I'm sitting in the Bertoua transit house ("Case" in Peace Corps lingo) by myself and trying to will my computer to download virus protection faster, so I suppose this is an opportune time to sit down and write a blog post since it's been awhile. I've spent the past couple of weeks traveling for my In-Service Training in Bamenda--the capital of one of Cameroon's Anglophone Northwest. There are a ton of different ways that I could potentially describe that whole experience, but there's really only one that covers it all: culture shock.
My city, Batouri, is in the least developed, least populated region of the country. We're well known throughout the country as having "difficult" mentalities out here. I'd heard this over and over and over, and that was part of the reason that I had originally been so dead-set on not being posted out here. But, hearing all of this is totally different than actually having something to compare it to. It's easy to get used to not having paved roads and having only the same couple of options of things to buy at the markets, one because you know there are other volunteers with less, but also because you don't really realize that other people have more. And, you know what? People don't just have more, some people have a lot more. That doesn't make Peace Corps easy, it just makes the entire experience different--my experience in the East might as well be that of a volunteer in a completely different country when you compare it to some of the other regions. That's the beauty of Peace Corps Cameroon: no region, no city can be exactly like yours. This country is too diverse for anything to really be comparable. We have two official languages, but there's at least 250 other languages spoken in country. Our predominant religions are Christianity and Islam, but not only can you break those into a million sub-sets, but they all have a local flavor. My Cameroon is not the Cameroon that a volunteer in a village in the Littoral knows or a city volunteer in the Adamaoua: we all have a separate reality that just doesn't translate over, making every trip seem like an exotic vacation.
On my way to In-Service Training, I not only rode in a comfortable, luxurious bus on paved roads, but I saw street signs and construction. What about those parking spaces and parking meters in Bamenda? Downright trippy. Coming back East after Bamenda, I stopped at one of Yaounde's largest grocery stores, Casino. I didn't have to argue to get a better price, they automatically had change for a 10.000 bill, and I was able to buy pudding. PUDDING. It's amazing the little things that become so fantastically stunning here: buying ice cream, riding in a taxi with automatic windows, speaking English and being understood. At some point, having access to all these things and seeing all these things I hadn't seen in months kind of made my head start to spin. Going back to Batouri is going to be a detox, I suppose. I've been in country now for just over six months. While it doesn't necessarily feel like it's been that long, situations definitely arise that prove to me just how much control I've been gaining over everything. After all, you can only get culture shock in comparison to another culture, right? And if I'm being shocked at pudding and parking spaces, God knows we're not comparing on an American standard.
In Yaounde, I ran into some volunteers whom I know from training that finish their service within the next couple of months. They were returning from a trip through the East. Their complaints about our uncomfortable "Prison Buses" and the accompanying bruises was validating: I'm gaining control over the life I'm living. Things that used to suck are becoming normal. the fact that sitting in a comfortable bus actually made me uncomfortable, is testament to just how acclimated I'm becoming to everything. Go me. But, more than that, way to go training group--we're tougher than we were three months ago. We've done something we've all doubted that we'd be able to do: we've made it through three months alone and thrived!
All in all, Bamenda was fantastic. The hotel had an American-style mattress with soft pillows instead of the awful, stiff foam sold everywhere else in country. We had hot water and consistent electricity. Our food was provided for us, and all of the workers spoke to us in English. There was a coffee shop downtown with chocolate cake, pasta salad, macchiatos, and espressos. Books are valued there. And, perhaps most of all, a million other Americans because of training.
Crazy.
