by the wheelbarrow load. Everything you could possibly need you will find here.

Shopping around for some poultry

Local Tailors at work

Fabric for sale

The Bogo butchers

Spices

-Also, Cameroon boasts 32 oz bottles of beer for $1!!

-And who knew spaghetti omelets in the Bogo night market would taste that good?

-We didn't go on safari but we did visit a primate reclamation project which saves young primates whose parents have been killed by poachers for bush meat. Seeing lowland gorillas, baboons, chimpanzees, and several species of monkeys in a Jurassic Park-like enclosure was wonderful. The project is supported by the U.S. Government.

The Surprising:

-We traveled to Yaounde, Cameroon, via Brussels Airways and traveled internally to Maroua on a domestic carrier called Air Leasing. Forget the old cliches; these airlines were efficient, comfortable, and on time!

-It's really green in Cameroon in August. It was also in the 80's which was quite pleasant. Definitely some humidity, but still comfortable. And it rained everyday! Toto was correct.

-And how about $10 bottles of Bordeaux red wine?!?

-Daniel and I had an encounter with the hospital services in Cameroon. It was clean, efficient, and get this: 2 visits with the doctor, 3 lab tests and a prescription....total cost: $65. Total time: 2 hours! More on the reason for the visit later.

-The place is teeming with motorcycles. 90% of them are made in China. French colonialism may be gone, but look out for China in Africa.

Moto taxis going about their work in Maroua

A more traditional form of locomotion, en route to the Bogo market

And you won't find an inch of spare room in the vehicles

-Everyone has heard about AIDS in Africa. It is a very serious problem. However, outside the main cities, particularly in the Extreme North, I understand that it is not as common as in other areas of the country. Why? One explanation could be that these people are religious, and predominantly Muslim in the northern region of the country. The girls are typically married at a young age and stay within family units. Men pray up to 5 times daily and most seem very committed to their families, even if it includes more than one wife. On our way out of Cameroon we stayed briefly in a nice hotel room in Yaounde- complete with condoms in each bedside table!

-The women are dressed in the most beautiful, colorful outfits. Unfortunately that may be the best part about their life. If you looked closely they usually had an infant on their backs and a large load atop their head, all while doing their daily work.

The Downright Scary:

-Malaria and other bugs. Daniel had an acute case of malaria while we were visiting. Seeing your 27 year old athletic son start complaining about knee pain, then total body aching, and spiking fever (103.9) within 24 hours is scary. Fortunately the Peace Corps supplies emergency meds for this eventuality and it works. Despite this Daniel has lost 30 lbs during his time in Cameroon likely due to the microbiologic assault on his GI system. McDonalds quarter pound cheeseburgers await his return.

-My own experience is tame by comparison, but despite taking care to eat only cooked food, perhaps because I like being an adventurous eater, it only took a couple of days before a war commenced in my colon. The American choleforms vs. the Cameroonian choleforms. The American guys put up a good fight but things got gurgly. Cameroonian toilets can pose a challenge, trying to squirt into a 6” hole in the floor....well, you get the picture.

-Speaking of toilets, they don't exist outside of cities. Just a hole in the ground. Is it any wonder cholera rears its ugly head?

-Cameroonian cab drivers make their NYC equivalents look lame. There guys can go four abreast on a two lane highway without a second thought. Now, we live in North Carolina – better known as NASCAR nation due to the local driving habits. As a university student I drove city buses for income. I don't flinch too often, but Cameroonian cab drivers have no fear. It's all about getting the nose of your rundown jalopy in front of your neighbor and not letting up. Traffic circles are particularly interesting. While the U.S. has few of these they are very common around the world. The basic principle of the traffic circle is that as you approach you give way to any traffic in the circle. Thereby an orderly movement of traffic occurs. Not in Cameroon. You just charge into the traffic in the circle and play your own game of chicken, totally defeating the purpose of the circle. Not for the faint of heart. It was chaos.

-The foulest smell I encountered in Cameroon was not the septic system...or total lack. It was the fish section of the Grand Marche in Bogo. There was at least a dozen vendors selling smoked fish. It was the foulest stench you can imagine. Maybe that's where Asian fish sauce comes from!

Smoked fish, Mmmmm!

Some Final Thoughts:

We are very proud of the work our son has done. We met an older lady, Daniel's “Cameroonian mother,” who had benefited from his agricultural work. Due to Daniel's efforts in her orchard she was able to use the additional income it produced to make a pilgrimage to Mecca this year...for her a life changing event.

Daniel's friends Djawe Blawe and Oumarou Nassourou are hardworking, entertaining, and self educated people who are using every opportunity they have to improve their situation. They want a better life. No social security network in Cameroon!

Unfortunately the big picture in Africa is still bleak. The infrastructure is poor to nonexistent. Cellphone towers seem to be the only new construction anywhere. This brief exposure to Africa was enlightening. We urge all Peace Corps parents to make this trip. At no time did we feel unsafe in Cameroon (although we have heard from multiple sources to avoid Douala!). We are very glad we made the trip.

Dan and his friend Djawe in some striking Obama outfits

From left: Djawe, Baka, and Dan in Djawe's music and video store in the Bogo night market

Produce stand at the Marche Abatoire in Maroua

From left: Oumarou (Dan's counterpart), Maeve, our driver Saliou, and Ian

Saliou picking out his chicken on the road to Bogo

In Bogo with Dan's Cameroonian mother

Curious kids coming to check out the nassarras

Having a few $1 brews and grilled fish with some PCVs at the Auckland City Bar in Yaounde

Post Script

by Dan

To say that having my folks here for just over a week was enjoyable would be an understatement. I could ramble on about my life here to no end, and if you've read this blog before you'll know that I often do just that. Yet one really must see it to believe it and I'm immensely happy that they could do just that, even if it was only for a short time. With that said I think my mother will tell you that it was long enough, thank you very much!

I must applaud them for their bravado and adventurous spirit. I don't hesitate in saying that Cameroon is a wonderful place to live or just visit, but it is certainly not for the faint of heart. My old man took everything in stride, embraced the laidback nature of life here, and didn't have one single Type-A moment. And it's always nice to have someone around who shares my enthusiasm for giant $1 beers.

True to form, even despite the language barrier, my mother conversated with just about any Cameroonian within earshot. And Cameroonian vendors must have been forewarned about her presence in the country, as they seemed to instinctively know that she is a shopper of international renown. I think the fact that Ian and I kept all their currency in our wallets was the only thing keeping them from leaving with more stuff than they came with.

So thanks for coming...It was great having you here, and I hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was for me. My friends and colleagues that you had the opportunity to meet still ask how you are doing, and while you only spent a week with us here I'm sure they'll remember you fondly for a long time to come.

It's hard to believe but my time here in Cameroon is almost done. 79 days from now (not that I'm keeping track) I will depart this fine land, taking a quick detour through Europe with a few friends before arriving back in the U.S. shortly before Christmas.

It's a strange time in my Peace Corps service. My work has all but finished and there is really no time to begin new projects. People in Bogo are well aware of my imminent departure which throws up a whole host of difficulties (explained below). The group of volunteers that will replace us in December are scheduled to arrive in country in the next few days for training and come November that extremely lucky volunteer that has been chosen to replace me will visit Bogo for a week to get acquainted with what will become his or her new home. Furthermore I've recently tried to use the remainder of my vacation time to see as much of this lovely country as possible.

Kribi Beach Vacation, August 18-22

Kribi is a small beach town on the coast of Cameroon situated about 3 hours south of the capital, Yaounde. A group of us spent some time there this past month and it was a greatly needed respite from village life (although it was most likely where I contracted my recent case of malaria). For four days we lounged around at a small hotel right on the beach. Swimming around in the rough surf and having bonfires on the beach occupied most of our time. The only reason to leave the peaceful confines of our hotel was to make a daily trek into town where at the central harbor fishermen sold whatever catch they had brought in that morning. And right next to the fish market were numerous 'mamas' who, for a small fee, would cook up whatever we had purchased in their grills (old truck wheels) with a delicious ginger/garlic/hot sauce blend. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten seafood yet in the span of just 3 days I gorged myself on heaps of shrimp, whitefish, lobster, stingray and shark. Making up for lost time never tasted so good.

COS Conference, August 23-27

The Peace Corps recently hosted our group of volunteers at the Mount Febe Hotel in Yaounde for our Close of Service(COS) conference. The purpose of the COS conference is to begin the arduous task of completing all the paperwork that is required from a volunteer before he/she can leave the country. It is no small task and will require a large portion of my free time over the next few months. Aside from the endless administrative checklist COS conference is also an opportunity for volunteers to reflect upon the past two years, make sense of the past two years (not as easy as it sounds), begin thinking about the transition back to the United States or wherever else one might go, and provide feedback to Peace Corps staff on how the program could be improved upon.

Sure these are all extremely important things to do prior to departure. But what is the most important aspect of the COS conference, you ask? That would be the fact that for one week Peace Corps puts us up in one of the nicest hotels in Yaounde for a week where we eat western food buffet style three meals a day. Keep in mind that we are talking about volunteers, most of whom have been out in the bush eating sandy cous cous and leaf sauce for the past two years. To be quite honest I think the Mount Febe staff are shocked by how dozens of Americans who have been out in the bush for extended periods react to such nice accomodations. Then again they have dealt with the Peace Corps COS conference twice a year for many years (I've been told that we are no longer welcome at the Yaounde Hilton). To give another example I can count on one hand the number of warm showers I've had since September 2008. That was of course before I spent a week at the Mount Febe, where I believe I was averaging 2-3 warm showers a day in addition a nightly jump in the frigid pool. Preparation for the polar bear swims I plan to take in Mom and Dad's pool in Charlotte this December. Don't drain it for the winter!

A trip to the border

Another, less enjoyable excursion was my recent one night visit to the border with Nigeria in the North of the country. And no I did not cross over. I have no desire to be stuck in Nigeria. Seeing the border crossing however was very humorous. I set up in an auberge in the Cameroonian town of Amchide (Am-chee-day), which shares the border with the Nigerian town of Banki (Bunk-ee). The Amchide nightclub was surprisingly nice. I was half expecting some bizarre African version of that gunrunner bar on Tatooine in Star Wars. And I'm sure Michael Jackson would have been proud to know that on this particular night the DJ pumped 'Billie Jean' on the Cameroon/Nigeria border no less than six times.

Luckily the trip was uneventful. But long story short, barring an unforeseen need for smuggled weapons or petrol I won't be returning to Amchide anytime soon. I stepped in human feces a total of three times in 18 hours, the city streets are littered in filth, Nigerian beer isn't all that tasty, and people just generally seem far more shady and likely to relieve me of my possessions.

Parting is such sweet sorrow

December 3 is officially my last day in Cameroon. I'll most likely be leaving Bogo a week or two before in late November. Some volunteers have had big parties and lots of drawn out goodbyes before leaving. Others have not said a thing of their departure and then one day just vacate the premises to avoid all the attention. I can understand both approaches but I will be aiming for something in the middle of the two. When there is too much fanfare some people often try to take advantage of the situation and get anything they can out of the volunteer (Money or basically anything in the house that isn't nailed down). On the flip side when someone just leaves without saying a word people will most likely be very offended, and rightly so in my mind.

Click here to read an interesting way to go about solving this problem. Notice the lovely hat that PCV Brian Hillery is wearing in the photos as he sells the wares of departed volunteers.

So when I do leave, my friends and colleagues will most certainly know about it. I'll miss many people here very much. For two years they have treated me with unceasing hospitality. I honestly don't know that I want to spend anymore time as a volunteer in Bogo, but that doesn't go to say that it hasn't been a fantastic town to call home. When they ask me "so what are you doing with your TV/fridge/stove/bed/rugs/books/buckets/chairs/tables?," unfortunately for them I will tell them that its up to the person that replaces me. I would feel like a jerk if I let my house get ransacked and the new volunteer shows up to an empty house. And if he or she wants to have a yard sale upon arriving in Bogo (preferably while wearing funny hats) more power to 'em.

Hundreds die of cholera in Nigeria, Cameroon (CNN)

Cholera Concerns Increase as Children Head Back to School in Cameroon (Voice of America)

New Cameroon Airlines To Start Commercial Flights Next March (Nasdaq.com)

Belgian ship attacked in Cameroon (BBC)

Cameroon begins search for seized vessels (Independent Online)

Cameroon hopes Brazil project will boost cocoa output (Reuters)

Cameroon president sacks police chief, security head (Associated Press)

Cameroon Govt., Expatriates Meet To Improve Business Climate (Wall Street Journal)

Cameroon appoint ex-Spain coach Clemente (ESPN)

Cholera outbreak kills 200 in Cameroon (CNN International)

China Cancels XAF2.1 Billion Of Cameroon's Debt (Wall Street Journal)

Cameroon's Government Welcomes Human Rights Research Mission (Voice of America)

Cameroon journalist fights deportation (The Guardian)

I recently received a comment asking what type of work I'm doing here in Northern Cameroon. I often ask myself that same exact question. After an hour or so of intermittent headaches and daydreaming about coldcut sandwiches and washing machines (two separate day dreams, although eating a turkey sandwich while my clothes are being put through the cycles sounds pretty awesome), I come to some conclusion on what I've done and what I hope continues here. To give you an idea my work schedule involves the following:

Mango Orchards:

-# of Orchards I work with: 10-15

-What do we do? In collaboration with L'Institut de Recherchement Agricole pour le Developpement (IRAD), a Cameroonian governement agency, we have treated numerous orchards in the Bogo area against destructive insect and fungus infestations with surprising success. Orchards that had not given fruit in almost two to three years began producing again; the reason being that the pesticides we used (dangerous but biodegradable) allowed the trees to produce flowers in December and January unfettered. In the past the pests would typically consume any flowers the trees had sprouted, hence making it impossible for any fruit production. Almost all of the local orchards were originally in complete disrepair and this will need a few more seasons of solid improvement to be seen as a success. Despite the challenges they face the local orchard owners have eagerly adopted the treatment process to the point that an outside development worker is no longer needed to oversee it.

-Here are a few other techniques that I've discussed with the owners that can help them keep their orchards healthy and productive:

Natural fertilizers- Bogo is a cattle town. The market on Thursday is one of the largest in the region for herders, not to mention that many families have their own cows. When one is butchered the horns are just about the only part of the animal that isn't used by anyone, save for a few enterprising artisans. Cow horns are full of nutrients and the sandy soil in Bogo is not. Placing these excess horns around the trunks of mango trees during the rainy season can give those trees many of the nutrients they need to stave off infection and hopefully produce better. It is not only cheap but also extremely effective. A Peace Corps volunteer stuck in a village with next to no resources, such as myself, looks to these types of simple things to make some type of difference.

Overgrafting- This would be filed under the category of things I really want to do but the information to do it is simply not available as far as I know. Many of these orchards are 30-40 years old. As a result, most of the mango trees are far past their prime years of fruit production. Most owners are hesitant to cut down a 50 foot mango tree, plant a seedling in its place and then wait another 3-5 years for it to produce. I don't blame them. This ain't an easy place to grow a tree. Hungry livestock, brutal dry spells and branch breaking winds can all cause a lot of problems for a seedling trying to take a permanent hold. Instead of cutting down these behemoths and starting from square one I've suggested another idea that was suggested to me by an IRAD director who is a specialist with fruit trees and, unluckily, has since been transferred to another post. Actually one would still cut the older trees down but only to just above the trunk. If the tree was still alive at the time it was cut down it should begin sprouting new branches. Selecting three branches that have sprouted on the trunk, one would then graft a small branch of another healthy and productive tree to them. If the graft takes, in about two seasons that old tree will once again be producing fruit at a much higher rate. Its a technique that is used frequently in commercial orchards but has yet to show up in this neck of the woods. Unfortunately it may be too late for me to undertake such a project but with my experience over the past few years and the contacts that I've collected my replacement could potentially do some really cool stuff.

Diversification- During mango season I can go to the Bogo market and buy a pile of three or four large and deliciously sweet mangoes for about 200-250 francs (30-50 cents). Many of the orchards here sell their fruit in Maroua and even as far away as Chad, but the prices do not get much better. I've told them how much one mango would sell for in an American supermarket and their eyes nearly fell out of their head. At this point we are light years away from providing you and yours with delicious Northern Cameroonian mangoes, so I've suggested that we look into replacing non-productive mango trees with other species that, while not producing as impressively as a healthy adult “manguier,” command a much better price in the local markets and are not nearly as time consuming to care for. Papaya, citrus, anacardium (cashew), and guava trees all fit the bill for this region and climate.

Organization- When I began visiting orchards back in 2009 it was like listening to a broken record. “My wells have collapsed.” “The trees are sick.” “The trees no longer produce.” “The animals keep eating my new trees.” “My orchard guardian is a useless drunk and sleeps through bandits stealing all the fruit during the night.” The last statement was only voiced by one orchard owner but too good to omit. As an aside, I wonder if its worse to be the guy who is too drunk off millet beer to protect the orchard or the guy whose trade in life is 'fruit bandit.' Back to the point, it became obvious that power in numbers could be extremely beneficial for these folks. Discussing problems they all have, finding possible solutions, sharing success/failure stories, pooling resources for larger projects, etc. Almost like a support group for Bogo orchard owners. If the government paperwork allows for it I want to call it Orchards Anonymous. Your 12 step program towards having kick ass fruit.

Tree Nurseries (Peppinieres)

-# of Nurseries I work with: 5

-What do we do? Every year, I work with local tree nurseries to germinate, grow and transplant as many trees as possible in the Bogo area. Many of them are fruit trees but there are also numerous forestry species. Not only do they improve soil fertility but they also provide fodder for animals, firewood for families, protection of fields from wind, products for local medicine men, and lumber for carpenters.

Reforestation- I don't have hard facts on how the environment in this area of the world has been and is changing. I don't know the annual rainfall or its fluctuations. I've only been here for two years and have no idea what the fertility of the soil was like decades ago. What I do know is that over hot tea, cous-cous and sauce, old men have told me about how they remember when there used to be forests in the Extreme North of Cameroon. While Bogo is still on the periphery of the fight against deforestation in Africa, the brutal truth is that the Sahara desert is upon us and encroaching. One thing I do know is that when I'm working in the fields and it is three thousand degrees outside, the shade of a nice tree makes it so that it is only two thousand nine hundred and eighty degrees. Planting a trees is good..I think that's something we can all agree on so let's leave it at that

Intercropping- This technique involves planting trees in a field where crops are also being grown. Many trees that grow well in the dry sandy conditions here also give back a great deal of nutrients to the soil, whether be it by the leaves that fall onto the ground or the nutrients that their root systems provide. By planting certain trees in one's field, over time a noticeable improvement in soil fertility will be evident.

Live Fencing- Many of the species that grow well here in the Sahel are trees that have very small leaves and are extremely thorny. These trees can be extremely useful when trying to protect a field of crops from animals. Imagine you have a field full of corn, millet, manioc, peanuts, beans, whatever. You'd like to protect this field from outside invaders but metal fencing is simply too expensive for most small scale African farmers. Instead, on the border around a field one can plant thorny trees 50-60cm apart. When they reach a certain height cut them down part of the way and they will begin to grow outwards, joining together to form a thorny, living barrier that can protect whatever it is you have in your field.

Income Generating- While many people that have begun tree nurseries in Bogo are altruistic individuals in many ways, the number one reason they do it is to make extra money. Your average forestry tree in Bogo will sell for 100 francs each (fruit trees, depending on the species, sell anywhere from 300-1500 francs). 100 francs is only about 25 cents, but when you are selling thousands of trees, 25 cents can add up. Currently I work with a couple nurseries that are already well established. One of them produces as many as 20,000 fruit and forestry trees a year. With these nurseries I mainly focus on experimenting with new species that could be beneficial. They have the wiggle room to mess around with new seeds that could potentially be useful in the future. As for the nurseries that I myself have established we work on a much smaller scale and mainly with trees that are tried and true in this environment. To give an example, this year I provided the inputs for two nurseries of 1,000 trees each . A plastic watering can is 4,000 francs. Plastic pots for 1,000 trees is roughly 10,000 francs. Seeds are free if you go out in the bush and find them, but I also put down about 3,000 francs for seeds that I knew were good quality. All said and done I spent about 17,000 francs ($28) to start a 1,000 tree nursery. The main expense are the plastic pots and having enough seeds to see that they are all filled by the end of the season when its time to sell. Currently the person managing the tree nursery stands to make about 75000-100000 francs ($150-200) when we sell the trees to clients that want them for their homes or fields. The gentleman who began the nursery had no way to spare the initial 17,000 francs to start it. However after this planting season he will take the money that he has made, pay me back, set aside a small amount for his family, and then place about 35,000 francs in a village savings account. Next year when it is time to begin the tree nurseries again, considering he still has his trusty watering can and knows where to get most of his seeds in the bush he'll have the money in his savings account to create at the least a 2,000-3,000 tree nursery. Keep in mind that this is not his principal means of income. He'll harvest his crops, keep some to sell when the price is right, save the rest to feed his family for (ideally) the year, but then once again be close to broke this time next year. We've gone over the numbers for the next few years, and if he sticks to it there is no reason why he cannot be doing close to 20,000 trees in five years. Tree nurseries can be lucrative but by no means a full time job. Yet if managed well they can be incredibly beneficial in supplementing the meager income that most families subsist on here year in and year out.

Experimental Gardens/Crop Introduction

In addition to the activities explained above, I've also planted numerous crops/veggies/herbs with which the locals are often unfamiliar. Much of this stems from my own curiosity but is also intended to find food crops that grow well in the dry climate and perhaps add to the diversity and nutrition the local diet. It is rarely successful, but for me its extremely interesting to see what works and what doesn't. To give an example, last year I tried 10-15 new varieties and/or species in local gardens. Out of all those, a mere three actually grew and produced well: Soybeans, butternut squash, and cilantro. This season we are trying another dozen or so food crops for their resistance to drought and/or their high nutrition value. A few examples of this year's trials: Quinoa, amaranth, marama beans, and forage peanuts (animal fodder) to name a few. I imagine that much like last year many of the crops will not adjust to the climate, but there is always the possibility that one or two of them could do well and perhaps over time become a useful source of nutrition.

I've been enjoying scattered storms and milder temperatures since June, so now at midday as I write this its only 90 degrees. Standing on my porch and watching a storm come in over the horizon is a favorite activity of mine. 8 months of unrelenting sun makes dark gray clouds a welcome sight. The wind comes first to stir up the hot, dry air and almost immediately the temperature plunges. A few moments later the rain announces its arrival conspicuously, pinging loudly on my tin roof. The rhythm persists for a few minutes, and then as if someone flicked a switch, the deluge begins. The storms often come and go within an hour. While the temperatures remain pleasant the sun reappears immediately afterwards and one can almost feel it sucking the moisture back up.

Last week I was on my porch eagerly awaiting what I've just described. The wind started to stir as usual and the mercury began to drop. The approaching clouds looked extremely nasty. Typically nothing more than a dark gray band pushes through without much fuss. Only these clouds were black in color and were piled far up into the sky. The rain began and fell as it usually does: a downpour but by no means something to be overly concerned about. The wind was what concerned me most. I will often stay on my porch and enjoy the cool spray of the wind and rain, but on this day I was more worried about getting knocked over the head by a flying tree branch, goat, small child, etc.

Closing my doors and retreating into my house I could barely hear myself think. The rain on the roof can be deafening, but the gale winds added to it and created an almost unbearable cacaphony. Add to that the sound of breaking glass and twisting metal outside and I began to contemplate which part of my house was the best area to crouch down in.

Gladly the storm passed quickly as they often do. I stepped outside to assess the damage and was pleased to see that my house was still intact. The breaking glass? Two soda bottles on my porch that were pushed off by the wind. The twisted metal? Luckily not my actual house, but the shed in the back of my yard. Its tin roof had been peeled back as if it were a can of beans.

In the end power was cut to Bogo for nearly three weeks with over thirty downed power poles in the central town alone, and numerous flooded streets. Many trees had fallen and a few houses were no longer in one piece. Lots of cleaning up to do but miraculously there were no injuries. The death toll was limited to two unlucky cows.

The next day I was at the Bogo market and people were discussing the storm, saying nothing like that had been through the town for almost forty years. I stopped by the boutique where I bought the sodas with the intention of giving the owner money for the broken bottles. Explaining that they broke the day before I handed him 500 francs for the two bottles. He refused to take the money, saying “Non non non. C'est Dieu qui a fait ça,” meaning God was responsible for the broken bottles. Good to know that the neighborhood boutiques have return policies on merchandise broken by angry deities, yet the big man upstairs would be none too pleased to learn that I'm running up his tab in the Bogo market.

-The one bar in Bogo, Chez Akamba, has been struggling with a broken refrigerator for the past month. I just wrote that sentence explaining a major issue in my life and suddenly realized that said phrase contained two major issues. No cold beer is to be found in Bogo right now. That in itself is not acceptable but above I said “the one bar in Bogo.” That's a travesty and I'll congratulate myself for staying muted for so long. One bar in a city of tens of thousands???

-Bogo Cup 2010- That's right, the 2010 Coupe de Bogo began in July and was scheduled to continue into early September. Before continuing I'll say that Ramadan started this Wednesday and the Cup was not yet finished. Not eating or drinking all day in desert heat is not conducive to athletic endeavors. Furthermore, an unrelated tournament in Maroua was underway and many of the top players from our neck of the woods were on the road doing their best to do Bogo proud. As a result I believe the Cup has been put on hold if not canceled. The tourney in Bogo had reached the semifinal round and as expected the lads of Auxerre Marouaré, the 2009 defending champs, were still in the mix and waiting to square off against either the infamous Sararé FC, the hopeful Carlos squad or the fashionable newcomers of Boraἲ village. Personally I have no qualms about playing football during Ramadan. These young men, most of whom have worked manually for most of their lives and have had little other than football as a diversion are a handful to play against to say the least. Even with severely low blood sugar they'll probably still have a leg up on me, but at this point I'll take any advantage I can get!

Every month I spend a few days in our regional capital in the Extreme North, Maroua. A number of reasons bring me to town: Banking, visiting local NGO offices, socializing with fellow volunteers, going to the hospital to find out what’s residing in my stomach or growing on my feet, etc.

Not to bad mouth Bogo, an excellent town in its own right, but when I arrive in Maroua I often feel refreshed. Paved roads, internet, cold drinks and western toilets…I’m easy to please these days. Perhaps most important however is the cuisine available to me in Maroua. Eating in Bogo on a typical day usually consists of some combination of omelettes, spaghetti, onions, grilled beef, beef stew, spicy dried beef, and assorted other cow parts. Remember Bubba’s spiel about shrimp in Forest Gump? I could now do that exact same thing in relation to cows.

I’ll spare you that for the moment and get to the point. After weeks in Bogo, most of the time without any substantial vegetable of any kind, I’ll arrive in Maroua with a craving for anything that offers a little variety in taste and nutrition. While you all may think that I suffer immensely here I must reiterate that it is simply not the case. You’ll understand better after reading the dining review below of the thriving metropolis that is Maroua.

Belle Vie Restaurant

To start I’ll say that while it is a nice family run establishment, the atmosphere suffers when Junior, the chef’s toddler, is on the rampage in and around the restaurant. When he’s not busy soiling himself on the sidewalk outside or in the middle of the actual restaurant, Junior spends his time harassing the customers and his busy parents. With that said, I am all for putting the little terror on a leash. Yet while I’ve listed all the restaurants in no particular order I would say that this fine establishment, Junior aside, is my top pick any day of the week. Mixed salads, curries, a delicious chicken basquaise, and fish brochettes were some of the highlights. And with all dishes in the neighborhood of 1000-2000 francs ($2-4), someone on a volunteer’s salary can eat pretty well. These staples are still on the menu, but the chef has recently added ham, cheese, sausage and veggie sandwiches to the menu. I know that doesn’t sound all that amazing to you, but I assure you it is a major development in our standard of living here. I believe the normal Human Development Index (HDI) used by international organizations is a mixed measure of life expectancy, education and per capita GDP in any given country. Yet until “availability of ham & cheese sandwiches” is added as a fourth element of the HDI, I think we’ll just be lost in the woods as a society.

Cafeteriat Abdurahman

As far as the food, this place isn’t something to write home about. Greasy beefsteak, bread and French fries is about the extent of it. Despite the lack of decent grub Cafeteriat makes a fruit smoothie that is out of this world. Depending on the season one can get any mix of mango, guava, papaya, banana, pineapple and citrus. Some (including yours truly) have taken to calling them dysentery shakes, and if you saw the fly-ridden table where the fruit is cut and blended you would understand why. Yet I can’t think of one time when my intestinal woes could be traced back to Abdurahman. Then again, perhaps I’m just in denial that something so delicious could be harmful in any way.

Mammale Allaitante/Cheese GIC

This place gets bonus points for having “Lactating Mammal” as their name. The reason for this odd title begins with the formation of a community group that produces milk, yoghurt and cheeses at this location with the aid of an Italian organization. Their dairy products have always been immensely popular, especially among expats, and it was only a matter of time before a restaurant was opened on the same site. Today one can order tomato and mozzarella salad, personal pizzas, cheesesteak, homemade ice cream and tiramisu and many other daily specials. After a long difficult stint in Bogo, this restaurant is usually the perfect pick me up.

Niam Niam Glou Glou

This has never been much of a dinner joint, but when the oppressive heat sometimes lifts enough to allow for a more substantial lunch the burger and fries here hits the spot. For somewhere around three bucks one can get a “Hamburger McDonalds style” and fries. I would say this place actually beats McDonalds. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t kill someone for a double quarter-pounder with cheese right now (you think I’m kidding…throw in an apple pie and vanilla milkshake and I’ll kill two people), but McDonalds style here is a fresh roll, spiced and seasoned ground beef, cheese, ketchup, mayo and olives. It may not have that same glorious mix of artificial flavors, pure fat and sodium, but the freshness is hard to beat.

Restaurant Le Noumou

At first I really liked this place. The prices were a bit steep, but it puts out good food and is a nice change every once in a while. I believe they make more money off of catering and opening their massive courtyard to weddings and parties. This might explain why most times when I come in looking for a good sandwich or a plate of steak poivre blanc they look at me as if surprised that I’ve come to their restaurant to order food. I place my order with one of the half dozen employees with nothing to do in the empty restaurant and they take it back to the kitchen. About fifteen minutes later another employee will walk by briskly and exit restaurant, returning shortly with all ingredients for whatever I’ve just ordered. After that its only another 2 hours of sipping on overpriced drinks before the food is actually ready.

Relais de Porte Mayo

When I sit at a table on this restaurant/hotel’s patio with the tree cover and ambient lighting I forget where I am. It is fine dining at its best (in Cameroon), and the prices on the menu reflect that. A volunteer couldn’t exactly afford this place on a regular basis. Spending upwards of 10,000 francs on a meal is hard to justify when equal quantities of delicious (but less so) food can be found for fractions of the price. It’s nice every once in a while and once I start tearing apart the Roquefort salad, mango duck, spaghetti carbonara or banana split my brain shuts down and all cerebral functions not required for shoving food into my mouth are temporarily disabled. Then the plates are empty and I cry a tear of joy for those few minutes of gastronomical bliss.

Cameroon farmers doubt elephant chilli ball idea (BBC)

Cameroon capital introduces strict anti-begging measures (BBC)

Cameroon seeks help to boost use of solar power (Reuters)

Cameroon to Mine Gold From Site of Planned Reservoir Before It's Submerged (Bloomberg)

Cameroon denies homosexuals face persecution (BBC)

Pius Njawé, Noted African Journalist, Dies at 53 (New York Times)

In July 2009 I asked readers to send me any burning questions they may have about any aspect of my life/work in Cameroon. After receiving some excellent questions I answered them to the best of my ability in this post.

I feel as though it's now a good time to do it again. The reason being is that as strange as it is to admit it, life in Cameroon feels almost absolutely normal to me. Things that seemed exciting or bizarre in the first year are now feeling like just a part of the everyday. Nowadays it's very interesting to meet visitors that have just arrived and hear them talk about their initial impressions of the country. They have many of the same opinions and reactions that I once had to this culture, and they will often bring a fresh perspective; seeing the forest through the trees, so to speak.

So with that said what do you want to know on the topic of all things Cameroon? Believe me, I haven't run out of items to talk to you about. Far from it as this place never ceases to amaze. But seeing as you've taken time out of your day to read this blog, take a minute or two and leave a question on the 'Comments' section of this entry or send me a question at darchibaldpccam@yahoo.com. And if I receive any I'll be sure to respond to them in a future post. Thanks for reading and take care for now.

Algeria coach wants more African coaches (Associated Press)

Cameroon wins UN praise for corruption crackdown (Associated Press)

10 mln fear worst as Sahel faces new food crisis Associated Press)

Illegal Trade Threatens Grey Parrots in Cameroon (Associated Press)

Cameroon tensions pose risk of conflict (Reuters)

Cameroon Destroys Pigs Amid Outbreak of Swine Fever (Bloomberg)

45 killed in Cameroon bus accident (Associated Press)

World Cup USA, Russia v. Sweden, July 1994

Nearly sixteen years ago my father took one of my sisters and I to a World Cup match at the Pontiac Sivlerdome in Detroit, MI. We were on vacation visiting family in Ohio and we made the jaunt to the motor city to catch a group match of the 1994 USA World Cup. For a ten year old American who had played soccer since the age of 5 the idea of seeing a match that didn't promise orange slices at halftime was foreign. Seeing a stadium packed with sixty thousand fans who weren't parents or kin was also a bit mind blowing. The 1994 World Cup held in the US may have been a bit premature for the American public at large, but I had already been playing this sport for a few years despite the heckling from kids at school who were convinced that soccer was for queers. I always found it strange that the most popular and one of the more physically demanding sports in the world was considered queer in my neck of the woods. Kicking a ball with one's feet across a field the size of Rhode Island? Apparently homoerotic. Men's wrestling? Inexplicably revered.

The first few years that I played this foreign game made for immigrants and communists (another popular slander) I was more interested in the bugs that I could find in the soil of the field than I was in the game going on around me. My old man coached the “Clifton Forge Force” youth soccer team. At about 5 or 6 years old I was put on the under 8's, the youngest age group at that point. I don't remember much about these games but I do remember vividly that when I was 5 years old, 7 and 8 year olds looked like they were on steroids. I doubt they were juicing, but picture yourself as a young boy on a field of play with an also young but much larger boy bearing down on you wearing cleats.

In my first soccer experiences, I can only imagine that I as a 5 year old reasoned that taking them on in athletic pursuits could only end poorly. In the interest of self preservation I took no interest in the game around me and instead focused on the bugs I could find in the grass. The first year or so of my soccer career consisted of my father or another coach looking over me speaking in a very Charlie Brown-esque “wah-wah-wah” tone in which I can only imagine that they were not explaining the local flora and fauna of the field.

Back to the Pontiac Silverdome in 1994: a stadium packed to the rafters on this day with rowdy Swedes and Russians. Not exactly the marquee game of the tournament but for these two countries national pride is on the line. I can imagine that no self respecting Swede would want to carry the burden of losing to a bunch of commies, and I doubt Mother Russia has any intention of losing to a band of lousy Scandinavians. We take our seats on the middle deck. Down below the Swedish fans, decked out in blue and yellow, are doing their best to make the entire stadium collapse.

I remember very little of the game itself. That's not to say that it wasn't entertaining, but the excitement and tension in the stadium is like nothing I had ever witnessed. With the game under way it was obvious that Sweden was the better team and Russia looked to just be delaying the inevitable breakdown as long as possible. The lower level of the stadium on the opposite side of the field was a rowdy sea of blue and yellow flags held up by people dressed and painted in the same colors. They were probably visible from space, and in case they were not conspicuous enough they filled the place with unbelievably loud and well synchronized chants.

Deep into the match and Sweden has owned every bit of the game. Its 2-0 in Swedens's favor and in the late minutes their star striker of that tournament, Martin Dahlen, puts one home to make it 3-0. Game, set, match. Unfortunately the Russian guy in front of us has had enough. He stands up and takes out his frustrations by pouring his entire beer on the head of a Swedish woman in front of him who had the audacity to stand up and clap when Sweden scored their third and final goal. I thought we were in the calm section of the stadium but this Russian guy just took things to another level. Unfortunately for him this was a sporting event that was taking place in the U.S.

We Americans love us some sports. I've been to some very contentious games in various sports and at various talent levels and despite the tensions between opposing fans I've rarely seen anyone get truly out of hand. The only exception would be a minor league hockey game in Roanoke, VA, I went to with my U-14 soccer team as a reward for our stellar season. A teammate and friend of mine punched an older girl behind us. Let's be honest; at minor league hockey they basically drop the puck and immediately afterwards drop their gloves so I would argue that its not a place to take young boys full of teenage angst and rage. In his defense she was being a massive “B” at the time.

So when Boris Badinov chose to dump his beer all over the Swedish lady in front of him, it took about .5 seconds for Detroit's finest to descend upon him and whisk him away to what I can only imagine was a very animated discussion of the fact that he had just assaulted someone on foreign soil. Russia got their ass handed to them in that game so I can only infer that the Russian embassy was flush with calls that evening about their citizens being detained in the Detroit metro area as a result of misdirected fits of rage.

A crisis of loyalties

As I write this 32 countries who have qualified have arrived in South Africa for the 2010 World Cup. Supporting the United States is a no brain-er. And this year you could honestly say that we have a team capable of making a deep run in the tournament. Our first three games are against England (today!), Algeria and Slovenia. No disrespect to Algeria or Slovenia, but we should qualify from our group and be in the mix later on in the tournament. A victory over the Brits in our first game would be especially sweet. We play England this evening and I have traveled to Maroua where there is a bar with a projection screen outside. I am clad in a button down shirt and pants made out of Barack Obama fabric courtesy of my mother, and my friend from village is decked out in the same ensemble. I'm pretty certain that we look absolutely ridiculous, but I've seen more bizarre outfits and costumes worn by sports fans. Its possible that there will be a large American flag on hand as well, so I expect that we'll be a spectacle out of the ordinary from the normal bar patrons on match days. I ask any self respecting American reading this right now to watch the U.S.A vs. England match later on regardless of your interest in soccer. It's on a Saturday so you have absolutely no excuse. Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond are probably open on Sunday, so sit your behind in front of the nearest TV around 10 or 11AM EST.

Over the past week I've been lobbying Cameroonians hard to get behind the United States for our game against England. It's not difficult. Most Cameroonians watched the Confederations Cup last summer when we beat Spain (#2 in the world) 2-0, and came close to beating Brazil (#1) in the final. After seeing a team like the United States, talented but by no means in the elite, take on and beat some of the best we've won many admirers in this country. Athletic, organized and capable of an upset, I dare say that the U.S. could go far this year.

Les Lions Indomptables

I enjoy watching African teams at the World Cup as well. They play fast and physical in a way that can be overwhelming for opponents. It's an interesting mix of innate attacking skill, tenacity in midfield, and total defensive chaos that defies comprehension. Yet win or lose, a match involving an African side usually promises entertainment. Being here in Cameroon I feel I now have a vested interest in an African team's success at the tournament that I've never felt towards any team other than the USA.

How is Cameroon going to fare? They are in a tough group with the Netherlands, Denmark and Japan and qualification to the next round is no guarantee. Netherlands is by far the best team of the group. Cameroon on its best day could get second place and just maybe contest Netherlands for first place. On their average day, which has been all too common recently, they would most likely get embarrased by all three teams. Unfortunately Cameroon has been frustratingly inconsistent as of late. They had an unusual amount of trouble qualifying for the tournament playing lesser teams such as Togo, Morocco, and neighbors Gabon. I have great hopes for them, but I always wonder when watching them when the meltdown is going to occur.

Yet Cameroon is arguably the most illustrious team in Africa. They were the first nation in Africa to get to the quarter-finals of the World Cup (in 1990) which is no small feat. They've won the African Cup of Nations numerous times, and claimed Olympic Gold at the 2000 games in Sydney. One of the more memorable moments of all World Cups has to be from their amazing quarter final run in 1990. Roger Milla was Cameroon's hero as they beat a number of more illustrious teams, including defending champs Argentina. He scored numerous goals and after each one he would sprint to the nearest corner flag and dance around it in celebration.

Unfortunately, the other recent World cups in '94, '98 and '06 (they didn't qualify in 2002) have been extremely disappointing for Cameroon. Each time they've been unceremoniously knocked out in the group stages and left their countrymen wanting more. If they qualify from their group this year I'd say that would be enough to keep people in this country from rioting and setting things on fire. Anything less than making it to the 2nd round would be a disappointment. However it all comes down to Samuel Eto'o, the most well known Cameroonian player. I want to say he is the hero of Cameroon but in truth, lesser players (Roger Milla) have done more for Cameroon in the past than this uber-talented individual. Spending most of his professional football career at FC Barcelona and just this past season at Internazionale Milan, he's won the Champion's League 3 times. Eto'o is among the greatest to ever play the game by winning this competition 3 times while playing a crucial role with every team he's ever won it with. In short he has been absolutely unstoppable for any professional team he has ever represented. The only problem is that Samuel Eto'o is inexplicably quiet when he plays for Cameroon. The entire Cameroonian nation, through all the day to day hardship and nonsense they endure, place many of their emotions into the successes and failures of their team. For their sake I hope “Les Lions Indomptables” step up to the plate this time around and give them something to cheer about. Either way the country will probably take to the streets. I'd just prefer they take to the streets waving the national flag and not pitchforks and torches.

Samuel Eto'o is by no means the only big name player on Cameroon's national squad. There are players who play at some of the best professional clubs in Europe: England, Italy, Spain, France, Germany, and throughout countless other countries across the globe. Cameroonians are scattered about the professional ranks of these nations and are often at the most talented clubs and playing integral roles. The only question is if they can come together as a nation and put their individual successes and professional athlete persona's aside and make an effort to cause some upsets. “On est ensemble” (We are together) is a popular phrase in this country. Here's to hoping they personify it in on the field in South Africa.

And then there were 3

If splitting my loyalties amongst two teams wasn't hard enough, this World Cup has presented me with a third nation that merits my support. By some miracle New Zealand has qualified for the tournament this year. New Zealand booked their ticket to South Africa by beating juggernauts such as Fiji, Samoa and Bahrain. If you play the numbers and look at who New Zealand has to play in the World Cup you'll know they are up a creek without a paddle.

The kiwis find themselves with matches against Italy, Paraguay and Slovakia. Italy are the defending World Cup champions and have won the tournament five or six times. Paraguay, to qualify for the World Cup, had to play against the likes of Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Colombia, etc. They are no pushovers. I really have no idea about Slovakia, but if they qualified from the European continent that tells me that they are a tough team. If New Zealand even scores a goal in their first three matches I'll be pleased. I mean no disrespect. Besides I imagine they are more concerned with the Rugby World Cup taking place on their home soil next year.

One thing I must state before we move on is to explain why NZ is actually in the World Cup in the first place. A few years ago, Australia's soccer team (the “Socceroo's,”...hows that for a lame moniker?) moved from the Oceania region to the Asia region. The reason for this was that Australia has a fairly strong football team and Oceania never receives an automatic bid to the World Cup (e.g.- New Zealand had to beat Bahrain, the 4th placed team in Asia, in a playoff before qualifying for the World Cup). I'm not crediting Australia for NZ's fortune. Those convicts can have Asia. They were just too afraid of Bahrain to stay in the Oceania region. That's right I said it. Australia is afraid of Bahrain. They thought “Crikey!, We can't beat those Bahrainis. Let the Kiwis play 'em.”

The best and worst WC moments from Cameroon:

1)1990- defeating World Cup champs Argentina

2)1990- Roger Milla's trademark cornerflag dance goal celebrations (click here to watch)

3)1990- Taking England to the wire in the quarterfinals but falling just short

4)1994- Losing to Russia 6-1.

5)1998- Pierre Njanka's ridiculous goal against Austria (click here to watch)

The best and worst WC moments from USA:

1)1994- beating Colombia 3-2 to advance to the final stages

2)1998- losing 2-1 to Iran. It was not pretty to watch

3)2002- taking down Portugal 3-2 in their first match of the tournament

4)2002- beating arch-rival Mexico 2-0 to advance to quarter-finals

5)2002- getting beat by Germany 1-0 in the quarters after a terrible penalty decision. The ref obviously hated freedom.

Opening Day:

The World Cup actually began yesterday. In the evening the hosts, South Africa (Bafana Bafana), took on Mexico (El Tricolor) and France (Les Bleus) played Uruguay. I don't like to watch any sporting event on an empty stomach, but what you might consider your average game day fare is a little tough to come by in Bogo. I explained buffalo wings to a friend and the concept of a huge heaping plate of nothing but wings and legs nearly made his head explode. What did you do with all the quadriplegic chickens???

But alas, I was planning ahead last week in Maroua and before returning to Bogo I stopped at Marché Abatoire and picked up some stuff that isn't available in village. And when I say marché I'm not talking about Harris Teeter. Putting together a game day feast here is perhaps more challenging. Wandering the stacks of veggies, colorful spices, butcher tables with piles of fly covered raw flesh, and young kids hawking everything in between I'm able to put together what looks like a decent bag of groceries to cook up something tasty.

Game day has arrived and I begin the day with a small amount of work in a mango orchard. Just enough to defend my intention of watching every single game of the Cup. Everything here shuts down during games anyways so I don't think its unreasonable to just work mornings for the next month :) The work is done early and I then made my way to the Bogo market for a few small items. Afterwards I drop some clothes off with the catholic mission where the cook will wash them provided I buy the soap and pay per article of clothing. I gave up on doing my own laundry here a long time ago. Anytime anyone sees me washing something they make a very disappointed clucking sound and seem to take great pleasure in explaining that I have no idea what I'm doing. Fair enough, you do 'em.

Returning home I begin the prep work for my game day feast. Its a very informal affair. A small number of folks are aware of my intention to prepare food, sit down and watch the South Africa-Mexico game, cook dinner, and then watch the France-Uruguay game while eating it. I've told them to come over for the games and a meal is on offer as well if they'd like. Come watch my TV and eat my food; the Coupe du Monde puts me in a strange frame of mind, I admit.

Peel and dice the mangoes. Juice the limes. Cut the green peppers and green beans. Wash, peel and cut the potatoes. Slice the onions, step outside to cry a bit, and repeat both steps a few times. Cut hot peppers without touching them as they are nuclear. Wash skins off the peanuts. Peel and chop the garlic. Peel and chop the ginger. Dice the basil and mint. Mix up a concoction of dried spices. And with that the prep work for my spicy mango salad and yellow curry is complete! If I told you which ingredients went where and when I'd have to kill you.

South Africa vs. Mexico- The game starts and Mexico looks to be the better team. Its 0-0 at halftime but Mexico had a goal disallowed by the referee. The linesman called offsides but it was not even close to being offsides. Its such a bad call that it begs the question of whether the refs are deliberately favoring the hosts. In the second half South Africa needs no such help and opens the scoring with what is the first, and when all is said and done, could be one of the best goals of the tournament. The team's goal celebration wasn't bad either. Canal Sport shows us the replay about 50 times at countless angles and speeds, and I can't see it enough. To make it even better it was scored by some guy named Tshabalala. Not only has he scored what could be one of the best goals we see throughout the Cup, but he is also a candidate for having the best name. Mexico looks to be in trouble, but then about 20 minutes later they score a nice goal off of a freekick to tie it up. The match ends 1-1 after lots of end to end entertainment. Keep an eye on South Africa in their next few matches. They are by no means a great team but they put together some really nice football and play without fear.

The mango salad is mixed and keeping cool in the fridge. The curry is assembled and simmering on the stove. All that's left to do is to crack open a cold Beaufort and prepare for the France-Uruguay match, fully hoping to see France crash and burn in their first game of a World Cup that they don't deserve to be in. In their last qualifying match the ref royally screwed Ireland out of an upset win over Les Bleus.

France vs. Uruguay (and dinner)- Sadly this game was nowhere near as entertaining as the first. I blame France. Uruguay actually looked like they wanted to score throughout the game. The french were just going through the motions and playing some really boring football. Uruguay had a player ejected in the second half, and they played the rest of the game stuck in their own half. Nevertheless they looked good and got a 0-0 result against France. In all truth they were unlucky not to pull off an uspet. The salad and curry are pretty damn good. Shame that I couldn't say the same for the evening game.

Interesting things to watch during the tournament:

-Can the Bafana Bafana (South Africa) make it out of their difficult preliminary group?If not they'd be the first hosts in history to fail to do so. The 1-1 tie with Mexico is a decent start.

-What uniform will Cameroon show up in? They've had some pretty crazy ones in recent past, most notably the sleeveless muscle shirts they wore a few years back, no doubt scaring the crap out of the opposition.

-Who will Bob Bradley choose as his starters? In his three or four years as USA coach I don't think he's ever picked the same starting eleven.

-Can an African team(s) break through to the end of the tournament? No African team has ever gotten past the quarter-finals. Cameroon did it in 1990 and Senegal did so in 2002. The Cup is on African soil this year so I think it can be done. Will it be 'Les Elephants' of the Ivory Coast, the Ghana 'Black Stars,' or maybe the 'Super Eagles' of Nigeria? Who knows, maybe even 'Les Lions Indomptables' of Cameroon could do it. They've all got a shot, and we here in Cameroon will be supporting Les Lions first and foremost. Yet I've enjoyed seeing Cameroonians express support not only for their nation but for all the African nations, as if there is a higher goal for the continent at large.

When you think of Africa, what most often comes to mind? I think many would first think of the exotic wildlife that can be found on the continent. In fact when first hearing of my plan to go live in Africa many friends back home offered pearls of wisdom such as 'don't get eaten by a lion' or inquired as to whether or not I'd be riding on the backs of elephants or zebras. The truth is that in my extensive travels around Cameroon for the past one year and nine months I have seen little to no wildlife. Domesticated animals aside, lizards, the occasional snake and plenty of mice is about all I've come across.

That's not to say there is no wildlife. I probably couldn't name a single species, but the country is known for its magnificent diversity of birds. Gorillas and various other apes can be found in remote jungle areas of the south. In fact just in the last few years CNN reported on a previously undiscovered population of lowland gorillas on the Cameroon/Gabon border numbering in the tens of thousands. In the north there are numerous wildlife reserves where lions, hyenas, elephants, giraffes, antelope and a host of other creatures roam. I'm barely touching on it but in short the biodiversity within Cameroon's borders is astounding.

In the Extreme North I am not far from Waza National Park which is considered one of the best in the West/Central African region. Bogo is about 60km south of the park so elephants pass our town periodically throughout the year on their endless search for fresh watering holes. However the entrance to the park is on the western side. A three hour voyage through Maroua, north to Mora and yet farther north to the actual town of Waza is required to enter.

My second (and last) dry season here is almost over, and this is by far the best time to see animals in the park as they often congregate around the last few dwindling water holes. I imagine the animals are pretty miserable. Little to no water, terrible heat, and a bunch of sweaty people with cameras being a nuisance. Seeing as it's my last best chance to visit the park two friends and I rented a jeep for the day to go see some of these animals in their most trying time of the year.

Our plan was to leave Maroua at 5AM and get to Waza around 7AM. That might give us just enough time to see lions and maybe even elephants before they retreated from the midday heat into some of the more inaccessible regions of the park. Our driver was on African time so we didn't get out of Maroua until 6:30AM. No lions or elephants, but here's a play by play on what we did cross paths with.

1st Encounter- About 10km south of Waza the road is running parallel to the park. On the right is the park; wide open savanna with the occasional scrub tree. On the left is more typical of Northern Cameroon; fields devoid of any plant life as a result of the recent millet and sorghum harvest. Assorted goats and cows lazily drag their noses across the ground looking for anything nourishing. We slow suddenly and just to our right on the shoulder of the road sit two light brown monkeys, ribs visible, staring at us with a very glazed over look as if to inquire if we've brought them anything. I'm pretty sure feeding the animals is a big no-no at any park. They lose interest before we do and wander back towards the park.

Getting to the park entrance, we sign in and pay our fees. One of my companions is Cameroonian and pays 1500 francs. The third person and I are both Americans with residency in Cameroon and we pay 3000 francs each. There are different categories, with visiting tourists paying the most at 5000 francs per head (about 10 bucks). All paid up and signed in, a park guide gets in the car with us and we head into the park.

2nd Encounter- Not far into the park we spot the first signs of life. Slowing down so as not to spook them we come upon three giraffes around a cluster of acacia trees nibbling the leaves off the thorny branches. As soon as we begin to approach their gaze is fixated on us. They retreat gradually as we come closer. We obviously mean no harm but I feel a bit guilty about running them off from the shade of the trees. There is little to no tree cover here and at 8:30 it is already brutally hot. As soon as we turn off the road towards them they bolt. We continue down the cracked earth and sand track and the giraffes take off in a gallop about 100 meters to our left and parallel to our path. Their long gait gives the illusion that they are painfully slow, but as the driver continues to increase his speed and the giraffes continue to outpace us its apparent that's not the case. The distance they can cover with just one long stride is striking.

3rd Encounter- Just down the road the fleeing giraffes have set off a mini chain reaction. We approach a few patches of brush where a couple of antelope emerge spooked by the commotion and waste no time in getting as far away from us as possible. A few seconds later a gruff looking warthog of generous proportions emerges from the bushes ahead of us. He looks to be more relaxed in his stride and at one point turns towards the side of our vehicle and charges with his head down for a few steps before making his way to an adjacent bit of scrub forest where he joins with another adult warthog and a few youngsters. We try to get as close as possible but our driver and guide are hesitant to anger warthog parents around their offspring. Sure we're in a vehicle and the warthogs are by no means the most physically imposing creatures out here. But they are angry, don't seem to appreciate visitors and brandish razor sharp tusks that can do some damage.

Hard to see, but a warthog family eyes our approach

4th Encounter- We advance a few more kilometers into the park and turn off the main trail and in the distance the guide spots a large group of ostriches. With good reason all the animals in the park want nothing to do with humans. We want a close look at the giant birds up ahead so the driver inches across the clearing as slowly and softly as possible. Yet we are in a bright red Jeep which doesn't exactly help us blend in. Coming up behind them on their left we get within 30 or so meters of them and they decide they've tolerated our presence for long enough. The giraffes gave us a sporting chance when they were escaping our attention. These guys appear even faster and while still large in their own right, they display a lot of agility on the run. They weave their way through the thickening scrub and within 30 seconds are out of sight. Too bad, as I could've gone for an ostrich steak and fries for lunch.

5th Encounter- It's late morning at this point and I'm hypothesizing that Waza is on average considerably hotter than Maroua and even Bogo. Later in the evening we'll return to Maroua and hear from another volunteer that it was 118 degrees in Maroua today. I want to see African wildlife in all its beauty, but I question the sanity of any animal that wanders out in broad daylight on a day like this. Unfortunately for the animals the only remaining water holes are almost all in direct sun with very little shade. So sane or crazy they really have no choice if they want a drink. It may speak more to our insanity that we're out here trying to watch them scratch out an existence in a near dead land. We hit a watering hole; devoid of stereotypical african wildlife but full off the birds that Waza is known for.

6th Encounter- Nearly noon and we have scoured most of the waterholes and shaded areas for any sign of lions. Getting up to the park late gave us little to no chance to find them and at this point in the day they are most likely far out in the bush taking naps and waiting for the sun to go down. We approach one of the largest waterholes still remaining for one last shot. There is plenty of shade here but no lions. Yet in the watering hole and all the surrounding trees is a staggering number of large birds of 5 or 6 different species. In the water they are packed together very closely, standing on their thin stick like legs. There are no crocs in Waza so these birds have nothing to worry about when soaking themselves.

My eyes are beginning to burn from the hot wind coming in through the car window and we've decided an hour or so with a cold drink in hand would do us some good. Exiting the park we have a few dining options available. There's the upscale and touristy Campement de Waza which I've heard has excellent food, but we're not tourists and getting up to and into Waza was expensive enough for volunteers such as ourselves. Instead we go into town and have a seat at a bar where a few mamas are cooking over their stoves in the backyard under the shade of a neem tree. I've had problems with Cameroonian cuisine (as I may have mentioned) but when prepared well and with a minimum amount of sand it's really delicious. I order a large Top Pamplemousse (grapefruit soda) and we each ask for a dish of whatever they've got on the stove. We are in luck today as we each receive a big bowl of white rice and another bowl of beef in peanut sauce. One of the mamas brings me my soda and apologizes that is partially frozen from the refrigerator. This is really no skin off my back, I tell her. The food is delicious (and cheap), but even under the shade and with a grapefruit slurpee in my hand the heat is so much that I can only stomach about half of the dish. I curse my feeble stomach and go back to work nursing my grapefruit slurpee to avoid overheating. After paying the tab we head down the street and buy a few cold bottles of water. This morning we thought we were clever in bringing more than enough water for the three of us. Unfortunately after just a few hours in the park we could brew tea with our old stash of bottled water.

7th Encounter- Back into the park to the few remaining waterholes we've yet to explore. Always in search of the big iconic animals of African safaris it can be easy to miss the more diminutive but equally impressive. One of my companions identifies something not so diminutive but difficult to spot in a far off tree. We approach slowly and get almost to the foot of a large but leafless tree on its own out on the savanna. On one of the middle branches rests what I think I considered one of my favorite sights of the day. All alone sits a gigantic eagle of a light brown color. Judging the distance between us it looks as though he would be waist height to me and is impossibly broad chested. We spend what felt like forever just sizing each other up, hoping all the while that he doesn't fly off. He doesn't seem too concerned by us. The animal is about twenty feet up in the tree and looks as though he eats village children for breakfast. He finally swoops down and makes his way effortlessly across to another tree. Sitting compact on the tree branch he looked imposing. Now displaying his wingspan he looks more like a pterodactyl. I've seen eagles in the United States, but they look like weenies compared to this guy. Field mice and rabbits? Mere appetizers...I think the antelopes around here better keep an eye to the sky.

8th Encounter- By mid May Waza National Park is at the end of a 7-8 month period of no rain. What is soggy/muddy marsh and grassland during the rainy season is now a parched and cracked expanse of earth with some dry patches of grass waving listlessly in the hot wind. Entering the park at this time of year I was wondering how life can, not thrive, but just make ends meet in such an environment. I come to find out that the answer for some of the unluckier or perhaps less adept inhabitants is that they don't. Flying down one of the main tracks back towards an area we wanted to double check, we came upon a large object off to the right of the road. At first sight it was assumed to be a termite mound, but getting closer the guide pointed out that it was an adult giraffe that died two days before. Laying on its side, its belly faced our vehicle and had been opened up by whatever scavenger had happened upon it before we arrived. It was a full grown giraffe and there was still plenty of it left for the vultures, hyenas and jackals. The guide explained that it had died of thirst just two days ago. It seemed unfortunate, at least for the giraffe, as not two kilometers away we had just stopped at a watering hole plush with acacia trees. Yet the way the giraffe was laying indicated that he was moving away from the watering hole when he finally gave up and hit the ground.

9th Encounter- We're back on a main track and I'm in a sweaty coma from the rice, beef and peanut sauce lunch, contemplating the hard luck of that directionally challenged giraffe. I'm jolted back to reality as the driver careens off the path towards two trees and the guide yells, “Laaru! Pobbi don haa to! Regardez ça! Il y a les hyènes là-bas!” Sure enough, two hyenas were tucked away under a shrub. At first sight one of them bolts for a second tree nearby surrounded by tall grass. The other stays where he is but stands up and circles the tree a few times trying to figure out what to make of this strange metal creature that's no more than 15 feet away. They are absolutely hideous looking with their dark fur, jet black eyes and bright red mouths filled with some impressively sharp teeth. When standing their sloping backs give them a bizarre posture. Their hind quarters look very small in proportion to the rest of their body but I don't think its so much that this part of their body is undersized but rather their head, shoulders and chest are massive. They are in full relaxation mode despite our arrival. The giraffe carcass is not far and I would imagine they have been eating very well the last day or so.

Hyena taking refuge from the heat

10th Encounter- Last stop of the day and we decide to hit the largest watering hole still remaining in the park in the hopes that the lions have started their evening activities early. No such luck. We come to the top of a hill, the only one I've seen all day, and as we come down the other side we set hundreds of antelopes into a panic towards the trees or the other side of the water. I'm sure if we hang around this herd for the evening we'll run into lion's soon enough. Unfortunately I don't believe normal visitors are allowed in the park after dark. I had wanted to stay atleast until dusk but after an entire day in this forbidding place I am ready to get back. Large wild animals aside, the road from Maroua to Waza is bandit territory at night if you are North of the town of Mora. Being relieved of my possessions would be a real downer, as meager as they may be, but we as Peace Corps volunteers are prohibited from traveling at night for good reason. The standard of driving is bad enough during the day. Add darkness to the equation and there is no reason, short of a life threatening situation, to be out on the roads at night.

So that was Waza for me. Amazing? Not quite amazing but I'll say it was definitely worthwhile. Wildlife excursions are hit or miss. I honestly don't blame the animals that stayed tucked away in the cooler confines of the more hard to reach areas of the park. I drank nearly six liters of water that day, plus another liter of ORS (Oral rehydration salts) upon returning to Maroua and my eyes were sore from the hot wind for two days after. I will say that everything we saw was inspiring. The massive eagle in the tree, the galloping giraffes, the thoroughly pissed off warthogs, the lightning quick ostriches, the frantic antelopes, and even the hideous but well fed hyenas. And to make it even better, we got back into Maroua just as the sun was setting, so there was no 11th Encounter with Kalashnikov-wielding Chadian bandits.

A Reverse Safari

If you ever come to Africa (and you should!), by all means visit a wildlife park or reserve. Virtually every country on the continent has some type(s) of exotic wildlife within its borders. Tourist dollars are obviously important to local communities, and can help better protect the many endangered species under threat from poaching and habitat loss.

But at the same time its a shame that so many people that visit Africa only go to these places, and do so in a manner that's completely out of tune with the continent. They fly into the country, stay at only the finest hotels, eat at the best restaurants, pay ridiculous prices for everything, get herded around the country in privately hired vehicles, and see the country from a car window. I stick out like a sore thumb everywhere, but you can spot these folks from a mile away. Reddened skin, sweating even more than me, and usually wearing something ridiculous that looks like it was stolen from Dr. Livingstone's wardrobe. Their contact with African people is limited to the help.

I remember last year I was biking out by the main road from Maroua where the pavement forks. One way leads into Bogo and the other way goes another 50km to Lake Maga. Maga, between November and April, is a popular spot for exactly this type of tourist. This man-made reservoir is a great place to spot hippos, and there is a hotel full with a bar/restaurant/pool that caters to large groups of westerners with far too much money. How do I know this? I've visited said hotel before and I think they marked me out as a grubby Peace Corps volunteer immediately. I bathed with soap that very morning and my clothes were at least respectable enough for a 2-3 star joint, but nonetheless I was treated like crap. The food and drink was astronomically expensive for an auberge out in the bush so I went out to the dusty streets of Maga for grilled meat and a cold beer for a fraction of the price. I'm not saying I'm too hardcore or too well integrated to spend my time in a tourist hotel. I just wanted to swim in the pool. What I am saying is that the smallest exchanges with people and the random things going on while I was eating freshly slaughtered cow washed down with a cold 33 Export were far more interesting than anything on a scheduled tour.

I digress. I was mentioning that a year or so ago I was out on my bike by the main road. I was returning to Bogo from a nearby village in the late afternoon and someone I knew was in a nearby field. There were no crops in the field, he had a confused “now how did I get here?” look on his face and I couldn't find any evidence that he was doing any work there. Nevertheless there he was in the field, and he began smiling and waving. I stopped my bike, he came closer to the road and we exchanged pleasantries. Cameroonians have a gift for the obvious. Asked what he was doing he said “I am in the field.” Yes, yes you are most definitely in the field, I thought. Nothing more to add. He was just in the field, and I was satisfied with this explanation. At this point I was not far into my service but all around Bogo I would run into friends and acquaintances in odd places out in the middle of nowhere where they really had no logical reason for being. Inquiring as to what people were doing (not where they were) I usually got answers such as “I am under the tree,” “I am in the room,” or my favorite a very demonstrative “I am supporting,” which I take to mean that he was “hangin' in there!”

So I am on the side of the road speaking to my friend who has graced this field with his presence today for no apparent reason. As we are talking a large bus approaches. Its going fairly slow and doesn't have anything attached to the roof so I'm thinking something is wrong with it. Funny how if I see a bus here that isn't loaded down with cargo and moving at light speed I assume that something is surely amiss. Passing us by slowly I see that this is not your average bush taxi. Its full of nasarras (white people), presumably French or German. I'm surprised to see them out here and my buddy nearly goes into shock from nasarra-overload. Its only after they have almost passed us by that I see from their confused look that they are equally shocked. I think I saw someone actually pull out a camera. They are now back home showing their loved ones this dirty white guy they happened upon out in the middle of the Sahel. It felt like a reverse safari trip for me. Should I approach the window and beg for a sack lunch? Should I run off into the field in terror to confuse them even more? I took the middle ground and waved to them. I received a few halfhearted waves back, but mostly just blank stares. I can only assume that they then yelled “don't stop!” to the driver.

One thing I find funny is that many of my Cameroonian acquaintances think that I know all white people. For example, I've given up trying to change their minds and have explained to a number of people here that, yes, I am indeed on a first name basis with Jack Bauer from the '24' TV show. After the bus filled with tourists passed us by my buddy inevitably asked “Who were they? Your friends?” If my friends passed me by on a dusty African highway I would hope they could at least stop to say hello and maybe inquire as to what I'm doing out here. I am at the side of the road! My friend is in the field!

So if I haven't made it clear by now, Africa is available to you and waiting for you to visit. Preferably while I'm still here to show you around! If you do take your chances of course you should pay attention to the safety information available, but don't let all the disheartening stories on the news keep you from seeing strangely beautiful places full of welcoming people. Stories about millions of Africans going about their daily lives with no problems whatsoever just doesn't make the news. Traveling here on a small budget or in an adventurous fashion is admittedly not for the novice, and I would never hold it against you if you chose instead to see Africa from posh hotels and the windows of air-conditioned cars. Just see it anyway you can. And if you see me out on the road while you're on safari feel free to toss me a sack lunch from the window.

An Afterthought

So it turns out that I didn't need to go to Waza National Park to see hyenas. Just the other day almost a week after our trip to Waza I was speaking with a friend in Bogo about what we had seen. I rattled off all the wildlife we had caught a glimpse of and then, perhaps because it was the most exciting moment of our trip, I mentioned that we had seen hyenas. He wasn't impressed in the least. Here I was feeling very proud of my hyena sighting, and he was having none of it. I almost felt insulted. In hindsight I have no idea why I felt so proud about my encounter with hyenas. We were in a wildlife park where one would tend to run into wildlife. It wasn't like I was stalking the beasts through tall grass carrying a spear.

I kept restating the fact that we had seen “hyenas!,” but he remained unmoved. This is because, as he nonchalantly told me, very late at night or early in the morning in Bogo hyenas come out of the bush and into the central market in town to look for any meat scraps lying around the butcher tables or food areas. He moved on to another topic as though large carnivores wandering our streets at night was a minor annoyance like something akin to, say, racoons in the trash bins or squirrels in the attic.

This bothered me in a number of ways. Firstly I had just paid money to roast my ass off all day looking for animals. Now I'm learning that a large predator of the African savanna strolls my town's market looking for midnight snacks. The hyenas were obviously the highlight of my day in Waza and now my friend has put it in no uncertain terms that I wasted a lot of money. Even with this new information at hand I would say Waza was still worth the visit. What bothers me a whole lot more is that I moved to Bogo in December of 2008. This conversation took place not long ago, in May 2010. If you are not picking up on my point yet, it took about one year and six months for someone to get around to telling me that hyenas frequent the marketplace at night!

I am usually in my home and most likely sleeping by 10PM at the latest. Depending on my work schedule I often find myself hitting the pillow not long after the sunset at around 7PM. Yet there have been a number of times when I've been on the Bogo streets later than usual. Walking back from the bar (through the market!) after a few drinks with friends on a Friday or Saturday night, returning from a dinner at a friend's home (also through the market!), or even being out and about for the occasional late night concert/soiree. I guess I can say no harm no foul on this one, but I know that if I lived in a town with this most unpleasant of nocturnal visitors I would let the out-of-towners know that they might want to keep their distance from the areas where hyenas may or may not be looking for a meal! Its not as if they were overwhelmed with other things to tell me about Bogo. “Hi Dan, welcome to Bogo. Here's the post office, here's the stadium, this is the bus station, this is the bar, and here's the central market. Oh and by the way, the hyenas come at night so don't come through here late or do so carrying a machete.” That's all I would have needed.

As a result of this unsettling discovery I've been casually slipping the topic of hyenas into the conversation at inappropriate times. Someone will ask me how my work is going or how I'm dealing with the heat, and I'll say something subtle like “Did you know that hyenas have some of the strongest jaws in the animal kingdom?” or “You know, when being chased by a pack of hyenas you should climb a tree, as they are not known for their tree climbing abilities.” Anything just short of getting upset because no one told me what I would consider to be very important safety information when living in Bogo.

Oh well, water under the bridge. I was never really too upset about it. Maybe just caught off guard. In fact I'm thinking it would be pretty sweet to spend the night in a tree at the market and catch a glimpse of them. Although I just recently watched the Lion King for the first time in I don't know how many years, so I'll be let down if the hyenas in the Bogo market don't sound like Whoopi Goldberg and Cheech Marin. Don't laugh, I downloaded movies from another volunteer and it just happened to be amongst the collection. To preserve my masculinity I'll say I was really just downloading the Bourne Trilogy and Generation Kill. But when the Hakuna Matata song came on I somehow instinctively knew all the words.

And Finally:

Seeing as how teaching Americans about the place where I live is a part of the job description of a PCV, today I'm providing you with a wildlife language lesson in fulfulde! My fulfulde is nothing short of awful, but I've gotten to the point where I can go about my day in village speaking almost nothing but the native tongue. I'd say that currently I speak it on the level of a six year old. I know you are all very excited to learn about a language that you will never have any use for, but I realized during the Waza trip that while I knew most useful phrases and expressions, my favorite being the verb meaning nothing other than “to milk a cow,” I knew no names of animals besides chicken, cow, dog, goat and sheep. With a little help from native speakers and my french-fulfulde dictionary here are the fulfulde names for some of the wildlife in my neck of the woods (although most don't roam the marketplace). Note that here fulfulde is translated into french so some sounds are a bit different. You will be quizzed on this material next month.

Rough fulfulde pronunciation

a and aa- “aah”

é and ee- “ay”

i and ii- “ee”

c- “ch”

ɗ- not quite certain...imagine saying “d” but cutting it off halfway through

ŋ- long n

English- Fulfulde(singular/plural)

Animal- ndabbaawa/dabbaaji

Big Antelope- kooba/koobi

Little Antelope- hamfurdé/kampuré

Bird- sondu/colli

Eagle- dutal/duté

Fish- liiŋgu/liɗɗi

Giraffe- tireewa/tireeji

Hyena- fowru/pobbi

Leopard- cirgu/cirɗi

Lion- mbarooga/barooɗé

Lizard- pallaandi/pallanɗepallaaɗé

Monkey- waandu/baaɗi

Mouse- domburu/dombi

Plant- fuɗŋgo/fuɗŋgooji

Scorpion- yaaré/jahé

Snake- mboodi/boɗɗé

Tree- lekki/leɗɗé

Warthog- gaduuru/gaduuji

Wild animal- takkeré/takké

Hello everybody. Hope all is well back in the land of milk and honey. As you may already know from my past rants March, April and May can be unbearable in the Extreme North. No rain, dust storms, lots and lots of sun, temps reaching 120 fahrenheit, and a sustained wind that feels even warmer. I imagine you could crawl into your oven at home and recreate something similar. I went through it last year without even having a fan, and while I lived to tell the tale, I had no interest of subjecting myself to the worst of it for a second year. Earlier in April two fellow volunteers and I extricated ourselves from the misery and took a few weeks of vacation on our way to the West region of the country to help train some newer volunteers in the Health and Agroforesty programs. This is how we got there:

Day #1- Its Thursday in Bogo so the central market is packed and Djamaaré Express minivans are leaving every ten minutes or so for Maroua. Sadjo, a young kid in my neighborhood who comes over to my house to play cards, soccer, and root through my trash is walking along with me. Neighbors and friends on the street all offer me a bon voyage, also asking me to bring them lots of fruits and vegetables. I do my best to seem unexcited about leaving, but no matter how much I enjoy living in Bogo I cannot deal with it in April. Sadjo leaves me at the bus station and a few friends in the market come over to wait with me for the next car. 1 hour later I arrive Maroua, flag down a moto taxi and make my way to the PC House. Its nearly 6PM but the temp is still brutal. Atleast here I can count on a cold beverage, running water and ceiling fans. Yes, I am very easy to please these days.

Day #2- Use internet, make sure I've got everything organised, and then go submerge myself in a hotel pool all day. On a hot day I can not think of a better way to spend 1500 francs (3-4 bucks) than on entrance fee to a hotel pool.

Day #3- Normally I would take a bus directly to Ngaounderé in the Adamaoua region (central Cameroon), but today I am taking the 3 hour bus to Garoua in the North. I haven't seen my host family the Hamatoukors for a long time and feel I should pay them a visit. Sure, I didn't exactly like living with them for the first three months as a trainee. Sandy potatoes every night for dinner, water that not even my filter could not completely clean, and a few instances of items going “missing.” Nonetheless, for three months they gave me a roof to sleep under and introduced me to the culture in a way no class or instructor ever could.

After pulling into Garoua I stop in the central market and fill a bag with bananas and pineapples for the family. I really enjoy getting gifts for people here and I wish it were this easy in the states. You would all get fresh produce from me for Xmas and birthdays. Arriving at my old home away from home I am shocked to see how in just one year's time the three youngest children, Aila (11), Mahdi (12) and Mohammet (15) have grown in leaps and bounds. When I left in December 2008, Mohammet was squeaky voiced, toothpick thin and a full 6 inches shorter than me. Mohammet is still as skinny as a rail, but he may have an inch or two on me and he no longer screams like a little girl when I mess with him. I told him to start playing basketball at school. The way he's growing he'll be close to 7 feet before I leave in 8 months.

I spend only a few hours with the Hamatoukours and then return to central Garoua. Its Saturday and Manchester United is playing Chelsea. Manchester plays like a drunk intramural team, Chelsea wins, and I've been going back and forth with two Cameroonians supporting Chelsea during the entire match. Despite the heckling between us during the game we part with no hard feelings. But Chelsea still sucks. Back to the bus station to go another 4 hours to Ngaounderé. Yet we don't leave the station until about 4PM, and stopping along the way twice for evening prayer delays our arrival in Ngaounderé until about 10PM.

Day #4- Today is a rest day. Ngaounderé is built upon a plateau and hence the weather is often beautiful. Waking up at 10AM is unheard in my neck of the woods but is surprisingly easy here. If I'm not out of bed in Bogo before 7AM the temperature begins to rise quickly. Rather than taking the train south to Yaoundé tomorrow (the usual southern route), we are traversing the Adamaoua province which has some of the worst roads in the country. Our hope is that in about 3-4 days time the Adamaoua will spit us out somewhere in the West or Northwest regions.

Day #5- Ngaounderé to Tibati. Traveling by road in the Adamaoua always promises to throw some curveballs your way. Whenever I speak to volunteers who live in this region and ask them about the length of their trips to Ngaounderé from their posts I am always shocked. A typical response is “anywhere between 6-12 hours,” or “8 hours if it isn't raining.” Well what if its raining? “You don't go” or “ You stop where you happen to be at that moment” seem to be the most common responses.

Arriving at the Narral Voyages station at 6AM we are waiting for the first bus to Tibati. The chef d'agence is in a surprisingly good mood this morning and offers us the 2 front seats. Unfortunately there are three of us, so one will have to squeeze into the back where they typically squeeze 6 people or more into a row made for about 4. I am the tallest of the group and one of the more unpleasant when it comes to uncomfortable trips so I think that qualifies me for one of the front seats. Volunteer 2 is a man so if we are thinking in Cameroonian terms here he would definitely get the second seat before Volunteer 3, who is a female volunteer and has already displayed incredible courage by choosing to go cross country by bus with Volunteer 2 and I. Volunteer 3 was in the ladies room while the decision was made. Luckily she was a good sport about it. After about 8 hours we pull into the city of Tibati. Its not a huge town, but pretty much every “major road” in the country intersects here, and trucks roll through at all hours of the day. After a ride like that we go around the corner to the New Texas Bar for some much needed refreshments. A few cold ones and a large platter of grilled fish, manioc batons and hot sauce occupy us for the better part of the evening. Finishing up in town, an Austrian doctor in town that we are friends with offers us shelter for the night at a nearby private hospital. Arriving at the hospital grounds around midnight, all three of us are ready to crash in the staff quarters. Unfortunately for our Austrian friend, the head doctor (also Austrian) comes in and requests his help on a surgery that evening.

Day #6- We awake early and get ready to hit the road once more. Today we strike out from Tibati to the town of Banyo, our last stop in the Adamaoua region. It is a 7 hour ride in the best of conditions on a mountainous dirt road. Our doctor friend will not be waking up to see us off this morning as he was in surgery from midnight until 6AM. A Cameroonian who works there as a carpenter offers us a tour of the sprawling hospital before we go. The hospital could almost be considered a completely self sufficient community. In addition to the actual hospital there are homes for employees, a garage staffed by a mechanic, a church, a woodshop and numerous small plots of land under cultivation. Its obvious to me that the hospital is incredibly well run, organised and funded. Yet I've always had a weak stomach when in or around hospitals in this country. I doubt I could ever work in a health field here or any other place for that matter. There's no need for me to be anymore descriptive than to say that the hospital is bursting at the seams with those in need of care, some of the illnesses are gruesome, especially those suffered by small children and infants, and its not unreasonable to think that hospitals such as this that are scattered throughout the country might only be scratching the surface.

Late morning we hop on the vehicle and start towards Banyo. This vehicle has less people than cargo today and its really much more comfortable. In addition to the other passengers we are sharing the vehicle with 2 goats, 5-10 large sacks of millet and about 400 liters of honey. Also aboard are two soldiers brandishing the usual large automatic weapons, no doubt members of the Cameroonian special forces unit. A number of these guys are posted in Bogo and are tasked with preventing bandits and hijackers from robbing people of their livestock out in the bush, especially on our market days. I often see them at the bar, still brandishing automatic weapons, and just generally scaring the shit out of people. But alas, there is literally nothing between Tibati and Banyo and the road is beyond terrible, so I have to say having these two guys along with us today is slightly comforting.

The trip was a long and arduous 7 hours, but it could have been much worse. Banyo is a pretty town tucked away in the hills of the western Adamaoua. I would come here more often but Banyo could possibly be one of the most inaccessible cities in Cameroon. To the east, its atleast 16 hours to the regional capital Ngaounderé. To the west its a 8 hour drive (once again, thats the best case scenario) to Baffoussam, capital of the West region. Arriving in Banyo we leave the station, turn the corner and sit down at a bar. This is becoming a daily trend but after travelling roads like these my nerve endings are frayed due to the erratic driving, cramped quarters and various close calls. We are staying with a volunteer that trained with us in the North. Understandably we have seen her maybe once since our training ended due to her extreme isolation. I think part of me expected to show up in town and find a half crazed volunteer eating insects, writing jibberish on her walls or perhaps something not unlike Anthony Hopkins in Instinct. This obviously proved to be false. I think the isolation of this town, with the beautiful weather and the winding roads through the hills, only adds to its attractiveness.

Day #7- We sleep in as long as possible but today we have the 8 hour ride to Baffoussam. Volunteer 3 is a real team player as she lets Volunteer 2 and I take the front seats again. The trip is uneventful save for two flat tires, but these guys deal with flats everyday and work with the efficiency of a pit crew. It's night by the time we pull into Baffoussam, the third largest city in the country. I think the actual voyage between Banyo and Baffoussam is 8 hours. Not today, however. As we pulled into a town at the midway point we discovered there was no gas; about an hour delay in all. Then during the last hour we hit four police, customs, miltary, etc. checkpoints. One person in the van didn't have their papers in order so the officials at each roadblock went through the same song and dance, demanding money, threatening to arrest the man, and giving the driver plenty of trouble as well. Baffoussam is not exactly a town you want to be wandering around in the dark. Getting out of the van we get the first taxi in sight and head to a hotel for the night. The three of us look like something just chewed us up and spit us out. I can only imagine what the night manager is thinking. Hot shower, grilled fish and manioc, beer, bed.

Day #8- Four hour drive to Bamenda, capital of the Northwest region. Continue another three hours to the village of Kumbo where we will spend the rest of the week enjoying the Ngonsso Cultural Festival.

Cultural Festival- This entire week the Nso people of the Kumbo region were having their cultural festival outside the Fon's (King) Palace in Kumbo. During the day thousands of people descend the hill towards the town square, palace and mosque. The first activity I witness is a long parade of all the various community groups in the area decked out in their finest outfits carrying large placards describing their organization. They approach the palace and most groups stop for a few minutes in the main square to do some dancing. Around the corner from the palace is a primary school that has been turned into a make shift palm wine bar for the festival. Experiencing this cultural festival to the fullest is the only item on our agenda this week so we shortly find ourselves sitting around a couple large bottles of the cloudy beverage that is so popular in this area of the world. There are a few festival goers that appear to have hit the palm wine a little hard already this morning. No such thing as palm wine in the North so I'm a greenhorn here. A few glasses of the stuff, which has a strong taste of yeast and vinegar, and I find myself more nauseous than buzzed. Drinking more palm wine will not be on my agenda of cultural exploration this week. I'll stick with bottles 33 Export and Gold Harp.

During our quick stop at the primary school to drink homemade booze the volunteers who live in the area begin telling us more of what to expect during this festival. It sounds less like a benign rundown of the agenda and more like an ominous warning of impending danger. The main reason for this I discover, are the jujus. In Kumbo jujus are present at festivals such as this in addition to the funerals for members of the Palace. They are highly respected/feared by people here, and the first bit of advice I receive for my upcoming run ins with them is bow down, don't look at them and don't run. Very comforting.

Returning to the square I see a number of jujus who have entered the center of the square. They are all in matching tan fabric with painted designs, and their head and limbs are completely covered in what looks like burlap. These jujus seem to be at the bottom of the pecking order. Most of them, despite being covered head to toe appear to be between the ages of 5-15. I'm beginning to wonder what all the fuss is about when across the square I see a juju break rank, run into the crowd and crack someone over the head with a tree branch. Did I forgot to mention that they are carrying tree branches, sticks and clubs? My head is on a swivel for the rest of the afternoon. Luckily we have a safe house in the middle of town; a bar that serves up what I can only describe as some of the best chicken in the country, served with equally delicious fries and djama-djama (similar to collard greens). From the patio one can see all the happenings going on below. From time to time the owners shut the front gates of the bar, a sure sign of impending danger. Hoardes of festival-goers move about the town not unlike schools of fish, no doubt hoping their power in numbers will spare them a stick over the head.

The evening arrives and we return to the main square. Beaufort, a Cameroonian brand of beer, is sponsoring concerts and games all week. Most games involve dancing and singing. One game I witness on the main stage consists of contestants coming up from the audience and reaching into a crate of Beaufort with one hand, pulling out as many bottles as possible. Simple yet rewarding. Everybody's a winner! To cap the evening the organizers have booked Richard King. I'm told he is originally from the Kumbo area. These days he is a very popular singer in Cameroon and has performed a few times in the USA among other countries. If you read my recent blog, “Women's Day,” I must tell you that Richard King blows Roukaiya Moubalwa out of the water as far as stage presence. He doesn't lip sync and actually looks like he's enjoying himself.

Day #9- Back to the palace for the climax of the cultural celebrations. Today the jujus are out in full force. We are at a small watering hole next to the palace with a sidewalk view of everything. The jujus from yesterday are present in large numbers, but there are more elaborately dressed and masked jujus appearing. After an hour or so most of them are congregated in the courtyard in front of the palace dancing, jumping, running into the crowd on a whim, etc.

Around midday we get word that the “really bad” juju is going to appear very soon. Where he is coming from we have no idea, but I'm assured that you'll know when he shows up as the thousands of people in attendance will basically lose their minds and frantically jostle for a safe perch in or around the main square. There must be somewhere between 5-10 thousand people in just this central neighborhood right now and my more cautious side tells me that this could work out very poorly if people get too spooked. Not only are the jujus periodically brutalizing the crowd, but policeman and palace guards have also taken up sticks and are not afraid to use them for crowd control. At this moment I am seriously conflicted in my emotions. Shocked, curious, scared as hell, confused, amused. They all apply in different ways.

Suddenly about 50 metres to our left up the hill, dozens of people jump from their previously safe viewing spot and haul ass to the other side of the street. Behind where they were, the brush and weeds are shaking furiously yet its not yet possible to see who's doing it. Finally the juju we've been hearing so much about emerges and the place goes nuts. He is covered from head to toe in black burlap, with various leaves strung about his body. Perhaps the only part of him that is visible is a large mane of dreadlocks on top of his head. In one hand he's got a half dozen wooden spears. Anyone within range has crouched down and avoided making eye contact. Running away appears to be out of the question. The area where this is happening is right near by the palace's burial grounds. I've walked by the entrance a few times this week but only members of the palace are permitted inside. Not sure if there is any symbolism behind this. While doubtful, perhaps he was just at the nearby palm wine bar beforehand getting sufficiently lubricated to harass the Kumbo populace to no end.

This juju is highly skilled in the art of scaring people. His looks alone are kind of creepy. He is carrying spears which he has wasted no time in using, hurling them indiscriminately into the crowd. Despite the obvious disadvantage of having his face covered he is surprisingly quick and nimble. When he decides to make a run into the crowd a shockwave of panic sends hundreds leaping over walls, running up hills, diving into nearby buildings. He's been working the other side of the town square for some time now, and hundreds of people have gathered in front of us as the crowd continues to flow according to the juju's movements. Then it happens. I don't actually see it happen, but panicked voices become more numerous and much closer. The juju has come to our side where at this point there are far too many people. I am with about 5 other volunteers and in front of us is the entire crowd. About 10 feet behind us is a wall and assorted buildings. One second I saw the backs of peoples heads as they too were watching the middle of the square. In a split second all those heads turned and I instead was staring at nothing but faces with looks of panic upon them. I think if I were an antelope or wildebeest and a lion came charging into our herd it would feel something like this. My first choice is to turn and run into a wall at which point i imagine I'll be trampled. Choice number two is to side step this stampede, but its far too late for that. Choice number three is to push back, which worked for about two seconds until wave after wave of people kept piling up. At that point it was either go with the flow or fall down under this human mass. While I don't think it would've ended too badly, and the massive push stopped short of the wall, a tiny voice inside my head was saying that I was in an extremely precarious situation. “Dozens trampled at Cameroonian Cultural Festival” doesn't seem all that far fetched for a BBC headline.

As the dreadlocked juju continues his reign of terror a large contingent of jujus emerges from the palace. There are jujus covered in feathers wearing elaborate wooden masks surrounding a few others that are walking high above the mayhem on stilts. All of these jujus are surrounded by the young jujus who just yesterday were taking great joy in hitting everyone on the head. They slowly advance towards dreadlocked juju and he gradually retreats up the hill, still doing his best to mess with everyone in his path. At one point he even scales the front of a three story building in an effort to escape what I can only describe as some sort of staged battle between the good and evil jujus. Some poor unsuspecting man emerges onto the veranda of this building just as the evil juju hops over the railing. Understandably he dives back into the building, locking the door and shutting the windows.

We decide that this is the perfect moment for us to retreat to our safehouse which is the bar at the top of the hill that has metal gates and a good vantage point; a fortress with cold beer, if you will. Approaching the top of the hill my two traveling companions and I discover that evil juju reached the top before us. Turning the corner at the top we are dangerously close to him and waste no time jumping into a narrow alleyway of the main street. Peeking around the corner I see that traffic and commerce are at a standstill as the juju stands by a call box at one of the main intersections. I doubt he is there to buy phone credit so we stay put for a few minutes. He advances past us and starts troubling a bush taxi that is caught up in the gridlock. I snap a few photos while his back is turned and then make a dash for our fortress.

The show is far from over and every hour or so the patrons lock the metal gates and we witness the mayhem from the patio as the juju drama moves around throughout the town. It becomes almost comical towards the end. Seeing it from this vantage point I first hear a few distant screams and yelling. That develops into the sound of a thundering herd of voices, pounding feet and vehicle horns. Shortly after I see from any of the four streets meeting at the intersection below a flood of people, motos and cars going in one direction followed not far behind by a juju or group of jujus. Sure enough a few minutes later an almost identical crowd comes rumbling past from a completely different direction.

The next day I felt like hell. I didn't get brutalized by any jujus but the constant running, dodging and emotional stress definitely took its toll. I think this may be what its like to be some unfortunate creature further down the food chain. My head was still on a swivel, sure that at any moment a juju would jump out and take off after me and use me as a pinata.

Day # Who knows- I had enough of being preyed on by evil spirits. I bid farewell to Kumbo and the Northwest region making my way to the Western city of Foumban, which is another seat of a traditional king, the Fon of the Bamoun people in this case. The next few days were spent helping with a Peace Corps training for other volunteers. I added my two cents by discussing my work with mango orchards and my collaboration with the Cameroonian agricultural research center in Maroua. Later in the week another Extreme North volunteer and I shared our experiences with the Men As Partners program. This was a project we assisted on during February in Maroua which involved working with about two dozen HIV+ men and boys on topics ranging from basic facts on HIV/AIDS to domestic violence, substance abuse, and cutural perspectives on men's behavior.

After the vacation and training I made quick work of getting back to the north so as not to neglect ongoing work in Bogo. I've been back for almost three weeks now and unfortunately the rains have yet to begin in force. A shower here or there that doesn't even wet the ground. Yet the wind comes with it and knocks out the power everytime which means no fan or cold water.

**This blog entry would be much better with pictures, and i have many good ones. Unfortunately I left my camera cord in Bogo and cannot yet upload them yet. So..I hope my next entry will be photos to supplement what you've just read here. With that said I'll end with a few small thoughts on the trip

-The route between Bamenda, the regional capital of the Northwest, on the ring road to the town of Kumbo is one of the more beautiful drives I've ever been on. Sharing this drive with 8 people in a 5 seat hatchback did little to diminish the amazing landscape of lush green valleys and imposing stone peaks.

-If there is one good thing about the hot season in Bogo, aside from the bounty of mangoes, its the constant supply of electricity. This is due to the lack of gale force winds that accompany the thunderstorms in rainy season. Yet in late April I returned to Bogo after a three week absence. This absence was not accidental and served to avoid the worst of the heat. Unbeknownst to me a thunderstorm came to Bogo unseasonably early this year and knocked down numerous power poles on the the road to Maroua. We were without power for seven days. This is never a problem during rainy season as it happens frequently and the temperatures are bearable. But when the 110 plus temperatures return and the power doesn't, I begin to consider community projects with themes such as “Let's all move somewhere else” or “Solar powered refrigerators.” The power company finally got their act together and the power was back. I hugged my fan.

-Three weeks without speaking fulfulde may have been beneficial. Sometimes it seems as though there's not sufficient time to process all the new words and phrases I hear. I butcher fulfulde on a daily basis here but neighbors, friends and colleagues kindly continue to encourage my debasement of their language. Though it's a two way street as often eager children will pass me on the streets in the evening and greet me with an exuberant “Good morning madam!”

-Returning to the Extreme North last month it was impossible not to consider the staggering difference between the North and South of Cameroon. After seeing green things and feeling rain for three weeks down South I found myself at the tailend of my return trip on a bus about 50km away from Maroua. The sun had set and the parched surroundings were no longer visible. To the east of the highway towards Chad a massive thunderstorm was at work on the plain, presumably knocking out Bogo's power in the process. The moisture was far off but just then a tumbleweed rolled across the path of the bus and was followed by a dust storm that induced the bus into a sphincter tightening sway. Visibility went to nearly zero for the next half hour, but the dust began to disperse in time to catch a distant view of Maroua's lights. Cool temperatures, frequent rain and copious amounts of fruits and vegetables are once again a thing of the past but strangely enough the Extreme North feels somewhat like home.

-Back to the topic of jujus, I asked during the festival whether the numerous jujus running around scaring the hell out of people had some other profession for the rest of the year. We did not get into specifics, but yes, these jujus are otherwise normal members of the community. That taxi driver could be one! That kid selling eggs in the market could be one! They could be anywhere! Believe me when I say I'm not trying to draw any major parallels here but it reminded me a bit of Santa Claus in the US. I can only imagine that Santa impersonators are likely to have some sort of gainful employment outside the holiday season. Yet I imagine being Santa Claus isn't nearly as fun as being a juju. Santa Claus just sits in the mall and scares little kids. A juju gets to run around town acting like a complete jerk and scare everyone.

Cameroon police clash with journalists in Yaounde (BBC)

Cameroon's Kenya Airways crash blamed on pilot error (BBC)

Cameroon panic as elephants flee (BBC)

Cameroon says detained journalist died of 'infections' (AP)

Snail farming may save African apes from poaching (USA Today)

My mother never let us have a dog when we were children. I now understand why. They are good companions and guardians, but are pretty much helpless and require great care. I imagine my mother knew most of this care would have fallen on her so she wisely had two cats in the house instead. I didn't know much about cats or any other housepet for that matter, but I became very attached to both of them. Cat, dog, hamster, monkey, river otter, whatever; I imagine I'd become fond of any creature that I took in as a pet as long as they didn't poop on the rug.

I wouldn't say I'm a "dog person" per se, but do like them for the most part. So last year around Christmas I arrived in Bogo, and living on my own for the first time ever I decided a dog would be great to have around. That's when fate brought me to a small mud and straw compound on the outskirts of Bogo.

To say Timshel came from rough beginnings would be an understatement. It is quite possible that the children in this same compound had fleas so what chance did a one week old pup have? I took the only remaining male of the litter (I didn't want anymore puppies on my hands) home with me that morning and he became Timshel. He didn't take to the water and mashed peanuts diet they suggested. That first night I imagine was very difficult for him. Eyes barely open, he would cry bloody murder if I left him alone for any amount of time. After trying to no avail to get him to quiet down, he spent his first night in a shoebox covered with a blanket at the side of my bed. Every hour or so he would let out a whimper but a few pets on the head would put him back into a sound sleep.

After another day of rejecting the mashed peanuts and water concoction (I tried it and cannot blame him), I got on the back of my friend's motorcycle with Timshel wrapped in a bandana. It would be the first of many trips we would take together to Maroua. Arriving at the Peace Corps house in Maroua shortly before Christmas there were many fellow volunteers around, and from that day on I don't think he ever lacked for love. Someone found a top to a baby bottle in the market and when attached to an old coke bottle filled with formula he would gorge himself until his belly was so swollen he could barely stand. It is never cold here, but night temperatures would drop just enough that he needed help staying warm. A Nalgene filled with boiling water and wrapped in a towel could keep him content all night.

He and his appetite grew swiftly. He was always a bit on the small side, but could put away quantities of food twice his size if given the chance. He never took kindly to a leash and the few attempts I made to break him in were futile. Yet he loved to wander from the confines of my home. After pestering the neighbors for a bit he would almost always make his way across the government parade ground to the forest just before the river and bridge leading out of Bogo. Other dogs would come through the forest and neighborhood but he carried himself in a way that suggested it was his turf. If at anytime I was coming back from work or play he would see me from across the parade ground and come sprinting back home, jumping all over me the entire way, no doubt hoping I had brought back his next meal.

Smaller than most dogs he was also the fiercest I've ever seen. It may be slightly demented, but I chuckle when thinking he probably still haunts the dreams of many children in the Garre and Marouare neighborhoods of Bogo. Theft happens from time to time in town, but if the perpetrators ever considered taking their chances on my house they quickly changed their minds when approaching the wall. He looked like a midget dingo but sounded like something that could do serious damage. Unexpected guests were not welcome in his opinion.

Giving him his meals everyday, I had about a half second to remove my hand from the dish before he would rip it to shreds. But let's not focus on the little bastard's hornary side. Often, just before the sun would go down on Bogo I'd be in my chair reading a book on the porch. At whatever point he found me, he must have thought that I had done enough reading, and would gracelessly jump and claw his way into my lap to lay down. Uncomfortable for me, but judging by his wagging tail I don't think there was a more enjoyable part of his day.

I hear people say that a dog's personality mirrors that of his owner. In Timshel's defense I must say it is not true in this case. For such a ratty, half wild mongrel he had more personality than I could ever lay claim to. At turns nasty and just downright mean, around his owner he was the happiest and most affectionate dog around. Perhaps he knew what the life of an average Cameroonian dog was like and didn't want to upset me. Banishment to the alleys of Bogo was threatened on a number of occasions.

Many shoes and garments found their way into his jaws, and the little bugger would steal just about anything not tied down. Two papaya trees and an entire cluster of fresh herbs in my yard met their demise at his hands. Yet regardless of how serious the transgression, its hard to stay mad at a dog that would immediately flop over on his side and grovel at my feet for forgiveness. He got a little too good at it, as often times he would begin apologizing before I knew he had done anything wrong. Despite all the misbehavior, he never once pooped on the rug.

In closing I will say that I am fortunate to have had him, even if only for just over a year's time. I would also say that the Bogo community, while short a few chickens, was also a better place with Timshel on the prowl. He spent many days out and about and it is not unreasonable to believe that soon there will be some Timshel Jr.'s out on the streets. This possibility brings a smile to my face, but most likely a feeling of dread to local citizens.

Sadly I an writing this in another part of the country while on training/vacation. My friend back in village, after doing everything in his and the vet's power, informed me that Timshel lost a quick battle against a stomach and intestinal infection. Medication was given but unfortunately he was too far along at that point. My house guardian found him in the morning, and meaning no disrespect, tossed him in the woods. I felt bad requesting that someone go search out a dead dog, but asked that he be taken and buried properly. My friend and another volunteer so generously took care of it in my absence, burying him in the woods that he used to claim as his territory.

In a few day's time I'll return to Bogo. Not having a rambunctious dog there to greet me will be very strange. Yet once I get settled back into village life I'll make the short walk across the parade ground and into the woods where he used to play, eat his stolen chickens, hassle children, and do god only knows what else, just to make sure he's doing fine.

For a Cameroonian dog Timshel led one hell of a life. I take comfort in that, and I know he is in the next doggy life humping and stealing everthing he can find. So next time you are having a cold one pour a bit out for my homey, the Diamare Dingo, the Terror of Bogo, Timshel!

I am finishing up in a cyber cafe in Kumbo village here in the english speaking Northwest Region of Cameroon. Plenty to share with you but my time here is short. Look out for my next post where I will share with you long bus rides through the jungle, hiding from spear throwing jujus, and how not to get trampled in a frantic/running crowd of people. Take care of yourselves and I look forward to getting in contact again soon.

Africa has produced exceptional players, but not a World Cup-quality team (LA Times)

Piracy Cuts Oil Production in Cameroon, Threatens Future Investment (Voice of America)

Cameroon to give local players a chance (ESPN)

Cameroon opposition accuse Biya of poll rigging bid (Reuters)

Girl who fled forced prostitution in Cameroon failed by social workers (Telegraph)

Nigeria forces on alert after text message threats (Associated Press)

Cameroon soldiers punished for clash with civilians (Associated Press)

There are a number of National Holidays here in Cameroon. Independence Day is an obvious one, but there are also a few others. Paul Biya’s (la president or sa magestie) birthday is an important one, not to mention it being indicative of a personality cult. On that note, the RDPC (Cameroon’s ruling party) also have their own yearly shindig where I imagine they celebrate the fact that they’ve miraculously won every election held in this country since independence. Being a neutral observer of politics here, I stay far away from any festivities associated with those holidays. Getting involved with any sort of political gathering would most likely get me an all expenses paid trip home to the states in no time at all.

In addition to these National “Fetes,” there is also Youth Day in February which is a favorite of mine. Any holiday that allows children of all ages, unsupervised, to run down the streets of Bogo with flaming jars and cans of gasoline attached to sticks is okay in my book(See February 18, 2009 post). In the North, while not official holidays in Cameroon, Fete du Ramadan and Fete du Mouton are heavily anticipated holidays of the Islamic religion. But just recently on March 8th we celebrated another Holiday that brings with it much revelry. On a sunny and hot(surprise) Monday this March, National Women’s Day was held, which I believe coincides with the international Holiday of the same name. This was my second Women’s Day in Cameroon, but unfortunately last year I was on a trip and unable to enjoy the festivities. This year I found myself in Bogo and was therefore privy to the celebration, which began two days prior to the 8th. Two days before Women’s Day, a concert was held in Bogo. Many were extremely excited about this concert, which featured the very popular Roukaiya Mabalwa. You may not have heard of her so allow me to preface the concert. Roukaiya Mabalwa is a very popular female singer from Northern Nigeria, where from what I understand most people speak either Hausa or Fulani; Fulani being very similar to the Fulfulde spoken in Northern Cameroon. When told of this concert I thought that I did not know the music of Roukaiya Mabalwa. However, after a few excited explanations from friends I realized that I was indeed aware of her hit song. Take a stroll past any boutique on any busy street in any Northern Cameroonian village, town or city and you will hear this song. Allow me to state that I do not dislike Roukaiya Mabalwa. All things considered, she’s put out some damn fine tunes. The only problem is that every boutique on every busy street in every village, town or city you will most likely hear that one hit song. I love music of all kinds, but regardless of how much I like a song, listening to snippets of it all day everyday can grate on me.

Nevertheless, I find myself very excited to attend this live music event in my village. The printed tickets say the concert begins at 8PM. As a result, a few other volunteers in town and I planned to show up around 9:30PM. It worked like a charm, as we sat down and about twenty minutes later the concert started.

The venue was a very large compound in the Matakamre neighborhood that belonged to someone I am told is an extremely well to do individual who grew up in Bogo but now finds his fortunes elsewhere, leaving the residence empty almost year round. The courtyard is large enough to seat the estimated 500 in attendance while a hoard of I can only imagine how many thousand awaits outside to see the arriving concert-goers and perhaps catch a glimpse of Roukaiya herself. Arriving on foot with two other nassarras, you can only imagine the scrutiny we are paid. If there was ever a red carpet event in Bogo then this is it.

At this point I’m extremely excited. I’ve heard this woman on the radio before but I want to know how she does a live show. Anybody can sound like a good singer on the radio, but not everyone can get onstage and really rock out. Let’s not forget about stage presence! I need a few crowd surfing incidents, maybe a drum solo or two. Bonus points if they set a guitar on fire. Yelling “we love you Bogo!” at the end of the set is encouraged.

All the movers and shakers of Bogo society seem to be present, and finally the Sous-Prefet rolls into the compound in his SUV with his sizeable entourage. Roukaiya and her three backup singers emerge and the concert begins. To my disbelief they are all lip-syncing. Roukaiya is holding a microphone, but even from the back row I can tell that this is not the Roukaiya I see before me that is singing. Many of her songs reference the names of places and their respective officials. It becomes apparent that they have pre-recorded all these songs and inserted “Bogo,” “Monsieur le Mayeur,” and “Monsieur le Sous-Prefet” where appropriate. From what I have gathered she has been paid a hefty sum of money for this gig so I feel a bit cheated.

I’m done badmouthing this concert for two reasons. Reason number one is that this was not the worst concert I’ve ever attended, believe it or not. In 2007 I went to see the “Allman Brothers Band” at Nissan Pavilion in the DC area. I was well aware that at that point there was only one living Allman brother, but I at least expected him to take us through the golden years with his new band following along. Man, was I wrong. It looked like any guy who ever smoked a joint on the Allman Brothers bus was given an instrument and thrown onstage for that show. To open the gig they ripped into “Hurricane” and I was fully impressed; also very eager to hear a number of their old songs. But listening to twenty geriatric stoners jam out for the next 90 minutes was more than I could handle. I would rather pay to hear someone play ‘Ramblin Man’ on a kazoo than listen to that cacophony again. If you are curious, the Moody Blues concert my parents dragged my sisters and I to when I was about ten years old rounds out the top 3. I’ve grown to appreciate a number of Moody Blues songs, but watching what can only be described as a less limber if not arthritic Justin Hayward prance around onstage in a pirate shirt while teary 40 year olds held up lighters was a childhood experience that really sticks with you.

My apologies, I digress. Reason number two would be what happened at the Roukaiya concert about 10 minutes in. On the 2nd or 3rd song all the ‘grands,’ or big men of Bogo, took to the stage to paste these four lovely ladies with a ridiculous amount of currency. The custom at many of these events is for the rich and/or powerful attendees to come to the stage and start “making it rain.” If you are not sure what I mean by making it rain, I recorded it on my camera and hope to share it with you in the not too distant future. Basically large amounts of cash are tossed at the singers and sometimes placed directly on their forehead. Seeing the amount of dough these guys tossed around was shocking. They could be trouble at a gentleman’s club.

This concert was two days before Women’s Day. Fast forwarding to Monday’s festivities, most of the community gathered at the local government grounds just around the corner of my house for the Women’s Day parade. The Sous-prefet and a number of other bigwigs were gathered under a shaded grandstand of sorts, fashioned out of wooden beams and straw. A few of them rose to address the crowd and bless the festivities. For the next ten minutes or so an assortment of groups marched through holding signs identifying their respective organization or community association. All the women marching are decked out in their newly tailored outfits made out of the official women’s day fabric. Any big event or holiday in Cameroon is accompanied by a corresponding fabric with which everyone has clothes made. Also gracing the ceremony was none other than Roukaiya Mabalwa who chose to stick around Bogo for the holiday. She and her three backup singers gave another rousing lip-syncing concert during the parade. I felt she had worn out her welcome by this point. The community paid a sizeable chunk of cash to have her come and perform, but as far as I'm concerned she can take this low budget karaoke act elsewhere.

So that was pretty much the extent of Women’s Day in Bogo. The parade ended around 10:30 or so, and I imagine most of the participants headed back to the kitchen afterwards to make lunch. Don’t take that the wrong way, ladies. I just call it how I see it.

Later that same day I went into Maroua for the evening to pay some bills and get some internet. I must say that Women’s Day in a large city such as Maroua is a completely different experience altogether. While I imagine the town of Bogo was settling into the evening and drifting off to sleep I arrived in Maroua to discover something resembling spring break. The Peace Corps house is located right in the middle of the main nightlife spot in Maroua along Boulevard Renouveau, and I believe jubilant pandemonium could best describe the scene when I arrived. Every bar, and they are plentiful on this street, was overflowing with people. The Domayo neighborhood where the house is located is known for being one of Maroua’s ‘wilder’ areas, but seeing the street, bars and everything in between filled with so many people that evening was very strange for a normally quiet city. Many of my neighbors/friends/colleagues in Bogo expressed their utter shock at what goes on in Maroua during Women’s Day. Having a drink amongst the crowd that evening I couldn’t say that I saw anything incredibly unsuitable or shocking, but to say people were having a good time would be understating it. Unfortunately I was too tired to enjoy the free for all, and I retired to the house for some sleep. The music and shouting from the street was such that lying in bed I still felt as though I was out in the middle of it all. Luckily I received Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” on audiobook from a fellow volunteer. One of these days I’ll be interested to hear what the man had to say, but on this night Dostoyevsky is being read aloud on my iPod solely for his ability to put me to sleep in less than 2 minutes.

So what is Women’s Day in Cameroon really about? I’ve spent enough time ranting about what I find to be strange or humorous about it. In all seriousness it seems to be an excellent occasion for community groups that day in and day out work to improve the status of women in this country. Every other day of the year could be considered Men’s Day in Cameroon. Especially in the smaller towns and villages, women constantly face a number of challenges and are often severely limited in their choices and ability to be on an equal footing with their male counterparts. Limited access to education, domestic violence, vulnerability to HIV/AIDS to give a few examples. I do not want to give the impression that women are not respected by Cameroonian men or that they are doomed to be second class citizens in all situations. In my experience, women in Bogo are almost always treated with great respect and admiration as mothers, daughters, wives, homemakers, teachers, etc. And beyond what would be considered the traditional domain of females in this society, there are individuals who are always pushing the limits and demanding that women be given more stock in their community beyond what is considered the norm. Women's Day is a good occasion to bring these issues to the surface, but the reality is that it is only one day out of the year. Taking it a step further into everyday life in Cameroon seems to be the challenge now.

If you have the time, move on to the next blog post and freshen up on the latest installment of ‘Cameroon in the News.’ Cameroonian pirates are up to no good, journalists are behaving badly (according to security forces), Les Lions Indomptables gear up for the World Cup, the Central African Republic is not the best neighbor to have, and last but not least African leaders seem intent to prove that in terms of political power 80 is the new 40. Enjoy.

Freed Chinese Hostages Headed to Cameroon Capital (Associated Press)

Cameroon's Media Crackdown 'Alarming' (Gulf Times)

Our Psyches Shy of the Goal (Mail & Guardian Online)

UNHCR Says More CAR Refugees Entering Cameroon (Voice of America)

African Leaders Show There Are many Countries For Old Men (The Guardian)

This past Tuesday I posted two items for your reading pleasure, one of which was a reccuring post I call "Cameroon in the News." Every month or so I like to search the web for the latest news on Cameroon that I think you may find interesting and/or educational. I wanted to quickly revisit a story I posted on Tuesday from The Washington Post, which described the practice and prevalence of "breast ironing" in Cameroon. I consider The Washington Post to be a very decent news source especially considering some of the other options out there. Yet when re-reading this article by a freelance writer, an American woman who spent a short time in Cameroon, I found myself disappointed with the Post's decision to publish the article. Now before I lose you on this one let me explain that the practice of breast ironing is something I find to be indefensible. It is not something I am confronted with frequently as it is rarely practiced in the northern region of the country where I am posted. I spend little to no time in the southern regions of the country where it is more common so I also cannot speak to its presence and prevalence in that area. My disappointment with this article stems more from the fact that this freelance writer failed to do the issue justice. I don't question her good intentions. Unfortunately her article indicates to me nothing more than an outsider's curiosity/nosiness, and I question whether it has added any substantive value to the fight to end the practice. Where do her statistics and numbers come from? I'm not disputing them, but I also like to know where the information comes from beyond vaguely identified health activists. What are the motives for those who practice breast ironing and how are people going about stopping the practice? She touches on these issues, but unfortunately I don't think this is something that she has sufficiently looked into.

My apologies for the rant, but reading through this article a second time it got me a bit upset. Someone living the expat lifestyle in a country such as Cameroon will never truly experience or understand the society from their insulated neighborhoods, private schools, tinted SUVs and pricey restaurants. As a result I don't believe the writer of said article is in a position to accurately depict the practice. If you would like to know more about this issue, visit the following link which I found to be far more informative. Women in Africa Bear A Painful Tradition. For more info see this article published by the German development organization, GTZ, an agency that has worked extensively on womens health issues in Cameroon.

Breast ironing, a painful practice for Cameroon's girls (Washington Post)

Cameroon footballer jailed in Myanmar for forgery (Associated Press)

Polio vaccination targets 85 million in West Africa (Daily Nation)

UNHCR chief puts spotlight on Central African refugees in Cameroon (Reuters)

Cameroon journos 'tortured' (News 24)

Pig vaccine helps humans (Science Alert)

Ohio zoo helping with parrots rescued in Cameroon (Associated Press)

Cameroon has grown up (France 24)

Fifa denies African fans priced out of World Cup (BBC)

Cameroon GDP set to grow 2.9 pct in 2010, 4 pct in 2011 (Reuters)

Its official, the hot season has finally arrived. How do I know? I'm stuck to my chair right now, thats how. Actually I just went online and checked Google weather for Maroua, Cameroon. A mild 108 degrees is predicted today. 115 tomorrow. Its my second hot season here and I must say that so far it is not nearly as unbearable as last year. I still have to survive the height of it in April so we'll see if I'm still singing the same tune a month from now.

I believe the main difference is I've modified my daily schedule to suit the climate. Being an impatient first year volunteer last hot season I think I tried to fight the heat and go on about my day as normal. That is just not possible and I paid the price in the form of severe heat rash, dehydration, weight loss, and just generally being uncomfortable.

This year I have no illusions about my ability to function in this type of weather. Every morning I'll wake up around 5:30 when the morning call to prayer rings out across Bogo. At this point it feels somewhat cool, but probably somewhere in the low 90s. The first cold bucket bath of the day gets me ready to head out into the fields, orchards and/or tree nurseries. By about 9AM the heat is fully upon us, and I retreat to my home for cold bucket bath number two. Before it gets too close to midday I head to the market and pick up any food or household needs; sometimes just to shoot the breeze with friends.

By 10AM I am in full relaxation mode. My shaded porch is the coolest spot in my house, but the tin roof and concrete walls bake in the sun and getting as far away from any buildings is the best way to stay cool. Most folks choose to spend the midday hours outside their homes under the Neem trees that line the streets of Bogo, and seeing as its about 10 degrees cooler under their canopy I understand why and have taken to doing it myself.

Its hard to get much accomplished when I can only work about 3 hours in the early morning, so after napping or reading the day away I often try to visit farmers, orchards and tree nurseries in the afternoon after about 3PM. Its still hotter than the hinges of hell at 3PM so 1 hour is about all I can muster.

Despite the stifling heat, the guys are still out playing soccer in the evenings from about 4:30-6:30. Every other day I'll join in the evening practice and scrimage, but this time of year I need an extra day to recover. Cramps, dehydration and exhaustion are guaranteed. The morning after a practice it is obvious to everyone that I'm hurting. Limping around town and making painful grunting sounds when trying to sit down on someone's rug or work with them in the field are dead giveaways.

Evening temps are better but only because the sun is no longer beating down upon us. There is a steady breeze that blows through my concession at night. The only problem is that it is even warmer than the stagnant heat still leftover from the daytime. Cold bucket bath number three helps cool me down enough to go to bed. Timshel has started knocking over his water dish into the sand, and then proceeds to dig a hole and sleep in the cool and wet trench. I left a full bucket out for him the other night and once he knocked it over into the sand he slept like a rock. He is very grimy now as a result, but I'll let it slide until the heat subsides.

APF Proposes Preventive Action Against Corruption (AllAfrica.com)

http://allafrica.com/stories/201002190807.html

The Healing (Washington Post)

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/18/AR2010021803144.html

Egypt 3-1 Cameroon (The Guardian)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/jan/25/egypt-cameroon-africa-cup-of-nations

Water crisis persists in Cameroon's capital city (Radio Netherlands)

http://www.rnw.nl/africa/article/water-crisis-persists-cameroons-capital-city

Cameroon Regulates Trade of Endangered Animal Meat (Epoch Times)

http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/29944/

Cameroon police seize 700 parrots at airport (AFP)

http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iuXwoRFWZuQ9cLPQZ44Ol30TN_ZQ

Cameroon frees detained journalists (AFP)

http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5gYieY7yqpnwZeB306GeMTYBgr9AA

Writing this entry I find myself back in Bogo and back in my normal routine, but the last few weeks outside of my village has been anything but routine. Earlier this January I embarked on what could easily be considered, excluding of course coming to Cameroon, as my most ambitious journey yet. Approximately one month ago I set out for New Zealand to attend my cousin’s wedding and spend some much needed time with family members. The time spent there was well worth the voyage, but to say that getting to NZ from Africa was tiresome would be a gross understatement. On paper (my e-ticket) the trip seemed intimidating. Yet I feel that travelling in Cameroon has done wonders for my patience and resolve. Nevertheless what often looks good on paper can be quite the opposite in reality. Allow me to elaborate:

Cameroon to New Zealand (In theory)

Day 1- One hour motorcycle ride from Bogo to Maroua. Upon arrival, go to the bus agency and buy a ticket for the first bus to Ngaoundere the next morning at 5:30AM. Spend the night at the PC Transit house.

Day 2- Roll out of bed at 5AM. On the way to the bus station, stop and eat some beans and beignets from one of the mamas on the street. Arrive at the bus station at 5:30 for the 8 hour trip to Ngaoundere. The bus arrives in Ngaoundere in mid-afternoon. I like to take my time going overland through Cameroon, so I head to the PC Transit house to get some street meat, cold beer and rest up for the night.

Day 3- In the morning go to the train station and confirm the train reservation. A first class ticket (17000 francs) gets you a chair. Some say the floor is actually more comfortable than sitting in the chair for 16 hours. I am in agreement with that, but I can’t bring myself to sleep on the floor. My preference is to pay 25000 francs for a bed in a four person couchette. When things go wrong on the overnight train to Yaounde, which is almost a certainty, I prefer to be horizontal. The train leaves Ngaoundere at 6PM each evening and is theoretically supposed to arrive in Yaounde around 10AM the next morning.

Day 4- Arriving in Yaounde one must push their way out of the station through the endless throng of baggage porters, taxi drivers, vendors, police, pickpockets, etc. Then buy a seat in a shared taxi for 200 francs to get to the neighborhood of the Peace Corps office/transit house. Do some laundry and take a hot shower in the transit house. Head down the street to ‘Le Car’ and buy a 6000 franc ticket on the afternoon bus to Douala. Leave Yaounde on what is actually a nice tour bus where everyone has their own seats, arriving in Douala in no less than 3 hours. Descending the bus in Douala try to deduce who is a real taxi driver while not being relieved of my possessions. Get to a hotel and call it a night.

Day 5- Yes, this is day 5 and we are not even out of Cameroon. Take a taxi or hotel bus to the airport. While waiting in the line at the ticket counter, I try to practice patience with the 500 people who approach asking to change money and then decide that they are my best friend in the entire world. Get through the customs and immigrations officials, who are not above asking for ‘gifts’ to streamline the process or to exempt you from some asinine regulation they probably came up with in their head five minutes ago. Board an Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Malabo, Equatorial Guinea, and then Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The flight time adds up to about 6 hours. Arrive in Addis Ababa late in the evening and almost immediately board a 10 hour overnight flight to Bangkok, Thailand.

Day 6- Arrive in Bangkok sometime in the early afternoon. Spend the next 6 hours in the Bangkok airport waiting for the 12 hour flight to Auckland, New Zealand.

Day 7- Arrive in Auckland at around 2PM. Keep awake as long as possible to get in tune with local time. As soon as nightfall arrives, collapse in the nearest bed.

Cameroon to New Zealand (In practice)

Much to my surprise, Cameroon was not the problem on this trip. Let’s pick up at Day 5, shall we?

Day 5- Everything is going amazingly well (too well perhaps?). The Ethiopian Air flight arrives in Douala a bit late, but we still get out of there at a reasonable time. The 20 minute puddle jump to the island of Malabo is uneventful. The problem begins in Malabo when for whatever reason we sit on the tarmac and at the gate for an unusually long time. Arriving in Addis Ababa, what was supposed to be a comfy layover is now a rush to get to the connecting flight to Bangkok. Coming off the plane I ask the nearest person who looks official which way to the flight. I arrive at one end of the terminal where they are boarding a flight to Dubai. The Bangkok flight is on the other end of the terminal (not a large terminal, but seconds count at this point). I arrive at the correct gate to see the doors closed. The plane is still there but pulling onto the tarmac. I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.

Day 6- It’s just past midnight and I find myself at the Ethiopian Airlines desk pleading for someone to help me reschedule my flight. The guy at the desk feels it necessary to tell me multiple times that this mix up was not the airline’s fault, so why should he be in a hurry to help me? I offer to go find the jackass who sent me to the Dubai flight and drag him down there to prove otherwise but at this point I’m being ignored. My experience of African travel kicks in at this point. Politeness has gone out the window. I go around the counter and head into the back of the office to talk to the big man. I think to myself that if I did this in America I would most likely find myself in a TSA holding cell very quickly. No one here looks interested in stopping me. After wrangling with the manager in the back I am booked on the next night’s flight to Bangkok. They are perplexed that I don’t want to pay $20 for an Ethiopian visa, go through immigration and get a hotel for the night. I hope to visit Ethiopia when my service in Cameroon is finished; I have no interest in seeing their country this time around. I’m wiped out at this point and about to crash on a chair in the terminal. A customs official approaches, hands me a blanket and tells me to go sleep in the airport mosque where there is soft carpet. Not how I planned to spend this evening, but I must say it’s an interesting development in the adventure. Plus the carpet was really cushy. Much more comfortable than my bed in Bogo, I must say.

Day 6 (Part 2)- I awake from a deep sleep around 6:30AM. That would mean that while the travelling faithful came in to pray at about 5:30AM there was some random American sprawled out in the corner. I tend to snore and talk in my sleep so I can only imagine it was an interesting morning prayer session for them. I see that another stranded traveler from Senegal is also just rising and we exchange a look of solidarity in our faux-pas.

It’s 7 in the morning and only 17 hours to go before the next flight to Bangkok. My Senegalese friend and I get our meal vouchers from the Ethiopian desk. He’s been stuck in the Addis airport for 3 days trying to get to Hong Kong. Meeting someone in the same situation can be comforting. I must be a more social creature than I thought, as not speaking to a friend or family member for almost 4 days during the ordeal between Cameroon and NZ was trying. Not to mention that this poor guy’s situation was far worse than mine and it put my travails into perspective. We run into another gentleman, a Congolese with an Austrian passport. He’s been in the airport for 5 days as neither Ethiopian Airlines nor Ethiopian immigration will allow him to leave. I decide not to pry any further. I just met this guy and I don’t need to know what Interpol watch list he’s been placed on. I spend the next 17 hours wandering the terminal and using up my meal vouchers. Boarding time arrives. I see that my Senegalese friend is also getting on his flight. Its good to know he doesn’t have to spend another night in this black hole of an airport. I’m not holding out hope for the Congolese guy though. Much to my delight, especially after all the problems last night, the desk agent put me in business class.” Would you like a warm towel, sir?” Better give me two, I spent the night in your airport and I’m a bit ripe. “How about some Champagne?” How ‘bout yeah! And don’t be shy, keep ‘em coming. “Anything else, sir?” I’m going to need two more blankets, a beer and more cheese and crackers to finish off my dinner. And my neighbor here who doesn’t speak English or Amrhaic looks cold. Go get her another blanket too. I know this flight attendant is not responsible for my problems, and she is being a good sport, but she works for Ethiopian Airlines and therefore represents all that is evil in my world at this moment.

Day 7- I arrive in Bangkok in the early afternoon. Ethiopian Airlines told me confidently that Thai Airways would take care of rescheduling my flight to New Zealand once I arrive here. Thai Airways quickly dispels that myth and informs me that, no, in fact it is Ethiopian and only Ethiopian that can right this wrong. The next flight to Auckland, NZ, does not leave until tomorrow but knowing all too well how they operate I get to work at once. It quickly becomes apparent that although Ethiopian has an office in the airport, it looks as though no one has staffed this office for a number of years. I go through four Thai Airways employees before I find an agent who understands that while I would love to deal with someone from Ethiopian (seeing as how competent they’ve been up to this point), it is a bit difficult when their presence in the Bangkok Airport consists of a dingy office locked up and devoid of any human presence. Finally I reach an Ethiopian agent over the phone. The flight to Auckland tomorrow is booked solid and thus my only consolation is being placed on the standby list. If I don’t get this flight I miss my cousin’s wedding. She doesn’t seem moved so I play the Peace Corps card. That at least gets me a hotel room and meal vouchers for the night. A dinner buffet never tasted so good and a hot shower was never more in need.

Day 8- The Auckland flight is not until this evening, but I’m back at the airport at 7AM. Ethiopian “has done all they can do” by placing me on standby. If I don’t make this flight tonight I don’t make the wedding. So now I find myself at the Thai Airways counter where my mission for the next 12 hours is to make the employee on duty as uncomfortable as possible. Offering to don the lovely purple Thai Airways uniform, serve drinks and do the pre-flight safety speech for the upcoming flight is a good way to start off. Checking my email in the cyber café later that day I come upon an interesting message from a family member in NZ. He just checked the flight this evening to Auckland and there are over 10 economy seats available. I go back to the Thai Airways counter and the urge to jump on the desk and yell, “Liar!” is almost too much to overcome. I don’t appreciate being held in limbo for hours on end. I decide against it and calmly approach, suggest they check the flight’s seating chart, find me an open seat on the aisle and print me a boarding pass. She seems shocked that I have this information available to me while she did not. I sense that I’m about to get on the flight so I hold my tongue. Boarding passes in hand, I ask her about 7 or 8 times whether or not this actually means I have a seat, each time adding another “really?” to the inquiry. If I had been working with this woman throughout the entire ordeal she may have understood why I was acting like a complete lunatic at this point. But she was just the last of about 40 people from Addis Ababa to Bangkok who had to hear the same sob story about the PC Volunteer on his way to a family wedding. I may have embellished the story a bit along the way, but I was getting screwed over here!

Boarding the flight that evening, calm descended over me for the first time since Day 5. And I must say that Thai Airways knows how to fly. I was in the nose bleed section of that flight to Auckland, somewhere around row 77, and it was infinitely nicer than Ethiopian business class. I’ll stop there to avoid from making this sound like a sales pitch for Thai Airways.

Day 9- Yet another early afternoon arrival, finally in Auckland, and I descend the plane to clear immigration. New Zealand customs is no joke, and their BioSecurity branch seems wholly focused on rooting out anything that may harm the country’s unique and fragile environment. Coming from Central Africa they pay me particularly close attention, right down to any dirt or dust that may be on my shoes and backpack (and there is plenty). Into the international arrivals lounge and I’m nearly tackled by two parents for whom I am almost inexplicably happy to see. It’s nice to be missed. The rest of the story would be an entirely different entry altogether, but I will say that despite the bumpy ride the short time down under was well worth it.

Epilogue

After reading this, some of you may be thinking that there is no way in hell I’ll ever fly Ethiopian again. Surprisingly I must say that you are wrong. It’s been a dream of mine for some time to visit Ethiopia and I fully intend to do so when my service in Cameroon is finished. The history of the country from ancient times to present day fascinates me, and I think once you get a taste of Africa there is always a need to see and experience as much of it as possible. Also, before my trip to New Zealand I signed up for Ethiopian Airlines frequent flyer program, ShebaMiles. I racked up something ridiculous like 13,000 miles on this last voyage. With a bank of miles like that I can now get into the Sheba Lounge in the Addis Ababa airport, which from the outside looked quite posh. They have no idea how intent I am in turning that lounge into my personal playground for the 2 or 3 hours prior to my next flight out of Addis. I also have some ideas for my next sojourn in Ethiopian Airlines business class:

-If Ethiopian immigration will allow it, ask to store my newly purchased goat in the overhead compartment.

-Asking for an English-Amhraic dictionary and insisting on speaking to the flight attendants in their native tongue.

-Requesting an inordinate amount of extra pillows and blankets to make a fort out of my seat.

-Bringing a copy of a children’s story along for the ride (‘Go Dog Go’ and ‘Goodnight Moon’ are personal favorites). Inform a flight attendant that I cannot possibly sleep unless someone reads it to me, twice (second time in Amhraic). At this point I think they’ll do just about anything to get me to go to sleep.

-In the morning before the descent into wherever I may be going, put on a track suit and pump ‘Eye of the Tiger’ on my iPod. Run the length of the plane through the aisles, shadow boxing with the drink carts.

Much of the past few months has been spent on the road. Maroua to Ngaoundere to Yaounde to Bafoussam to Foumbot to Foumban to Mbuda to Dschang, back up North for the holidays, and now back in Yaounde on the cusp of a journey to the fatherland for a wedding. Without a doubt my mp3 player has been one of the most integral items I brought with me to Africa. My tattered copy of 'East of Eden' is a close second. When on the road there is no shortage of entertainment to be found amongst my fellow passengers or throughout the landscape out the window. Yet there are those times when escaping into my music is a great distraction from the erratic driving and cramped quarters. No to mention on many buses between cities the driver tends to pump Celine Dion over the vehicle's speakers. So allow me to share with you some of the tunes that keep me sane on even the most trying of journeys.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I-IV) by Pink Floyd

There's nothing like a 13 minute song to whittle away the kilometers. And even better if that song happens to be a rock masterpiece.

It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube

I was sharing my earbuds with a Cameroonian kid on a recent voyage and the shuffle brought us to this song. After hearing it once he wouldn't let me go on to the next track, and we ended up listening to it about 5 times. Nothing like some hardcore hip hop to help bridge cultures.

Rock the Casbah by The Clash

The first and only rock song that I've witnessed a Cameroonian enjoy.

Carolina On My Mind by James Taylor

A little nostalgia never hurts when the voyage gets to be too much.

Country Roads by John Denver

See previous.

Sun Is Shining by Bob Marley & The Wailers

I can't think of any time when listening to Bob wouldn't be appropriate, but I think this song was made for the parched highways of the Extreme North.

Lucky Star by Madonna

Yes, this is a personal favorite and I am not ashamed of that in the least.

Rosa Parks by Outkast

This was my 14 year old host brother's favorite song on my iPod. Last time I visited them I brought him some CDs I made, one of which contained this track. Picturing him breaking it down in his living room while his mother looks on in horror brings a smile to my face.

Don't Wake Up Policeman by Junkie XL and Peter Tosh

A little tribute to those gendarmes and police at the checkpoints who make travel in Cameroon oh-so efficient!

Jazz (We've Got) by A Tribe Called Quest

When the chauffeur starts to drive a little nutty, which is a certainty, the Tribe can be counted on to keep me mellow.

Africa by Toto

Yes, I am that cliché. I ride across the country blasting "I've got some rains down in Africa!!"

North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem

When sitting next to a Cameroonian guy between the ages of 15 to 30 they will inevitably ask to share earbuds. I have no problem with this and it can lead to hours of entertainment for us both. However from time to time I get one of those guys who wants to listen to Thriller 50 times in a row (I'm not knocking Michael). I "accidentally" skip to LCD Soundsystem and within 1 minute I have the earbuds to myself again.

Get By by Talib Kweli

This song makes Cameroonians dance in their seats. Works every time.

Friend of the Devil by Grateful Dead

An anthem for the wayward.

Soon the New Day by Talib Kweli & Norah Jones

An unlikely collaboration to say the least but it's the only Norah Jones song that has received a thumbs up from my adopted countrymen.

Louisiana Saturday Night by Alabama

I was curious as to how the fellow sharing headphones with me on my latest bus ride would receive country music. I think I can mark that experiment down as a complete failure.

Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin

When the woman to my left starts breastfeeding her child in plain view of everyone and the gentleman to my right has obviously not showered since the rainy season, this tune takes me to exactly where the title suggests.

Christmas Day, 3:00PM- Finishing a quick meeting with my counterpart at my house I get a call from the parents stateside. Its always wonderful to hear from family, especially during this time of year. I wrap up my call, see my counterpart to the door and get a bag ready to leave my village Xmas for a more American one in Maroua.

3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.

4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.

5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.

5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.

5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.

6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.

7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.

8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.

9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.

9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.

11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.

So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.

Christmas Eve, 3:00PM- Getting back to Bogo after a long absence, I took the day to soak in the sights and sounds of the Thursday market. After all the travelling my level of exhaustion has hit levels I never thought possible. I retreat to my living room back at home and sink into a magazine, falling asleep after reading the table of contents.

7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.

8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.

8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.

8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.

8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.

9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.

9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.

9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.

10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.

Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.

8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.

10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.

10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.

10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.

10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.

11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.

11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.

12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.

12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.

12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.

12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.

1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.

1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.

1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.

2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.

2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.

2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.

2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!

I just spent the last three weeks travelling in the West of the country around Bafoussam and doing some mid-service medical exams in Yaounde. I don’t think I will ever piss and moan again when travelling in the U.S. I can’t think of anything in the states that can compare to the mayhem of travelling by bus or train in Cameroon.

As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.

I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region (Pictures included at end of this post). Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.

While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:

1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.

Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.

Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.

2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.

3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.

4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.

5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.

6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.

7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.

8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.

9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.

10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).

Many of you have expressed an interest in visiting me during my time here in Africa. Personally I think that is fantastic, and I would welcome with open arms any and all of you hearty travelers out there in search of a good adventure. Yet a trip to Cameroon could quickly turn into a logistics nightmare for someone not fully prepared. Fear not as I, for one, am an extremely capable host. Furthermore, I have described below what a voyage to Cameroon to visit yours truly would entail and I could personally guarantee that you would have the experience of a lifetime.

Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!

Getting Here (In one piece)

Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?

1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.

When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.

2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.

3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.

What Do We Do Now?

Maroua-

We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.

At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!

Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.

Bogo-

Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.

Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!

If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.

Farther Afoot

Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).

Kribi

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi

Limbe

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon

Mount Cameroon

http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm

Rhumsiki

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki

Waza National Park

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park

Mandara Mountains

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains

Foumban

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban

As many of you already know my local neighborhood team, Auxerre Marouaré FC, won the recent Coupe de Bogo (or Coupe des Vacances as they call it here). Now that the month of Ramadan has come and gone, the official Coupe des Vacances shin-dig was held this past Saturday evening. Held at the large event hall at the town Sous-Prefecture (think middle school auditorium), the entire Auxerre Marouaré squad plus the captains of all other participating teams are invited by the tournament organizers to celebrate for the evening. I’ve considered numerous ways of how to recreate this highly anticipated event for you, and I think the only way to do it justice would be to run you through a mental log I was compiling as the evening progressed.

Party Log- 11:30AM Saturday

At this point I am out in the bush working with a few project farmers discussing their current activities and possible well building projects in the future. That’s right, its not all soccer here. I also do work. Its carrot planting season right now and I really want them to do well. Lots of carrots in Bogo means lots of carrots in my homemade beef stew

Biking about 12km back into town, I immediately run into two fellow teammates lazing out under a Neem tree by the soccer field. They seem incredulous that I have been working this morning and not at my house. Another teammate has been banging on my door frantically all morning because he has my printed invitation to this evening’s fete. Apparently this is the hot event of the weekend on the Bogo nightlife scene.

Noon Saturday

Returning to my home and a hungry dog, I go to my water tank to fill a bucket. I need to cook this raving lunatic of a dog some rice before he eats his tail, and I severely need a cold bucket bath. Uh oh, water tank empty. I go around the block to ask get a kid to bring me water. Getting back to my house I learn that my frantic teammate was again banging on my door after hearing I was back in town. From what I understand the party is not until 8PM this evening so I plan to hit him up after taking a delightful bucket bath.

1:00PM

Bucket bath completed. Decreased internal temperature achieved. Dog fed and happy. It looks like my to-do list for the day is pretty much checked off. I look at my phone after getting dressed; 5 missed calls from frantic teammate. I appreciate his diligence but surely he is overreacting seeing as we have 7 hours before the festivities begin. I call frantic teammate. He sounds winded. He’s coming over “toute de suite!” he tells me. I’ve never heard anyone in Bogo so worked up.

1:45PM

Frantic teammate arrives chez moi, not quite ‘toute de suite,’ for probably the eightieth time today. This time I’m here. He comes in and produces 2 invitations for the party. That in and of itself is odd, but my suspicions are aroused further when he tells me the second invitation can only be given to a girl. Nice try, pal. I’ll add that to the growing list of tricks people use around here to set me up with one of their cousins. I don’t know how to translate ‘going stag’ into French so I coyly tell him I’ll check my rolodex and see what I can do. I think that has gotten me off the hook for now. Frantic teammate leaves less frantic.

2:20PM

No work this afternoon, so I settle into the latest Economist that I picked up from Maroua. I think it’s an issue from late August so I’m a bit behind in the news.

4:00PM

After eating some leftover spaghetti I head down the road to Bogo stadium. Preceding the party this evening there is a friendly match between our squad and Siratare. I’m merely a spectator for this match. The game kicks off about 1 hour late, and I begin to wish I had laced up this evening as the game for once seems surprising amicable. I didn’t see anyone try to rip an opponent to shreds with his cleats the entire game.

6:00PM

On account of darkness and the evening call to prayer, the game gets called after only 60 minutes played. Auxerre Marouaré wins 2-0. I head back to my house with a teammate/neighbor. He is genuinely surprised when he learns that I don’t have a suit for the evening. I assure him that I’ll be dressed appropriately. I’m also told that I must be there at 8PM sharp. Cameroonians, especially in village, aren’t too concerned with punctuality. Perhaps this is such an anticipated party that it actually starts on time, I think to myself.

8:00 PM

Nope, I’m not yet at the party. I’m in the process of putting on my finest white shirt and gray slacks. I think I look quite dapper, but if you saw my finest white shirt and grey slacks you would know it doesn’t say much about the rest of my wardrobe here. I’ve decided to stroll over to the hall at around 8:30. I’ve never been to or organized a single event or meeting in this town that started on time so I presume I’ll show up just as the others arrive.

8:36PM

Approaching the hall I hear thumping rap music at high volume. That’s a good sign, I think. It sounds something like Akon, maybe Nelly, or whichever other marginally talented knucklehead the kids are listening to these days in Cameroon. Regardless, my plan has worked and surely the nassarra is not the first to show up!

8:37PM

The nassarra is yet again the first one to show up. I picture all my teammates snickering behind the bushes. “Haha, that moron showed up 30 minutes late. How does he not yet know that we show up to things 2 hours late?? Hahaha.”

I take a seat next to my buddy who is the DJ for the evening. Nelly is pumping through the speakers saying something deep and thoughtful like, “Yeah, Oh…uh uh. Oh, yeah!!” I tell him I have some Tribe Called Quest on my iPod back at my house if he’s interested. He doesn’t look interested. We shoot the breeze for a while. I ask when the people are coming. He shrugs as he continues thumbing through a stack of CDs. I truly fear what is next on his party mix. He tosses a disc in and “Barbie Girl” belts through the speakers.

8:45PM

Down the road a ways out of earshot I take a seat at the local watering hole and crack open a frosty 33’ Export. Cut me a break. That music played at such a volume has the ability to disintegrate eardrums. I settle in with a few of the regulars who are watching a match on the TV. It just started and it looks to be one hell of a game. I promise myself I’ll go back to the party in 30 minutes.

9:45PM

So much for 30 minutes. But atleast I got to see the whole first half. I begin to worry that everyone has already arrived and I’m past being just fashionably late. That turns out to be a silly thought as I arrive once again and there are at maximum about 15 people. Ok, I know that nobody wants to be the first one to the party, but this is getting to be ridiculous! I’m welcomed in and the inevitable questions from my teammates begin. “Où est ta femme, Daniel?” They assure me its no problem. “Many many girls are coming!”

10:30PM

Most of the guests have arrived. Some of the ladies would look more at home at a high school prom. Most of the gentlemen look very put together as well. There are a few 50 Cent wannabes in attendance, but for the most part a nice pressed shirt and slacks seems to be the norm.

10:35PM

I was quite comfortable at the table where I was sitting, but now I’m being escorted across the hall to another empty table. A few minutes later the same teammate brings some other guests over to join me at the table. We all greet each other (I don’t know a single one of them), and my teammate sits one of the ladies next to me as he shoots me a goofy grin. I strongly doubt that I could be any more uncomfortable right now.

11:00PM

After trying to make friendly conversation with my fellow revelers at table 3, the entire group has fallen silent for about 15 minutes. I take back my previous statement made at 10:35PM. This is more uncomfortable.

11:25PM

I am beginning to wonder if my team is playing a very large and elaborate joke on me. Table 3 is still silent. Nothing that resembles a party atmosphere has taken place in about 30 minutes, with the exception of the thumping music. I look around and all other tables are at about the same stage of apathy.

11:30PM

I have to be honest. I’m starting to lose faith in this party. At this point, the organizers need a small miracle to bring this thing back to life. I look at my friend at the DJ table. His expression tells me that he is also highly confused. I take comfort in this. It tells me that this is not how they typically put a party together. I say this is comforting for someone like me because I imagine that I’ll be attending similar events in the future. Someone obviously dropped the ball this evening.

11:33PM

I stand corrected. Just in time, a number of bodies begin hauling in cases of beverages followed closely by ladies with plates of all sorts of tasty looking treats. The beer, orange fanta and cokes get doled out while ladies begin setting plates of cookies, peanuts, fries, popcorn and grilled meat at all the tables.

11:35PM

That was a hail mary if I ever saw one. Whoever engineered the last minute appearance of beverages and grub averted a possible riot. I try to eat as much as possible; particularly the grilled meat and cookies while trying not to look like a pig. I doubt it’s working. The party seems to be in full swing.

11:50PM

It looks like everyone has had their fill. Despite the music at about 100 decibels, I feel incredibly content and relaxed. My belly is full and I’m nursing a cold bottle of orange fanta. Sadly I’ve given up on my fellow partygoers at table 3. I guess they’re the silent types. I begin to check my watch. I was hoping to stay for some dancing, but it’s almost midnight and I’ve got some tree planting to do at sunrise.

11:54PM

“Attention ladies and gentlemen…” My DJ friend announces that pictures of the team will be taken with the trophy, and that dancing will commence shortly. After the pictures I expect people to take to the floor. However, my friend begins picking ladies and men from the audience and pairing them together in the middle of the floor. This does not look good. When I heard there would be dancing my mental picture was jumping back and forth to chaotic African pop or something. This sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion song. The couples on the floor slow dance for about 15 seconds and the music stops. Once again, I retract my statement from 11:00PM. This is more uncomfortable.

Another round of couples are chosen and dance for no more than 15 seconds to the same song. They all look as though they want to run off the floor in a panic. No need for chaperons with rulers here, as these young lovebirds look like they don’t want a thing to do with each other.

11:54PM and 30 seconds

Either that meat was of questionable quality or I’m seriously nervous right now, because the sweat is beading on my forehead and my tummy is grumbling. I look over to my friend with the microphone. He looks as if he’s up to something. I don’t say anything to him as he’s across the room, but I think my glare and subtle shaking of the head effectively indicates to him that I will take that microphone and beat him over the head with it if I am selected in the next round of awkward slow dancing.

Midnight

It’s been quite a journey over the last 12 hours. In short, my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin so it’s about time I hit the dusty trail. Besides, I’ve got some trees to plant at sunrise tomorrow and the mix of Nelly and Celine Dion is making my ears bleed.

First of all let me apologize for being such a poor blogger. No posts in two months?? Yes I am in the bush, but I have to say that is just inexcusable! So while I am diligently working on several new posts that should be up later today and possibly next weekend, here are some interesting articles I've come across that have to do with Cameroon. So forget the local newspaper when you wake up this morning, and take a look at whats going on in our neck of the woods.

It Takes Courage: Honoring Cameroonian Journalist Agnes Taile (FindingDulcinea)

http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/international/2009/Oct/It-Takes-Courage--Honoring-Cameroonian-Journalist-Agnes-Taile.html

Chad Expels Cameroonian Journalist After Nobel Story (CPJ)

http://cpj.org/2009/10/chad-expels-cameroonian-journalist-after-nobel-sto.php

18 Die In Cameroonian Boat Accident (AP)

http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iTR75hfQtopGsGDvhRNIo8UmnomA

Cameroon Military Repels Pirate Attack, Kills 4 (Reuters)

http://www.reuters.com/article/latestCrisis/idUSLF20942

Cameroon's Security Forces Dismantle Armed Bandits (Trading Markets)

http://www.tradingmarkets.com/.site/news/Stock%20News/2578689/

World Bank to Invest $215 to Boost Internet in Africa (Voice of America)

http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-10-06-voa43.cfm

Humanitarian Crisis Looms Around Shrinking Lake Chad (Reuters)

http://www.alertnet.org/db/an_art/59567/2009/09/15-102623-1.htm

Efforts to Save Lake Chad Intensify (Voice of America)

http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2009-10-12-voa19.cfm

Cholera Kills At Least 51 in North (IRIN)

http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=86608

Cameroon Defends Biya Hotel Bills (BBC)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8236962.stm

N'Guemo Aiming to Emulate Milla (ESPN)

http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=687694&cc=3888

Cameroon Beats Togo 3-0 (USA Today)

http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/2009-10-10-2543409791_x.htm

Le Guen's Lions Ready to Roar

http://www.fifa.com/worldfootball/ranking/news/newsid=1121833.html

I don’t have too much time in Maroua today. I’m just here talking to some folks about building wells in Bogo and treating an insect problem in our local orchards, but I will add some thoughts/happenings from the past few weeks (And my blog entry on the work in Bogo will be forthcoming, I promise!):

-The rain arrived in Bogo mid-August with greater regularity. The mayo is full, the corn and millet crops are now above my head, and the place looks less and less like a desert every day.

Mayo Doumou, Bogo

En brusse near Bogo…if you build it they will come

The street outside the Maroua PC house during rainy season. We call that pristine body of water 'the soup'

-I was involved in my first traffic jam since leaving the DC area last year, and I must say despite my disdain for sitting in traffic a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Leaving Bogo after a busy market day, the rain came with a quickness and force that could rival some hurricanes I’ve experienced. Our overloaded Toyota minivan had just reached Balaza, the halfway point between Maroua and Bogo, when we came to an abrupt halt. The van’s windshield wipers did not work (big surprise) so I could not see what had caused us to stop. Using my fledgling Fufulde skills to listen to the conversations around me I came to understand that the problem we had encountered was the road ahead was a shallow lake for about 5 km. The road is always busy for market day in Bogo, and this day I found myself sitting in a cramped minivan during a downpour with what was probably close to one hundred minivans, bush taxis and market trucks lined up and down the road. Gradually the rain tapered off and, taking full advantage of the stranded travelers, the locals of Balaza showed us their entrepreneurial spirit and began hawking everything from cookies to soccer jerseys to barack obama baseball hats. Some of the local kids had more excitement than they could handle when a white man exited one of the minivans. Everything I did, whether it was checking my watch, scratching my head or even just taking a seat next to a tree seemed to them as the most interesting thing that they had seen all day. It’s very flattering to be found so interesting, but after three hours of being stared and giggled at our car was finally ready to move on. So the caravan of stranded vehicles moved on through what was now only about a foot of water and pulled into the station in Maroua (also flooded) in no less than 5 hours total for a trip that under ideal circumstances is usually 1 hour. The Bogo road on market day still doesn’t hold a candle to I-395 South on a Friday afternoon, but it was nice to see some good-ol' gridlock again.

-Ramadan, the month long fasting period observed by Islam, began about 1 week ago. So everyday from about 5AM to 6:30PM the faithful who are physically able to do so are fasting. Commerce around town has gone down, not to mention everyone’s blood sugar. You may be asking if I am observing this holiday season with my muslim brethren in Bogo. The answer to that is no. I don’t walk down the street munching on a steaming plate of goat or anything, but the nasarra that I am needs water throughout the day and a little nibble at lunch time. And after the evening prayers, my good pals who grill meat down at the market fire up their operation and the slices of hot and spicy beef, overly sugary tea and greasy beignets that I have grown to love are free flowing once again. Yes you heard me correctly, I have found my niche in the world of Cameroonian food. Meat, tea and fried bread!

-Speaking of food, vegetables have begun to appear again in the Bogo market. For about two months I saw nothing but onions. We now have potatoes, tomatoes, hot peppers, citron and even guavas making a return. Onions and tomato paste on macaroni and plain omelettes were getting a little old.

-I granted Timshel (aka the Cameroonian dingo) his freedom the other day. My concession in Bogo is very small so I felt bad about having him stuck in there all day. The perfect opportunity presented itself when about 15 children gathered outside my door. I told them I had a surprise for them at which point I opened the door and whistled for Timshel. Tongue flapping and tail wagging he took off full speed out to the street as the neighborhood children dived into nearby doorways, scampered up trees or just ran off down the street screaming bloody murder. Some may call me cruel but watching these kids run for their lives from an 8 month old puppy really brings a smile to my face:) To his credit he is very good about returning to the house and I believe he still considers my yard as his home turf. After a few hours of exploring he returned with an impressive sized goat horn. I just hope he found it on the ground and not on a live goat. The last thing I need is having to reimburse the neighbors for murdered livestock. So Timshel has himself a fine new chew toy, and the neighborhood of Garre have themselves a new friend, or perhaps a new problem depending on how he behaves.

Mmmm, goat horn

And he loves his new dog Frisbee, thanks mom for spoiling my half-wild dog :)

And here are a few more pics from the last few months:

Coupe de Bogo, Carlos (Red/White) vs. Clando (Yellow)

Grilled Pig on July 4th. Happy birthday ‘Merica!

Storm approaching Bogo

Anyone feel like chicken tonight? (Picturing fellow volunteers Brian Humphrey of Tibati village on left & Josh Bylotas of Magdame village on right)

Yes, that is literally a chicken jumping and running around with its head cut off…my apologies to all vegetarians and PETA but sometimes you just want to eat some chicken!

**Note: Unfortunately yours truly was unable to take part in the final three matches of the Bogo Cup. After a basketball game with some Cameroonians in Maroua I was relegated to the disabled list with a sprained ankle. Regardless of the injury I was on hand to report all the tournament’s happenings and witness Auxerre’s glorious run to the final.

Group Match 5

Auxerre 0 Diables Rouges 0

Nothing too exciting to report about this match. Although the signature Bogo halftime show was on display and was by far the most interesting part of the game. Basically 7-8 children line up at one end of the field on the backs of donkeys during the halftime break. Yes, you heard me correctly; the halftime show is a donkey race. Someone says ‘go’ and some more children behind the donkeys and their jockeys get them started with a few cracks to the behind with tree branches. Off they go from one end of the field to the other, the jockeys hanging on for dear life, while the hundreds of other children who have wandered onto the field frantically dive out of the way of the oncoming stampede. The finish line is the other end of the field but I don’t think the donkeys are told this as there are always a few competitors who continue at full speed down the road and out of sight. As for the match, the 0-0 draw was enough to ensure Auxerre finished the group phase as the top seed and truly a force to be reckoned with!

Semifinal Round

Auxerre 0 Siratare 0 (Penalty Shootout: Auxerre 6 Siratare 5)

Everyone seemed pretty nervous for this game, and I honestly can’t remember anything of importance happening in the 90 minutes of regulation time. Both teams had a goal disallowed due to offsides in the 30 minutes of overtime, and the match went to penalties to decide a winner. Auxerre’s keeper came up big on two occasions to save penalties, but Siratare’s man between the sticks was equal to the challenge by denying the Auxerre penalty takers twice as well. Finally, in the eighth round (penalty shootouts are sudden death after the 5th round) the Siratare penalty taker missed the target completely and the next Auxerre player stepped up to finish them off.

Final Round

Auxerre 1 Carlos 0

The final was, much to my surprise, a very amicable affair. A number of the Carlos players train with the Auxerre team, so while the competition was fierce it never boiled over as in some of the tournament’s past matches. The Bogo Mayor and Sous-prefet were also on hand to see the final. Auxerre’s striker and the tournament’s leading scorer opened up the scoring about twenty minutes into the first half. Despite constant pressure from in the second half, Auxerre maintained the 1-0 advantage to hoist the trophy!

And in other news, Auxerre’s 27 year old captain and central defender was spotted by CotonSport de Garoua, arguably the top professional team in Cameroon (and one of Africa’s best for that matter). While the Auxerre squad traveled to Maroua for a provincial tournament, their captain was being given a tryout and possibly a chance to play professionally.

Many thanks to you all who submitted questions. They were all excellent and I thoroughly enjoyed responding to them. Furthermore I have still not opened War & Peace, so thank you very much for helping to preserve my sanity. And please keep submitting all those burning questions you may have and I will be more than happy to answer them periodically.

Question 1- What do Peace Corps Volunteers do with their pets when they finish their service? What is the plan for Timshel?

First let me give you some background on the Peace Corps pet policy. Volunteers in Cameroon are permitted to keep dogs and/or cats as pets while serving in Cameroon, provided the animal is given a rabies vaccination. The policy further states that volunteers are strictly prohibited from keeping any type of reptile or primate as a household pet. I found this both amusing and disappointing. Amusing in the sense that we volunteers need to be explicitly told not to keep vipers and monkeys as pets, but disappointing in the sense that I think Timshel would get along really well with a pet monkey.

Typically when a volunteer with a dog finishes their two years of service, the pet is going to be left behind in Cameroon. Most often he/she is adopted by another volunteer still serving in the country. One can only hope that cycle continues during the animal’s entire lifespan, but the reality is that dogs here have it a little rougher than their American counterparts. Keeping a dog enclosed or restrained in this country, at least in the villages, is a foreign concept. As a result pets are vulnerable to all sorts of dangers. Vehicles, less than friendly villagers, other stray animals, and of course the microbes and parasites that love a good host all play their part in the short life expectancy of a Cameroonian dog. As far as physical health and vitality, I believe Timshel is in a league of his own compared to the other canines of Bogo. Intelligence-wise however, his tendency to chase motorcycles down the street and all over the neighborhood is a little worrying.

In very rare occasions, a volunteer may bring their dog back to the United States after their service is up. I don’t have all the details on how this is done, but I’m sure that information is available through the U.S. Customs or State Department websites. In addition to all the red tape one must navigate, I would imagine it is also very expensive. While I’ve grown quite fond of Timshel and I think he would thrive in America, I don’t know that the U.S. is ready for such an animal. At the least, he would have to kick a few bad habits before I consider him as my second piece of checked luggage upon my return, namely:

1) Trying to eat my hand before I can even put his food dish on the ground

2) Eating my soap and toilet paper

3) Humping everything that moves

4) Eating cow and goat droppings

5) Urinating on my porch

6) Scaring the life out of the village children

Actually, that last one is pretty funny and I encourage it on a regular basis. Watching a puppy of no more than 10 pounds chase full speed after 20 frantically screaming children is about as entertaining as my day gets here au village.

Question 2- Any embarrassing stories? If so, DO TELL!

I feel as though I’ve done a good job thus far in not making a complete ass of myself. Nevertheless, there are always embarrassing moments when adjusting to a new culture. Below I’ve described a few of the more awkward ones:

1) During our training in the village of Nassarao, I was walking from our training center to my family’s home. While walking home I kept hearing giggling behind me. This had become quite normal so I didn’t think much of it at first, until someone gave a slight tug on my wrist. I turned around to find a small boy of about 5 or 6 years old with what I will assume was his older siblings about 20 yards back down the road still giggling and chattering away. The little boy proceeded to ask me if I wanted to marry his older sister (who was probably about 15), which everyone in the neighborhood within ear shot found to be hilarious. Luckily this was early in training, and claiming ignorance with the language while slowly backing away is an excellent defense mechanism when people are offering their relatives as brides. Nowadays I’m a little savvier when it comes to deflecting marriage proposals. When many people come to my home for the first time the inevitable first question is “Ou est ta femme?” meaning ‘where is my wife?’ I tried telling someone that I keep her locked in the kitchen, but I don't think they picked up on my poor attempt at humor and they may have actually taken me seriously. When telling them that I don’t have a wife, their excitement is often poorly concealed since they inevitably have an available female relative. For a villager in Bogo, seeing a man of twenty five living alone is an oddity, so I don’t get too bent out of shape when it happens. I hate to be rude so at the least I humor them and inquire as to their asking price, but I think word has finally started to spread around that I am not in the market for a wife.

2) About a month back I was in the middle of my routine at the Bogo market picking up some produce and other provisions. I enjoy going to the market as it is truly a great place to not only stock up on household needs, but also to converse with locals and get to know people a lot better. Normally the market excursions are pleasant but altogether uneventful. However, recently a certain person who frequents the Bogo market has begun to take an interest in me. In the United States we might refer to a person such as this gentleman as “special.” Yet the term most often used here is fou, or crazy person. I do not know his name so I typically just refer to him as crazy market man. Crazy market man usually spends his time wandering around the market in an intensely funny conversation with himself, laughing hysterically every few minutes or so. He tends to pop out of the woodwork at random times, and I believe he possesses either super human speed or the ability to teleport, as you can watch him walk by one minute and a few seconds later he appears again coming from a completely different direction.

As I was finishing my shopping at the market one day I turned to leave the inner section which is a courtyard with narrow walkways around numerous stalls of veggies, fish, grains, spices, etc. It was a bit crowded at that time and navigating the aisles can be difficult with all the people moving about. At just about that moment my eyes met with none other than crazy market man on the other side of the courtyard. I was heading for one of the exiting corridors and soon realized that he was moving towards my point of exit with his eyes fixated on me. It was very hot outside this day (imagine that) and I didn’t have much energy in reserve for any sort of interaction with crazy market man, so I subtly turned around to head out in another direction. Unfortunately the path from whence I came had been blocked. I was trapped! I turned back to find crazy market man finishing up another hysterical conversation with himself as he approached me. Immediately upon reaching me he stood at full attention and began saluting and bowing with the entire market looking on in amusement. Once I calmed my new friend down a bit I politely explained that I was leaving. However, crazy market man was not finished with me, and saw it as his duty to see that the Nasarra had a clear path to exit the market. He dodged past in a frenzied loyalty to his new found friend and began pushing people, bicycles, chickens, etc. out of the way exclaiming that he was helping the Nasarra leave the market. At this point everyone witnessing this event was either close to tears in laughter or frantically dodging to get out of crazy market man’s way. I can only imagine how red my face was as I ashamedly shook my head in disbelief. As crazy market man continued on his path of destruction down the aisle I took the opportunity to slip out a side corridor to safety. Hopefully the ‘you break it you buy it’ principle doesn’t exist here seeing as crazy market man has sadly been absent for some time, and the last thing I want is the bill for his loyal yet altogether overzealous actions.

Question 3- I want to see the market and the soccer dirt.

Thank you for that thoughtful submission. Below I’ve attached a few pictures of the main “stade” in Bogo where I train with the local guys every evening. It’s a pretty good field despite the difficulties I have with playing on loose sand, and behind one of the goals is a large garbage pile so one must always be wary of the occasional rusty or sharp object.

As for the market, I have yet to take any decent photos, but it is at the top of my to-do list. However, I have attached a photo of a recent wedding that I attended in a village just outside of Bogo to give you another glimpse into the daily happenings around here. I’m so well integrated I bet you can’t even find me in the photo!

Question 4- Do you have to treat the water you bring into your home? How receptive have the locals been?

The water I use in my home for drinking, cooking, bathing and cleaning comes from a water pump just down the road. It comes from deep in the ground and to the naked eye looks relatively clean. However, drinking or even coming in contact with untreated water here can lead to all sorts of diseases and infections such as dysentery, giardia, amoebas, hepatitis, typhoid, cholera, schistosomiasis and an array of other nasty little bugs. When arriving in Cameroon I was given a water filtration system that I will use for the entirety of my service. Basically it looks like two plastic buckets stacked on top of each other. All I have to do is pour water into the top bucket which contains something that resembles a pool filter. The water goes through the filter and then into another filter in the bottom which I believe cleans the water with charcoal or carbon particles. Wait a few minutes, open the tap at the bottom and voila!, clean and potable water. This is the water I use for drinking and cooking. The water filter is not fail-safe however, so its always a good idea to treat the water by boiling or with chlorine solution before filtering. Since my water comes from a deep underground source I don’t believe its necessary to treat my bathwater, but a few drops of chlorine solution in my bucket bath beforehand is never a bad idea.

When I’m out and about, having clean water available is always a challenge. I drink a great deal to avoid dehydration, and every once in a while I find myself in a village or out in the bush without my own clean water. Villagers are always very kind and will offer a drink of water without hesitation, and while one does not want to be rude and turn down their generosity it is always a risk to drink water from unknown sources. The Peace Corps provides us with Aquatabs and Iodine treatment in case we are in a bind, but these are not methods that can be used day in and day out. And if I’m in desperate need of liquid there is always soda or beer! Not to mention the local millet beer concoction they call bil-bil. Mmmmm.

As for the receptiveness of locals, I think I can safely say that I am welcome in Bogo. Without a doubt my appearance, accent and mannerisms are extremely strange to them. Walking through a section of the market or down any of the streets can draw blank and confused stares or the occasional “Nasarra!” The crowds of children can be very annoying when yelling “bonjour” or “comment ca va?” 800 times in quick succession regardless of how many times I respond. I’ve found that chasing them yelling bonjour!bonjour!bonjour! is an excellent way to disperse the crowd, and their parents usually find it to be hilarious. When first arriving in Bogo 7 months ago I was called Nasarra by everyone in village. Nowadays I am called Daniel more and more every week, often by people I’ve never even seen before, so that’s got to be an indicator of some progress. While I hope my work here in Bogo will ultimately be what they remember me for, playing soccer with my neighborhood team has done wonders. Some of the bigger matches can draw huge crowds, and I don’t exactly blend in. In many of my dealings around the community I’ve gone from just plain old Nasarra (white man) to Boppa Nasarra (uncle white man), but this may just be a result of the beard I grow from time to time rather than their increasing respect.

Every year during the rainy season when the kids are on vacation from school and the crops are being planted in the fields, the town of Bogo hosts a men’s soccer tournament for local teams. I don’t know if it’s actually called the Bogo Cup but it would make sense, so that’s what I’m calling it. The tournament, which has been highly anticipated and talked about by many people around town, began this month as the rains (and cooler weather) started to reappear.

So 10 local teams have converged on the Stade de Bogo for what will no doubt prove to be one of the great sporting events of 2009. The teams are split into two groups of five teams, each team playing their group opponents once. During group play teams receive 3 points for a win, 1 for a tie, and 0 for a loss. At the end of the group stage the top two teams from each group advance to the highly anticipated Semi final round. I’ve been training with my local neighborhood squad, “Auxerre,” in the hopes of not making a complete fool of myself in front of thousands of people, and while I don’t want to jinx our chances we are looking like one of the teams to beat!

Group Match 1-

Auxerre 1 Magoumai 1

A cagey match in which neither team really got going at full speed. Magoumai took advantage of an early goalkeeping error to take the lead, but Auxerre battled back valiantly in the second half to salvage a draw. Fans were quite amazed to see some random white guy out on the field for the 1st half, and much to their amazement he didn’t get completely manhandled!

Group Match 2-

Auxerre 6 Clandestine 0

While Clandestine (the local moto-taxi driver team) put in a valiant effort, unfortunately this match was over shortly before it started with Auxerre’s lightning quick strikers bagging three goals in the first 15 minutes. Frustration was evident as two Clandestine players were shown red cards in the dying minutes for a couple of overly aggressive challenges. Early afternoon rain showers brought the temperatures down to a lovely 75 degrees in time for kickoff and continuing cloud cover helped to ensure that Auxerre’s new American midfielder didn’t die of heat exhaustion.

Group Match 3

Auxerre 1 Sarare 0

In the third match of the group stage, the so far impressive Auxerre squad faced off against the defending champions, Sarare. This “match” could be better described as a street brawl, and was one of those games that you check to make sure all appendages are still attached after the final whistle. Between the late tackles, elbows to the ribs and copious yellow cards served out by the referee, Auxerre managed to find the back of the net just before halftime. Sarare didn’t help their cause after the break by having two men sent off for tackles that looked more intended to break someone’s leg than actually take the ball. Not the prettiest of games to watch, but the Auxerre squad will be happy to escape with the 3 points (not to mention all of our toes).

And with that, there is just one more first round game to go and the lads from Auxerre find themselves at the top of their group with 7 points from the first 3 matches. That’s all for now, but keep an eye out for the latest scores as the Coupe de Bogo progresses into the later rounds.

Before you start on the two new posts below, I have an announcement to make. While I'm very glad to hear that most feedback on my blog is positive, I was thinking that there may be many things about Cameroon you would like to know that I'm not addressing. So, I was sweating myself to sleep the other night, and the idea came to me. I think I'm going to call it the 'Bogo Mailbag.' What is the Bogo Mailbag you ask? Well, I'll tell you. You send me (in the form of a comment on my most recent posts) any burning questions you may have about anything at all. Preferably, those questions should be related in some way to Bogo, Cameroon or my experiences in general. And then every month or so when the stars align and I have internet connection for more than 10 minutes at a time, I will respond to your questions in an honest and insightful manner. As I see it, the Bogo Mailbag will give you the reader a more interactive role on this blog just as it will give me the author, something constructive to do with my free time other than throwing a tshirt over my puppys head and watching him run around in panic. You think I'm joking, but I think even the indefatigable Timshel was worn out the other day after 45 minutes of the tshirt game. And just recently while in Maroua I was choosing my future reading material from the bookshelf in the Peace Corps house and I ended up with an Unabridged History of Scotland in one hand, and War and Peace in the other. Please don't allow me to read the Unabridged History of Scotland or War and Peace, and don't let Timshel be a victim to my sad and twisted games any longer. Send lots of questions!

I feel as though I'm strumming the same chord with that last entry about the hot season, seeing as how complaining about the climate is a common theme in all my posts. So in an effort to change the pace I'd like to invite you to join me on a virtual tour of my town, Bogo. Today we are going to hit some of the high points of the community, but first one has to get there! Normally I would ride the bus from maroua to Bogo since it is 700 francs as opposed to 2500 francs for a motorcycle. However, seeing as I have you along for the voyage I'd hate for you to endure riding with 35 people and assorted animals in a bus made for about 20. Also these buses, which were quite possibly public transportation vehicles in France circa 1950, are decorated with elaborately painted names such as "bonne chance" (good luck) and "merci, Dieu" (thank you, god). In my mind those are names that don't instill confidence in arriving at one's destination fully intact. So without further delay, start the video below for a glimpse of your average moto ride to Bogo. And I warn anyone who gets carsick that it isn't the easiest video to watch.

**Unfortunately the videos wouldn't load this time around. Perhaps I'll have better luck next time.

And now we enter the town of Bogo...

And yes, I too was a bit dismayed when arriving at the 'Bogo Ville' sign for the first time. I began to think that the Peace Corps has just assigned me to someplace that looks like a mix between the Serengeti and a Mad max film for 2 years. Much to my relief about 2km down the road, and literally over the river and through the woods, we come to the true center of the Bogo. Not too far into town on the main road you will find my house...

That strange pastel painted building with the tin roof and gray door is home sweet home. Its a bit of a fixer upper, has electricity, but does not have running water. Despite the lack of indoor plunbing there is a cable TV hookup, which was enough to get me to sign the lease. Not having a modern toilet, sink or shower really isn't all that bad when you can still watch the game! Perhaps on your next tour you can see the inside of my humble abode, but I'd like to show you as much of Bogo as possible with the precious few photos I can get posted online. That, and I haven't had the opportunity to clean this week.

Moving on down the street we have the Lamido's house, the traditional leader of the community and a highly respected man amongst all the villagers. My apologies for the poor quality of the shot, but I wasn't sure how friendly his entourage (some equipped with horses and spears) would be with some crazy white man on a bike snapping photos.

Just one more block down the road we come to the Central Mosque, built sometime in the 1950s. While there are smaller one room mosques spread throughout the city's different neighborhoods to making the daily prayers a bit easier, the Grand Mosque is one of the centers of Bogo life.

Bogo is populated mostly by muslims, but farther afoot on the south side of town you will find the Catholic Mission. In the picture below the white building in the back and to the left is where mass is held. I attend Sunday mass here most weeks and it is a very interesting mix of Catholicism and traditional culture. The service is given in both French and Fufulde, and the normal trappings of a western Catholic service blend with traditional African song backed up by thumping drums and old ladies screaming at the top of their lungs. While everyone except me knows the words to the songs, most of the music seems highly improvised. It was a shock when I went to my first Sunday mass here. Attending a Catholic service that makes me want to dance is something I never thought possible.

There are many other sights to see around town, mainly the Thursday market. However I believe the market here deserves its own tour, and with every photo I post on this decrepit computer I feel as though I'm pushing my luck. Not to mention that pulling out a shiny digital camera in the middle of a busy marketplace could be the last thing I ever do, or atleast the last thing I ever do with that camera. I'll have to work on my hidden camera skills and get back to you with the market tour. In the meantime we will end this first tour with a few photos from around town, just to give you an idea of some of the average Bogo city streets. I believe these were taken during call to prayer, which would explain why the streets are deserted. And that big mud wall in the first photo is actually the backside of the Lamido's residence. It might not look like much in the photo but the residence is really quite massive and I feel as though the walls are extremely tall when walking by. Sort of like the Vatican of Bogo, I guess.

Thats all for the moment, and hopefully you enjoyed the first of possibly many tours around Northern Cameroon.

Work Update:I know many of you may be wondering what it is I actually do here, or will do here in the future. That is a valid question. Unfortunately, I don't have a valid answer at this time. Due to a number of factors my work has yet to get moving at full speed. Firstly I was absent from Bogo most of March for a trip to the US of A (worth every second). The stifling heat of the past months hasn't help much and I understand more each day why people just sit under trees most of the time. Finally, going to the hospital in Maroua numerous times to figure out what's been residing in my tummy has shaved away some time as well, not to mention 30 pounds. Drinking well water and contracting amoebic dysentery isn't a diet plan I would recommend.As for my work, I will say that it involves climbing trees, biking into the woods and getting to play in the dirt. It's like being ten years old again only now I have to report these activities to the powers that be at Peace Corps, and I have to wash my own clothes after I come home all dirty. In the not too distant future I plan to look back upon the first six months of my service in Cameroon in an effort to review my progress and form my expectations for the future. I do this mainly to justify my presence here to Peace Corps. Yet I'd also like to give you faithful blog readers a proper, in depth description of how me wandering aimlessly through the african bush and scaring villagers half to death stimulates small scale development in this corner of the world.

When arriving in Cameroon this past September I began hearing tales of the hot season in the north of the country that comes from March until sometime in May or June when the rains start again. Many volunteers would speak of temperatures in the 110-120 range, with night time temps cooling off to the mid 90s. In fact, as I right this post at about 7:30 in the morning I just noticed the thermometer topping 100 already. Should be a wonderful day!

I've been looking forward to this time of year with a mix of curiosity and dread, but surely the hot season couldn't be that unbearable, right? That was my logic until about 2 weeks ago when at about 2AM on a Thursday morning I found myself lying awake on my bed covered in a towel soaked with cool water and trying to ignore the heat rash that felt as if hundreds of tiny needles were pricking my skin. I suppose it was one of those moments in a PCV's life when the realization that you are indeed out of your element becomes painfully obvious. Even my poor dog is struggling. I don't let him in the house because he has a tendency to steal things within reach, so he spends most of his days in a shady spot of my concession digging holes in the sand in search of cooler earth to sleep on. While Timshel is busy destroying my yard in search of some cooler terrain, my favorite activity has been filling up a few buckets of water at noon everyday and slowly dumping them over my head. It's all about the simple pleasures in life, folks. Timshel doesn't trust me around water anymore, mainly because his bath time consists of me picking him up, dropping him in a bucket and then laughing maniacally as I scrub the little furball into a rage of puppy anger. He emerges looking like a drowned rat, thoroughly annoyed with me (I'm still laughing at this point), and proceeds to roll around in the sand in defiance. So as much as I'd like to help him out with the heat too, he wants nothing to do with me these days if water is involved. Yet in spite of the stifling heat day in and day out there are temporary moments of reprieve. When in Maroua a few weeks back a very rare rain and thunderstorm inundated the city for about an hour, bringing with it a heavenly breeze of cool air. It felt cooler than it had in months and I even contemplated throwing on long sleeves. Before doing so I checked the thermometer out of curiosity. This 'cool' temperature that almost prompted me to bundle up turned out to be 88. Obviously my body's definition of hot and cold has been altered, and the long sleeves will be staying tucked away for the time being. And while this may not interest anyone other than me, I have been wondering to myself "How do I know I have a fever when it is 115 degrees outside?" Certainly it must be impossible to tell, yes? Could this be my sick and demented way of finding positive things about the hot season here? Unfortunately I found out the other week that, yes, even when it is 115 degrees outside, a fever of 103 does not go unnoticed. Somebody get me Bill Nye the Science Guy's email. I want to know why, with a fever of 103, I don't just feel slightly cooler than my surrounding 115 degree environment.

If there is one redeeming quality of hot season here, it is that it also happens to be mango season. For a few months every year mango supply far outweighs demand, and a large mango goes for as little as 50cfa (less than 25 cents). I'm pretty sure I ate six to seven today alone, although I lost count in my mango-induced stupor. On average I'd say five mangoes a day is the norm, and I must tell you it is glorious. Mango juice, mango smoothies (I have a blender!), mango salsa, mango salad, mango preserves, mangoes in yogurt....and the list goes on. Hell, I would start taking my bucket baths with fresh squeezed mangoes if it weren't for all the flies. Once mango season comes to a close I certainly hope dried mangoes are still on the menu to help with the withdrawal.

As many of you know I recently made a short trip to the United States for my sister’s wedding. For those of you whom I saw, it was a real pleasure and 10 days at home was not nearly enough to do it justice. And if at any point during the trip I was too entranced by whatever plate of food happened to be in front of me to visit and chat my sincere apologies. While I failed in my mission to gain 10 pounds in 10 days, I think the 5 that I gained in that short time is still a respectable showing. I am writing this entry in late March back in the north of Cameroon, but this entry actually covers events beginning back in early March when I began this most excellent of adventures back to my homeland.

So how does one go from a village in northern Cameroon to the United States? Well firstly, a little financial backing from the parents doesn’t hurt J I think I owe you guys some frequent flyer miles in the future. Or as my mother would say, “Just you remember this when picking my nursing home!” But to get to my flight in the capital, Yaounde, I had arguably the most interesting and exciting journey to date. As you’ll soon read that isn’t necessarily a good thing in this country. Leaving Bogo during the first week of March, I hopped on my friend’s motorcycle with a duffel bag and Timshel and made the 45 minute ride into Maroua. The ride from Bogo to Maroua is usually enjoyable and without incident, and that afternoon it was especially serene as I contemplated that in just a few days I’d be stuffing my face with just about any food or drink I could get my hands on. After a day or two staying in Maroua, handing Timshel off to a volunteer in town who offered to look after the little menace and doing some last minute business around town, I headed to the bush taxi agency for the 8 hour drive south to the city of Ngaoundere. I had a reserved ticket for the bus to Ngaoundere that morning, but all that really means is I am in the front of the line waiting to be trampled when the stampede of passengers towards the open bus door begins. The bush taxi fits about 25 people comfortably but about 35 people usually fill up the bus and the top is loaded down with a 4 to 5 foot pile of stuff on the roof. Not exactly the most nimble vehicle on the road, but the driver seemed convinced that he was driving a supercar on the autobahn. Despite the white knuckles I did my best to fall asleep. About halfway through the trip I was awoken by the driver laying on the horn and braking suddenly. Apparently a dog had wandered onto the road. Doing about 80 in an overloaded bush taxi is a bad idea, but trying to avoid a dog at that speed is an even worse one. Unfortunately for the dog, the driver was not quick enough to maneuver. But my sorrow for the dog quickly gave way to concern for our own safety when the bus began to rock and sway as the driver tried to get it back on the road. After a few tense seconds of swerving onto the sandy shoulder we came back onto the road in one piece. I didn’t sleep much the rest of the way.

When I finally arrived in Ngaoundere a group of about 40 porters and bag handlers crowded around our car of roughly 35 people looking for a customer. Since my time in Cameroon I’m still a believer that being polite is almost always the best policy for a foreigner, but situations such as this are no time for being polite. After a hellish 8 hours crammed in a bush taxi, I didn’t have any problem being brusque with the 5 or 6 people who ran up to me and grabbed my half empty duffel bag that I obviously didn’t need any help with. I escaped out of the mass of humanity gathered at the bus station and found the first moto taxi at the exit and high-tailed it to the Peace Corps house. Fortunately a few volunteers that I trained with and are now posted around the Ngaoundere area were in town. After a day like that I was in desperate need of either a nap or a beer. Luckily they talked some sense into me and we headed across the street to one of the neighborhood watering holes for a few ice cold bottles of 33’ Export.

I used a day in Ngaoundere to unwind a bit, and also got a chance to climb Mount Ngaoundere on the outskirts of town. The climb itself only takes about 45 minutes, but spending about 2 hours at the top enjoying the view was a great way to spend a day. That evening I hopped on a moto taxi and headed back to the bus/train station to catch the overnight train to Yaounde. En route to the station the moto driver started going increasingly faster and using the middle of a busy city street to pass and weave around other cars and motos. Normally I wouldn’t give it much concern, but this guy’s driving seemed to go beyond the average aggressiveness and crossed the line to just plain dangerous. I explained that I was in no hurry and suggested he go back onto the right side of the road. Something was lost in translation and he began going even faster down a hill. About 100 yards down the road the traffic came to an abrupt halt. Monsieur Eival Kneival saw it too late and slammed on the brakes, but then proceeded to slam into the back of a pick up truck, tossing me off a few feet into the busy street. Luckily I came out of it with only a scraped hand. My French has improved a great deal, but I was at a loss for words in this situation. After exhausting a number of English expletives that he couldn’t understand I believe conveyed my anger effectively enough. The driver tried to restart the stalled moto in the midst of oncoming traffic, and after a number of attempts and more close calls with angered motorists he willed the moto back to life. The rest of the journey was pretty quiet, but upon arriving at the train station the moto driver was very annoyed to learn that he wasn’t receiving the full fare. While I admittedly don’t know the unwritten rules of moto taxis very well, when the customer is tossed off the bike into the street I believe that warrants some kind of a discount if not a free ride.

Surely the train to Yaounde will be better than the journey so far? I had reserved a sleeping car which would give me a rare opportunity to sleep in transit. The train left Ngaoundere at 6PM that evening and was scheduled to arrive in Yaounde the next day at 6AM. My hopes of sleeping the entire way were dashed by the constant fear that hit me every time the train hit top speed and felt as though it wanted to jump the tracks. I had to position myself just so, in the event that a rougher than normal bump would eject me from my top bunk bed. And I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of Cameroonian villagers selling produce along the train’s many stops, but hearing them scream “bananes! ananas! batons!” (bananas, pineapple, sticks of manioc) at the top of their lungs during a stop at 3 in the morning doesn’t give one much chance to rest up. Other than a brief midnight breakdown in the Cameroonian bush, I arrived in the capital without incident and stumbled my way to a taxi and into Peace Corps HQ. And just in time for an 18 hour journey to Washington-Dulles!

Personally, I hate flying. It’s not a fear of flying per se, but rather a fear of the whole process involved. I love traveling, but a flight has always been best when I can sleep through the entire thing. Tiny seats, stale air, food of questionable origin, and no matter how clean I am when I get on the plane I feel as though I haven’t showered in a week when I get off. Yet after the voyage from Bogo to Yaounde, I arrived at Yaounde’s Nsimalem Airport and was immediately taken in by the grandeur and modernity of it all. I waited in a line at the baggage counter and it seemed like a portal into a completely different world. For one, no one was checking or carrying on any goats. After passing through security, where the customs agent looked at my pre-Peace Corps passport photo and commented that I should eat more, I went and sat at the gate and actually found myself becoming excited about flying in an airplane again. After a 20 minute flight from Yaounde to Douala we set off for Zurich and then on to Washington. I never thought I’d be excited to receive a plate of reheated airplane food, but when the flight attendant asked if I would be having chicken or beef I said I’d be having both. I ended up only receiving beef and a scowl from the flight attendant, but I will say that may have been the most anyone has ever enjoyed a meal on an airplane, hands down.

So touching down on American soil I felt a chill go through my body. Was it because I was so emotional to be returning? Was I being overwhelmed by nostalgia? Possibly, but I believe a more plausible cause was the fact that it was freezing! It was probably no colder than 35 degrees, but that was enough to do it for me as I waited for a taxi in the warmest clothing I now possess; a windbreaker.

Sidenote:

And just some words of advice to those of you looking to take a long journey like this: When you arrive on home soil, call your mother. Their minds wander as to what terrible fate you may have succumbed to while in transit. During the few hours I was sans cell phone in the DC area, a number of family members developed the compelling theory that I was attacked in a Zurich Airport bathroom by a roving gang of Swiss bandits. Look, I didn’t think to use a pay phone, OK? I didn’t even know those still existed!

Once on US soil I had an excellent time. Getting to see family and friends at the wedding was fantastic, and the food and beverage wasn’t too shabby either. I even took a picture of my plate of food at the wedding reception (For comfort during those dark times). It snowed a few inches during the weekend which was a huge bonus, although I think my body was more confused than ever. For the most part the weather was quite cold and dreary, but I was amazed to see clouds, rain, ice and snow again. As I mentioned before I unfortunately failed in my quest to gain 10 pounds and I also fell short in my list of restaurants and cuisines that I needed to eat. So much food, so little time. I’ve been thinking about all the meals that I consumed while there and while the food at the wedding was in a league of its own, there were many other special ones. I gorged myself at McDonalds, which was glorious, but probably not such a good idea. North Carolina BBQ was on hand the night before the wedding. The old man cooked up some serious rib eye steaks to finish off the weekend. Sadly I never got to my favorite greasy spoon diner in Arlington for a breakfast of biscuits & gravy and cheese grits washed down with some viscous coffee, but the St. Patty’s day brunch of bangers and mash with a few pints of Guinness at our neighborhood pub was a more than adequate replacement. And a large thanks to those fine gentlemen in Arlington (you know who you are) for welcoming me back to the states with some massive BBQ chicken legs and sending me on my way with an equally delicious lamb roast the night before leaving. And my kiwi cousins were excellent companions during the last few days in DC. “Should we have a doughnut at 3PM in the afternoon? I certainly don’t see why not! Should we have another Guinness? Brilliant!”

Besides the food, are there any thoughts on American culture or society after being away from it for over 6 months? Perhaps I was surprised about how little has changed, and admittedly 6 months is not that long in the grand scheme of things. However there were still things that caught me by surprise or perhaps had forgotten about altogether.

-While I’m sure the faltering economy has affected many, it was hard for me to see obvious signs of it. Perhaps spending most of my time in the DC bubble has something to do with that. Or possibly I was taken in by the organized, clean and seemingly prosperous way of life in the states as opposed to my current home.

-It was very nice being able to walk down the street and not get hassled every 20 feet. That feeling of anonymity and privacy we afford each other in the U.S. has become incredibly foreign to me. In many ways it’s very nice to be such an object of interest in Cameroon, but not at all hours of the day. The anonymity is something I will miss a great deal, but not as much as I’ll miss cold cuts (mmm, tuuurrrkeeey).

- The prescription drug commercials on television are a little bit ridiculous. I don’t know if there are more of them these days or not, but it seemed as though they ran constantly on television at all hours. I couldn’t get away from them. The state of healthcare or perhaps the lack of it in Cameroon makes them seem all the more crazy. People take these drugs and then are miraculously able to go mountain biking, fly kites and go have a wonderful time at an amusement park. The witch doctors in my area may be very interested to hear about these miracle drugs.

-The daily appliances we use are absolutely fascinating. I didn’t have much time to use them while home other than doing a bit of laundry and watching the TV, but seeing them again brought back memories of using them in the past. I can vaguely remember times when I would spend the majority of my day at my office computer, come home and put a load of laundry into the dryer and add another to the washer. Then immediately I might heat up some food in the microwave, grab a drink out of the fridge and take a seat at my own computer to check email. In the background there might be a CD in the stereo while Sportscenter flashed highlights across my TV screen. In many ways I’m remembering this in a positive light, so please don’t think I’m harping about American indulgence. Just the mention of instant sports results and highlights brings a tear to my eye. Then again, if I ever hooked myself up to the grid like that again I’d probably get epilepsy in a week or two. Just watching one 40inch plasma screen while home was an emotional experience.

-Which leads me to my next point. I made a trip to Best Buy in Arlington. Right after the heavens opened and angels sang on high (in full Dolby digital surround), I took a stroll among the aisles of flashing screens, shiny plastic gizmos and all the electronic media you could imagine. I didn’t want to embarrass my cousin who was with me at the time so I refrained from kissing the floor, but I still spent a number of glorious minutes roaming in awe. However, I give props to the DVD guys here in the Maroua market. I believe they’ve got Best Buy beat in the films section because in Cameroon I can buy 50 Arnold Schwarzenegger movies on one disc for 1500cfa ($3). What’s better than one Scwharzenegger movie? Fifty Schwarzenegger movies!!! Sure the quality is a little inferior and the legality of it all is a bit questionable, but that’s what I call the free market (or perhaps the black market) at its best.

-Transportation in the United States is comparatively timely, clean and efficient. They don’t let goats or sacks of dried fish on the subway, and taking a taxi is not generally a life threatening activity. Then I think back to sitting on I-95 bumper to bumper or every month pumping an insane amount of money into an automobile just to get around. Transportation in Cameroon is always an adventure, and as I said that is not always a good thing. Nothing ever leaves or arrives on time, the roads can be dangerous and the vehicles are in terrible condition, which actually sounds a bit like the Beltway.

To sum up my return experience, there are many things in the United States I’ve missed a great deal, mainly friends and family. Cold cuts are a close second (mmm, roast beeeef). Hot showers were amazing, but if I really want one in Bogo I just need to set a bucket of water in the sun for about 30 minutes. Fast and continuous internet was also great to have again. In ten days I probably got more work done on the internet than in 6 months here, but on numerous occasions I’ve been in Bogo for weeks and forgotten all about internet until stepping foot in the provincial capital. It was a rarity for me to go without email even for one day in the states, but the lack of it here really has not been a huge problem. And finally, its nice to come back to a country where you mix into the crowd and can be anonymous. Yes, we are all unique snowflakes but walking around and not getting called “Nasarra, nasarra!” for a whole 10 days is a nice surprise.

Other volunteers were eager to here of my voyage; the food, the luxuries, the news, the trends. Others were just amazed that my shirts smelled like Tide again. It would be a lie if I said 100% of me wanted to get on the plane at Dulles the other week and return to Cameroon. There was a little voice that kept saying just one more fast food joint, just one more NCAA Basketball game, just one more load of laundry, just one more…and the list goes on and on. But pretty much all those things that make American culture great will still be there in a few years, possibly even new and improved! And besides, if I didn’t go back some person(s) in Bogo would likely ask the question for years as to where that damn Nasarra ran off to.

It has been a few weeks since my last entry and plenty has transpired in that time. To begin on a slightly sad note the cold season, aka 70 degree weather, is coming to a close. I never thought it was all that cold of a season, but don’t tell that to the moto drivers in ski jackets and woolen caps or the little kids huddled around piles of burning leaves at 7AM. And true to my experiences with weather here thus far there really is no middle ground, as the coldest months of the year are now giving way to a heat that I’ve been dreading for some time now. I’m told that temperatures reach into the 120s w/ regularity in March and April up until the rains begin in mid to late May. I think I lucked out a bit this year since I am traveling back to the cooler climate of the U.S. during early March, which is immediately followed by a week of training in the provincial capital here in the Extreme North. They have hotels in Maroua and hotels have pools. Pools are filled with cold water, and by this point in the narrative I think you know where I can be found during training.

And with this recent “cold” weather that is soon to depart I’ve taken the opportunity to acclimatize myself on the soccer field. Bogo has a number of ‘stades’ or ‘terraines’ throughout the city, a fact I was very excited about when first arriving. Anyone familiar with soccer will most likely be aware of Cameroon’s national team, the Indomitable Lions, and their reputation as an incredibly talented squad. To classify the country as football crazy would be an understatement. Even in the tiniest village one can find an open, flat, dirt/sand ‘terraine’ with wooden goals at both ends. From my brief time here I’ve come to learn that if you fancy a game with the local lads you better be ready for some serious physical activity. And while most players have the latest Cameroon or Barcelona jersey, any other equipment is pretty much optional. So everyday at about 4:30PM until the 6PM evening prayers, anywhere from 15-20 guys gather at the nearest field to take part in what could best be described as a mix between soccer and hand to hand combat. Once everyone appears ready to do battle the participants split into shirts and skins and play commences. Within about 5 minutes visibility on the dusty pitch is reduced to about zero and the match has reached a frenetic pace in which the ball is moved from end to end in a matter of seconds. Now prior to my soccer experience here I considered myself to be a fairly fast individual. As it turns out, that is false. When a Cameroonian wearing jelly sandals blows by you like you weren’t even there it makes you reassess your athletic ability. Needless to say I’ve had to adjust my game a bit. Whereas in the U.S. I was typically an offensive player, I’ve been pushed back to defensive midfielder here. Perhaps their reasoning is this gives the other team less room to run past me, which they do with great regularity. But unrelenting speed is only one attribute of Cameroonian soccer. Physical play bordering on outright hostility would be another. Holding onto the ball for more than a few seconds is asking for trouble. High kicking (technically illegal) seems to be encouraged, out of bounds is often vague at best, and cleat marks, bruised toenails and head gashes are commonplace. But amongst the mayhem of the evening match you’ll see some of the most entertaining soccer around, played with a great deal of passion. And when the all important goal is scored just forget the fact that this is a game amongst regular guys in a village. They will celebrate that goal as if it just won Cameroon the World Cup. And half the fun (maybe more) of scoring a goal is their celebration afterwards. The standard celebrations such as the shirt over the head and also running to and dancing with corner flag are used frequently. However, there are two other celebrations here that I think are way cooler. The first involves the whole team; they form a circle around the goal scorer, who then leads them in some wild song and dance for about 30 seconds. The second is by far my favorite but I don’t think I’ll attempt it anytime soon. Besides, you have to score a goal first anyways. The goal scorer wheels away from the goal in celebration and then breaks into a string of 4 to 5 back flips. I think it takes more exertion than scoring the actual goal, and is impressive to say the least. At the end of training in November one of the Cameroonian staff members with whom we’d played soccer stressed to me how important the sport could be with integrating into the community. I think he was on point, as Cameroonians love the sport as much if not more (probably more) than I do. The guys I play with were some of the first people to replace my initial title of ‘Nasarra’ (foreigner in fufulde) with my actual name. And at least with some of those who still prefer to use Nasarra, many have upgraded me to ‘Nasarra qui joue le ballon,’ (foreigner who plays ball).

Finally this week, I’d like to tell a little about the recent Fete de Jeunesse that took place all across Cameroon. This is a week long holiday/event for all the youth of Cameroon and was celebrated with parades, soccer games, a cross country race and talent competitions in Bogo. I’ve heard from a few other volunteers how the weekly events went in their respective communities and while the activities were all a bit different, I think the general thought of “holy crap, there are a lot of children in this country” was a common conclusion. So how does one celebrate Youth Week? Well, some of the younger guys I play soccer with were involved in the parade and after every evening game that week they would practice their upcoming march past the authorities. They asked me to join them in their ranks and frankly I was honored and happy to do it at first. But I gradually realized that we would be marching in front of government officials, police, gendarmes and most of the community (and saluting the Sous-prefet). I then tried to explain that it was probably in the best interest of my work and the Peace Corps if I didn’t join them. They weren’t having any of it, so I then had to make sure I had some type of work that morning that conflicted with the parade. So unfortunately I missed the parade, but on the bright side I won’t be implicated in any inappropriate political activities on foreign soil.

Aside from the formal parade there was another procession that I was a witness to, and it was one of those things I don’t think I’ll ever forget. At about 7PM one evening as dusk was settling on Bogo my friend and I were at my house when we began to hear an approaching crowd. We came out of my concession door which opens up to the main road through town and in the distance I could see what initially I thought looked like an angry mob with flaming objects in hand. I looked to my friend for reassurance, and he coolly informed me that this was just the children’s march. To briefly describe this children’s march, hundreds upon hundreds of ‘petits,’ ranging in age from about five to fifteen, are given old metal cans attached to long sticks which are then filled with flammable liquids, trash, wood and pretty much anything else with the ability to burn out of control. Then, flaming sticks in hand the children proceed to run down the street for a few kilometers en route to the local government complex, spilling flammable liquid on the asphalt road and leaving the neighborhood looking like a small rebel force just swept through. Initially I probably had a look of horror on my face as hundreds of children ran down my street with incendiaries but then I began to question my friend about this spectacle, and his calm began to rub off on me. Who organized this? “The teachers.” And is anyone supervising? “The parents.” Sure enough, the parents were right there with them along the way. A few cars of adults escorted the parade of adolescent pyromaniacs as if it were the Tour de France. Well who on earth gave them petrol and kerosene? “The police.” At this point my questioning stopped. This was obviously an officially sanctioned event. Who was I to disagree with a seemingly highly dangerous activity if the community organized it? What could possibly go wrong? Anyone familiar with my juvenile record concerning flammable objects will beg to differ, but I honestly cannot think of a better way to celebrate future generations each year by giving them the capability to burn down the entire community. I never thought such a spectacle would leave me feeling serene and relaxed. Maybe it was all the burning chemicals, but more likely I think seeing young children joyfully playing with fire warmed my heart.

Ok, I got a little carried away there. Playing with fire is bad; especially during the dry season in Africa. Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires!

Ahhh, where to start. Well, how about the fact that I am now officially a PCV! Thats right, training has finished and last Thursday we swore in as volunteers. As much as I loved my family in Nassarao and all the training staff that whipped us into shape incredibly quickly, I will not miss the endless scheduling of activities mixed in with a complete lack of privacy at home. And don't worry, I'm not planning on becoming a hermit in my new home in Bogo. But being able to sit in a room with complete silence and no small children staring, while reading a chapter of a book nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. And exploring Bogo on my own time with no set agenda just yet has given me a much needed repose.

I'll get back to Bogo in a moment, but right now let me give you a little taste of how life as a PCV began for me. The swearing in ceremony in Pitoa was attended by none other than the US ambassador herself, a whole motorcade of Cameroonian 'fonctionnaires,' and also members of our Cameroonian host families. While the entire ceremony was great, the part I found the most interesting was the 5 or 6 guys sitting to the side of the ceremony with drums and traditional instruments. At every applause they would enthusiastically start jamming out for about 5 or 10 seconds. But my favorite member of the group was without a doubt the 'lead singer.' At the slightest mention of any person of importance present at the ceremony this guy would, a cappella, start yelling in Fufulde about what a greay guy or gal they happened to be. My fufulde knowledge is still in its infancy, but he seemed to be damn good at building up the esteem of these movers and shakers. Best of all, I think you can rent them out for weddings and bar mitzvahs, so I may have some guests with me at the Archibald-Berney wedding in March. Entering the wedding reception to an elderly man screaming my praises in fufulde would be pretty sweet. "Hey everybody, here comes the bride's brother, he is the greatest man alive!! Sing his praises!"

But lets move on. As for the trip to Bogo, a few of us made our way from Garoua to Maroua last Friday and proceeded to take care of all the nuts and bolts of moving. Groceries, bank accounts, furniture, cooking equipment, etc. I didn't really have as much to do in that department as some of the others, so my first order of business was finding a car, bus, or something with 4 wheels to take me and all my things to Bogo that Sunday. After speaking with one of the Bogo bus drivers for a while I was instructed to return Sunday morning and all would be taken care of. 'Well that was very nice of him' I thought to myself. I left feeling very pleased that things had been arranged relatively trouble free. So Sunday rolls around and I return to the depot, and by depot I mean a large sand lot where there isn't a single motor vehicle younger than me. Upon getting off the moto and paying the driver a hear a man yell 'Bogo!!' which must be directed at me. It was a different man than the one I talked to the previous day, but he came up to me and without even asking my destination said very confidently, 'I'll be taking you to Bogo today!' His price was fair (15000cfa, 30 dollars) and I liked his attitude right off the bat. But then unfortunately I saw the car we would be taking. I think carbon dating would place this particular automobile in the 1960s, but it looked as if it had endured any number of accidents, breakdowns, war zones, etc. At one point I think it was a Mercedes, but good luck getting them to claim it. I immediately thought of those cars that the completely incompetent henchmen in the old James Bond movies used to chase 007 with. And everytime without fail one of those knuckleheads managed to careen over a hill, flipping the car over several times, and then Bond rides off unscathed, etc. I now think that these cars had been sent to Cameroun after filming under some certified pre-owned arrangement, and my chauffeur that day was lucky enough to have one of these classic beauties. I knew at that moment I should just turn and walk away, but that little voice inside my head said that this was just to damn interesting to pass up. I hopped in the car, as my trusty chauffeur popped the e-brake and began pushing. Which explains why he had it parked on a hill. He proceeded to hop into the moving car, did a whole array of pulls and pushes of levers and pedals that probably only he knows, and the ancient beast awakened and rolled out of the depot.

Luckily the road to Bogo, while unpaved, is relatively straight and flat. Although this poor vehicle made the most awful noises over the slightest pothole. From time to time smoke would rise up from where the gear shift goes into the floor. This, the driver assured me, was completely normal. About 1km outside of Bogo I began to feel immense joy, for we had reached our destination. Unfortunately, gas was no longer making it to the engine. This, the driver assured me, was completely normal. 'And don't worry', he said. 'I'm a mechanic too!' as he jumped out of the car, proceeded to disconnect the gas line and suck vigorously to remove the blockage. This, I assumed, was completely normal. Nevertheless, we made the last kilometer and I now have an interesting snippet for the blog. I'd love to continue writing about my experiences in Bogo, especially Monday's Fete de Mouton, which I spent at my Cameroonian counterparts home. Its an amazing Islamic holiday of eating, eating, eating, and eating. And the hospitality shown by traditional families is nothing short of amazing. Unfortunately my internet time is running low. Long story short, I ate goat stomach, liver, intestine and heart...so I'm really not in a place to talk about it yet anyway.

So a late Happy Turkey Day to everyone in the States! Unfortunately no turkey was available here in Cameroon, but we made do by grilling up 12 chickens at the Garoua PC office. Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fried okra, stuffing, stuffed tomatoes, deviled eggs and all sorts of other goodies were on the menu so we can't complain all that much! AND, I believe the trainees heading up to the Extreme North after training are researching the possibility of slaughtering a goat for Christmas. Yes, you heard that correctly. We shall see if that ever comes to fruition.

And thanks very much to those of you who voted on the poll this past week in which I asked for your advice on what to do upon getting to Bogo. Although judging by the results I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother voted multiple times, or is atleast guilty of coercing the voting public. While I will respect the results and call my mother as soon as I step foot on Bogo soil, I just want everyone to know that I hope that all future polls will be conducted in a free and fair manner.

And at the top of this post there is a picture of me with some of my family members here in Nassarao. Internet connection here is iffy at best, so getting even one picture up is a hassle. And yes, I am wearing my boubou. Unfortunately the little white hat that goes with it is far too small for my massive head. Additionally, this photo was taken at about 6 in the morning. One evening I had told my family that I wanted a picture with them the next morning, thinking to myself somewhere in the ballpark of 9 or 10AM, after a nice breakfast and a cold bucket bath. My two younger brothers had a different agenda, and proceeded to bang on my bedroom door at about 5:45 that morning as the sun was just starting to make an appearance. I guess the excitement was just too much to handle. Hence I look like I just crawled out of my bed. Nevertheless, I think I look quite dashing in my Cameroonian man dress.

Although I'm sure it has made its way to some of you already, I'd like to formally announce that my permanent post in Cameroon will be the city of Bogo in the Extreme North Province. It is about 30 km northeast of the provincial capital of Maroua, and about 40km from the Chadian border (yikes). Actually it is a very pretty and peaceful town of about 50,000 people which is surprisingly large for an agricultural post. The village itself is very traditional and about 90% muslim, which is an unusually high concentration even for the Extreme North of Cameroon. For the first few months at post most of my time will be spent learning Fufulde with a local tutor and getting accustomed to the city and the outlying areas where I'll be working. Teaching english at the lycee (high school) is also on the agenda along with playing soccer at the local stade whenever possible. One interesting Bogo fact is that the nuns at the local catholic mission have Scrabble, so I'm looking forward to playing some scrabble en francais with them in the coming months. I didn't have time for anything other than meeting with local officials during my site visit to Bogo earlier in November, but I look forward to getting back after December 4 when we are sworn in as volunteers. The sous-prefet (government) and lamido (traditional) were both very welcoming and made it clear how exciting it is to have an American in the community. Regardless of a volunteer's political affiliation, Obama's victory in the recent election has made our jobs here about 100x easier, as the entire country of Cameroon was ecstatic after his victory. Doing nothing more than walking down the street draws chants and screams of "Barack Obama!!" I've already seen Cameroonians wearing tshirts displaying his face, and I'm almost certain I saw a billboard in Garoua the other day advertising a Barack Obama fan club. It is all very humorous to witness and I doubt my descriptions can do it justice. When I took a moto ride the day after the election in Maroua during site visit the moto driver, or 'clando' as they are called here, sparked up a very deep conversation on the implications of the presidential election.

Clando: You french?

Me: No

Clando: American?

Me: Yes

Clando: Barack Obama!

Me: Please watch the road, as we are about to be killed by a bush taxi (in very broken french)

And about 2 miles later after a long and thoughtful pause...

Clando: Are you from Hollywood?

Me: No...Washington, DC

Clando: Barack Obama!

And a little later on down the road...

Me: This is my stop, thanks very much. Here's 100cfa.

Clando: Barack Obama!

Back to Bogo- My accomodations in Bogo may have been the most surprising discovery of all during site visit. My soon to be home, which is a fairly massive walled compound, has electricity, running water, two bedrooms and two full bathrooms, and (drum roll please) a small refridgerator!!!! I find myself feeling guilty about my accomodations being so 'non peace corps-esque." But that lasts for about five seconds, at which point I start day dreaming about keeping things cold, real showers and toilets that flush

While I know some people want very specific info on what I'll be doing (mom), it is very difficult to say at this point. As I said before, teaching english at the local school is on the agenda. I've also met with the local minister for youth development who is very interested in starting some sports or after school programs. As for the Agroforestry side, the first three months at post, the work I do with my cameroonian counterpart (a very dynamic guy in the community) and my community assessment will decide what I end up pursuing. I have certain things I know I'd like to accomplish in the community with certain Agroforestry techniques and Small Enterprise Development but there's no telling if my own agenda would address Bogo's greatest needs. Time will tell, and I look forward to updating this blog next time as a fully sworn-in Peace Corps Volunteer. If anyone has the time it may be worth checking out the U.S. Embassy (Yaounde) website to see if there is any information about our swearing in ceremony. The U.S. ambassador to Cameroon will be coming north for the ceremony, I'm told it is being nationally televised in Cameroon (we already have our tailors making some lovely new blue boubous for the ceremony), and often times these things are posted on the embassy website.

I'll begin this week by mentioning some past and upcoming milestones. For one, just a few days ago(Oct 20) marked one month in Cameroon. So far it has been pretty smooth sailing. While many problems exist here I think most people have a view of Africa that is shaped by what the evening news shows us. If you want to find the negatives here they are certainly present, but the majority of my experiences thus far are highlighted by the laid back and welcoming nature of the country. With the exception of a few cultural missteps I think I've adjusted well. An example of such a misstep would be the use of the words mosque and mosquito, words which are very similar in french as well. Note to self: When in a muslim village, accidentally saying you hate mosques requires a quick recovery.

Another important milestone is that of post announcement (Oct 30) which is when I'll find out where exactly my next two years will be spent. Waiting to hear hasd been the most difficult part of training, and I will be incredibly happy once I know what I have to look forward to. What I do know is that all 16 or 17 agro volunteers will be posted in 2 of Cameroon's 10 provinces, Nord (where we are now) or Nord-Extreme. Not sure I have a preference between the two. Most of the posts have electricity and cell phone reception. None have running water. I havent seen a legitimate flush toilet in one month and it hasnt been too much of a problem, so running water isn't exactly a concern of mine. Besides, I don't think it would be very peace corps-esque, and I might feel as though I were cheating if I had it. As surprising as this sounds a common complaint from PCVs is that they think they have it too nice here. I'm living comfortably, but that is one complaint that won't be going on my evaluation forms. One thing I did request was being posted nearby a small enterprise development (SED) volunteer, as mixing agroforestry with a microcredit program is something I hope to pursue.

Healthwise, dare I say I'm doing fine? I'd hate to jinx myself after a month of no problems. Lets just say everything is still attached and nothing has laid eggs in my stomach to my knowledge. The peace corps has given us enough info/training/shots/medicine to sustain a small rebel force. Although the info sessions can be disconcerting. To summarize, pretty much everything is a)infected with a parasite b)trying to infect me with a parasite c)poisonous d)covered in fecal matter, or e)all of the above. Common sense is usually sufficient to avoid trouble. Street food covered in flies- bad. Peelable fruit and cameroonian guinness- goooood.

As for wildlife I fear I may disappoint many who expected me to be riding zebras and elephants across the savanna by now. I have become good friends with the many insect eating frogs and lizards who often stop by my room in the evening to feast. Chameleon sightings are common although they usually waste no time in getting away from all the children trying to play with them. Livestock is most common and our friendly neighborhood rooster likes to make his presence well known at about 5AM each morning. Goats are everywhere and they eat everything. My family had 2 chickens pecking around the compound last week. I only saw one today so I believe I have the other to thank for that delicious sauce and meat over rice the other evening.

As for the agroforestry training, the staff has really started to pile on the field trips, exams and presentations. I'm starting to feel as though I'm back at college, only difference being I go to class here :) I think the following gives an idea of what I'm up to: After numerous trips "en brusse" (the bush) I've started my own tiny nursery of gum arabic trees, which can be a very lucrative asset here. By small I mean 100 individually planted polypots. Most nurseries in the area operate with tens of thousands of trees at one time. Nothing green has come out ofpolypots yet, and while I only planted 2 days ago I'm wondering whether that damn chicken has been poking around. I have no problem eating chicken again tonight so I hope for his sake that is not the case. With all the trainees it looks as though we'll have between 1000-1600 gum arabic seedlings to give to the community that has hosted us during training.

On Monday I'll be giving myfirst agricultural animation to the training staff on the topic of environmental education. Basically just a 15 minute presentation in which we assume we are speaking with a group of interestedcameroonians. We are allowed to give this one in english but I think I may give it a go in french to see how I've progressed. Unfortunately I didnt realize at the time of topic selection that it is a pretty difficult topic in a cameroonian context. There isn't much about environmental education that directly impacts people's wallets in the short term, and when most people here struggle to sustain themselves month to month anything without immediate benefit is a tough sell. However, find the right audience and explaining improved living standards and health achieved through a clean environment isnt so useless. When it comes to pollution, the average cameroonian produces about 1 percent of what the average american creates, but when every bit of that ends up in the streets, gutters and water supply it creates some pretty nasty, unhealthy areas. Nursery establishment, orchard establishment, sustainable farming systems, and basic business principles and income generation are some of the other items on the training agenda. As I said before environmental education and also ecotourism are two topics that interest me a great deal and could be put to great use in the Sahel. Unfortunately the lack of infrastructure and transportation in the north prevents ecotourism from taking off. Also, at the risk of sounding a bit political, the north of Cameroon has seen almost no development over the last 30 years due to the president being a southerner. Not my place to commentate on that, but the reality is that the major infrastructure here is either in disrepair or nonexistent. One telling example is that after every rainy season the many dirt roads linking villages to the main autoroutes are filled, flattened just repaired in general. The only strange part to this story is that it is done almost entirely by a french cotton company operating in the area that relies on the backroads to access the cotton harvests. That company rightfully has its own business concerns in mind, so anything beyond that in Northern Cameroon will remain underdevelopped for the foreseeable future without the help of NGOs and development organisations.

I'll leave it at that for this week. But first some interesting observations from the past month before parting:

- Cameroon does not have AAA, but when the PC Land Cruiser got stuck in about 3 feet of mud there were 15-20 cameroonians on hand in about 20 minutes to physically lift the massive vehicle up and out of the bog. And they accepted our invitation to lunch at the nearby village as payment.

-Refridgeration is the most amazing thing ever created. I just want you all to know that. Next time you open your fridge just stick your head in there for a second and feel that glorious burst of cool air and say "Ahh!" Do it for me.

-Hissing at people in Cameroon is a perfectly acceptable and preferred method of getting someones attention. When I come back to the US and hiss at you out of habit please dont slap me. That would be culturally insensitive of you.

-A bush taxi with approximately 13 seats can fit 20 people, a few small children, 2-3 goats and about 3 tons of maize sacks on the roof. Yet the driver is convinced he is taking part in the Indy 500.

-Cameroonians with TV watch the american show Prisonbreak religiously. I never watched it in the states so I couldnt say whether or not the episodes are current, but globalisation seems to be alive and well.

-To elaborate on that, every conversation I've had with cameroonians indicates the same thing. For anyone who believes that America has lost popularity in the world, dont tell that to anyone here. In the tiny muslim village of Nassarao kids love our music and films, adults want to talk about the election and everyone in general sees the US as a country where you can breathe the air and become rich. That last part obviously isnt true and Ive tried to convey a more realistic vision of our country. While many of these people will never have an opportunity to see the US for themselves, the idea of an american dream seems to be something that translates to many cultures. They know all the great things about our country and they know our faults just as well (French TV is widely available here). But most importantly, America is the place where you can marry Shakira (very popular here), make 1 million cfa (about 2500 dollars), and clothes wash themselves in machines.

10/5/2008

As you may have guessed, internet access in Northern Cameron is a bit of a challenge. Figuring out this damn french keyboard is a fun experience as well. After a lengthy trip from Douala to Yaoundé, and then further into the interior of Cameroon, we now find ourselves living in the small village of Nassarao. It is a tiny community of vendors, farmers and herders just outside the northern provincial capital of Garoua, which is where I now write this blog entry. Our training building is right in the center of town along with the local mosque and primairy school. Ive been placed with a host family for the next few months, and the fourteen year old son and eighteen year old daughter are the only french speakers in the house. Fufulde is the first language and I am gradually picking up some simple phrases. Although I believe the mother thinks Im slow in the head because mi somi (Im sleepy), mi haari (Im full) mi dilli (Im leaving) and useko (thank you) is about the extent of my fufulde knowledge right now. Nevertheless, it is a very welcoming area and aside from a few (maybe alot) of confused looks from locals, everyone is usually very friendly and inquisitive, i.e. where are you from? do you know_____ (insert famous american name)? will you take this baby back to the states with you? etc.

Our pre service training curently consists of about 4 hours of language training in the morning and another 3 to 4 hours of technical or cultural traing in the afternoon. The immersion phase of PST begins on Monday and that means instructors and staff no longer speak in english for our convenience. Ive ben using my english as a crutch in ,any sessions thus far, so being forced to use french 24/7 should be very beneficial yet frustrating to begin with. I tested into the intermediate-mid level of french when ariving, so once I reach intermediate high I will be able to begin formal lessons in fufulde, which is the predominant language in northern Cameroon. Regardless of the frustrations, northern Cameron is very laidback place when compared to my experiences in Douala and Yaoundé, and it is day and night compared to our hurriedness in the United States. I think it is just to damn hot here to be in a hurry. The most populqr daytime activity sems to be sleeping under a large baobab or cassia tree. With that being the case I should have no problem immersing myself in the culture. I wonder what the fufulde word for hamock is. I can also apreciate the slower pace here since the slightest bit of physical exertion between the hours of 10-4 brings on a drenching sweat, hence my intake of about 3-4 litres of water per day. The rainy season is ending this month so the humidity will begin to drift away. However, Im told that temperatures during the dry season can climb to 130 in the sun. But hey, atleast its a dry heat! Now that weve established a fairly regular schedule here in Nassarao, I hope to be updating the blog on atleast a bi wekly basis. So thanks again for reading and I hope to have some pictures available soon.

10/12/2008:

So I had intended to add the previous passage to the blog last Sunday when I was in Garoua for the day. I bought an hour of internet access at the cyber café for 300cfa (75 cents), but with the speed of the internet connection I had just about enough time to clear out my email inbox and then get stuck between loading internet pages for about 30 minutes. C'est Afrique. So last Wednesday I decided to try it again. And I bet youll never guess, thats right, the internet went down about 5 minutes into my session. SSo here I am, back again to play the odds at a Cameroonian cyber café. The trip from Nassarao is easy enough. From the training center I walk about 5 minutes to the main highway, which is more like a 1.5 lane tarmac shared by motos, taxis, bush taxis, 18 wheelers, and of course plenty of goats. From there I wait under a tree for a passing moto taxi (think dirt bike), negotiate a price (200cfa), put on my peace corps issued moto helmet, and hold on for dear life as the driver weaves his way around bicycles, cars, trucks, goats, etc and into the middle of Garoua. Upon hopping off the back of the moto in centre-ville Im quickly approached by numerous friendly Cameroonians offering things such as another moto ride, what apears to be 10 year old bottles of aspirin and tylenol, or even a cut of raw and sun baked meat. Mm, delicious. After a short walk to a new cyber café, which coincidentally is called Pentagon, I manage to procure another hour of internet for approx 75 cents. Much to the relief of my stomach I turned down the street food. Besides, Ive been told that there is a restaurant that serves burgers and sandwiches. Not hat the fod Ive received thus far isnt apetizing, and its hard to complain when is prepared for me by my homestay family. Nevertheless, couscous and fish sauce can get monotonous, and Im prety sure a burger or sandwich w/ a cold beverage (non alcoholic of course) would be the most beautiful thing on earth right now. If I have any extra time before returning to Nassarao I am considering renting out the restaurant's refrigerator, if only to seet and feel cold for about 10 minutes. I could create an entirely new sector of busiess in the process. Renting out refrigerated spaces to unacclimated westerners. I smell a small enterprise development project in the making. Before parting I would like to quickly touch on the situation w/ me adding pictures to the blog. Most of the coputers here lok like the belong in the old Star Trek movies so unfortunately I dont know when I will have an oportunity to get pictures on the internet. Within the month of October is my target. In the meantime I'll have you know that it is beautiful here and that is in no small part to the people that have been so welcoming. I also look forward to adding pics of me in my boubou (Cameroonian man dress), which is lovely. To summarize the rest of the photo album to date, I am sweating profusely in every picture, and if you were to create a flipbook you could likely see me gradually getting thinner. Thats all I've got for the moment, à bientot.

The last few weeks have been a bit of a blur, but I thought it would be nice to put atleast one more "pre-departure" entry up on the blog. First of all, I'd just like to thank everyone for the all the encouragement (much needed!) and the many parting gifts that were beyond generous and will be a tremendous help.

Tomorrow morning I'll be flying to Philadelphia for the staging event and will remain there until this Friday. Arrival in Douala, Cameroon is scheduled for Saturday the 20th. After a night in a hotel and a 4 hour bus ride on the 21st I'll arrive in Yaounde, spending a few days receiving some general briefings on security and health in addition to the last remaining vaccinations. Our language proficiency test is also scheduled in Yaounde. Hard to tell how much studying french on my own has helped over the past few months. It may come as no surprise to some of you that studying isn't exactly my cup of tea. Sink or swim tactics seem to work much better.

From Yaounde I'll be hopping on a train to the fine town of Ngoundere and then get back on the road for the remaining leg of the trip to the northern city of Garoua. Perhaps I should have named this blog 'Planes, Trains and Bush Taxis.' My 'pre-service training' (PST) will be taking place in the nearby village of Nassarao. According to my Peace Corps update, Nassarao is "a beautiful Muslim village, 7 km from Garoua, off the main road to Maroua. It has a village market and a weekly cattle market that attracts alot of cow, goat and sheep buyers." Meghan, I hope you registered at the Nassarao market. Just let me know if you have a livestock preference. I just never know what to get!

I could ramble on for much longer, but I do have an early flight tomorrow. Thanks for reading, hope to update you again soon.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the first installment of "Danny Bob's African Safari!" No, I have not gone off the grid quite yet, but the day (September 17) is fast approaching. Just in case anyone has any questions regarding my whereabouts the next few weeks, my itinerary looks a little something like this...

Labor Day Weekend- Fill the car with my remaining worldly possessions and head down to Charlotte, NC to see some of the fam. Catch the Va Tech/ECU game and fill up on some much needed Americana. Return to DC on Monday for my last three days in a cubicle.

September 4- Bid au revoir to my friends/coworkers at the DoD. Proceed to the nearest happy hour joint in Arlington for a few last brews and laughs with the fellas.

September 5- In Fredericksburg for a few days to see the lovebirds (aka Meghan and Chad), trying my damndest to avoid any conversations involving Meghan's favorite topic. I won't say what it is but I'll give you a hint. It starts with the letter "w" and rhymes with edding.

A few days later- Continue south to Charlotte to spend a week or two with the parents, spending most of that time eating all their food.

September 17- Bid adieu to the folks. Fly to Philadelphia for staging.

September 19- Fly out of New York to Douala (via Brussels), arriving sometime on the 20th.

September 20- Your guess is as good as mine:)

As for my whereabouts during the first few months of training, my mailing address is the following:

Dan Archibald

Peace Corps Trainee

Corps de la Paix

B.P. 215

Yaounde, Cameroon

Thanks for checking out the blog, and I hope to provide you with plenty of interesting/funny/thoughtful/bizarre experiences over the next few years.