Friday, May 11, 2012

Cameroonian Potpourri

9-5-2012

I’ve had the realization that all of my recent posts have been very topic-driven, I haven’t given an update as to the work I’ve been doing, the life I’ve been living, or the random endeavors I’ve been finding myself on. This post’ll be that, or, more likely, a random assortment of things that just pop into my head. That’s pretty true to form, right?

I’ve now been at post for just over five months, and I can tell you that I’m feeling a lot more comfortable here and a lot more in control than I did even two months ago. Not every day is like that, but more and more, they’re becoming common—it’s a pretty good feeling. Things in Batouri are altogether going pretty well. Still, there are days that I wake up and can’t bring myself to face the world outside my door until about 5pm. Those are days usually coincide with power and water being out for the third day straight, French just not escaping my mouth correctly, illness, or work just not going the way I believe it should. But, luckily, there are plenty of other days in which I can’t believe the incredible luck I have. I’m blessed to have the post I do: I’m challenged in ways I never believed I could be, but more than that, I’m rewarded by my community in ways that I definitely don’t deserve. Free meals, gifts of free fabric, free moto rides, tips of places to find work, neighborhood kids I’ve never seen calling me by name: Batouri continually reminds me that I was foolish to think that I didn’t belong in the East and that I’d be miserable here. I’m glad I was wrong about that. Maybe every volunteer just hits a point where they realize that they can’t imagine being placed anywhere else and maybe everyone thinks that their post is the best of the bunch, but maybe we just kind of learn to make do with what we have. Either way, I’m not complaining: Batouri is home and the generosity and honesty of the people I’ve met here has been refreshing. Where else would someone call me to tell me that they have tea waiting for me at their shop or call to ask about the health of my parents that they’ve never met? Life is a roller coaster here, and trying to keep it all in perspective is part of the fun. It’s all about taking the bad with the good and remembering that although today’s been a rough one, the likelihood is that tomorrow could very well be the best day of your life.
I’m finding little ways that I’ve unconsciously been making an impact, although it’s funny seeing exactly which of the things catch on. I have a habit of calling every kid I see my friend because there are just too many names to learn and it seems more personal/meaningful that just saying hello. My post-mate recently told me that the kids on her street recently followed her down the street yelling “Hello, my friend! Hello, my friend! Hello, my friend!”—no better feeling than knowing you’re breaking the Blanche/Bui/Nassara cycle with a more positive word: friend. I love the significance of it; it’s the little things that make a huge difference. That same post-mate brought the fist-bump to Batouri, and I’m improving that and turning it to the bump-and-explode. The first person to pick it was a girl in my youth group, Rita, pretty soon it’ll spread like wildfire—the finer points of cultural exchange, clearly. And, my personal favorite: bean, avocado, tomato, and onion salads. The first time I saw a Cameroonian order one after me I was stunned, Cameroonians aren’t believers in “chunky” vegetables—if it’s not liquidized in a sauce, it’s not meant to be eaten. Take that, nutrition!

On a less cheesy note, health-wise, things have been interesting these past couple of weeks. After two and a half weeks of an unbearably itchy, burning rash and two misdiagnoses, the Peace Corps Medical Office finally came up with the answer: an allergic reaction to Mango Sap spent from the many mornings I’ve spent picking mangos from the tree in my front yard. Turns out Mango Sap is like the Poison Ivy of Cameroon, and I’m luckily enough to be ultra-allergic, either that or just not intelligent to connect the mango-picking to the rash in time to prevent it from getting unbearable. Anyhow, Prednisone is a miracle drug, and I’m beginning to feel a million times better and no longer look like a leper—kaaaaaaaching! Feeling healthy means that I’m been able to return to early morning work-outs, cooking, visiting friends, and recommencing work, all of which have been HUGE mood brighteners for me. Cat-sitting probably also helps, as do the many, many movies that I picked up while I was stuck in Yaounde for medical.



Work-wise I’m finding myself fantastically busy. I’m working on a project for my host institution planting soy and moringa (thanks again to the volunteers who are donating and transporting the seeds down from the Grand North!) Eventually I’ll be organizing the kids in managing the plantation; I want them to be as responsible for it as possible because I believe it teaches invaluable lessons in leadership, teamwork, and causality. Once things grow, I’m going to lead the kids in an income-generating activity (read: opportunity to teach about financial planning) and teach families in the communities how to cook with soy and moringa. Ideally I’ll be extending this project throughout the Catholic Diocese (my host organization is Catholic and my counter-part is a priest) and teaching nuns how to lead similar projects in their communities. That in and of itself is pretty much a two year project that gives me the opportunity to touch on so many things that I’m passionate about, especially the battle against malnutrition. Outside of this, I’m helping out with the painting of a World Map at Lycee Bilingue, continuing with the handicapped youth group, helping lead French literacy sessions (in today’s I taught the Heimlech Manuever to the women—BAM!,) helping out at malnutrition clinics when I have the time, and trying to arrange a Life Skills Seminar for the girls at Lycee Bilingue to encourage confidence and positive decision-making. Read: biting off more than I can chew and thrilled about it.


I’ve found a favorite Cameroonian food (Folere with Rice Couscous) that I’m pretty sure I could eat every day for the rest of my life, which is impressive considering that the majority of food out here is definitely not up the American palate. Folere is a delicious green, tangy sauce made out of some kind of leaves, usually with chunks of beef. The obsession has grown so much that the one restaurant in town knows to always have it on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because I’m always there at least one of those days for lunch. My next step is to find a Cameroonian woman to teach me how to make it myself, which is a little more difficult than it sounds because although I’m female, I definitely have way more in common with the men in the community and therefore don’t really know any women to teach me—I’m way more educated than your average woman in Batouri, have neither a husband or children, and hold a job. These differences definitely limit conversation topics a lot. I invade the bro-sphere on a daily basis…what exactly DO women here talk about, anyways? What I can, say, however, is that I’ve spent more time over the past few months debating polygamy and polyandry with men than I ever thought was possible—turns out I have that French vocabulary memorized so well that I could probably debate this in my sleep now. Professional feminism: doing it right.


Looking into the next couple of months, I’ve FINALLY got a month which might potentially have no travel (June)—I haven’t had a single travel-free month since February. This possibility is looking fantastic! I’m feeling tired from this back-and-forth-and-back-and-forth thing that keeps happening. It’ll be nice to be fixed at post and not get harassed by everyone who thinks I’m leaving too much. Two of my post-mates are finishing their service as well as three other region-mates, and the new batch of Community Economic Development and Education Volunteers will be arriving in August, I’m excited to see what the new CED will bring to Batouri!  And, going along with the theme of Close of Service, my cousin will hopefully be coming to visit me in August. My friends in town have already started talking about organizing a big party to celebrate his arrival, the hospitality in this town is ridiculous.


That’s about it for right now. I’ve got a date with the fantastically non-Cameroonian salad and tea waiting for me in the kitchen, a movie, and a cuddle sess with Mike’s cat. Life is good. Take care!

With Love,


Steph

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Travel

I’ve been doing a lot of travel and haven’t been consistently at post since February (not my fault as there was In-Service Training, Steering Committee, and now Regional Meeting,) so it seems logical that, with my “Travel” playlist playing in the background, I write a blog entry just on what travel here entails for me. I can’t claim that my travel experiences are typical of what any other Cameroon volunteer experiences, mostly just because there is no typical experience, and I definitely haven’t encountered it all yet. Travel is something that I didn’t think about before coming, because it’s nothing I’ve ever really needed to consider since getting a driver’s license and a car. Turns out, travel is a whole lot more difficult and interesting once you can’t just hop into your car and drive wherever you wanted/needed to be. I don’t know that I ever actually did public transportation in the States outside of taking metros and the occasional taxi in DC; learning to rely and adapt to public transportation is a huge part of life here, one that’s giving me a whole stockpile of ridiculous anecdotes that y’all are going to be hearing for a long, long time in the future. So, with all that said, I’ve done my best to give an accurate summary of just what kinds of travel are available in country and the very basic idea of what it looks like.

In Batouri/Bertoua:

Motorcycles. Yep. That’s right, yours truly rides many, many motorcycles a day. They’re a pretty common form of transportation throughout Africa from what I understand, and as a result, every PCV has a super-stylish helmet to wear (and I accentuate super-stylish, there’s nothing like sticking out with a shiny blue and silver helmet in a community where no one wears helmets.) Some volunteers in remote villages take hour or more long motorcycle rides to reach post—that’s not an option for where I live, but I’m looking forward to visiting friends at their posts and having my first long moto ride. I’ve seen as many as six people crammed onto one moto, and I’ve also seen Moms carrying their babies on motos so that they’re hanging off the moto—terrifying. Within Batouri, all of the moto-drivers are men and most of them are pretty young. Some drivers wear heavy down coats and woolen caps for protection, which is mostly just comical because it’s so hot here; I recently saw a motorman wearing a tee-shirt from Great Lakes Elementary which is not terrifically far from where I grew up, which was cool. 

There are a few private cars in town, most of which are owned by either officials within the government or international aid organizations—the aid cars are always giant white SUVs with huge decals on the side proclaiming Red Cross, UNFPA, WFP, UNDP, UNHCR, GIZ…we’ve got many, many development organizations in Batouri, clearly. I’ve ridden in a couple of cars in Batouri and it’s always a surreal experience—comfort, radio, windows, and a seatbelt. Most of the time I’m in the car with my host organization, Esperance, doing site visits with the families they work with in the community, but I’ve been in a couple of government-owned cars and a few privately-owned cars as well. It’s great and fantastic being in cars, even the crappiest amongst them. Still, I would never want to drive in Cameroon: the roads are terrible and Cameroonians are ridiculously aggressive drivers—even when street signs or traffic signs exist, they don’t mean anything, nor do Cameroonian drivers like to stay in the correct lane most of the time.

Leaving Post:



For me to get to either Bertoua or Kentzou (the two cities closest to me with other volunteers,) I take a bus called the Saviom…all the volunteers call them Prison Buses because that’s what they look like, as there’s a metal grate that separates the driver from the rest of the passengers. These exist in my little section of the East (“Extreme East,” as we’ve taken to describing ourselves,) as well as parts of the Adamaoua. They’re supposed to fit 28 people (Five people a row, five rows, plus three passengers in the cabin sitting next to the driver,) but oftentimes there are people standing up in the back, holding on to the ladder that leads to the top of the bus where luggage is stored, or sitting on top of the luggage. Each row is composed of two benches with a fold-down seat in the middle, the fold-down seat in front of the door being the most uncomfortable spot to ride in. The spots in the cabin are reserved for the Grands (the important people in the community)—male PCVs are almost always guaranteed a spot in the cabin, but it’s a lot more difficult to secure a seat there as a woman. The potential benefits of a cabin seat are huge, though: more leg room, more space on the bench, less dust, etc.


The prison bus into Batouri is an adventure that’s not for the weak-stomached, lovers of personal space, or impatient. There are usually various animals being transported either inside the bus or on top of the bus, which makes the ride really fun: nothing quite like combining the sound of crying babies, bleating goats, and hens in a small vehicle. The sides of the bus have a reminder not to vomit, spit, or talk to driver, which is clearly very confidence-inducing. Luckily, I’ve yet to see anyone vomit on a ride (knock on wood, inshallah, and on espère.) The bus has no radio, is overcrowded, feels like it’s a million degrees most of the time, dusty, and often makes a million stops either for prayer, to pick up more passengers even though the bus is already full, or to buy various food products (plantains, manioc, grilled beef, milk, etc.) The roads are unpaved and in need of serious reparation, I often get off the bus with some pretty impressive bruises. Breakdowns are not uncommon, and neither are accidents. I’ve had three flat tires and one broken belt in my four months at post, but another friend who visited had the treat of her bus needing to get towed in by a logging truck because it broke down so badly 10km from the bus stop. Normally Cameroonians have an amazing talent to MacGyver solutions to automotive problems out of the most ridiculous items they find on the side of the road—they could definitely teach a few tricks to American auto mechanics.


Basically, traveling to leave Batouri makes me feel like I’m an en brousse BAMF. As much as I complain about the prison buses (which is, admittedly, a lot) it’s a fantastic bragging point :) I’ve made the 90km trip in anywhere from 2.75 hours to 4.5 hours, but with rainy season picking up, I’m expecting the travel to get worse. I’ve also been informed to prepare myself to do have to get out and push in the mud or to trudge through the mud so that the bus can more easily navigate.


Other Forms of Transport:

In bigger cities, motorcycles are substituted for taxis. There isn’t anything terrifically exciting or fantastic about these, although drivers do sometimes decorate them with flashing lights, weird paint jobs, furry seats, fake flowers, and weird sayings. We don’t have any in Batouri, but they’re all that you can take in Yaounde (the country capital) because Moto-Taxis are illegal. Given a choice between taking a moto or a taxi, I usually prefer the moto-it’s faster, less crowded, and the likelihood is that it’ll smell less like BO since there’s the wind. Oh the things that inform our preferences….

To get up to the Grand North (Adamaoua, North, Extreme North,) volunteers take a night train that has beds in it. I haven’t taken it yet, although there is a stop in the East at 2am that I could technically use to get to Yaounde, but it’s more expensive. I do plan to take the train at some point, but there’s an alternate route through the East by bus that I want to try out someday, too.

There are US-style Mega-Buses for most trips from a big city to another big city. I took a great one from Yaounde to Bertoua recently that had padded seats, radio, and a tv that played music videos. Most of the time on these big buses there’s some guy (or guys if you’re really unlucky) that stand up and try to sell you some weird kind of medical products. The speech is almost exactly the same every time, and the products are always the same: toothbrushes, toothpaste, ginseng rub to get rid of headaches, some weird pill that’s supposed to clean any liquid and turn it into water, various products to increase male and female potency, something to erase STIs including HIV, etc. Someday I should write down the things they say—I’ve heard weird statements about the Chinese reproducing like rabbits because they’ve unlocked the magic of a special herb, for instance, as well as more anti-feminist comments than I care to remember. I’ve listened to these speeches for as long as two and a half hours, and then had some other idiot get up and give the exact same one; the speeches are basically the Cameroonian version of a bad, late-night infomercial. Plus side: mega-buses usually make some really excellent stops for food—bananas, pineapple, peanuts, mangoes, grilled meat, beignets, etc. These stops are way, way better than American fast-food, and one of those little things that I know I’ll miss when I return.

I think that’s about it transportation-wise. I’m sure there’ll be many, many stories to come in the future, although hopefully soon it’ll be coupled with stories about fantastic new places. In August, I’ll be heading to the beaches of Kribi to help run the National Girl’s Forum—a conference that my program is running for professionals involved in fields that promote women’s empowerment. Kribi is about three days worth of travel from where I live. But, before that, I have at least two more trips back to Yaounde for the Program Advisory Committee and Steering Committee. Needless to say, travel in specific and life in general is always an adventure out here. And, as for all of you, as school is about to let out for the summer and the weather’s getting warm and sunny again, have a happy vacation season, everyone! Miss you all and wishing you my best!

With Love,


Steph