I have traveled for the last time ever the intensely long voyage from my small little village of Lara to the big city capital of Yaounde for one more week of closing. My last few days (even weeks) at village were a whirlwind of activity; finishing up all the grading of exams, recording grades by hand at the high school, selling some of my furniture to friends, making sure to say goodbye to everyone. I even threw a tiny party where I asked a neighbor to make a great amount of local wine and gave it out to my neighbors to say thank you for protecting me for the two years. I never had a problem with theives or anyone entering my yard at night because I know they watched out for me. And they always appreciate another calabash (wooden bowl) full of bil-bil (fermented wine). Saying goodbye was tough especially to a few close friends who always treated me like a friend and not another "rich white person."

But I am ready to leave the country of Cameroon after such an amazing experience that I couldn't have asked for more (maybe some ranch dressing and less malaria? oh I digress). I am finishing this week of all the awesome paperwork and even more awesome medical exams; we have to give three stool samples, three I say! Then I leave for a 10 day trip in Morocco to travel with another fellow volunteer! I'm super excited to see another part of Africa where the culture just keeps changing. Then I arrive home in Ohio to see you all. :)

We all have time to theorize and philosophize and other -izes but maybe more so when you live in an African village. My fellow volunteer and good friend, Melanie, and I have discussed the debate of dirtiness in Cameroon, particulary in the Extreme North where the climate is hot and dry a good eight months of the year. Now that the winter season came and went and the hot months are quickly approaching, the amount of wind and dust has surrmounted that of last year. But we decided that our clothes are not dirty if we wear them and only dust has blown through them. They only become dirty when a liquid is involved, for example, sweat. But this theory is also proven by the men and women who was their clothes in the riverbed by digging holes to find hidden water then laying their freshly-washed clothes out on the sand. Of course this does not make them dirty again because once the scorching sun dries them (which I'm sure the intensity of sun rays kills any remaining bacteria) all you have to do is shake off the remaining sand and voila! clean clothes. So although your skin color becames a bit darker and your clothes seem a bit dusty after a day's work, you're not really dirty. Just shake it off and you're good as new.

It is a classic love-sick story. One of my lovely chickens, Frida (the red-feathered) died recently. Cause: unrequited love. Poor girl.

So as I previously mentioned, I degorged my male chicken for the Christmas feast, leaving only my female chickens behind. But Zita got lucky and had two eggs hatch, although one baby died. But Zita and her only child were inseparable. I mean, literally every moment (waking and sleeping) was spent basically side-by-side. And it meant chasing Frida away every time she challenged the food supply.

Frida was left all alone. She kept jumping the fence "to search for a man" or at least thats what my neighbors said. Then for a couple days she would sit by herself for an unusual amount of time and wander aimlessly. The next morning I found her laying ouside, heart stopped, eyes still open. Such a loss around the homestead.

Yes, she could have died from one of the chicken diseases that was spreading around village. But if you look at the rest of the evidence, it is more likely that she died of a broken heart. Maybe she will find love in chicken heaven. Rest in peace, Frida.

Yes, my impulse buys here in Cameroon tend to be a little different from the states. For example, I splurge on a wheel of Vache Qui Rit (fake cheese!) or the more expensive box of wine or even an apple but this was the first time that the thought of buying chickens came up. I had recently read the book, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and became inspired to live even more locally than I already do (all food products that I buy are local and other goods usually come from Chad or Nigeria). But I wanted something in my own backyard, so why not the presence of squawking chickens?

I explained my desire for some egg-making birds to one of my closest friends, Miramou and by the next market day I had three chickens hanging upside-down in my hand. She recommended that I buy one male and two females for faster reproduction. I told her that I just wanted fresh eggs to eat but I believe she thought that I wanted to raise and sell chickens. Now, other sources have told me that you don’t need a male to have edible eggs but at the time that is what I got. So I quickly named them Henry, Frida and Zita with the hope that I would not get too attached. I brought them home to my outdoor kitchen where they would sleep and could run around my compound all day long. I give them water and some millet grain every day and they forage for the rest.

Now my compound fence is pretty large but apparently it was not spacious enough for Henry. In a couple of weeks he learned he could fly out by jumping onto a pile of bricks, then over my fence. Then I would send my neighbor girl on a good chase for him, sometimes not winning until nightfall when he would cozy into bed in a random place. And he convinced Frida to fly the coop as well while Zita was at home sitting on her eggs.

Another impulse decision was made on Christmas Eve. I had grown tired of Henry’s little games and decided he would be sacrificed for a Christmas meal to share with the neighborhood. Two neighbor girls, Eugenie and Madjile, took control of the situation, cut his throat, plucked feathers and cleaned him as I filmed the event. I was surprised at my lack of remorse or disgust; apparently living here toughens ya up. But still don’t think I, myself, could be the one beheading a live chicken.

For Christmas, I prepared him in a tomato-y, oily Cameroonian sauce served with rice to share with the neighbors. Even my vegetarian friend Ashley decided she must try my local poultry and admitted it was good! And more good news, Zita had two chicks hatch! I’m a mom!? Oh, family.

So Technology has won yet again. If it was not enough that my computer died, my camera card ran full and I seem to have constant internet connection problems, now my flash drive became fully infected with super-strength viruses (thanks to my high school computer) that infected a couple other computers as well (oops! sorry) and lost all documents. Now as much as I love communicating with you, the forces seem to be preventing it. So once again I will recap a few of the experiences that have happened over the past couple of months. But sorry, no accompanying photographs for awhile.

And as much as Technology keeps beating me I will not let it get the best of me. In fact, being here in Cameroon and living so differently has made me recognize how much I enjoy telling (more so writing) stories and communicating that maybe I have realized what I want to do in life. A career, perhaps? Fancy that.

After a year into service, I was the fortunate recipient of a visitor from the great states of America, my sister Nicole! Thanks to govt school loans, she could afford the trip here. It was absolutely amazing to show my sister, someone from my family and from the states, my life here in Cameroon firsthand. And after more than a year of not seeing each other, we had a lot of catching up to do. The trip was filled with adventures of public transport, new eating experiences and the frustrations of getting hassled by the police. Oh Cameroon, you know just how to outdo yourself.

It was great to show everyone one in village my Twin sister. To which they exclaimed,"Same mother, same father?!" Yes, that was a question. And "Oh you look the same!" And except for Nico's new haircut, we pretty much did. The airline lost her baggage for a while (Eff AirFrance) so Nicole had to wear my clothes and we really did confuse people in village.

Here are a few photos:

We hung out with neighbor kids.

We drank delicious fermented millet. Thou, nicole wasn't too fond of it.

All in all, we had Fun! I wanted to add more photos but Nicole only sent me a few so I blame her. But she has a full facebook album if the curiosity strikes.

Shout out to my sister: Love and Miss.

I am a little behind on blog posts due to the death of my mac, lack of internet service and just a plain ole shortage of computers but don’t fret; I’m still here! And hoping you are too. So I am rewinding to the rainy month of July. As I was returning to my village with all my baggage and myself atop a moto, we took the turn entering my village a bit too fast and slid out in the sandy gravel. Fortunately I was wearing my helmet and there were no serious injuries, just a moment of shock and a couple bad scrapes. After picking myself up I turned to see a herd of villagers running my way to see if the moto driver and I were hurt. I realized my leg and palms were bleeding so another man offered to bring me to the hospital to be cleaned and sterilized. By the end of the day, the rest of the village knew what happened and received many visitors that week as I hobbled around my house. (Disclaimer: Photo following, don’t look below if you get queasy at that stuff. And yes, I took a picture of the fresh wound at the health center. That was right after I stopped tearing up because the antiseptic stung so bad. The doctor was amused and told me I was interesting. I'm sure he meant it as a positive compliment.)

Because of how often I have to take motos as transport and the lack of safety here I figured the probability of an accident happening was just a matter of time. Once (hopefully) out of two years can’t be that bad, right? The worst part of it was the fear instilled in me for a month after every time I had to take a moto. My body would freeze up on the inside and nausea would take control. I have to admit I enjoyed a beer or two beforehand to stay relaxed. But that feeling has passed and now I feel comfortable traveling again. I am just much more conscious of who is driving the moto and his condition (drunk?) and the speed. It healed up fairly quickly but left a pretty big scar. I'm sure my daily treatments of vitamin E oil will get it lookin new in no time.

Everytime I return to my village after a couple weeks of traveling or gone for just the weekend, it is customary for the villagers to comment on how much weight I have gained (even if I have not gained an ounce):

"Oh tu as pris le poid! beaucoup!"

Translated to: "Oh you have taken the weight! A lot of it!"

Most of the time I believe it is meant to be a compliment. Some villagers will follow the statement with "very good! Cameroon is good to you!" Those are the people who enjoy seeing me plumper. And when you tend to be a little heavier, it means that you have the money to feed yourself well. And often. And yes, perhaps I have gained a few more pounds. I mean it is hard not too when the only food to eat is couscous, rice, pasta and more heavy, full-of-carbs food. And when I travel I can find more tasty food such as salads, omelettes, grilled fish, cheeseburgers (yes, cheeseburgers!) that it is too hard not to pass up. And with the climate usually hovering around 90 degrees, it gets too hot to exercise.

So it's acceptable in the Cameroonian culture to make blunt statements about physical appearance such as weight, skin color, clothes, etc. but we are taught in the states to hardly ever comment on that, let alone a negative aspect. It is hard to get used to this at first, thinking that my friends in village were just being rude and mean. But they don't mean it like that and it is just part of the culture. It is easier to just accept it and not get frustrated over it. And so now I just joke back with them saying "oh yes, I have eaten so much good food!" So soon I will return home again and expect the comments (compliments?) of my weight once again. All this talk about food... I think it's time to fill my belly up with a chicken sandwhich and fries! And just maybe they will have ketchup too!

I’ve spent a little over a year here in Cameroon and what a year that has been. I’ve had so many experiences that I can’t decide if it feels as though I arrived in country just last week or that I’ve already spent five years here. Somehow the two options exist simultaneously in this life we live as Peace Corps Volunteers. Living in a small village in Africa has taught me many skills, some of which I will never have need for again. I would like to share with you a few of the lessons I have picked up over the year.

• Cleanliness is just a difference of opinion. My neighbors think I am dirty because I don’t sweep the rocks in front of my house. I think they are dirty because they don’t wash their hands with soap. Just opinions.

• Having only an outdoor bucket bathing area is actually quite liberating and enjoyable. Except when the weather decides to be rainy, windy and/or cold. Then I decide that a shower is not necessary that day.

• My cooking has improved ridiculously. It’s amazing how creative one can be with the village staples of rice, onions, mangoes and Maggie cubes. One day I will post some of the recipes I cook.

• If a meeting is scheduled for 1 p.m., the meeting won’t start until 3 p.m. on a good day. And that pretty much goes for any event scheduled with a time.

• Nassara! Nassara! No, those people are not yelling my name with a little accent twist to it. It just means ‘white person’ in the local language. It is hard to be always reminded of your skin color when that is what we are taught to ignore in the states.

• Just because it is an American-based company, does not mean the people who work for it are competent. Case in point: Sonel (AES), the electric company.

• Duct tape is the best invention ever. Not only does it fix pretty much everything but can also be rolled up into a ball for a fun game for the classroom.

• I can make anyone smile here by breaking out in dance. My white girl dancing is amusing to all Cameroonians. Sometimes they smile approvingly and other times they are just straight out laughing at me.

That’s just a few of my observations from the year. And I’m eager for all of the lessons and surprises this next year in Cameroon will bring and I can continuing sharing with you all. Thanks for the support!

So I just had my market – day usual: a delicious 100 cfa filling of koki and piment which amounts to about 20 cents. During my training in the south I tasted the koki and absolutely hated it. Couldn’t even imagine how people could stomach this oily mess. But since moving to the North and becoming more accustomed to the Cameroonian staples, my hatred has transformed from ‘I wouldn’t even feed that to my dog that I don’t have’ to ‘okay I can eat this occasionally’ and then to ‘I really enjoy this and will start buying it every market day.’ Now my likeness toward koki has blossomed to a full-blown love of it. I crave the spiciness and count the days down to the next market day where I can buy this orange blob again. I am just not sure if the koki and pimont ensemble share the same feelings.

To explain, the koki is made up of finely grounded white beans mixed with a whole lotta palm oil, which a red thick oil. Piment peppers, salt and other spices are added to the mix before boiling for a while. Then I eat it with piment – a very spicy, oily sauce. It doesn’t seem to have much nutritional value just the fact that it fills the belly up quickly and cheaply. I don’t want to have to judge my weekly serving but I can’t see how it could be beneficial for my heart arteries. So I might not have any more nutrients or vitamins in my system, but don’t worry mom and dad, I am keeping the weight on!

Bon appetit!

Athough Women's Day is allotted on March 8, the activities began a full week before. I joined the women playing football a couple times in a tournament! It turned out to be really fun, tiring and amusing to see some of the older ladies kick a ball around. But there were a couple younger players who were pretty intense about the game and I kept up for the most part, but I found out later that they said not to push the 'white girl'. But it was a great bonding experience sweatin' it out with the ladies. There was also cultural soirees which are events held in the evening and the women dance or act out sketches. I didn't always understand the sketches when they spoke the native language of Moundong but they did speak of the rights and equalities of women in Cameroon which is great to at least start talking about it!

On the actual day of March 8, I 'marched' (yes, i said march) in a line in front of the important people of the community in my pagne (fabric) specially made for Women's Day 2010. Here are a couple photos of the defilé.

They stuck me right in front of the lines. Very Awkward.

I spent the rest of the day partying with the women and my Girl's Club. The evening was full of eating, drinking, socializing and cant forget about the dancing! And as for the whole production, I met some of the more influential and successful women which was great to see in my little village.

I wanted to share some photos of Bilingualism Day so enjoy!

My 6eme class singing Row Row Row your Boat.

My 5eme class reading a Cameroonian poem in English.

My 4eme class singing the chorus of Lean on Me

A class singing and dancing to This Old Man.

And some students playing Simon Says.

Now that I know how this works I hope to add more photos in the future. Go English Day!

I fully realize that in the states when we start talking about the weather it is because we have run out of things to say or the conversation is going nowhere. It is quite the opposite here. People like to do this thing called ‘state the obvious’ so the weather is discussed in almost every conversation. And its not even like the weather changes dramatically. I probably say ‘Yes, it is hot today’ about twenty-seven times a day. But I don’t mind. In a way it connects me with the people here. Now on to my real topic: I really am going to discuss the weather.

Dry season started in the middle of October when the rain officially stopped. But we could see the real change within the first weekend of December. Suddenly everything actually felt dry, the heat and air, and a light cloud of dust descended onto my village. It disappeared but the wind appeared in its place. During the months of December and January, every night the wind came, forcefully blowing its way around my house. Because my village is located right next to mountains, the wind is amazingly powerful. I would wake up several times a night from the noise of wind whipping past the windows. And it would be chilly in the morning! Too cool to bathe in the morning and I even wore a sweater on some days!

The combination of dry season and the wind increased the amount of dust in the air. My sinuses cannot seem to become accustomed to it because it has left me with a bloody or very runny nose. There is also this phenomenon called the harmattan winds that blow in from the Sahara and fill the air with dust. From what it sounded like it was not bad this year but there were some days were it was hard to see the mountains next to my house. Now the coolness has parted ways and it seems to be heating up very quickly. At midday the sun is already beating down with full force and it is stronger than any sun I felt in the states. And it will only get hotter in March…whew…so how about that snow in the states?