Water

“Merci. Grand Merci. Grand Merci.” He had been holding my hand for two straight minutes, which is the normal, awkward amount of time I had gotten used to in Cameroon. But it wasn’t the man-on-man hand holding that was getting to me, it was the fact that I swore this guy didn’t like me. Here was this 18 year old kid who rolled his eyes1 every time I asked him to fix something at my house and now, after 18 months of ignoring me, he was sharing the most private of family history. He had lost two nephews in in 2007, a sister in 2009 and had just come back from a funeral for his youngest brother, all from water-borne illness. He told me that he didn’t think I could actually do it. Their elites (leaders) had promised they would fix these wells for over 10 years with no results. People were skeptical when I arrived: I was a young, white guy, fresh from the west. I didn’t know Africa, I didn’t know development, I didn’t know them. He was right. I didn’t. But I stuck it out. I ate with them, laughed with them, and most of all, learned how to work with them. And now I was seeing the results of all the pain and sacrifice that comes with an experience like this. After a year and a half of setting up committees, organizing meetings, finding engineers and pushing people to know their responsibilities, we had working wells. We had water. We had life. The look in his eye as he was thanking me was best moment I have had in this country. It was a look of understanding, an understanding that life would be la little less filled with the misery of illness, the misery of small coffins and crying mothers, the misery of death. It was a look I will never forget.

It is finished! We have two functioning wells and a system by which to keep them maintained. The villagers seem happier and are starting to treat me differently. Like the kid from the story above, they had seen so many promises broken that they were skeptical it could actually happen. Now that it is done, they are starting to treat me like a village leader. This feels great in a way, but I have tried to stress to them that I am leaving, so they cannot come to depend on me. That’s why we have set up a system by which they can take care of the wells on their own. Many people complain that they have to pay a yearly maintenance fee to use the forages, but I think they are starting to understand that with this fee, they will have money to maintain the wells so they won’t have to depend on the elites anymore. Along with that, I paid to have two mechanics trained on how to fix wells, in order to make the situation more self-sufficient.

It’s a strange feeling to have it all done. We will have to make small adjustments to the wells over the next six months, so there is still more to do but the big part is over. It’s satisfying but also a bit frightening at the same time. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave, but I pray that they will keep them working. I have tried my hardest to make sure that will happen, but I am just that white guy, fresh from the west (well, I guess not so fresh anymore) So I ask anyone reading this to keep that in your thoughts and prayers.

Sorry that this is my first post in about 8 months, but I will try harder in the future :) Just wanted to let everyone know whats happening with the wells.

All by myself...

One thing that I did not anticipate when coming here is the shear amount of isolation involved with being a PC volunteer. I mean, sure, I live in a village of thousands of people, have both Cameroonian and American friends, and am able to travel to see people when I bank or do combined projects. Yet, I have never felt more isolated in my life. It is both good and bad; I’ll give you a rundown on some of its aspects:

-I have found that I am not just talking to myself, but having some of the best self-conversations of my life, with most of them ending in either satisfying compromise or punches (not the most stable relationship)

-I have read over 30 books so far, which I am very proud of (especially since I am not the fastest reader). If you want to know background information on Benjamin Franklin or just where that Red October ended up, I am your man.

-I have spent afternoons lying on my couch thinking up ways to freak kids out here (the disappearing thumb trick does wonders in Cameroon)

-I have invisible conversations with people back home. That’s right, I have probably had a stimulating discussion of art or politics with YOU at some point here and you found me both charming and imaginative.

-Can you point to where Easter Island, Uzbekistan, and Lichtenstein are on a map? In less than 10 seconds? I can. Boo-ya.

-I bought a radio thinking I could listen to some news. Instead, I have convinced myself that if I listen to Chinese pop songs for two hours a day, I will come out of this place with yet another language under my belt.

-Who knows all the words to Ke$ha’s “Tik Tok”? This guy.

And people said I wouldn’t gain any valuable skills here…

What did you say?

As I step onto my porch, I gaze at the mountains that divide my small village in the “middle of no-where” Cameroon from that behemoth called Nigeria. I think to myself how strange it is to be here. I don’t know why I think this since this place has become my reality. I have largely forgotten the boredom of sitting in traffic on some freeway or the smells as I stand in line waiting for a burger (though the latter I am patiently waiting to be reminded of somewhat soon). Now what is on my mind is the task of the day: I must remind all those who will be participating in my water committee to come. The two previous meetings were a failure with only a few people showing. But I have a good feeling about this one. I think I have finally picked those who truly care whether Nyamboya has proper drinking water or not. So I leave my porch, preparing myself for the circus of languages that is my life in village.
As I walk past some palm trees near my house, my Kwandja neighbors greet me. “Manini (how are you)?”, they ask in the local Kwandja Language. “Jonti (all is fine)! Manier (how is your health)?”, I respond. “Jonti!”, they call back while in fits laughter. They are still so pleased and intrigued that this “nassara” (white man) has learned some of their language. As I round yet another mango tree, I pass a local boutique owner. As a man of the Muslim Fulbe tribe, he is wearing an outfit that looks like it came straight out of Lawrence of Arabia. He greets me in fullfullde with a “Jamna (how are you)?”. The Fulbe are funny because whenever they greet you, they ask a ton of questions. It usually goes like this: “Noy Somri (how is your health)?” with the other person responding “Jam (fine)”, “Jam Saare Na (How is your house)?” with the other person responding “Jam”, “Noy Deebo (how is your wife)?” with the other person responding “Jam”, Noy Binkoy (How are your children)?” with the other person responding “Jam” and so on and so on for what sometimes seems like minutes. When I tell this particular man “walla deebo, walla binkoy (I do not have a wife or children)” he laughs and laughs, as per usual, and tells me he will find me some good wives (notice the plural). I cut the introductions short because I have business by saying “Jam ko-du-mee (everything is fine)” and “sey yea so (see you soon)”. As I pass through the field in front of the Catholic Church on my way to the market, I see the local priest, Father Andre. I call out “Bon Jour (good morning)” and approach him. He has been instrumental in helping me plan this water meeting and we converse in French for about 10 or 15 minutes about what going we are going to say. I leave him with an “a bientot” and head towards the market. When I reach the market, I go see my favorite bread guy. He comes from the English speaking part of the country but, unfortunately for me, only speaks pidgin English. “How for you?”, he asks with his somewhat creepy smile. “I de fine”, I respond and then say “I wakka for bread (I would like to purchase some bread)”. Cameroonian pidgin English, or at least the stuff they speak in my village, is a strange mix of german, local patwas and English. You hear it and it sounds like you should be able to understand it, but you don’t. I part with a “small time (see you soon)”, for I have many more people to speak many more languages with.
This is one of the things that I really like about my village: the fact that I can get up and speak five different languages during the day, even if, besides French and normal English, I only know some basic phrases.
That day ended with my first successful water committee meeting and the thought that if I leave this place with anything, it will be the language and culture I have learned here. For there is so much of both.

Meflotripping

Recently I attended a Peace Corps meeting in a city about 2 days travel from me called Ngoundere. Before this meeting, I knew that something was up with my body and I had come to link it with the Malaria medication I take called Mephloquine (def not spelled right). I had been having terrible nightmares involving large spiders over and over again and people had been telling me that I was acting out in my sleep. However, these side effects took a turn for the worse at this meeting.

The first night, I came back and my roommate was already asleep and sprawled out across the bed. After pushing him over and claiming a sliver of the bed for myself, I attempted to fall asleep. Five minutes later he proceeded to shake me, yelling “Qui est la?! Qui est la?!” (“Who is there?!”). After a few minutes of shaking him out of his dream-state and convincing him I was me, he rolled over without saying a word. The next day, I woke up kind of excited to tell my roommate about how badly his sleep had treated me the previous night. He told me that he didn’t remember a thing about it but he did have a story for me. He told me that he woke up in the middle of the night, turned over, and there I was sitting Indian-style, my head over his, just staring at him. I then shook him, asked him why he was in my room, and told him to get out. He then had to do the same thing I did and convince me it was all OK and to go back to sleep. I don’t remember any of this.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, a few nights later I had another incident. That night, my roommate asked me to exchange rooms with another girl for reasons you can imagine. The next day, her roommate said she had a story for me. Apparently, she awoke around 3 AM, turned over, and I was just staring at her. I then proceeded to grab her wrists and say “Small time quick!! Small time quick!!” while trying to push her off the bed and out of the room. After yelling at her in pidgin English (all these languages are really coming in handy), I accused her of being a Cameroonian prostitute and ordered her off my bed. Again, I don’t remember any of this. As you can imagine, as soon as I got back to Peace Corps headquarters, I asked the medical staff if I could switch medications and they obliged.

My work so far

I saw a two-year old boy die last week. It was interesting what went through my mind as I stood in his hospital room and his mother, with tears streaming down her cheek, wrapped him in a cloth, bundled him against her breast, and walked out as his father gathered the men of the quarter to bury his son. I knew I was going to have to deal with this kind of thing before coming to this remote part of the African plains, but I didn’t really know what it was going to be like. It’s something to see death in Africa through the lens of television but a whole other experience to watch a child die whose mother has fed you, laughed with you but also angered you. I did not know this family very well but they were no different than my neighbors: a family struggling to feed their seven children while trying to avoid the disease and dangers which suck the life from so many here. Unfortunately, this family failed. Their son died from a water-born illness which caused severe diarrhea and his family waited too long to bring him to the health center due to lack of money.

Sorry if this post is a downer but I wanted to tell this story because it is directly related to the two projects I have started so far. Here they are:

1) Nyamboya is well known for having terrible water (I have actually gotten sick twice so far from different water-borne illnesses). Normally, many Cameroonians get their drinking water from a pump well, which in my village is a well that has a foot pump that you use to bring water from deep under ground to a tap made of metal tubes. The water that comes from pump wells is much safer to drink than water from an open well. However, two out of four of these pumps are broken in my village which means hundreds of families drink straight from the open wells (which is what you normally think a well looks like). So I have taken up the task of not only fixing these wells but designing a system to keep them maintained after I leave. The first step is to build walls so that the wells are not overused or overly played with by children (the main reason they broke in the first place). I have convinced the leaders of the community to use their own money to build these walls (it is important that a community uses some of their own money and time to help with the projects since this builds a sense of ownership and is more sustainable). I did this by getting a water sample from a local open well whiche the lab technician at my hospital spun into a sample. Then I took a picture of that sample and showed the leaders of my community exactly what the water their people are drinking looks like. After this, I was blessed enough to meet an American water engineer in a local town who came out and inspected the broken pump wells. He told me all that is wrong and exactly how much it would cost to fix the wells. Now that I know exactly what needs to be done physically, I am working with fellow volunteers to design of system of upkeep so the wells can be sustainably maintained after we leave. However, I need to come up with the $400 it is going to take to fix the wells before we can implement that system (hundreds of people have died in my village from water born-illness because of $400. Isn‘t that incredibly sad?)

2) My second project involves the part of the story where the mother did not bring her child in fast enough because of lack of money. I have joined a local tontine (kind of lack a savings and loan but just within one family) and we have decided to start a yam farm and business in order to create a kind of family health-insurance. I taught them how to write a business plan where we planned exactly how we are going to grow and sell yams in the local market. Once we have done this, we have agreed to put the profits in a special lock box that will be kept at the hospital. This lockbox has three locks and two keys will go to two of the family members and one key will go to the chief of the hospital. Once the money is in the box, the family will only be able to use the money for health expenses since they will need the permission of the hospital chief to open the box. Then, if things go to plan (which is somewhat rare here), we will use some of the money to do the exact same thing next year.

So these are my projects so far. I have gotten more joy from them than I expected before coming here. Hopefully that will continue.





The water engineer inspecting the pumps



The tontine and I in front of all our Yams

Banking

I am a proud, card-carrying member of a Cameroonian bank in Bafoussam (Baf) called Afriland. Every month, the Peace Corps drops my stipend into my bank account in Baf, which I have to travel 6-8 hours to retrieve since it is in an entirely different region from where I live. This is as fun as it sounds. The last trip was especially memorable: after climbing out of the bus while trying not to piss off any big mamas or get pickpocketed, I make my way to the bank. I do kind of look forward to the visit because Afriland’s branch in Baf is as close to America as it can get here: it’s three stories, has a pretty glass façade, and is air-conditioned. Normally, I am able to get my money from an ATM at the front of the building, but this last time I went, I had to go inside for more personal business. So, after waving to the two soldiers sitting in front of the door with AK-47’s resting on their lap (otherwise known as the Cameroonian FDIC), I enter the bank and am hit with a wave a cool, refrigerated air. Now, to get things done in Afriland is a bit complicated. They have a number-ticket waiting system, but I have found this to be just a ruse. In reality, if you want help, you just push your way to wherever you need to go. I, personally, had to get a new ATM card. Therefore, of course, I walked around the building until I found a bank employee who was not being harassed and started harassing them. I would not say that I am fluent in French but I would say that I am becoming fluent in aggressive French. So after about one or two minutes of what would be considered yelling in America but is termed a business conversation here, I am lead to the man who can help me. He is very helpful but forces me to draw yet another map of where I live. Because my house does not have an address, due to the fact that I live in a village in the middle of nowhere, I have to draw a map of where my house is in my village. Therefore, Afriland knows me as the white from Nyamboya who lives behind the catholic church next to the grouping of weird looking trees. After the transaction is complete, the meeting ends with the usual laughs, awkward hand shake (where, after its supposed to end, the man just holds my hand for about 15 or 20 seconds), and the normal question of can I take him back to America when I leave. It’s actually a somewhat fun experience if you don’t think about the fact that an institution such as this controls your financial situation while living in a developing country.

My diet

So the one thing that I have learned to cook well here is an omelet. Never cooked one in my life until I came to Africa. However, I have noticed that once I learn something here, I stick with it for as long as humanly possible. What this means is that I am buying about 30 eggs a week and my skillet is now warped . On the bright side, I know that I am getting a sufficient amount of protein each week which is a change of pace since the Cameroonian diet consists mostly of carbs. In terms of my cholesterol numbers, thank God I’m miles from anyone that can measure anything like that.

How was that, Kaitlyn?

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.

Questions from Dad

So my dad emailed me some good question that I thought I would share with everyone while I have internet (prewrote them in word):


What is your broadband situation at the guest home?
-I have absolutely no internet or phone service at my house. Half the group is in the town of Bafia (they have internet if they go to our school in the area) and half the group (including myself) is in a village about an hours walk away called Lable. Lable has barely in cell service and definitely no internet. However, in about a month, the groups switch towns so my communication abilities might improve in the coming future.
How are you sleeping?
-I am having the best sleep of my life! Weird, huh? My head hits the pillow and I am out like a light. This is probably a combination of the crazy amount of stuff I am doing during the day and heat exhaustion (the Bafia area is one of the most humid in Cameroun).
What can we be praying for?
-If people could pray that my faith would continue to be strong I would greatly appreciate it.
Do you need us to send you anything?
-HAND SANITIZER!! I thought I brought a good enough supply to cover me for a while but its only going to legitimately last me two months. So if you want me to avoid diseases of all kinds, I would greatly appreciate it. Also, CANDY and the CHEESE packets in mac and cheese. I can get the pasta here but there is no cheese 
How is your French? Did they test you for fluency?
-Mon francaise est ameliore (its getting better). Honestly, Gramps speaks no english and we talk for hours every day so you can imagine that my French has improved just a bit. They’re right, total immersion is the way to go.
Tell us about your guest family?
-As I mentioned earlier, I live with a 70 year old man who I call Gramps. I thought we also lived with his grandson named Patrice. I have come to learn that Patrice is not related to Gramps and is just the son of a friend of Gramps. Patrice stays with us because his mechanic school is near the house.
I look at the weather everyday for you – it looks like it rains everyday. Is that difficult?
-It does rain about every day but I love it. The only bad thing is the humidity it creates. Well, and the amount of insects it forces indoors (I woke up the other day to about 20 baby spiders crawling on me in my bed…not the best moment haha)
Did all your stuff make it with you?
-Everything but the knives I packed. They were stolen somewhere en route. Maybe you can help me out in this area, mom?
What are you eating? Do you have to cook?
-I am eating a ton of fish soup with cous-cous (a much worse version than the one you know). I am not a huge fan of this but I am a fan of the fantastic bananas and pineapple! Also, Gramps makes me tomato omelets every morning which are amazing. I haven’t cooked anything so far but I need to learn soon so I’m not way unprepared for post in a couple of months.
How do you spend your days off so far?
So here is my schedule:
1) I wake up at 5:30 am and draw water from the well for my morning bath
2) I eat a petit dejeuner with Gramps and walk to the village chief’s house (5 minutes) where a peace corps truck picks a bunch of us up to take us to the school in Bafia (15 minutes)
3) I have French and health technical classes from 7:30 till noon, lunch from noon to 2 and more French and health technical from 2 till 4:30
4) Then, I might catch a beer with other volunteers but most of the time I go back to my house and hang out with the village kids and Gramps (I’m trying to teach them chess but my French is definitely not at that level yet and it is chess, afterall)
5) Dinner of soup de poisson is usually at 7:30 and then I am in bed and asleep by 9:30
So I will try to post pictures soon but the internet and electricity is crazy spotty so we will see…

All my post from the past weeks

Here they all are now cause I ain't got barely any internet or electricity:

9/22/10

Sorry it has taken me this long to update my blog but the internet and electricity situation in Cameroon is intermittent at best. Right now, I am writing in the dark while sitting on my footlocker next to my mosquito net covered bed, listening to the roosters crow and wondering when I should be getting my bucket water from the well for my morning bath. That’s right, I have learned to not only how to wash myself by ladling water but also how to draw from the well next to my door. Its aweseome!

I am definitely in my honeymoon phase with this country and what it has to offer. I am still well but with anticipation for my body to reject the cous-cous de mais and bush-meat gumbo I have been splurging on . The town I have been put in is called Lable and it is a small village of a larger town called Bafia. I am living with a 70 year old man named Monsieur Zacherie and his grand-son Patrice. I call him gramps and we have been having blast playing cards, uno, and generally teaching each other our perspective languages (english and french). I showed him pictures of my family and he spent 20 minutes explaining to me how my mom and dad were brother and sister while I argued that this was definitely not correct (a confusing cultural difference in reference terms). He is a proffesor/carpenter and I could not have asked for a more patient and welcoming host. He told me that he built all the furniture in the house and most of the surrounding villages so I might hit him up if I get a post near here.

Cameroon is gorgeous and I basically live in the jungle. Whenever I am taking my bath, I look out into the forest and see the amazing beauty. I can not believe I am blessed to be able to have this amazing experience. I will try to keep my blog more updated but it depends on how much rain central Cameroon gets and the generosity of the government in order to power the electricity.
A bientot!

9/25/10
Training so far has been a little bit draining. I have about 3 to 4 hours a day of French and another 3 to four hours of technical and cultural training. However, my french has been improving immensely not really due to the classes yet but because I am talking to Gramps about anything and everything.

All the men of the village of Lable have definitely been interested in anything and everything about me and America. They are always around trying to practice they’re English and teaching me some French. It would be a fantastic experience if they weren’t all drunk most of the time, forgetting what I told them minutes after an exchange and forcing me to repeat myself a thousand times. However, everyone is extremely welcoming and I have been enjoying the beignets and tomato omelettes I’ve been eating lately. Gramps is going to teach me how to cook some authentic Cameroonian soup de poisson and bargain with the merchants like a native!
A demain!

9/30/10
So it has officially been two weeks since I left the states and I am still amazed at how happy my situation is here. There was a night a few nights ago where Gramps and I were sitting on the porch having one of our heart to hearts about Zimbabwe politics (at least that what I think we were talking about) while watching a downpour and I remember thinking that there was absolutely no other place I would rather be. Cameroun is a gorgeous place with some of the most gracious people I have ever met. The entire village of Lable considers me one of their sons and, therefore, my family has just expanded by at least 10 times. All greet me with a bon jour and are extremely excited when I give a wyumbey back (hello in the local bafia language). The village chief welcomed all of us with a big speech and a legitimate Camerounaise dance-athon, which I will try to post below. I joined in but if you think my dancing is bad in America…

The past week has been difficult though: one trainee decided to leave, another went to the hospital and yet another was assaulted. There are definitely complex and dangerous things to deal with here but that was one of the reason I came: the Peace Corps is a test like none other. It is not just a month’s humanitarian or mission trip. It’s a commitment to fully integrate and engross yourself in a society so very different from your own, with so many challenges that will make you question why you chose to be here. But I know it is going to be worth it to stick it out. We have heard speech after to speech from various volunteers that it is very hard at the beginning and these hardships never truly let up. However,, by facing them head on, you grow as a individual and accomplish things you never thought possible.

Thanks for all the prayer and support and I will try to stay in better contact but my village has no internet, barely any phone service, and very spotty electricity. Oh, and I am still good on the health front so cross your fingers.

Also, some phrases you only hear in Peace Corps Africa: “How are your legs doing this morning?”, “I would go out tonight but my family is afraid of malaria”, and my favorite: “I would love to grab a beer but I have to go home and make water.”

Leaving tomorrow

So the time has arrived! My flight departs tomorrow for Philadelphia. Here is my schedule for the foreseeable future:

-Fly to Philadelphia for staging (pre-departure orientation) where I get pricked and poked with more vaccines and then learn how not to die the initial days I'm there.

-Fly at 6:30 pm from JFK to Brussels, Belgium on Sept 16 and then catch an Air Brussels flight (yummm for chocolate and waffles (more likely economy nuts and diet coke)) that arrives in Yaoundé, Cameroon (the capital) at 4:45 pm on Sept 17.

-Spend five days in the capital for some more pricking and poking (a government specialty) and more orientation.

-Then three months in Bafia (a town a couple hours north of Yaoundé) for intensive language and cultural training (8 hours a day, 6 days a week)

Around early December, I will finally arrive at my post where I will live, work and hopefully have some of the best times of my life for the next two years. Any prayers and thoughts (and gifts of hand sanitizer and candy) would be much, much appreciated!!

A demain!!

One Week

So I have one week to go before I'm off for the adventure of a lifetime. I started this blog so all you friends and family can experience every up and down that hits my life and bowels.

Over the past few weeks, I have gathered any possible thing that one needs in an African country: solar shower, sandals, bandannas, Dr. Bonners peppermint soap etc. Now I'm just in the waiting game ready to get out of here and on to a very exciting next stage of life.

The only thing that I'm still trying to figure out is what to get my host family. My mom has already bought jelly beans which I think they would really like but I also want something really American. If anyone has any ideas...