Today marks one year since Honey died. If you followed this blog, you know she was my friend and comfort through the ups and downs of two years of Peace Corps service in Ngaoundéré, Cameroon, Africa. You'll also know that she died due to complications from delivering Cricket, who celebrated her first birthday two days ago.

At first I expected Cricket to be just like Honey. I planned on her being the same color, build, and size. I wanted exactly the same cleverness, manners, and voice. Instead, Cricket is her own dog. One obvious difference is that Cricket's ears have not stood up like a typical Basenji's. For the longest time I told myself they would stand as she grew up, but she has not grown in months. She is in fact shorter than Honey was. Between her smaller size and floppy ears, Cricket will always look like a puppy to me.

When Honey first died, I remember thinking that I would eventually be able to think of her and smile at our happy memories. However, thinking of Honey now is still painful. It had been a while since I had looked through my pictures of her, so making this slideshow helped me focus on the happy times.

Those of you who know me, read this blog, and/or view my facebook profile have seen most of these pictures before. This was one of the harder things about making the slideshow: I have no new pictures (or memories) of Honey from the last year. And I will never have more pictures than these already cherished shots.

I haven't posted in a week, partly because I was out of town "camping" with my boyfriend, his dad and stepmom. I say "camping" because it was much more luxurious than any camping trip I'd ever been on (and even more luxurious than my house in Cameroon considering there were hot showers!) but a very good time none-the-less. We left the dogs behind for the two nights we were away, and our friends took very good care of them.

Meanwhile, Cricket has grown even more, and lost almost all her black markings. Her white spot on her face has practically disappeared too, though her chest and tiptoes are going strong.

her white tip toes:

photo with my feet for size comparison:

happy puppy:

kisses:

Buddy teaches Cricket one of his bad habits:

I took these pictures with my new phone. Let me tell you, no technology advanced more than phones while we were gone. I was a little slow on the uptake for telephone technology before, and this is actually the first phone I have owned with a camera function. I am very pleased with the quality of photos it takes. It's quite a leap from a call and text capable flip phone to a touch screen phone with camera which can check my email.

Yesterday we took Cricket to the vet for her first shot. The vet laid down a line of squeeze cheese in front of her, which meant she didn't even bat an eye at the needle he then stuck into her back. Just like that, her second vet visit was over. By the way, Buddy is nearly all healed from his neutering surgery a couple weeks ago.

Saturday marked six weeks of Cricket being among us! Since puppies are generally ready to be adopted and re-homed once they reach six or eight weeks, I consider this a milestone. She is old enough now that not having her real mom around doesn't set her behind any other American puppy. I'm very glad we are through this first danger zone, though she never gave us any reason to worry.

She seems to be constantly getting better at everything. She walks splendidly, and in fact can now run at a decent pace. She's gotten used to her collar and I made a little harness attachment to go with it (which she has already practically outgrown since I made it a week ago). She is even climbing steps, though she can only ascend and needs practice descending them.

Here's a video of Buddy and Cricket playing, complete with some characteristic Basenji noises. Also notice Cricket's tough girl face--you wouldn't mess with her would you!

cricket and buddy play

Don't worry--she was fine after that fall! Once we knew she was okay we watched the video again in slow motion--certainly the funniest thing I've ever taped.

Buddy is a light tan color with white on his chest and feet. He also has white markings on his face which we think are beautiful, along with his thick black eyeliner. Buddy's tail does not curl as consistently as Honey's did. It is always looped up when he's having fun, but just being bored can make it hang straight down. Buddy is no taller than Honey was, but he's closer to 40 lbs. He is all muscle. Buddy was neutered last week and is healing well.

Buddy is also a fast and skilled hunter. He earned his spirit name, Broken Ear, because as a puppy one of his ears stood upright and the other stayed floppy. They both stand up now, leading us to call him Once Broken Ear instead. Honey's nickname was Wormbutt, because when we first got her she had tapeworms and it took forever for the medicine to knock them out completely. I always thought Buddy's fur was slightly softer than Honey's, though both were short haired dogs. Buddy grooms himself much like Honey did, though Honey was a little more thorough. Honey would actually clean Buddy's ears and nails for him! We never trimmed either dogs' nails, and Buddy always wears his down completely because he runs around so much.

We also sometimes refer to Buddy as a bear, because he looks like one if he sits up. Honey was a deer.

He's a cuddle fiend. He always sleeps next to one of us on the bed. He doesn't make any noise when he is asleep and moved, but he will try to steal back the spot you just moved him out of immediately. Buddy often sleeps on his back with his legs up in the air, sometimes fully extended. He likes to lay in this way, but then bend his neck so that his head is twisted around next to his torso.

In one way Buddy and Honey were complete opposites. As I said before, Honey hated meeting new people. Buddy loves it. He loves everyone from the second he lays eyes on them. This can be a little scary to some people, since he jumps up to say hi and could knock a smaller child over. Whenever a new person came over he wanted to sit right in their lap on the couch, and needed to hog all their attention if they tried to pet Honey.

Buddy of course loves meat, cheese, and fish. He also will try almost any other food we offer. He liked those cores in the center of pineapple slices, as well as dried fruit, carrots, basically anything we give him. Treats are a good enough incentive to do tricks--he knows sit, lay down, shake, and spin around. Shake is his least favorite--if you don't have a treat he often refuses to shake and keeps on sitting. However, he seems willing to shake for anything on our dinner plates--he basically begs by pawing at us in the same way he's supposed to for shaking.

Buddy makes lots of noise. He will occasionally bark, but more likely he will makes some kind of whine or howl sound. This happens when he's playing, or locked up when he can hear something fun going on, or sad.

Buddy used to howl along with the call to prayer each evening in Meiganga. Allen's house was across the street from a neighborhood mosque. He lived in a Muslim neighborhood, so there were quite a few around. In the evenings Buddy would hear the call to prayer over the various loudspeakers in every direction. The surround sound would echo off the houses and Buddy would howl right along like a lone wolf. It was actually a very sad noise and the one or two times I heard it made me want to comfort him.

video of Buddy howling

Fetch holds Buddy's attention much longer than Honey's, though not indefinitely. He prefers chase games, either chasing Allen, other dogs, lizards, or sometimes an imaginary target. Both Buddy and Honey always ran laps around the house after baths. Buddy runs lap after lap, jumping up and down over the couches.

Cricket continues to grow. She is pretty good at walking, and even runs some now. She's eating solid food now, and doesn't get any milk anymore. We started her on solid dog food by soaking it in milk until it was nice and soft, then giving her food that was less well soaked until she was happy to eat her puppy chow. She likes exploring the back yard but still jogs back and sits on my feet every once in a while. She only looks sad in the last picture because she always looks sad--her eyes are just so big they seem to constantly be begging! Her tail is up and that means she's happy.

Check back tomorrow for the Buddy installment of "what makes them basenji."

For the benefit of those readers who have not yet met our dogs, I'm going to describe their looks and mannerisms over the next couple days. They have many of these characteristics in common with Basenjis.

Honey was at most 30 pounds, and was perhaps 18 inches at her shoulders (two feet tall including her head). I believe this is rather large for a Basenji. She had reddish brown fur, with white socks and chest. Her tail was tightly curled unless she was laying down, or extremely stressed or upset.

Honey was a very fast runner and skilled hunter (she caught mice, lizards, spiders, and birds). Her ears stood upright once she reached maturity. Honey groomed herself much like a cat, but occasionally still needed a bath because Africa is so dusty. She hated baths, but tolerated them best with a removable shower head with a flexible neck which could be placed against her skin with mild water pressure. She disliked cold water, but often had to tolerate that too.

Strangers were Honey's least favorite thing--she found meeting new people very stressful and it was best if the new friend ignored her and let her approach them when she was comfortable.

Closed doors were no match for Honey's intellect--she quickly taught herself to open them by standing and pushing down on the lever-style doorhandles common in Africa, then pushing or pulling the door until it opens. Buddy watched her do this many times but never caught on to be able to open doors himself.

Honey had no fear of heights. There was a small ledge which wrapped around my second house in Africa (I lived in three different homes throughout my two years in Peace Corps) which Honey loved to walk out on and survey the neighborhood from. Unfortunately, the ledge was at least twelve feet off the ground and she fell off it a couple times before I figured out that a biden (plastic jug) full of water could prevent her access. She also caught on to tricks, and even invented one for herself, "spin around," while I was trying to teach her "stand up."

Honey's favorite foods were, in order from most desired to least favorite: fish, eggs, meat, treats, cheese, any leftover people food, dried cranberries or apricots, beniegts, and bread. No punishment was harsh enough to deter Honey from breaking into a trash bag containing fish. Honey preferred anything that was leftover from my plate. She became accustomed to licking my plate once I'd finished, and in fact would demand it by progressing from grumbles to whimpers and whines to flat out barks. Once she started this behavior I stopped giving her every plate to lick, but she never gave up. Once she decided it was her turn with my plate, the only way to calm her down was to clear the table (or give her the plate I suppose, but you can't reward bad behavior like that).

Honey had many noises in her repertoire besides barking to get her point across. She always made a happy, low grumbling noise when she greeted me at the door, sometimes followed by a yodel or whines. She made a less happy version of this grumbling noise when she was asleep and you moved her. Honey could, and sometimes would, bark.

There was a mosque outside my bedroom window, and she loved to sit and watch the men prepare for prayer by washing. Honey also preferred small spaces, especially if she was scared for some reason. She liked lying underneath the couch as much as she liked lying on the couch. She also enjoyed cuddling, and would steal my spot in the bed right up against the pillow if I got up in the night.

(click the bottom right corner of the slideshow to go to the web album and see larger photos.)

It seems obvious to everyone that Buddy isn't a typical American dog. Most people ask us what kind of dogs we have. We've boiled the explanation down to this: Buddy (and Cricket) are dogs we brought back from Africa. They are indigenous to Cameroon, but very similar to a breed called Basenji. Most people are not familiar with Basenjis, but they seem a lot like a warm weather Shiba Inu.

We believe that our dogs are Basenji mixes, or Native Basenji (from Africa, not from the original stock imported from the Democratic Replublic of Congo which sired American Baenjis). If you would like a Buddy, Honey, or Cricket of your own, check out these sites for information on this special breed, imported from Africa.

Basenji Club of America

Basenji Companions

Basenji Rescue

And now some pictures: as demonstrated yesterday, Cricket likes to cuddle. She snuggles up to Buddy, or Allen or I.

Allen and I are staying with two very generous friends of his, who have offered up their basement as our temporary home. They are animal lovers, and when a bird starting nesting in an old hanging planter in their breezeway, they let nature take its course. The bird, "Chirps," started bringing his girlfriend home and then there were little chick heads popping out of the planter. So, consequently, this house might as well be an animal nursery, with five chicks adding to Cricket's antics. The baby birds hopped the nest for their first flying lesson yesterday, and most didn't make it out of the breezeway. So, they are taking their sweet time getting their fly on, and we have to take Buddy out front to use the bathroom. I still take Cricket out the back, but carry her through the chick danger zone. She's still pretty little, but there's no reason to risk the little chicks lives. Currently, of the five chicks, one died, one is outside in the trees in the yard, two are still in the temporary box nest, and one is missing (presumably outside too?).

Buddy, meanwhile, is warming up to Cricket's presence. He tries to play with her some, and seems to know to be gentle with her. She loves the attention, and fights back with little paw swipes and snaps at his face. Buddy is scheduled to visit the vet tomorrow to be fixed.

Yesterday, Allen and I stopped at the pet store to get Buddy a tag to replace the current one which lists his Cameroonian phone number. Actually, it reads "Buddy Reperton/79 49 60 00/Corps de la Paix/ U.S.A Government Property," because Allen thought it would deter people from stealing him (see Allen's blog post here about when Buddy turned out to be stolen).

We also made Cricket a tag to wear on her first collar. Hopefully readers can compare Cricket's size relative to my hand, since she is growing at lightning speed.

I've fallen behind this week (is anyone surprised?) so here's all the pictures I should've been posting this week.

To start us off, I'm posting two pictures I should have started the puppyhood blog off with, since Cricket is mere minutes old in them.

We move on to a pair of shots which show one of Cricket's favorite places, in a hammock made of a scarf. When we were still in Cameroon, Allen and I had to take Cricket with us most places since she needed to be fed so often. We carried her around in a little cloth backpack I had sewn down to her size. When we took moto rides, I wrapped her in this scarf too to keep wind chill down for her.

We made many Cameroonians laugh at restaurants and cyber cafes by breaking out a bottle and feeding Cricket at our table. Some laughed, but others were more shocked, leading Allen to suggest that they were surprised what white people's babies look like.

Finally, one shot of Cricket on the day she opened her eyes.

Tomorrow we'll jump ahead to the present day (and a much bigger puppy!) to showcase her new collar.

Once Cricket was nearly two weeks old, she finally opened her eyes! Her eyesight, however, did not seem to benefit from her eyes being open. It's taken at least a week for her to lose that glassy, fogged over look and now she's started to see obstacles in her path. She also started wobbling around on four legs instead of the army crawl we were all used to.

Also, before leaving Ngaoundere I had a friend paint henna for me. Cameroonians use a Chinese brand of hair dye instead of the traditional plant to stain their hands and feet in delicate patterns. Aissatou, who painted mine for me, came over a few hours late and didn't have time to paint my hands before I had to catch the train south. She did a beautiful job on my feet and a small design on my chest. I had henna done once before in Cameroon and the motifs were very similar: flower petals, scrolls, and dots.

Cricket is already three and half weeks old, but we need to play catch up on all the adorable footage we have of her since birth.

Here's some pictures of proud mom Honey and puppy Cricket. These were taken before the problematic third labor of her last puppy, so both dogs are tired but well at this point.

The first video is of Cricket nursing from Honey, who lived for about two days after Cricket was born. The second is a video of big brother Buddy's reaction to three-day-old Cricket.

More pictures and videos tomorrow, as we continue to catch up to present day.

My last month in Cameroon has by far been the hardest. This is for two reasons, the first is saying goodbye. Saying goodbye here is in one way much harder than saying goodbye to everyone stateside two years ago: I have no idea when, or if, I will see my friends here again. I have tried to help everyone I want to stay in touch with set up email account and learn how to check them, but communicating with my friends here will be much harder than communicating with family back home ever was.

Secondly, three weeks ago my dog, whom I've written about before, died. Honey became pregnant despite the birth control shot I got for her. She had three puppies and died of complications. Of course she was very important to me, as most pets are to their families. Honey was always happy to see me and happy to listen or play, which was the best medicine for a bad day in a foreign culture where it's work to have conversations. Two of her puppies were stillborn, and the third is thriving. For now, this blog will become a puppy blog, all about Cricket's growth. So check back regularly for pictures and videos of Cricket's development. I promise to be more regular about posting, since I will be in the states, an internet haven. Also, even when I don't have anything interesting to say, puppy pictures will brighten the worst or best day.

The deepest impression I have of Cameroon is of overwhelming hospitality. Everyone everywhere greeted us with big smiles and gracious words. Carol and Allen’s friends took us into their homes and extended welcome with heavily sweetened tea, cookies and soft drinks, or hot ginger spiced soy milk, or even an elaborate Cameroonian dinner. We visited with various families but always seemed to be in the midst of a multi-generational family. The food was delicious. I wished I were fluent in French but as I am not, taxed Carol and Allen’s translating abilities. The warm regard and high esteem Carol and Allen enjoy as teachers with Peace Corps was extended to us. We had a unique opportunity to glimpse Cameroonian culture. We truly traveled on their coattails!

We landed without incident in Yaoundé. Yaoundé is lush and tropical. Many varieties of palm trees, exotic ginger plants and colorful lizards abound. It was hot and somewhat humid. We had a tropical shower or two. Jet lag slowed me down for 2-3 days. Allen’s aunt, Linda, was not as slowed as I was! Linda came from Ohio. I came from Washington. After waiting an extra day due to a derailment, we traveled to Ngaoundal via the night train. We had a sleeping compartment with 4 bunks. The train traveled all night and at each stop, people peddled fruit, honey, or “baton pistache” a ground peanut, dried fish, pistachio snack tied in leaves. Some of the vendors were young, school age children. We slept off and on through many stops. About 9 am we arrived in Ngaoundal. This was a short stop, so Allen quickly wrestled our multiple (I think at least 7!) bags off the train and we rappelled from the last step of the train to the bank. The next leg of our journey was by “Bush Taxi”, a 25 person bus that took us to Meiganga. The terrain changed from lush to a drier climate with red dirt like Georgia. Small mud brick and grass hut villages dotted the countryside. The land was sparsely forested. Termite mounds and ant hills were plentiful. The road was paved and we made good time.

Meiganga is the town where Allen teaches. Linda and I quickly learned to ride motos and motos took us and our multiple bags to Allen’s home. We met Buddy Repperton, Allen’s African dog. Buddy was very glad to see Allen and Carol and decided Linda and I were tolerable. Allen’s house is in the Muslim quarter and we heard the muezzin call the faithful to prayer. Five times a day the muezzin calls the faithful to prayer. Buddy occasionally lends his howl to the loudspeaker call to prayer! We met Allison and Claire, two PC volunteers also working in Meiganga. Claire is working with small business development and Allison is in health education. They extended their hospitality as well. It definitely is to a volunteer’s advantage to get along with the other volunteers in the area. It is quite apparent they form a “family” and share camaraderie unique to folks who both lean on and watch out for each other. Allen treated us to a tour of the lycee where he teaches English. He showed us the library, his additional project. The library is up and running but has not really caught on. Most Cameroonians do not read for recreation and the book selection is limited. The school was attractive but obviously in need of ceiling repair. Allen said he had about 70 students per class and I think at least 7 classes, so that is a mind boggling 490+ students! We attended Mass at a lovely Catholic parish, the Church of Christ the King. It was very African and very elegant. The carvings of Christ on the Cross with Mary and John at the foot were wonderful. The African Madonna and Christ child was beautiful. The music was memorable. The pastor is an exceptionally charismatic, welcoming man. He invited us to dinner and served 3 different Cameroonian dishes. We felt like VIPs!

Allison arranged for us to tour the health clinic. James is a nurse practioner and head of the clinic. Sephora, his wife, is the head nurse. James sees patients, performs some surgeries, e.g. appendectomy, Caesarean section, hernia repairs, etc. The anesthetics are limited, basically local and ketamine. They have around 12 deliveries per month. Sephora said that 80% of the women deliver their babies at home. Most women have only one prenatal visit and that is in the last trimester. About 60% do come back for immunizations. They routinely give tetanus, polio, diphtheria, typhoid and meningococcal vaccinations. Their waiting areas were all full. One small girl was very memorable. She seemed to be about 5 years old. She was beautiful but too thin, even for a child of slender frame. Her eyes were huge and she looked ill. Her father brought her for treatment, which is free for refugee women and children. Allison said she had malaria and a high fever.

We stayed in Meiganga for 5 days. At times it was hot enough Linda and I wished we were cooler, but it was not unbearable. Allen had electricity about half of the time. He cooked on a gas burner. Candles and flashlights helped us see by night, but basically we planned and did what had to be done in daylight. Allen’s house was without water the last 2 days of our stay. Again, preplanning was the key. Allen had a hunch the water might be stopped and filled large containers so we could cook, flush, and enjoy a “bucket bath”.

We hired a taxi to drive us to Ngaoundere. Carol traveled up front with the driver while Linda, Allen and I rode in the back. Buddy sat on Allen’s lap with his head out the window, occasionally retching (Buddy gets carsick!). It was a sight many Cameroonians found amazing: a dog, traveling by car, head hanging out the back window! A school, gathered around the flagpole for morning assembly, erupted in laughter. Most people who caught sight of Buddy turned around for a second, incredulous look. The road was unpaved, dusty, and deeply rutted. Passing a slow truck meant our driver, briefly, had zero visibility. We enjoyed a cool shower once we arrived at Carol’s house.

Ngaoundere is a pretty city with large mango trees. Honey is Carol’s African dog. She is dainty, sensitive and smart. Carol bought vegetables and after soaking in bleached water, made wonderful salads and vegetable couscous. Carol and Allen were our guides as to where to eat, how to travel, how to barter at the market, and myriad other fascinating vital little details of daily life. Every day we saw men, women and young children carrying platters of goods on their heads. Peanuts, bananas, mangos, avocados, carrots, even a traveling tea and Nescafe stand, all were arranged on some type of tray balanced on the head. Everyone seems to have a statuesque carriage that underscores their graceful poise. We visited the women’s center where Carol teaches. Jessie, a PC volunteer at the Norwegian hospital, showed us around the pediatric, maternity and surgery departments. It was fascinating! Carol’s friend, Assiatou, welcomed us into her home and showed us her school. We climbed Mt. Ngaoundere and enjoyed a spectacular view of the countryside. We went to English Mass at the Cathedral of Our Lady. We observed the Muslim gathering for prayer at the Lamidat. We enjoyed scenic Lac Tison. We bought sandals and beautiful pagne cloth for souvenirs.

Time flew and our wonderful African Adventure sped by. We journeyed back to Yaoundé by train, giving ourselves extra time for delays. Carol and Allen had Peace Corps meetings to attend. We sandwiched in a visit to the zoo. There were too many memorable events to relate! The generous hospitality we met everywhere humbled me. I flew home with a warm sense of friendship for the people of Cameroon.

Here's a little blog post to catch everyone up on what's been happening in my little world, and to get us all excited for next Tuesday!

Life here is pretty much exactly the same routine as it has been for a long while. I teach a little (9 hours a week), try to get this girls' scholarship project planned well (further description and donation request to come), sew, and cook the same meals on a rotation of about four days. Throw in the occasional, dreadful market trip for vegetables, pagne, and sewing supplies, and that's my life.

So what's happening next Tuesday? My very first and last visitors arrive! Following suit with every other volunteer who has had a visitor and a blog, I hope my mom will be guest blogging here over the next couple weeks. She'll be able to give that fresh perspective and enthusiasm that I truly lack at this point in my service.

In other great news, and thanks to my dad's numerous calls to the Air Maroc New York Office, Allen and I got our tickets home (including our dogs, Buddy and Honey). It's great to finally have a definite date to countdown to. I'm ready to come home.

Stay tuned!

Here's some pictures of my new house. There's a nice big yard for Honey. The sewing room/kitchen is messy because I had just finished a project. While I'm no obsessive compulsive, it is usually in better order than this. But this way, you can see my artistic process? In addition to the two rooms pictured, there's a bedroom and bathroom.

This morning I left my house and it smelled funny outside. I realized what the smell was when I walked out to the street, past the field where they were butchering a cow. Not the most pleasant of events to walk in on.

Thanks for reading!

This morning I watched Julie and Julia. After two minutes I thought that I was going to get very tired of Meryl Streep’s Julia Child impression, “oooohh… Bon Appetit,” but I settled right in quickly. I can imagine sitting in a Parisian restaurant with Julia Child and being embarrassed at how loud she was, but her enthusiasm for life and delight at all things would more than make up for it.

I’ve become a stronger cook since being here: out of necessity, since I don’t like being hungry, and the practicality of filling a few hours in the kitchen. (Which, since moving, my kitchen is just another room with my stove and shelves in it… dishes are washed in the shower). The drawback of trying to improve my chef skills in Cameroon is the unavailability of ingredients. I keep watching Julie and Julia both melt butter and whip cream, which is impossible here. (Truth be told, I can get most ingredients like that in Ngaoundéré, but the cost is prohibitive). My consolation is eating homemade birthday fudge for breakfast while viewing the film. I brought half the ingredients back from my stateside vacation; the reason for my long hiatus from this blog. This is the most decadent thing I’ve eaten in Cameroon, though fudge would be a contender for the most decadent food anyone has ever eaten.

So, as I’ve already mentioned, I’ve moved! I’m still in my original city, but on my third house. The new house is actually one big house that was divided into three apartments, one of which is for me and Honey. We have a bedroom, a living room, a modern bathroom (running water in sink, shower and toilet… though no water heater), a third room which is the kitchen/sewing room, a great porch, and big yard. I hired a guy to build a small piece of wall to cut off my section of yard from the rest of the compound. A twenty foot high concrete barrier walls off the house and yard from the street. There’s a couple living in one of the other apartments with their toddler, and the other apartment is rented by a man who works somewhere else and keeps it to stay in Ngaoundéré occasionally. We also have a guard, who lives in a single room with his family at the entrance to the compound. He has a young male dog, which has fallen in love with Honey. It’s good she has company, but she’s used to playing with Buddy, who is twice her size. She is twice this dog’s size, so she wins and knocks him down the steps. He also chases her around the yard, but she’s built like a greyhound and wins that game too. His name is something like Matson, but I’ve just been calling him Pup.

Since my new house is a bit of a walk from downtown, where I used to live and still work, I’ve been biking in to use the internet and see visiting volunteers. I’m really enjoying the added exercise to my routine. I’m here en ville at the moment posting this blog, but next I’ll bike home and try to poach an egg, since they are so cheap here (75 cfa or 15 cents per egg) and I won’t feel guilty when I screw up a few times.

Two pieces of great news!

First, I found a house! I'll move in December, when another volunteer(s?) will move into my current house, and take on all the transit house responsibilities. I'll miss this wireless internet and hot showers... it's like i'm leaving the first world all over again. Though, at least the world I'm moving to has a yard for honey, a modern bath and a kitchen sink. (At first I typed modern kitchen, but realized that would give Americans an entirely wrong impression). It's the right size too, and while further from town than I had hoped, it's in a safe little concession, and I'm excited to be moving there.

Secondly, the funding for the Adamaoua Girls' Scholarship finally arrived. The scholarship was started (and mostly funded this year) by two American women, Anne C. and Anne R. You can read more or donate for next year here: http://www.a2empowerment.org/ It was a pretty complicated process getting the money here, and I'm glad it's finally going to the intended use--providing school fees, uniforms, and books to 25 rural Adamaoua girls to attend high school.

In my post about pagne*, I failed to mention saro. Saro** is the other type of fabric popular here. Unlike pagne, it is always a solid color. There is a design woven into the fabric, but this is very subtle since it's all the same color thread. Saro has a shinny, waxy look until it's been washed.

The traditional man's outfit in the north of Cameroon is the boubou--it's basically a loose, knee length shirt over drawstring pants. The whole ensemble is made of the same fabric, and finished off with embroidery on the front of the shirt, around the collar and cuffs.

Cameroonians prefer colorful saros--either bright colors, or pale pastels, but rarely neutrals. Blue is the most common boubou color, but I've seen every color except black.

Women can wear saro too--as long as there's plenty of embroidery to keep it expressive. Women usually have long sleeve, loose fitting tops and matching ankle length wrap skirts.

Check the slide-show for some things I've made on my pedal sewing machine out of saro. The pink and white dresses were from patterns my mom sent me. Both yellow projects I designed myself.

*I've added a picture to that old post, if you're interested in a sampling of pagne designs. More pictures of finished pagne garments to come.

**Saro is my imagined spelling (say sorrow, as in sadness) since I haven't been able to find reference to this name on the internet. Websites seem to call this fabric brocade or basin fabric, but when I asked the market vendors where I could buy boubou fabric, they told me i was looking for saro.

And I don't have any excuse for how long I've neglected this blog. Not that I haven't been thinking of you all, my readers. I did write an entry about two months ago that I never got around to posting. My apologies.

Catching Up:

My (tiny) teacher training course that lasted all summer is on hold for now. We used openoffice for the entire course, which worked well for learning the basics of Writer (Word) and Calc (Excel). Beyond that, my students want to learn basic desktop publishing (making business cards, invitations...) and we've found openoffice just doesn't cut it. So, we are waiting until we get Publisher, and can complete the class. There's photos of this group in the Mbideng album on facebook.

The group I started with back in April at the CPFF (center for women and families) has finished the course! They are already settling in at their internship positions in the local government offices, and we will have a graduation ceremony in the first week of November.

As both these classes wrap up, all my students hard work shines through. Both groups have progressed so far, and I'm extremely glad I made the job switch and get to work with my f a n t a s t i c new-ish counterpart.

The Near Future:

So I have a bit of down time until my classes start up again. I've been doing a lot of sewing lately, and think I'll be taking advantage of this huge excess of spare time to compete some projects and start others.

Otherwise, I'm searching for a new house at post to move into in December. I need a place with a yard, since Honey will be coming too. I would l o v e to go back to my original house (even though they've since built a two story building in the front yard) but I doubt that will happen. So, I've been asking around for studios. Though I think I'm going to rethink that strategy--I've seen some pretty dismal rooms. House hunting is very different here--there are no listings (online or in print) and you have to specify electricity, running water, and modern toilet. People keep telling me they have a place to show me and then the toilet is a hole in the ground. One guy said his place had running water, but really there was one spicket serving the concession (group of buildings).

For a while I wasn't sure I would come home before my close of service (early June of next year), but my family has made an extraordinarily generous offer to buy me a plane ticket home. I will be in Portland for a spell around Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, so many of the people I love will still be far away (unless they decide it'd be a good time to visit Portland***).

So, especially with extra time on my hands, I will renew my promise to update at least once a week.

***No one in their right mind thinks late November is a good time to visit Portland.

A week and a half ago, I taught my first class at the women’s center. My French came out surprisingly steadily. I felt accomplished afterwards, though the success of the class was due to the students: the adults were genuinely interested in the material, and asked questions showing they had thought things through. Since they are motivated, they have the patience to piece together my improvised explanations. Unless someone is patient enough to work through the linguistic puzzles I create, it’s just not worth the breath to speak French at them. It is however, far from my true niche, since I have yet to find a way to teach a class without being the center of attention.

Alternately, I felt pretty confident in my French communication skills after my meeting to break the news at school. I went into my counterpart’s office and explained that I was disappointed with my work over the past year, and that I had found another job. I pointed out that at the women’s center I would be able to teach a practical course. He said that the school was not disappointed, and that he thought I had done a fine job. He then said he suspected I preferred the women’s center since I will be teaching all women, adults, and not struggle with discipline. Officially, I am motivated to make this change because the lycée relegated me to theory-only classes. However, he correctly surmised that is not the sole reason. Binary doesn’t frustrate me to tears, where as discipline problems have proven perfectly capable of ruining my whole day.

For the time being, I am observing the afternoon class at the CPFF (last Monday I substituted) and filling out the rest of the paperwork at school. This past week my troisieme, premier, and teminale students took their exams, and yesterday my quatrieme classes did. I plan to have the tests marked and the grades turned in before heading to Yaoundé for the Education Steering Committee meeting. I am really looking forward to a short vacation from Ngaoundéré. I grow increasingly annoyed by the harassment white skin attracts, and feel more ready to confront the harassment Yaoundé offers. Somehow, it’s less grating if it’s not happening on the same block I live on.

A conventional oven is a high ticket item here, so we Peace Corps volunteers have embraced an alternative baking method of which our camp stoves are capable. Along with the gas stove, you need a huge pot (marmite) which serves as the oven space. We place the marmite on the gas burner, and add a few empty cans. The cans are basically the grate in your oven at home: they lift the dish so that it’s surrounded by hot air, instead of being placed directly on the heat source. You can see this configuration in the picture above, except throughout cooking the lid covers the marmite.This recipe is once again based on Chop Fayner. For the quiche, you will need:

Crust:

1 ½ cups flour

½ cup chilled butter

3 T cold water

½ t salt

Filling:

3 American-size eggs

½ to 1 cup grated cheese (or five slices vache qui rit and three or more slices vache cheddar)

1 scant cup milk

1 small onion, chopped

1 tomato, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped

Handful of mushrooms, chopped

Salt, pepper, basil, paprikaIf you make this recipe in a fancy conventional oven, preheat it to 350° F (180° C). Otherwise, just light the stove and let the marmite air warm up.Start the crust by combining the flour and salt. Add the butter, breaking it up with a fork. Once the butter is well distributed, add the cold water by the tablespoon. Once the mixture can hold a ball shape, you’ve added enough water. Chill the dough for half an hour to an hour. To chill, I just placed a wet cloth over the bowl in lieu of a refrigerator. Roll the dough out on a floured surface with a floured rolling pin (or a wine bottle), then lay the dough in your well-greased baking dish. In a mixing bowl, beat the eggs with the milk and spices. Place the vegetables into the uncooked crust, and spread the cheese over them. Pour the egg mixture over the veggies and cheese. Bake 30 minutes to an hour. The top will turn golden brown, and a knife stuck in the center will come out clean. It took an hour to bake my quiche, I believe because my oven did not reach to 350°. As always, cooking with vache qui rit requires generous spices, since it’s so bland. Vache cheddar can really improve this recipe, so get it if you can. Also, even though Cameroonians seem to insist on refrigerating the vache cheddar, it does not say “keep refrigerated” on the package. I have bravely risked stomach discomfort to tell you that the vache cheddar can be kept on a shelf without refrigeration for weeks, and consumed safely. For those reading in America, vache cheddar resembles Kraft American Singles in taste, texture and packaging. And yes, this is considered a fancy cheese.

Pagne refers to the colorful, patterned, fabric everyone wears here. I believe it is based on the original cultural dress, but it is now manufactured en masse. It is sold pre-cut to six yards. I cannot explain why all fabric is sold in yards, but tailors measure you in centimeters. To have an outfit made of pagne, and therefore look well integrated, you first go to the market and pick a pagne design. There are plusieurs choices, and I could spend all day at the market admiring them (though there are the appallingly tacky choices). Once you’ve chosen your pattern, you bargain for the price. There are many qualities of pagne, and the prices reflect that. They range from 4,000 cfa (eight dollars) to 20,000 cfa (forty dollars) or even more. If I ever fell in love with a fabric I would consider paying up to 10,000 cfa, but so far I have stuck between 5,000 and 7,000. Once you’ve bargained the price, you take the pagne to a tailor. The tailor’s shop usually has poster collages of Cameroonian fashion, and you can point to a style you like. Then the tailor measures you, and you schedule a time to pick up the finished product. Once you come back, you try it on to check if adjustments are needed. Then you pay and take your garment home. Cameroonians favor big sleeves (the poofy and the long-flowy are very popular styles), and decorative necklines. Americans tend to prefer their sleeves more subdued, (especially when the fabric is already so expressive!) However, since the tailors never write down anything but your measurements, they seem to often forget the request for something boring. This, and their artistic pride, often leads to a garment nothing like you pictured. It takes some time to find a tailor who will embrace our dull fashion sense, and make quality pieces. I bought a sewing machine and have experimented with my own seamstress abilities. I’m just as good as a mediocre tailor here, and I like controlling the project. The best part of sewing with pagne is choosing how to incorporate the pattern into the overall design. One way people celebrate here is to buy the pagne manufactured for a specific holiday. While festive, this pagne usually is not the prettiest, in my eyes. It often consists of a poorly chosen background color, and a series of drawings depicting the holiday’s theme. The drawings are splashed around the pagne with no real structure, and bear an uncanny resemblance to clip-art. Special pagne is manufactured for annual holidays: Women’s Day, Mother’s Day, Teacher’s Day, Rural Women’s Day; to celebrate unique occasions: the pope’s recent visit; and to celebrate certain people: the Virgin Mary, President Paul Biya, and Francoise Mbango Etone (who won Cameroon Olympic Gold: http://sports.yahoo.com/olympics/beijing/blog/fourth_place_medal/post/Francoise-Mbango-Etone-Cameroon-s-indomitable-l?urn=oly,101257). I’d say a head-to-toe ensemble of Olympian pagne is a pretty outspoken souvenir.

In Peace Corps, we have the same weekly chores as we did in America, but none of the modern conveniences. Therefore, around once a week, I carry my clothes and a couple buckets to my outdoor sink and soap up. I start by soaking them in a detergent (I use the brand Blu). I swish them around in the water for a minute, then pull each piece out and wash them by hand. Hand washing means rubbing a lard soap into the tough spots, then forcefully pushing the cloth down your forearm. The work of laundry is mostly wringing out the soapy water to eventually rinse clothes clean. I usually use two rinse buckets, refilling them periodically to clear the water. After a few rinses and a final wringing, I hang the clothes on the line to dry. This process is rough, and some of my clothes have started to show wear from it. During dry season everything dried fast, but now I have to time laundry day to coincide with a sun break. I actually think of laundry as a more enjoyable chore here, even though in the developed world it’s hardly as much work. I bring my ipod and speakers out with me. I wear my swimsuit and sunscreen and “play” in the water. (I only get away with this because my backyard is walled in). It’s time consuming, but no one in Africa is ever in a hurry. Once finished, I feel much more accomplished than I ever felt after loading a machine and pushing the buttons.

The rainy season arrived to Ngaoundéré last week when I was out of town. By the time it rained again, I was back home, and never so pleased by the weather. Typically in rainy season, we have cold mornings which melt into hot noon-times. It actually gets hotter than it would in dry season, until the sky opens up and lets down a short shower. It doesn’t seem to rain long in the Adamaoua, but the downpour can be strong. Once it rains the wind will blow through my house and the air feels much nicer. Yesterday I just stood in the doorway as the cool air billowed through. The other benefit of rain, is that the dust that’s floated in the air for months, is replaced by humidity. Ngaoundéré is relatively tame as dust goes, since the main street I live on is paved. We are now one week through our two-week Easter break, and I’m really enjoying the time off. I don’t work very hard at school, especially since I’ve found a way to leave next year. (I’ve tried to tell myself to just get through the year without slacking off, but the whole charade feels purposeless and I struggle to find my work ethic). Still, every teaching day is absorbed by the teaching. Even Mondays, when I only teach one class for two periods—if I have afternoon class, I dread it all day, and can’t start anything else since I’ll be interrupted. If I have morning classes, I spend most of the afternoon and evening recovering. So even though I teach only eleven hours and don’t spend much time lesson planning, I am exhausted by it and have not progressed much on projects outside the lycée. However, next week I will be scheduling a teachers training for a primary school in an outer neighborhood, and hope to establish a tentative schedule at the women’s center.We finished presenting new material before the break. After break we will review for three weeks, and then I’ll give my final exam for the year. Once the students are done with school final exams, the troisième, première and terminale take the national exams. I do not envy them, and I will be so glad to power through the last round of grading and close lycée for good. So the next two months will be a mélange of finishing with lycée and planning real work for the summer.

One of the perks of living in Cameroon, so close to the equator, is the tropical fruit. Pineapples have been coming up in a steady stream from the southern jungle since I arrived at post, but it's been a while since I'd eaten a mango. That changed yesterday, when I bought two at the market (for 50 cfa each, the equivalent of 10 cents).

Since being in country, I've become adept at eating the juicy fruit. I've also discovered that we Caucasians typically are allergic to a chemical in the peels. Therefore, the main goal of my method is to avoid touching the peel, or else my lips swell. Even if I diligently avoid the peel, but over-indulge on too many mangos, my lip tingles for a while, but it's always worth it.

So here's how to eat a mango: Slice as thick a slice as possible along the flat side of the seed. Cut a grid into the slice, then invert the slice so the squares poke out. Eat the juicy squares, then repeat on the other side of the seed. Now you have a seed, surrounded by lots of good mango-meat and a strip of peel. Cut the remaining peel off by drawing a knife around the fruit: at this point, your hands get sticky. Eat the rest of the mango directly off the seed. Now wash your face, because it's probably obvious you just enjoyed a mango.

I ate my mango with some oatmeal this morning. I know the oatmeal doesn't look too great next to the colorful fruit, but it's an essential part of this Sunday breakfast.

Sam hired one of her villagers to build a boukarou (Cameroonian gazebo) in her front yard. A couple weekends ago, Sebastian and Allen were both in town, so we decided it was the best time to inaugurate the boukarou's mud-brick barbecue. Sam's village is about four kilometer's from my house, so we bought all the fixings and moto-ed out to her house.

We made cheeseburgers, with many of the same fixings as our New Year's Dinner. We made the patties small but thick, so that they wouldn't fall through the grate/grill. I think we've perfected the burger PC-style, except for one thing: slices of baguette just don't pass for buns in my book. Sam generously donated a cake mix and frosting, so we ate a delicious desert afterwords. I think I alone ate a fourth of the cake.

The villager built the boukarou all on his own, and the center pole isn't even touching the ceiling (they added it as a hammock support). I'd like to see the one-man process of assembling and lifting the roof into place sometime.

In the photos, you'll see Yousef (the sole Cameroonian present this time) and Josh, a friend of another volunteer who was traveling through, as well as Sam, Sebastian, Allen, and I. Buddy (Allen's puppy) came too, but Honey had to stay home with a hurt ankle. This was a few weeks ago, and she's better now.

It was wonderful, relaxing afternoon outside, and I look forward to more barbecues to come.