Handholding

So I officially have internet and I have decided that I want to post one blog a week. So here is the first one:

I was trying to think of an interesting thing about Cameroon the other day and the first thing that came to mind was handholding. Now, in America, as you know, it is common for a couple to hold hands. In Nyamboya, this is completely unheard of. People are aghast if they see a man and a woman doing any kind a embracing. However, what is perfectly acceptable is for two men (who are just friends) to hold hands. Therefore, around my village, I see plently of man couples with fingers firmly interlocked and arms swinging. This is even more bizarre because in a country where homosexuality is illegal, the only sort of acceptable public affection is between men.

Still Alive

Sorry I haven't posted in a while but I am currently trying to work out my electricity situation, which means that I am trying to get them to turn on the gigantic Chinese generator at my compound or buy a Nigerian generator (don't worry Peace Corps, I am not going there myself to buy it).

So here is a recap of my first month at post:

-I have gone on a polio vaccination campaign into the bush with Dr. Jones
-Attended two funerals and a wedding
-Firmly made friends with the guy who sells candles and other house-lighting materials (Emille)
-Learned some Fulfulde from Sheik Abu Bakar (the leader of the Muslim community in my village)
-Taught my name to all in the community in their native language (which means I have four names: in French - Chasseur, in Fulfulde - Markaejo, in Kwandja - Ougum, in English - Hunter)
-Firmly scandalized Nyamboya by shaking the Chief's hand (I do get away with this because I am a Nassara)
-Firmly endeared myself to Nyamboya by doing some crazy Cameroonian dancing in their festivals.

So if anyone is still reading this blog, I am still alive and well and soon as I get this electricity situation figured out, I will buy internet and blog like a crazy man. This should be within the next month, which in American time means within the next three months.

Hunter

Link to Pictures of My House and Nyamboya

Here is a link to a blog that has pictures of my House and Nyamboya since the internet is so terrible here and I can't upload anything:

http://hokiepokieincameroon.blogspot.com/

La Motivation

Cameroon has for years been rated one of the most corrupt countries in the world (in fact it was #1 for two straight years in the late 1990's). But I didn't realize that this would encroach so heavily in my personal life here. While traveling to my post, my bus was stopped no fewer than 10 times by a checkpoint. At these checkpoints, the Gendarmes approach vehicles and check everyone's IDs. If they find something wrong with your ID, such as its out of date or smudged, they will tell you "Tu me gardes quoi?" or "J'ai faim" or "Ou est ma motivation?". This means pay me a bribe or I will haul to off to jail. Luckily, I was harassed little but they have been known to take Peace Corps volunteers out of vans to try to get some good money. However, we are not allowed to pay bribes. Therefore, if this happens to me, I have to call the Peace Corps, have them talk to the Gendarme and then hope that he isn't stupid enough to take me in (I doubt this would happen because it would be a huge hassle for the Gendarmes). The corrupt economy of Cameroon is strangling its people and preventing developement, but I don't know how such a concrete institution can be fixed without massive external interference.

Hunter

Nyamboya - My Post

So I will divide this post into three parts: travelling to my post, my village and hospital, and my house.

Travelling: It takes 12 hours to get to my post, Nyamboya, from Bafia even though it is only a couple hundred kilometers away. The reason: roads designed by the devil himself. To give you an idea of how bad these roads are, there were several points while riding in a van that I thought we were going to tip over due to the fact that my window was about a foot away from the enormous puddle-lakes that occur every 50 feet on the road. There were several instances when I had to get out of the van so it could be pushed out of the mud. In addition, we passed several tipped tractor trailers that succumb to the enormous holes in the road. Needless to say, I live next to some of the worst “roads” I have ever seen.

My Village and Hospital: My village is called Nyamboya and it is in the western part of the Adamawa region of Cameroon. It is basically in the center of the country very close to the Nigerian border. Nyamboya has about 10,000 people and is half Christian and half Muslim. It has a great market where I will be able to buy mangos, oranges, advocados, pasta, rice, beef etc (btw if anyone wants to send me some awesome recipes or ship me some great American spices I would be really appreciative!!). The health center I will be working at is called the Nyamboya Baptist Health Center. The doctor there is named Dr. Jones and he is beloved by the community. The only problem I had was everyone thinks that I am a doctor. I told Dr. Jones that I am not a doctor and he told me that it was not a problem because he would teach me some procedures. I will need to better explain the purpose of the Peace Corps to my community.

My house: I have a two bedroom house with an indoor bathroom that has a toilet!! It is relatively big and I have a living room that is currently covered with pictures of the Cameroonian President, Paul Biya. It sits at the foot of a mountain and is surrounded by pine trees. I am quite happy with the situation. I am having one of my volunteer friends near my post put pictures up on her blog since the internet here is very bad. I will put up a link soon so anyone can see.

More to come soon!
Hunter

The Tontine

One day last week, Gramps told me that we would be drinking a lot of palm wine at Monsignor Mature’s house the following Sunday for some type of event. I had no idea what he was talking about and thought I must be misunderstanding him. However, I waited in anticipation for whatever this event would be. So Sunday rolled around and Gramps had me follow him deep into the forest in front of our house. After about a 20 minute walk, we finally arrive at very remote house that sat among some of the tallest and thickest palm trees I have ever seen. When I walked into the house, there were a large group of men sitting, maybe 20 or 25, and staring at the only white man in the room, me. I only knew a few of them but those I did know I slapped and snapped, which is a Lable greeting where one guy slaps another guy’s hand and then snaps his fingers with the other guys (I would be way too white to do this in America but I definitely get away with it here). Anyways, I sat down and before I knew it, money was being thrown on a table by all in the room. One guy pulled out 5000 CFA, another probably 15000 and then what looked lik the oldest guy in the room pulled out a giant wad of cash probably worth around 100,000 CFA. All of this was going into a huge pile on a table in front of me for some reason I didn’t know. A little bit of a side note: In Cameroon, there is no such thing as welfare, social security, or loans, for that matter. Therefore, each village has to come up with a way to produce money for those in need. In Lable, this comes in the form of something called a Tontine and this was the event Gramps had taken me to. All the men of the village had gathered to help out those most in need. In the end, three men were given relatively equal amounts of the all the money. Then, a gigantic gas can and thirty or so cups were brought out. All celebrated with a large amount of palm wine that was in the gas can, which is probably why the palm wine tasted like gasoline. A la santé!!

I

10/2/2010
Last week I went to get some authentic Cameroonian clothes tailored. Gramps took me to his guy and luckily for me, this man spoke a little English and understood that I wanted a boubou made with matching pants. For anyone who doesn’t know what a boubou is, google it, it is amazing. Originally the guy gave me the homme blanc price but Gramps and his sister, who came along with us, talked him down to a solid eight grand (in CFA, of course) . Pictures will come soon. After that adventure, we went back to his sister’s house where we were served some cous-cous and fish gumbo. I will be happy when the day comes that I do not have to look my food in the eye before I eat it. Then we went to the supermarket so I could get some much needed supplies for washing my clothes and cleaning my water (same substance). This market is in downtown Bafia and, I am not going to lie, it is definitely not a safe area. I felt as though I was being watched and not with the amusement I have experienced in Lable, but suspicion and maybe some malice.

Speaking of risky situations, the Peace Corps flew us into the city of Doula, Cameroon. The city is so dangerous that normally PVCs are not allowed to visit for any reason. When we exited the airport, we were guarded by about 20 police officers and loaded on a bus that was surrounded by gawking people. One person tried to steal a bag of ours and was beat off by an officer. We then had police cars escort our bus through the streets, which were so crowded that the officers had to literally push motos out of our way. Once we got to our hotel, we were not allowed to leave and officers with Uzis guarded the door. Welcome to Cameroon.

By the way, I am sorry for the spelling and grammar but I am writing this on the fly due to the electricity situation.