There was once a woman, a feeyansay and volunteer, named Emily, and she had for issue two animals, the eldest a dog called Alfie, and the youngest a cat, Tumbido. She reared them both in health and happiness, and all ate and drank well, until, it came the time of the dry season in that fabled faraway land – northern Cameroon. It was the second such season that she and Alfie had weathered, but for Tumbido, it was his first, and he longed to see how the world had changed outside the walls of his home and what treasures he could find there. Verity he knew that to reach those outer climes would not be easy, and forever in his mind were the words of the poet, who said, “By means of toil men shall scale the weight,

Who to fame aspires mustn’t sleep o’night:

Who seeketh pearl in the deep must dive,

Winning weal and wealth by his main and might;

And who seeketh Fame without toil and strife

Th’ impossible seeketh and wasteth life.” One day, when Emily had left to go a-searching for the daily wares of pasta, sugar, matches, and candles in the market and Alfie had, once again, succeeded in climbing over the six feet high wall around their small, peaceful home, Tumbido decided that the time had indeed come for him to go a-journeying as well. The first difficulty he encountered, though, was that Emily, in her refusal to view Tumbido as anything other than a house cat, had locked him inside again, albeit with plenty of food and water. Tumbido’s heart beat painfully as he gazed longingly at the open, but screened-in, window that kept the mosquitos from launching their malarial attacks at night. “If only I were small enough to squeeze through one of those holes,” he thought. “Then I’d be free to leave and seek my destiny, good or bad, in the village of Bame.” As he sat there, meowing pitifully in his distress, it so happened that a lizard was sunning himself on the outside wall, just to the left of the window. As he hated and feared the cat, being one too many times chased from the cool interior of the house and having seen too many brothers beheaded and their bodies tossed around like bon-bons, he began to taunt Tumbido and rain down vicious insults upon him. Now as Tumbido heard the words, he becqme sorely vexed and filled with wroth, yet he consoled himself with the saying of the poet who said: - “If a fool oppress thee bear patiently;

And from Time expect thy revenge to see:

Shun tyranny; for if mount oppressed

A mount, ‘twould be shattered by tyranny.” Thus Tumbido soothed himself until there came into his mind the idea to deceive the wicked lizard with his own cunning. Making his voice as harmonious as he could, he called out to the lizard, “By Allah, o my friend, ‘twas Satan’s doing, the curse of Allah the Most High be upon him! that caused me to mistreat your brethren. I longed to stop but still the Devil’s minions made my limbs to pounce, my claws to tear, and my teeth to rip flesh from bone. Allah knows it was only out of jealousy for your glorious heritage that the Devil bid me do thus.” The lizard, though he cringed at the vividness of the details, glowed with vindictive pride to hear these words from the cat and stretching himself lazily said, “Yes, it is true we lizards do have a great and supremely glorious history. Have you heard tell of an ancient and powerful king of ours from the land of Arabia?” And so he continued, until Tumbido’s yellow eyes had nearly closed from boredom. Luckily, at this moment, he heard Emily at the door and quickly hushed the lizard and curled himself into a ball so as to appear to be sleeping. And so, thus passed the first day. The next morning again Emily left to toil out under the equatorial sun, and Tumbido began again to flatter the lizard outside with honeyed words, forever keeping in mind the prideful and egotistical nature of the Sahelian lizard. And again the second day went as the day before. On the third morning, Tumbido began by saying, “Verily, O Great Wise One, why doth thou lounge all day against this dreary wall? Surely is there not a more worthy seat for one with such precious, cold blood as yours?” At these words, the lizard was abashed for he saw that there was troth in what the cat had said. “By Allah, I know not,” he rejoined. “If there is here in this dusty village, I have never seen it.” “But surely even within these very walls, which I have rarely left, I have seen such a throne as befits thou.” Tumbido concealed a sly smile as he saw the lizard’s head appear as he peeked around the corner of the wall. “Where, pray tell?” he demanded. “Why, yonder metallic throne, shimmering in the morning sun, surely matches Your Grace’s worth.” Now what the cat had pointed to was merely an empty, dusty Nido powdered milk can. However, the dull yellow paint of its can, transformed by the sun’s touch, bewitched the lizard so till he moaned aloud that he must arrive and rest on said milk can. “But,” said Tumbido, “you are on that side of the screen. However, will you enter in here?” Now the lizard, in his haste, forgot the secret hole in the roof that the other lizards often used to enter the abode, and merely using his sharp small talons, ripped a giant hole in the screen and plunged down into the house next to Tumbido. Verily the desire to leap upon the miscreant lizard and repay him for his insults welled up in Tumbido, but he controlled these emotions, fickle things they are, and waited until the lizard comfortably curled himself on the can. Such was the case with the lizard. As for Tumbido, he leapt through the hole in the screen and into the dusty air and growing heat that is the first month of the new year during the dry season in northern Cameroon. He heaved a large sigh and said, “Long have I yearned to traverse these walls and enjoy whatever strange sights and adventures will come my way.” So he set out, easily climbing over the mud brick wall, trusting in the blessing of Almighty Allah and with a pleasant breeze and the best conditions. So he continued to voyage, moving from one small brown house to another, escaping the small, reaching hands of children who sought to entrap him and hiding himself whenever a strange, skinny dog approached. Many times he saw Alfie from a distance, and each time he appeared to be wooing a different female dog. Tumbido smiled with pleasure at the mockery he would commence with that evening when all had returned to the house. Though the dust hung heavy in the air and filled his eyes and led to several small coughing fits, Tumbido’s wonder at what he saw was not to be diminished. He saw other humans sitting and knotting together with rope recently dried, bright yellow straw with which to make the new thatched roofs. He saw others rolling the straw, once firmly attached together, around a conical wooden frame, and he watched raptly as another roof top, recently finished and golden in the sun, was lifted, with laughter, atop the mud brick walls by 25 strong, capable men, all of them neighbors. Through every door that he darted, Tumbido saw people bustling about, women cooking over fire pits, and Tumbido’s mouth watered as the aroma of freshly made follere or taspa with cous cous reached his nose. He wandered far and near, observing the almost fall-like colors, if a little too dull, of the leaves of the mango trees. He saw the men at work constructing new walls of brick since the rainy season had laid to waste and ruin their predecessors. He felt the blazing heat of the too-near sun and made for the small river he remembered visiting once as a small kitten with Alfie and Emily. But once there, he found that the rushing, whirling, alive river had been reduced to a mere trickle. There hadn’t been a rain since the first week in November, and the river was dying a slow death only to be raised from the dead come next June. Tumbido was filled with sorrow at how the river had been laid so low, and suddenly, he longed for the safety and comfort of his little house and for the coolness of night to arrive and for Emily to return with her small portion of fish for his dinner. He turned and raced back towards his house, but now the bustle of people that he had marveled at before – people free from going out into the fields of corn, peanuts, millet, beans, and cotton, now that the harvesting was finished – was too confusing for Tumbido, and he became lost among a crowd of people and was swept into someone’s yard where men and women in small groups were sitting on benches or small logs, conversing of the day’s occurrences over small plastic containers filled with a pungent, faintly sweet smelling liquid. One woman sat in the center, serving the others out of a large earthen amphora where the majority of the liquid, called bil-bil, was kept. Verily, Tumbido saw this village cousin of beer and wine and felt terror seize him as he had heard before: “Wine is a traitor and Allah-gifted is he who said:- ‘When we drank the wine and it crept its way

To the place of Secrets, I cried, ‘O, stay!’

In my fear lest its influences stint my wits

And my friends spy matters that hidden lay.” Tumbido’s legs shook at the thought that should he even smell the vapors of the bil-bil that he would lose his wits, and then everyone would know he had left the house without Emily’s knowledge or blessing, and they’d not falter or hesitate in hastening to tell her. Her cat’s usual perfect obedience was a subject of pleasure to her, and all knew it. Yet, to his horror, he found the mere sight of the bil-bil, sloshing in the hollowed out wooden bowls called calabashes that people drank from, intoxicating. Already he felt himself being drawn into the yard further and further when, Allah have mercy, his eyes again fell upon the large cannery holding the majority of the liquid. At once, even as he tried to restrain himself, desire overcame him, and he rushed towards the cannery and leapt up onto the brim, balancing there as carefully as if he stood over Hell’s fires themselves. He had only meant to breathe the sweet smell of that heaven, but he had startled the woman serving the drink so that she fell backwards off her stool, onto the soft dirt, flailing her arms out as she fell and knocking Tumbido straight into the bubbling, fermenting drink. At once, he opened his mouth to yelp in panic and immediately the bil-bil rushed in, and he had no choice but swallow and as soon as he opened his mouth to cry out again, he took in another mouthful and another and another and another before someone reached in and pulled him out, too weak to protest the feel of a stranger’s hands upon him, and deposited him on the sand. Everyone was shocked into a wide-eyed, slightly queasy silence as white and black cat hair slowly swirled in the frothy wake left from the turmoil of Tumbido’s baptism in the bil-bil. So be it for the bil. And as for Tumbido. Suddenly in front of him the faces of 50 people swam in front of him instead of the former 15, and for all his efforts he couldn’t seem to make his eyes focus on his own paws much less the ground in front of him. But such a paradise in his blood and bones he had never known. When he woke later back in his house, he knew not how he had gotten there, but that only some day he must need go a-voyaging again in search of that Cannery of Youth. Till then, though, he contented himself with contemplating the words of the poet who said: - “Wine-cup and ruby-wine high worship claim;

Dishonor ‘twere to see their honor waste:

Bury me, when I’m dead, by side of vine

Whose veins shall moisten bones in clay misplaces;

Nor bury me in wold and wild, for I

Dread only after death no wine to taste.” And he ceased no from living the most delectable of life and the most solaceful of days, eating and drinking and enjoying every luxury, til the time comes when the Destroyer of delights and the Sunderer of societies arrives. This is the end of their story. May Allah have mercy on them all! Alhamdolillah. Useko. Useko. Useko. Quoted parts of from the Arabian Nights. Most details are taken from life here.

Stage/training is officially over, and all the Americans left Garoua on Friday after the swearing in ceremony on Thursday.  My post is only an hour or so away from Garoua, which makes transitioning a bit easier.  It's also not too far from my host family which pleases me immensely.  I came back to Nassarao Sunday night because the  Muslim holiday, the Fete du Mouton, was Monday.  Saying good-bye to my family on Thursday was an emotional rollar coaster, even though I was going to be seeing them in only  a few days, and coming back just highlights the things that I miss most.  I just kept wanting to look their faces long enough to imprint them even more firmly onto my mind.  Those first few nights at post were hard, and the only thing I wanted was to see one of them.  At moments, it felt surreal to be back because I don't live there anymore, but I was there again doing the same things I've been doing for the last three months. Ah, change.  As for the fete, one eats a lot of lamb on the Fete du Mouton (french for sheep), and I was no exception.  I never saw the actual slaughter of one, but I saw the immediate aftermath.  I helped grill some of the meat, grind some of the meat, and braid parts of the intestines.   The sensation was one of feeling very close to your food, almost uncomfortably so, as you watch the sheep being led away and come back in the different parts.  But in a way, it felt more natural than standing in the freezer section of the grocery store and picking out the same parts.  My family insisted I take some of it with me, so I currently have a small flank of viande in my bookbag, slowly defrosting.  Also in town, there were horse races and phantasias to celebrate the Fete.  See above picture.  

Now it's a matter of transitioning again, to life at post and figuring out what work I'll be doing, where the previous volunteer left off and where I'm going to start as well as meeting my neighbors.  It's hard not to compare life at post and in Nassarao and to wish I was still living in the latter, but it will come there too.   All in all, I'm just grateful to have had such an experience with my family, and I have the next two years to further cement those bonds while at the same time making new ones at post.  

As for mail (write me letters!!!!), my new address is Emily Pusser, Peace Corps Volunteer ,B. P. 72 Lagdo, Region du Nord, Cameroon.  And my cell phone number is 01123774199812.  I'd love to hear from you!  

There are also photos of life here in a facebook album I made.  check it out. 

the view on the bike ride to Pitoa Near Lagdo Getting the van stuck An example of live fencing

The last rains fell about a week ago, and they won’t be returning until the end of May/beginning of June. For the most part, the humidity has disappeared with the rain, and soon the flies and mosquitoes will as well. November is a mini hot season, but then December and January are cooler before the real heat begins in March and April. During those months, temperatures in the north hit between 130 and 140 degrees during the day. I was previously unaware that it was possible to survive in such heat. The Hamarttan blows in as well, more in the Extreme North province than the North Province, and coats everything with a layer of sand/dust from the Sahara.

As for the technical agricultural training, there have been classes on improved fallow, windbreaks, outplanting/transplanting, alley cropping, intercropping, live fencing, crop rotation, woodlots, composting, erosion control, tree nurseries, orchards, and grafting. We’ve also been learning to identify different local trees. Currently, I can pick out the Baobab, Eucalyptus, Neem, Leuceana, Mango, several different Acacias, Cassia siamea, Papaya, Anacardium, Moringa, and Jatropha. The Acacias work well for live fencing because of their thorns. Acacia senegal is also grown for its sap which is exported and used for industrial purposes and in some types of gum. The leaves of the Neem can be used as a natural pesticide, though that’s not commonly done here. It’s mainly used for shade. The leaves of the Baobab tree are ground into a powder with massive mortar and pestle and then made into a delicious sauce. I actually helped Fadi, one of the older sisters in my family, do that a few weekends ago. Leucaena is a fast growing, nitrogen fixing tree, which helps improve soil fertility, and its leaves can be used as fodder for animals. The leaves of the Moringa, which have high levels of protein and calcium, can be made into a sauce and used medicinally. Last weekend, I set up my demo pepinere (nursery) in my host family’s compound with the help of Amadou, Douda, Abduraman, and a few others. To fill 100 poly pots, the ratio is 6 buckets of terre noir, 4 buckets of sable, and 1 ½ of decomposed manure. So we mixed those three together, filled the bags, and set them up under a small shrub for shade. I broke the dormancy of the seeds (Acacia senegal) with a warm water treatment overnight, and now it’s just a matter of keeping my fingers crossed that something will actually grow. I felt such a rush getting my hands back into the dirt though, even if it did make me miss working at Maysie’s.

I have a book to recommend. Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Petals of Blood. He writes:

“For what was the point of a world in which one could only be clean by wiping his dirt and shit and urine on others? A world in which one could only be healthy by making others carry one’s leprosy? A world in which one could only be saintly and moral and upright by prostituting others? Why, anyway, should the victims of a few people’s cleanliness and health and saintliness and wealth be expected to always accept their lot? The true lesson of history was this: that the so-called victims, the poor, the downtrodden, the masses, had always struggled with spears and arrows, with their hands and songs of courage and hope, to end their oppression and exploitation: that they would continue struggling until a human kingdom came: a world in which goodness and beauty and strength and courage would be seen not in how cunning one can be, not in how much power to oppress one possessed, but only in one’s contribution in creating a more humane world in which the inherited inventive genius of man in culture and science from all ages and climes would be not the monopoly of a few, but for the use of all, so that all flowers in all their different colors would ripen and bear fruits and seeds. And the seeds would be put into the ground and they would once again sprout and flower in rain and sunshine. If _____ could choose a brother, why couldn’t they all do the same? Choose brothers and sisters in sweat, in toil, in struggle, and stand by one another and strive for that kingdom?”

In a way, choosing "brothers and sisters in sweat, in toil, in struggle" is what I'm trying to do. Not only to choose, but to be chosen as well. Striving in little ways and in larger ones to make the world a bit more humane I know that the most valuable part of this experience for me will come from truly becoming a part of a community – working in people’s fields with them, speaking their maternal tongue, and experiencing moments of joy and of sadness or sickness together. I already feel that I have gotten so much out of my experiences with my host family. I still have low moments when I doubt that such integration is possible, when I feel like I'll always be a nassara (foreigner) no matter how hard i try to fit in. But those moments are rarer than other ones, like when we were all working on the pepinere together or when we lie on the mat at night, where I know, deeply and truly know, that such integration is possible and that it’s what I’m aiming for.

It's hard to believe I've been here a month already, but it's true. 4 weeks of training done, and seven to go. I'm currently living in Nassarao, a village outside the provincial capital, Garoua, where the training for the agro-forestry volunteers is held. Traveling between the north and the south of Cameroon is a bit challenging, but the overnight train from Yaounde to Ngaoundere, at least at first, was thrilling. I'm living with a host family in Nassarao, and spending time with them has easily been the most rewarding part of life here thus far. There's a total of 17 people in my family. This is a little complicated, but essentially, the father of the family, who has passed away, had four wives, the third of which is my host mom. She has three children, Amadou (19), Salamatou (18), and Marimou (14). I spend most of my time with them and with the children of the second wife, Douda (18) and Abduraman (16). All of them speak French and insist on teaching me Fulfude. Competency in both are top goals of mine currently. One of the best moments in my day is lying on the straw mat out in the courtyard area with them at night and talking about a number of things, marriage, divorce, love, family, Fulfude, things they like or want to do, life here, life in the states, relationships. They already ask me when Pete is going to visit. They're Muslim, so an exciting event was the Fete de Ramadan. I had an outfit made for that. I actually miss them during the day while I'm at school, and truly look forward to coming home to them.

ASPIRATION STATEMENT

Emily Pusser

Cameroon

September 17, 2008A:  The professional attributes that I plan to use and what aspirations I hope to fulfill during service:Creativity fueled by passion is the most important professional attribute that I plan to use during my Peace Corps service.  Life is marked by daily creations – in the work one does, in the relationships one has, and in one’s own self, and a well-developed creative instinct is invaluable in all of these areas.   For me, to be human is to be a creative being, and I believe that the experiences that I will have as a volunteer will in many ways be the flame that lights the fuse of my own creative explosion.  This creativity will be useful in designing projects, dealing with problems that arise with those projects as well as adjusting to and becoming a part of my host community.  

             Stimulating this creativity is a passion I have to understand the root causes of poverty, what life in extreme poverty looks and feels like, and where my place is in actively working to change it.   I’m not looking for glorious, heralded, fame-worthy events, but rather small, difficult, day to day, laborious and exhausting work - work that doesn’t present me as the superior savior, but as the friend that stands beside a fellow human being.  I see service in the Peace Corps as a way of acknowledging the inherent dignity of those so easily forgotten by most of the world, as a way of focusing on something and someone besides my own self and wants and as a way of learning about compassion, service, and sacrifice.

             I view my experiences interacting with issues and places of extreme poverty as my second most important professional attribute.  I interned for eight weeks with a local, grassroots NGO in Mbale, Uganda last summer called the Foundation for Development of Needy Communities (FDNC) because I wanted to gain practical experience in how an NGO in a developing African nation actually worked.   The work that I enjoyed the most was going into the villages and communities with the FDNC workers.  I learned about and saw the implementation of fuel saving stoves and seed beds for trees that double as firewood and fodder for goats.  The respect that existed between the communities and the workers and volunteers at FDNC made me wish for the same type of relationship in my future work.  FDNC works in twenty-seven different communities, and as I was traveling to them, squeezed into the truck and banging my head against the window as the truck went into pothole after pothole, there wasn’t another place in the world I would have rather been.   

             I’ve also experienced places of extreme poverty on a study abroad trip to Latin America the spring of my senior year at university.   I traveled to Mexico, Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua with a group of about fifteen students from my school to study history, political science and issues of indigenous identity for nine weeks, and it was on this trip that many of the thoughts that I had had about poverty and my interaction with it were clarified in the course of the experiences that I had.   At one point, we were confronted with the question of what does it mean to be human and to carry on?  The more I thought about it, I realized that, for me, being human means to recognize the fundamental dignity of every human being and carrying on means to work to create a world that does not besmirch that fundamental dignity.  Being a part of the creation of that new world is perhaps the main aspiration I hope to fulfill during service. I want the experiences that I have to lead to more in depth analysis on my part and then to more action and to more change in an ever-deepening process.  I want to live a simpler life, learn the languages, forge friendships and become immersed in the culture of the area of Cameroon where I will be living. B:   Strategies for working effectively with host country partners to meet expressed needs:I think an open mind and an unflagging willingness to listen will be crucial.  Foremost, I want to listen and understand how I can be most helpful to the community where I will live.  I realize that figuring it out will be a process and one that will take some time.  It will be useful to realize and to accept that frustrations will come and to use those times as opportunities to grow into a better person – one who is more patient, more compassionate, and kinder.  Developing my language skills and gaining the respect of the host country partners and communities are also important as well as maintaining capability in my assignment area of agroforestry.  

C:  Strategies for adapting to a new culture with respect to my own cultural background            I view developing the necessary language skills as being of primary importance in adapting to a new culture that mostly operates under a different language than my native one. Furthermore, I think watching how Cameroonians behave and interact with one another and taking my cues from them as key to a successful transition.  Once again, patience will be helpful as well as realizing I will make mistakes and remembering to keep my sense of humor as I do.  I think that the pre-departure reading and research on the history and culture of Cameroon will help ease any culture shock I may encounter.   Finally, I think developing friendships with people in my community and among the other volunteers will make adapting easier. D:  The skills and knowledge I hope to gain during pre-service training to best serve my future community and project:            I hope to gain a better understanding of specific agroforestry techniques and any other information that will facilitate me in the work I will do in my community.  I would like to learn about how current agricultural and environmental issues are related to issues of extreme poverty in Cameroon, as those three form the core of what interests me most in terms of the types of future work I would like to do.  I’d like to know about any NGOs that will be in my area and the types of work they are doing in order to determine if some sort of cooperation would be possible or useful.  I’d like to know what sort of projects other agroforestry volunteers have found to be the most successful and rewarding.  I’d like to know what were some of the challenges they faced in order to be even more prepared.  Popular idioms and differences in the accent of the French spoken by Cameroonians would also be helpful parts of the language training. E:  How I think Peace Corps will influence my personal and professional aspirations after my service ends:             I believe that serving in the Peace Corps will further reinforce the conviction I have about living a life of service instead of one concerned about accruing individual wealth.  Commitment to wealth and self cost the very best things about one’s humanity – namely the ability to feel true compassion for others, a compassion that moves one to join those who suffer and work with them for a different world.  It costs one that stinging sense of injustice that even though it hurts makes one feel fully alive in every single cell.  Commitment to real service costs the easy life, the comfortable life.   The world is in the state it is now because people have allowed comfort and the lust for material things, power and recognition to blind them to the suffering in the world.   Refusing to be blinded or to be satisfied with only ease and comfort is part of honestly engaging the reality of the world.  I wish to be in a part of the world where the most basic questions of what life is all about never disappear, and it is in these places, where people have refused to despair, where I find the most hope.  It is with them that I will cast my lot and it is from them that I will draw my strength.  

             I want to live the type of life that means something, that does not force me to betray the convictions that I hold, and that allows outlets for my creative energies in work that benefits those who are so easily marginalized and dismissed.  Finally, Jon Sobrino, the liberation theologist, once noted that success does not generate hope.  Success generates optimism.  Love is what generates hope, and a radical love generates a radical hope that says, “We will go on,” not in some idealistic, fantasy world, but the reality in which we live.  The willingness to continue does not guarantee success, but it does mean that we will go on regardless.   Joining the Peace Corps, for me, is my first step in that process of going on.  

Schedule:September 17-19 - Peace Corps Orientation (Staging) StatesideSeptember 20 - December 5 - Pre-Service Training in CameroonDates of Service - December 5, 2008 - December 4, 2010

Job Title: Agriculture and Forestry Extension Agent

Job Duties:"To design and carry out a series of educational presentations that explain the problems of soil degradation and the benefits of agroforestry and permanent farming systems to local communities."

"To train farmers, farming groups and village extension workers in nursery establishment and to work with them to create and maintain individual and central nurseries.""To train farmers, farming groups and extension workers in agroforestry technologies appropriate for local conditions.  Techniques taught will include some or all of the following:  contour farming, nursery techniques, fruit tree grafting, use of leguminous tree fallows for green manure, forage production, pasture improvement, live fencing, fuel wood production, wind breaks, construction of energy efficient firewood cooking stoves, establishment of woodlots and community forestry." "To design and carry out educational presentations and to teach formal classes in schools on issues of natural resource degradation and environmental protection measures""Furthermore, as an Agro volunteer, you will help provide training in medicinal plants and set up medicinal plant gardens in your community so as to assist low income or poverty-stricken populations to have access to cheaper healthcare."So I have 38 days to research the country where I'll be living for 27 months.Things I've learned so far:Cameroon (Cameroun) was a German protectorate until the end of WWI when it was then divided between the French and the English.  English and French are both official languages though of the current ten provinces that Cameroon is divided into, 8 of them are French-speaking, and 2 are English.  Interesting tensions exist between the two groups.

August 14, 2008 marks the date that the Bakassi penisula will officially become part of Cameroon.  Hitherto, it was Nigerian soil, but disputably so.  The two countries have been at odds over this penisula with its oil reserves since the early 1980s.  Click here for more information.They have a phenomenal soccer/football team known as the Indomitable Lions.  In the 2000 season, they won the African Nations Cup and Olympic gold.  In 2002, they qualified for the fifth time for the FIFA World Cup, the most for any African country.   

Thanks for taking the time to view my blog.