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