tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40884639979253848732024-02-06T22:36:21.141-08:00A Dash of Optimism and a Surge of HopeThe Tales of a Peace Corps Volunteer in Cameroongasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-56020872076562749762013-11-20T16:03:00.000-08:002013-11-20T16:03:10.043-08:00The Grand FinishWell. I'm back in the United States? It already seems impossible that I left Cameroon only 6 days ago. But, more on that later.<br /><br />I purposely chose not to blog my last month of service, so for anyone who anxiously awaits new installments 1) I applaud your dedication and 2) I apologize. That last month was exhausting in ways I couldn't have prepared myself for. Every day was a new goodbye to someone or to something. Every day was filled with feelings of "ugh, I really should ______." Every day got a little more emotional. I wanted to really spend this last month out and about, present in the community in a way I couldn't have been if I'd taken the moment to glance back at America. This last month was difficult, but it was the culmination of service that made me realize just what a fulfilling experience it's been. Many thanks to all of my technology for frying/disappearing during this time period and making it doubly possible for me to actually live in the moment--my phone was robbed, my electricity regulator experienced a long painful death, electricity in my house got blown out during a storm, and my computer cord fried...for the second time during my service. <em>La vie c'est comme ca.</em><br /><br />During the last month of service, I feel like I accomplished a lot of the personal and professional wrap-up experiences that I needed in order to feel okay about leaving the community. The East region volunteers completed another HIV/AIDS education mural, leading to positive accolades from Peace Corps leadership and to other volunteers in other areas of the country expressing interest in copying the project. We had Feast of the Sacrifice, complete with <em>sifa</em> (Muslim-style Henna), multiple meals of sheep, and lots of good time with friends. I taught Life Skills classes, had a birthday party, and went out to Kentzou/Ndelele to do monitor how the our women's rights groups had been working over the last few months. A few volunteers came out to visit, I went to visit the Sacred Rock for the last time, celebrated Halloween, had a going away party, and packed up my house. I closed my bank account, did all my medical exams, finished all my Peace Corps paperwork, and officially transitioned to being a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. The time passed by quickly.<br /><br />Now that I'm here, people keep asking a handful of the same questions. How was Peace Corps? What did you do there? Are you glad to be home? Did you have a good time? <br /><br />I get the feeling that my answers have been disappointingly short. But, how can you boil down two years of your life into responses of those four very, very generic questions? I've traveled, but I've not been a tourist. I haven't seen elephants or giraffes or hippos. I've worked "over there," but I haven't lived like an expatriate. I've made best friends that have gotten me through the worst of times, and the majority of them aren't Americans. I've lived in less than glamorous conditions, but certainly not in poverty. I've eaten, and usually really enjoyed Cameroonian food. I've had lots of good times, but I've also had the most personally challenging experiences I've ever experienced. After two years, I'm glad to be back, but I'm not glad to be gone. These are things you can't really talk about, because they're not what people want to hear. <br /><br />So, instead: Peace Corps was a great experience. I worked with youth and did some work on nutrition. I'm glad to be home. And, yes, I did have a good time. Please pass the salad. <br /><br />I don't mean to sound pompous or dramatic, but I think, unfortunately, a lot of that tends to come with the territory of being a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. People ask questions because they care, and I'm trying to remember this as I navigate through the various semi-true responses to these questions. But, at least I'm lucky enough to have friends and family on both sides of the ocean ready to support me and give me a few much needed reality checks. These next few months will be challenging. They're challenging already, but in a very different way from Peace Corps. Loss of independence, personal relationships, bananas, hot weather, and easy personal transportation. These next few months are about finding the new normal. As it turns out, going to bed at 8:30 isn't quite acceptable before the age of retirees, and there's no longer sunlight dancing through my curtains in the early morning. Changes are in store, but at least if Peace Corps prepares you for one thing: it's change, equipping you with the patience, bull-headedness, and flexibility to get through to...somewhere. Where that somewhere is, however, only time will tell. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Dora (Youth Development Assistant Director), Geoff, myself, Shane, Jacky (PC Cameroon Country Director), Maureen (Health Assistant), and Sylvie (Health Director): Thanks, Peace Corps Admin, for being so supportive in the we three volunteers' last week of country!</span></div>
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gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-87012198717239497732013-10-11T13:52:00.001-07:002013-10-11T13:52:02.879-07:00Month 25<span lang="">5 October 2013<br />
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Month 25: I'll be back to America in just over one month. I move out of my home in almost exactly one month. I've started trying to clean out the mounds of random stuff that have accumulated and trying to find new homes for the more useful of the items, spurring all kind of memories and thoughts of all the things I still have yet to accomplish. I've got a pile of America-bound things stacked on top of the luggage in my laundry room. And yet, somehow it still doesn't seem real that it's coming to an end. I know I can't stay longer, but somehow, it just doesn't feel like this much time has passed. I know it must have, as evidenced by the mountains of things and all of the stories each item tells. <br />
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It's amazing how little a person can get by on--as I look at what remains around here, it's definitely hitting me that I had more stuff crammed into a single dorm room in college than I do in my entire house here. Just like college, though, my house is crammed with old notebooks from training classes, pencils, pens, and books to study with. My house is collaged in photos and letters from friends and family. And, just like college, it's all starting to come to an end before I really feel like I'm ready.<br />
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Before we arrived in Cameroon, we were given a couple of books on cultural adjustment, the Peace Corps experience, what to expect on our job-sites, etc. I found all of them today, just after running into all of my old notebooks from Training in Bafia. It's a trip down memory lane seeing everything I struggled with written down on paper: short days, weather, food, struggling with speaking, lack of routine, loneliness, finding out how to feel like yourself in the new culture, etc. When we met up in Philadelphia...or rather, once I finally arrived after my flight delay drama...Peace Corps staff asked us to make a list of our anxieties and aspirations. Looking back, my aspirations for service were pretty low: carrying out conversation, completing service, being able to complete simple tasks, understanding my community, helping create a successful Youth Development program. My anxieties were numerous, and all of them were fulfilled during service: getting ill, security situations, trouble with French, home-stay, missing out on family emergencies, losing touch with friends, getting understood. I underestimated what was possible, what I was capable of, and most importantly, what my community would be capable of. <br />
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It's true that a lot of this experience has been about me and my struggles, successes, and constantly changing perceptions, but so much of this experience has been about everyone else: my community's challenges and strengths, culture, and attempts to find ways to develop without sacrificing their ideals and culture in an overtly corrupt environment. It's been these themes that have defined my last two years. Had I been placed in Mongolia or Suriname or even just a different region of this country, it's certain that'd I would have had an entirely different experience. But I wasn't: I was placed in bush meat, gold, timber, and tobacco country. These aspects have defined my experience, but they've defined my community even more. I'm leaving in a month, but the friends, colleagues, and acquaintances I've made will still be here working for the betterment of the country. My benefits have outweighed the challenges in service despite all odds, but my community is still struggling to find it's place and trying to deal with all the issues that the exploitation trades have left it with. Two years may have passed, but it somehow still doesn't feel quite long enough when you consider just how much is still left to do. I clearly am still struggling to find the meaning and depth of understanding about this experience, my place in the community, and how to integrate all of this into life in America. But, it'll get there. In the mean time, I'll be here cleaning, sorting, and remembering.<br />
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On the note of house cleaning, I've been trying to take care of my house since it appears to be trying to fall apart around my feet now that the real brutality of rainy season has begun. Outside of making my house spring new leaks and making my pipes overflow with dirty sewage in my bathroom/spare bedroom, the rains have lately knocked out the road to a couple of major villages in the department by carrying away two separate bridges. I can only imagine what this is going to mean for crops a few months down the line. But, at least at the moment it hasn't destroyed the fish farm (yet.) <br />
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I can't imagine a better time to be leaving Cameroon. Food is plentiful, and there are even red peppers at the market! The night skies are stunningly clear with sunsets that any National Geographic photographer would salivate over. The trees are a beautiful, crisp green and all of the flowers are in bloom. Even though we're still not having normal electricity, it's at least improved in that we're getting it almost every day with at least a small handful of the hours happening in daylight (the rest all tend to be post-midnight.) Work is continuing to go on, but I feel like I have a good handle on all of it and don't need to stress about preparation or learning the French necessary to teach effectively. Having my phone "misplaced" (ie: stolen or lost by a child,) has turned out to be a blessing in disguise since now only people I really want to have my number have it; it would be a complete understatement to say that I'm living much more tranquilly now. All in all, things are a breath of fresh air right now. The difficulties of adjustment to this country are over, now it just comes down to learning how to say goodbye.<br />
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Other news:<br />
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-Cameroon has just finished Mayoral and Deputy elections. The RDPC (<i>Rassemblement Democratique du Peuple Camerounaises</i>) has unofficially won every seat in Batouri again, which is a surprise to no one considering corruption levels (the President [member of the RDPC, of course] has been in power now over 30 years.)<br />
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-<i>Eid al Tabaski</i>/<i>Fete de Mutton</i>/Feast of the Sacrifice is in less than 2 weeks (coincidentally, it should happen to fall on my birthday this year.) I'm planning on getting African-style braids, henna, and I have a crazy new outfit at the tailor waiting for me now.<br />
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-We're currently working on our second installment of the HIV/AIDS education murals in the East. This one is taking place in Mandjou, a village outside of the regional capital. Most of the villagers are either Muslim Fulbes or refugees from the Central African Republic.</span><br />gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-5583224572041066552013-09-12T02:09:00.002-07:002013-09-12T02:09:53.195-07:00The Beginning of the End<span lang="">9 September 2013<br />
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Things are wrapping up. Everything that took so long to create, is taking so little time to come to conclusion. At the beginning, I had so much free time to spend shooting the breeze, hopping from meeting to meeting in hopes of creating something from nothing, attempting to converse in a rather paltry patchwork of grammatically incorrect French, and trying day after day to create a livable house for myself. It was stressful trying to figure out what to do with myself day in and day out because it felt inappropriate to take me-time when I hadn't spent any time doing anything constructive for the community. The comparison between then and now is dramatic. Yet, even now when I'm in such a different situation than I was two years ago, I find myself again with more free time than I know what to do with; efficiency and productivity have turned out to be a double-edged sword now that I know I can't start anything new. <br />
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The projects I'd spent so long trying to devise take practically no effort to step away from now since they stand on their own already. Things like the market that used to be such an exhausting effort have become a simple, almost boring routine. I don't have to explain to people what I do here anymore, because I can quite succintly state "I've lived and worked here for two years, but I'm moving home soon." I'm not struggling to create friendships anymore, instead, I'm often struggling to avoid making them since I know that I'm leaving here in only a few months time. No more meetings struggling to create something or to meet somebody important. My house is comfortable; the months of sitting eating alone in my furniture-less living room are a laughable memory. And so now, here I am, sitting on the squeaky bamboo bed in my living room, thinking about what the next chapter has to hold.<br />
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For anyone that's reading this from the "other side," this next bit may not hold much meaning--it's hard to find value in the common-place items in life sometimes. But, as my motorcycle-riding, marriage proposal-denying lifestyle in Batouri has lost it's flash and glamour, bizarre aspects of the American lifestyle have become unsuspecting glittering gems in my future. In a way I've never craved it before, I'm looking forward to predictability, to order, to a schedule, and to obligations. I'm ready to have free access to Public Libraries and all the glories they behold. I'm thrilled to have coffee shops and hiking trails in my life again, and to know that whenever something goes wrong with my house, there's always some technician (pest exterminator/plumber/electrician, etc.) I can call and reliably expect to show up and fix my problem. I look forward to winter: cold weather, flannel pajama pants, boots, snow-topped trees, and sweaters. I'm excited to live in a country again where house pets are seen as a positive, and public urination as a negative. I'm looking forward to being able to wake up in the morning and look at the weather report so that I can plan my day accordingly. Most of all? Having clothes that aren't stretched out two sizes too big from repeated handwashing.<br />
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I remember hearing during training that, at some point near the end, we'd finally feel competent in both cultures. It's been a long time coming, but I think I'm finally there. I know what to do, I know what's expected of me, and I know how things work. While it never seemed like it at the beginning, I realize just how big of an accomplishment it's been to make it through two whole years. Two years of feeding myself, communicating in a language I didn't understand, finding clothing, staying reasonably healthy (incha'allah); doing all that and staying happy, however, is a whole different story...a story of flourishing.<br />
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With these last two months, it's sure that there's a lot of change and challenges still ahead. It's difficult watching this coming to an end and knowing that there will be someone else right after me who'll know this place in a whole different way than I have, but ultimately, that's ideal because stagnancy holds no hope of positive development. And, more and more, I'm growing okay with the fact that I won't be able to see this. Batouri can change and grow, but I'm going to be content hearing about it from behind a computer screen from the comfort of my couch. After all...<br />
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<strong>Seulement les montagnes ne se crossent pas, les hommes se crossent toujours.</strong></div>
</i></span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-3135561504538156512013-08-13T05:35:00.001-07:002013-08-13T05:35:25.321-07:00On va faire comment?<span lang="">10 August 2013<br />
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There are so many things running through my mind right now, and so I'm not entirely sure what direction this blog post is going to go in. <i>On va faire comment?</i> <br />
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With electricity being out again (we've had a total of maybe 24 hours of light combined in the past 6 days,) I'm not entirely sure how long my computer battery is going to last. Supposedly by 2015 my whole region can expect to have electricity 24 hours a day, which'll definitely allow more room for stability, reliability, and development, but for me personally, I'm glad to have lived somewhere where part of the challenge of survival meant having to be adaptable. So, as we speak, I'm typing by the light of one single candle and weighing the benefits of washing my dishes tonight versus the morning (avoiding the ants and mice V. having dishes be clean because I'll be able to actually see them while I wash.) Luckily, this should hopefully not be a problem anymore since I think I've knicked my mouse problem thanks to the packets of scary Chinese rat poison, which was surprisingly difficult to find considering that the men that sell it are possibly the most obnoxious in town: they walk around the market with dead mice on strings, blowing whistles, and talking on megaphones.<br />
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The time remaining for me in Cameroon is winding down, but I am trying to refuse to talk about that. It's getting too hard to have the constant conversation of "don't leave, renew your contract, stay and marry a Cameroonian man, we'll miss you too much!" everyday. I am being pulled in two very separate directions, and even though I am positive that I'm leaving in November, it's still difficult to know that my choice means leaving the family and friends I've created for myself here. Beyond all odds, it means leaving the comfort I've come to find here in the unpredictability, the slow pace of life, and the rawness of the Cameroonian culture. I've started to sell off my goods, and I've started a pile of things in my spare room that are definitely returning to America with me. My job research has begun. In a week and a half, I'll have my official end of service date. It's the beginning of the end. Weird.<br />
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On a completely lighter note, Ramadan has finished! This past Thursday was the holiday marking the end, and I was lucky enough to have another PCV in town visiting, so it was interesting to get to see the whole Ramadan experience through the eyes of someone in a very, very Christian community. Ramadan is different from Christian holidays since the Islamic calendar is shorter and based on the moon. Whereas Christmas is ALWAYS December 25, Ramadan could fall in any month depending on the year. Likewise, the holiday could happen between 28-31 days after the fast began depending on what day the moon returns (the season starts and ends based on the new moon.) This time around the moon was sighted on the 7th at 9pm in Fouman, a town in the West region, but because my friend forgot to call and let me know, I woke up unsure whether or not to get ready for the celebration or not--definitely a huge difference from any holiday I'd grown up with. After texting around to figure out what was going on, I ended up getting dressed in the new clothes I got made for the celebration, went to the morning prayers, and then started the long day of 6 meals. Fete de Ramadan is a marathan, not a sprint; imagine Thanksgiving, but taking place in multiple different houses and over a 10 hour time period. Beef, rice, spagetti, chicken, eggs, cabbage dishes, beignets, soda, tea, etc. To borrow a Pidgin English phrase: my belly done flop. <br />
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I've written intermittently about the pisciculture project, and it's crazy that that's already coming to a close. We've gotten the ponds all built and the first two species of fish installed; the other two species should be installed next month. Things have gone super smoothly so far, minus a minor conflict with a police officer neighbor who raises ducks as poultry but refuses to keep them caged or "corraled" on his property since he doesn't believe that ducks eat fish. But, I think we've finally gotten that problem resolved by putting the children on fish guardian/duck scaring duty when they're not going around town searching for the types of refuse that fish love to eat (ask for more details if you'd like, but know that the answer isn't a pretty one.) Right now, we're working on planting a garden of Moringa, watermelon, squash, okra, basil, plantains, bananas, and manioc around the ponds so that we'll have more food to sell in the market and food available on premises to feed the fish with. Next month, we'll start teaching classes to the kids on HIV/AIDS, STDs, prevention methods, and "life skills," but in the moment we're just starting to figure out what exactly these lessons are going to entail.<br />
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The last big thing I've been working on is preparation for the HIV/AIDS education murals that we'll be painting at the end of the month. A big group of volunteers from the region are going to come out and help paint, so between COS conference the 3rd week of August and the mural the 4th week, these next few weeks of life are going to be <i>Petite Amerique </i>(Little America.) <br />
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On that note, take care everyone!</span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-48082433191906431542013-07-19T04:51:00.000-07:002013-07-19T04:58:32.861-07:00The Rama-Diary<span lang=""><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u>Day 1</u>:</span></span><br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">After a bout of food poisoning and a false-start of fasting (one ethnic group, the Bamouns, apparently frequently starts fasting a day before everyone else,) Ramadan finally started for real today. It's 3pm, and to distract myself from the fact that I still have a few hours to go before I can eat dinner and guzzle down some water, I've decided to start writing my Ramadan Diary. I'm going to fast for this whole first week, incha'allah, and add at least 15 minutes onto my fast each morning until I hit the point of starting my fast at 5am like the rest of Batouri. I've decided that this is a week of no morning coffee, no work-outs, and probably also a lot of moto-taxis--I want to avoid anything that's going to dehydrate me any more than necessary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, I started my fast at 7:30am...a cheater's start, but I don't want to start too hard at the beginning and end my week in the hospital with dehydration. After two eggs and a full 1.5L of water at 7am, my fast was on. We were lucky that it poured rain this morning so that the heat and sun weren't too overwhelming. Still, I am exhausted--food poisoning just before Ramadan was definitely not ideal, and I can already tell that I'm going to be doing some serious napping all week long. I now understand why last year the pace of work during Ramadan was SO SLOW and why every shop-keeper seemed to be constantly asleep: fasting is fatiguing. Tonight, though, this exhaustion is going to be sent away in style, as my post-mates and I are breaking the fast with our friend, Ali, at a restaurant in town (Melissa is also fasting for the week with me.) </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, how are people responding to the bizarre news that the two American girls are fasting? Reactions have been one of two extremes--shock and excitement or confusion. Luckily, the Muslims that are fasting all think it's cool that we want to share the experience and plenty of our Muslim friends are inviting us over to break the fast at the end of the day. The Christians, however, are all confused. I've now committed the most heinous crime in Cameroon about 5 different times today: I've turned down both food and drink. The response of "I'm fasting for this week of Ramadan" is doing nothing but furthering the confusion. I'm hoping that'll get easier as the week moves along.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Day 2:</span><br />
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</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, there's two days down already. I added another 30 minutes onto the fast today, and I'm a little shocked: today was significantly easier than the day before. Thank God. The fatigue, however, is going to be a killer. Town is already slowing down dramatically as all of the Muslims (and us weirdos who're doing Ramadan for the fun of it) adjust into energy-conservation mode. Pretty sure by the last day, it may be a miracle if I peel myself out of my bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, I broke the fast in a more "traditional" fashion, ie: bouillie and beignets. Bouillie is a traditional breakfast food throughout Cameroon--it's a thick, white drink made of flour, water, and flavoring (sugar, cinnamin, rice, lemon, vanilla, etc.) Holy moly, I love me some bouillie. And beignets dipped in bouillie? Wow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I broke the fast with my friend Muhammad at his house, and his wife made the most fabulous spread. As Melissa and I slurped down the food in fast-forward, the family prayed as the littlest one called out the response of "allahu akbar" ("God is Great") and the father called out the prayer. There's a joke around here that it's a great thing that prayer Islam-style is so involved (standing, bending, prostrating, repeat x5+) because otherwise, nobody would be doing any activity during Ramadan and everyone would be gaining massive amounts of weight. And, it's probably true: that much food eaten at rapid speed in such a short period of time is creating a gigantic rock in my stomach. Bloat, bloat, bloat, bloat. Luckily, this week, there's all the time in the world to sit, digest, and reflect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Day 3:</span><br />
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</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">If this week is indicative of anything, it's that I might just have a future in competitive eating. Always good to have a back-up life plan, right? </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ignoring the fatigue, the week is getting easier and easier--I never <i>actually</i> thought that I'd be able to make it through the full week, but I've already shaved a full hour off my start time (clearly the competitive spirit remains alive and well.) We've been lucky that it's stayed cool and hasn't been too sunny this week; apparently when Ramadan falls during dry season, a couple of people pass away per year from dehydration. All thing's said, for me, so far it's been a much needed week of re-centering and self-focus. With only four months remaining, I'll take whatever moments I can get to try and process this life here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tonight, Mike, Melissa, and I went out for chicken to celebrate the fact that our fish-farming project has begun and is moving along quickly! Since regaining our original technician and re-working our budget a bit at the beginning of the week, we've finally got a plan that we all feel comfortable in. The land has already been cleared, and we're currently in the process of digging the ponds. ("we're" in this case excluding myself, although as soon as Ramadan's over I plan to head over and start actually lending a hand in the work.) But, more on this project in a later blog. Anyhow, as soon as dawn hit today, I ripped open a yogurt, downed a banana, and drowned myself in water...followed by a Coke, chicken, rice, and pineapple. Competitive food eating: I'm winning at it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Day 4:</span><br />
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</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">The pronounciation of the French word for sleepiness is exactly the same as the Fulfulde word for the fast. The pronounciation for the French words to fast and to annoy/irritate are also the same. Coincidences? Definitely not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The crying baby in the neighbor's side of the duplex. The fact that the new family of the neighbor STILL haven't bothered to introduce themselves after moving in last month. The fact that the neighbors start blasting their TV around 6:15 every morning. The rain that blocked us from going out and cooking on the rocks to break the fast. The fridge light that won't turn off. The sink that won't stop dripping. Having to cook without taste testing along the way. It seems like there's nothing that isn't bothering me today, but in a way that shows me that I may have too completely adopted the mentality of "ca va aller."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The post-mates, myself, and our friend Zack were supposed to go out to the rocks tonight and break the fast at sunset over a gigantic vat of chili, but, alas, there was rain. Instead, we cooked and ate at my house instead after a long and distacting game of Canasta. Since Zack's family is currently out of town, for the time being, we're all the family each other has, which is weirdly comforting. Between the gigantic bowl of American chili, a card game I grew up on, and the family I've pieced together for myself here,the day ended on a really nice note. As tiring and frustrating as this week has been, I'm glad that I decided to do it: how better to learn to appreciate the hand I've been dealt here?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Days 5 and 6:</span><br />
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</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sundays are always slow here in Batouri, so I've skipped day 5 of the Rama-Diary. Nothing terribly interesting happened, and no fabulous new revelations have passed. I do have a significantly cleaner yard to show for it, though, and a whole other pineapple to work through that I bought at the market, so the day was far from a waste.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here, on the sixth day, I've added a total of two hours onto my fast since the start of the week. To the great shock of anyone who's ever had the pleasure of having to deal with me in the morning, I got up and was functional(ish) without coffee at 5am. Even I am shocked by that one. It seems that I've lost a whole piece of my identity in this country: that of being an incurable, raging anti-morning person. I'm willing to admit that that's probably a positive change.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ramadan's gotten easier and easier, and the word has spread through town that I've been trying--a number of people have come up to wish me good luck on the fast. Turns out, much to my surprise, village <i>kongossa</i> (gossip) CAN work in positive ways; I've been strengthened in my conviction to finish out the week with every person who stops to ask me about my experiences with Ramadan and why I've chosen to do the fast.Even though I am looking forward to being done, I've learned a lot about Ramadan and how to survive the fast, but I think I've also gained a lot of willpower this week. Even more so, through the exhaustion, I've been able to keep a close eye on the fish farming operation (which is now one week old!!!) Still, I plan to invoke two different clauses from the Qur'an for why I won't finish out Ramadan: the physical labor of farming while I'm in Batouri, and the clause regarding travels for while I'm out and about.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Day 7/Afterward:</span><br />
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</span></u><span style="font-family: inherit;">I did it. It's done. Today is what would have been day 8 and I'm curled on my couch with a big mug of tea, something I've missed furiously this whole past week. I didn't have to set an alarm for 4:30 today, and when I did finally wake up, I didn't have to force myself to drink unthinkable amounts of water. I won't need to take motos everywhere, and I won't need to avoid that god-awful lunch hour in town. Still, it's been a great experience...and I think I might just do a few more days at the end for Fete de Ramadan. A girl'll do crazy things in the name of integration.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Things ended on the perfect note: dinner at my friend Abdoulaye's house. Abdoulaye's been possibly the most supportive person through the fast, and he's also the most intense person I know when it comes to fasting: he doesn't eat breakfast in the morning so that there's only one meal a day, and he still plays sports on weekends. I am NOT on that level, and I am perfectly okay with that. Over a delicious meal of bouillie and beignets, a cucumber salad, a potato-and-egg dish, and watermelon, we broke the fast. We watched women's soccer and talked about projects we've got planned. Is there a more perfect way to end a day than that? I don't think so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now that the fast is over, I've got a few big plans for before I leave on vacation to visit my friend Charla in the Adamaoua region. 1) Exterminate the mouse who seems to be taking refuge in my house. 2) Get a boubou (traditional West African clothing) made for Fete de Ramadan 3) Resolve some financial issues with the fish farming project 4) Try and convince the electrical company to give me my 4+-month late bill. All big things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Take care, all!</span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-21112399947025270492013-07-03T07:46:00.001-07:002013-07-03T07:46:32.712-07:00Misunderstanding<span lang="">29 June 2013<br />
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The level of misunderstanding in this country is astounding. Some of it's harmless, but much of it has led to hatred, distrust, and inequity. To some degree, it's understandable--most people don't finish their education here, and the major source of information in this country is the village <i>kongossa</i> (gossip.) Still though, much of this misunderstanding is willful and propogated as a way to justify wrongdoings or to keep a level of power/privilege, like choosing to believe that if a woman has taken off her shoes, she's consented to sex. I'm beginning to wonder if I've lost my ability to be shocked by what people have to say, but I'm hoping that the world won't take that as a challenge to throw some new offensive curveball my way. Not so sure what I'm talking about? All of the statements below are things I've heard come out of my mouth in serious conversation, and I know a number of them are comments that volunteers across the country have to reiterate frequently.<br />
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<i>"Michael Jackson is really dead, his death certificate wasn't faked, and he didn't move to an island secretly to avoid the paparazzi."<br />
"Mangoes don't give you Malaria."<br />
"Women CAN play soccer."<br />
"No, really. There's poverty in America, too. It's not just people in Africa that suffer. People die of hunger in America, too, just not as often."<br />
"AIDS wasn't an illness genetically engineered in America and sent over in condoms as a method of population control in Africa."<br />
"Rape is still rape even if you aren't wearing shoes."<br />
"President Obama may be black, but he is an American."<br />
"Americans don't love to kill people, and there are a lot of Americans that don't love war."<br />
"There are Muslims in American. There are Christians in America. Not everyone is religion-less."<br />
"A 13 year-old female is still a child, not a woman."</i></dir><i>
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In my last blog entry, I mentioned that I was about to head out to the West region to help another volunteer with her girls' camp. Well, that came and went. We trained 20 girls age 13-17 to serve as peer educators in their communities on healthy relationships, communication, puberty, and sexual health topics. For a week, we listened to every worry and misdirected rumor these girls had heard. Like American summer camps, the girls complained about cleaning latrines and limited cell-phone/electricity usage, counselors didn't get to sleep because the girls were chatting all night long, and the week concluded with girls presenting sketches that they'd created themselves. Unlike America, though, we ran out of water because girls were showering 3-4 times a day and the counselors were grumpily awakened at 5am to girls energetically running around the bunks to do each others hair and to find a place to privately shower outdoors (we had to restrict the shower facility after the girls trashed it with muddy shoes and clogged the drain.) All that said, it was amazing to see the growth in the girls--they left more confident in themselves as well as in their ability to stand up for their beliefs and rights. As for me, I left believing a little more strongly that Cameroon had a chance of development since parent after grandparent after administrator expressed their appreciation for training the girls, their desire to see the project continue, and their hope that the girls will positively use the information in their own lives.<br />
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It was in that climate that I came home to a friend of mine telling me that he was pursuing not just one 13 year-old girl, but two 13 year-old girls for marriage, one of whom would be ripped out of her family in Nigeria. This particular individual has a child older than the girls he's seeking for marriage. This desire to marry a child can't be blamed on social status or on education--he's a speaker at one of the local mosques, runs a fairly profitable business, has a university degree, and speaks 3 of the world's most predominant languages (English, Arabic, and French) as well as a number of local and regional languages. If there's anything more disheartening than this, I never want to hear it. <br />
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I'm trying to remind myself that change is coming and that more and more people are chosing marriages based on love and mutual consideration. Although it's been slow to hit West and Central Africa, feminism is coming and it will be a force to be reckoned with if the girls from the camp are any sign of the future. Normally in French I'd end that statement with "<i>incha'allah</i>" or "<i>si Dieu permit</i>" (God willing/If God permits, respectively,) but this isn't a question of God: this is a clear issue of human and social rights. There should be no question about God's will, government's role in creating a better world for women, or man's role in evening out the playing field. <br />
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Weighty subject? Yes. Important? Absolutely. <br />
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Lighter Notes:<br />
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<li>Grant money is in and the work is commencing! We got back our original technician (Ebba Oundi) who I'd worked with last year on the soy and moringa field and now the two technicians will be splitting up the work and combining their expertise. I'm now more confident that this project will finish on time and with less drama (our other technician, Franklin, is in love with my post-mate.) There will be photos soon of the project as we get work going! Let the hole digging, brick making, and HIV teaching begin!!!</li>
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<li>President Obama donated <b>$7 BILLION DOLLARS</b> to develop better electrical networks in Sub-Saharan Africa. Needless to say, this is huge. Villages that rely on generators may finally have access to actual electricity. Power outages will be less frequent: students will have better chance at success because they can study even if power's out, patients being treated in hospitals will be more likely to survive,etc. Positive opinions of America are <b>SKYROCKETING</b> as a result of this donation.</li>
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<li>I met a Cameroonian on a bus recently who works for a religious group that deals with handicapped populations. He's passing me his personal research, gave me new resources to help me figure out better ways to intervene with the kids, and gave me the numbers of a couple of groups in Yaounde that I'd been trying to figure out how to contact. </li>
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<li>I got to see a couple of close volunteer-friends recently and make some CRAZY GOOD American(ish) meals! Broccoli Alfredo? Yes please. And, found an awesome bakery in the country capital with real sandwiches! </li>
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<li>My pantry back in Batouri is officially restocked with American goodies that are <b>impossible </b>to find in my region: peanut butter, Nutella, brown sugar, ground ginger. Life is good.</li>
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<li>My fridge no longer closes without being tied shut, and it appears my ceiling has sprung a huge leak. But, at least there haven't been any unwanted animal visitors recently!</li>
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<li>Ramadan should be starting this coming Monday or Tuesday. Check back soon for details about my adventures in trying to do a week of the fast! For anyone who's details about Ramadan are a little unclear: a required month of fasting for healthy individuals (no water/food from sun-up to sun-down) to purify and show devotion to God, ends in a day-long party of meal after meal after meal (here it's called Fete de Ramadan.)</li>
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Take care, everyone!</span><br />gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-90188789007643508112013-06-14T09:34:00.000-07:002013-06-14T09:34:27.569-07:00Bats, Blogs, Burns, and Byes<span lang="">Behind every blog post I attempt to write is about 12 failed attempts. This entry alone is the third serious attempt to make a blog post happen. I start writing, and then power goes out for so long that the entry isn't relevant. I start writing, and then I get a phone call and need to run off to a meeting. I finish writing, and then I realize that the entry doesn't have a point, isn't interesting, or that I have a significantly better idea of what somebody might maybe want to read. I start writing, and I get bored and walk away. Now you all know the truth: I'm not just a bad blogger, but an undedicated one. <br />
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While I was trying to think about what I wanted to write, I looked at the blog's statistics--y'all are a sick bunch: the most popular entries have all been the ones with negative titles. What that tells me is that A) I have written more depressing blog entries than I realized (I love this country, I promise!) and B) I should probably start writing positive blogs with mis-leading titles like "Murderer on Main Street Kills 87 HIV+ Children Suffering from Dysentary!" in hopes of getting people to read it. Actually, scratch all of that, here's a better solution: tell me what you want to read about for the last five months of my service. What burning questions do you have about Batouri, about Cameroonian culture, how to deal with the electricity company when they stop giving you bills for four months? What's the one subject you feel I've left out consistently? <br />
With that said, let's move right along....<br />
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If you're looking for action and adventure in this blog post, then look no further! Things that have happened this month in Batouri:<br />
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<li>35% of the market burned down, making for a loss in over 2.000.000FCFA (about $4.000) in merchandise and cash that people had stored in their stands for "safe keeping" (few people believe in the reliability of banks in Cameroon since so many have failed Great Depression-style.) No progress has been made at rebuilding the market, so right now it's like a scavenger hunt to try and find your favorite market mommas. It's believed that the fire was caused by someone who failed to put out the fire they'd made to cook beans on for dinner. The fire began around 3am, and was stymied by a huge rainstorm that incidentally also flooded my living room. When I passed the market 12 hours later, there were still flames and smoke. Needless to say, Batouri does not have a fire department or fire insurance.</li>
<li>I had a fruit bat in my house! His name was Matt. Sadly, he was bludgeoned to death by a particularly vengeful neighbor bearing my broom. Rest in peace, little buddy, you were a good two-day pet. As for the Green Mambas, no new ones recently! My new gardener has tamed the rainforest in my front yard, and I'm no longer the gossip of the neighborhood. Halleluiah.</li>
<li>My friend's sheep had babies! They're adorable. Have I spent afternoons chasing them around the center of town attempting to hold them? Maybe.</li>
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Two weeks ago two friends of mine from training came out to visit, which was incredible! We went out to the Sacred Rocks with a picnic of tacos and boxed wine, and stayed out a few hours to stargaze. If you've ever heard stories about the night skies in Africa: they're not exaggerations. The skies look like they go on forever, stars look close enough to touch, and the shooting stars almost look like the might just crash into your little finger. So bizarre! Thanks again for the cookies, magazines, and visits, friends!!!!<br />
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I'm headed out to the West to help a volunteer with her girls' camp in her village this coming week. After four years of camp counseling girls in America, I'm really excited to see the differences in how these kids respond to being away from their families for a week. One thing is for certain: there won't be children at this camp sobbing about being forced to use a latrine or the limited access to electricity. Or, maybe I'll be eating my words this time on Monday. Details to come. By the time I get back, our money should be arrived to start the work on our pisciculture project. But, in the mean time, I am sustained with the news that 65% of the primary school students in the handicapped youth association passed their grades in school and are moving up! In a society where it's considered totally normal that everyone fails at least one grade in their life, this is a huge success for us!!<br />
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In addition to fish farming, we've been doing some work to plan a series of HIV education murals throughout the region. Stop #1 for the project is Batouri. My post-mates and I have been scoping out locations, costs, and ways to transmit the messages. Some volunteers are bringing us old brushes and materials from America so that we'll be able to do the projects at as little cost as possible (meaning paint, tint, and some soap.) I'll keep you posted as we get the details arranged!<br />
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As a country, we're starting to say our Good-Byes to the training group before mine--mind-blowing! The two girls who met us in Bertoua during our site visits and showed us around are both on their ways out over the next month. Congratulations on finishing out your services, Michelle, Justine, and Andy!!!!<br />
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I think that's it for the moment. Keep me posted on what you want to hear, and I'll do my best to make it happen!</span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-76039287584458729622013-05-17T06:25:00.001-07:002013-05-17T06:25:39.076-07:00Silures and Kanga and Tiliapia, Oh My!<span lang="">13 May 2013<br />
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About two years ago, I received that glorious, long-awaited package containing my invitation to join the Peace Corps. The memory is still vivid: I was sitting on the couch next to my Mom and our dog, and with hands shaking, I ripped open the envelope that I was convinced would hold the answers to all of my questions (<i>it didn't</i>.) My nerves were shooting through the roof as I searched the documents endlessly trying to figure out where I was being sent. I overlooked the big, bolded word <b>CAMEROON</b> on the first page, so thanks, Mama dearest, for pointing that out to me and putting all that anxiety to an end. Knowing very little about the country, the job I was being sent to do, or whether I was physically capable to handle all that this post would require of me, I unhesitatingly sent back an email that evening to confirm my acceptance as a member of the first ever class of Youth Development Coordinators in Cameroon.<br />
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Throughout the summer, I completed the barrage of things that Peace Corps asked us to do: personal statements, resumes, the Yellow Fever vaccine, and what-have-you. I read volunteer blogs, searched YouTube for videos that volunteers posted about their life in Cameroon, went shopping for all those materials that volunteers assured us were "crucial" for survival (<i>they weren't</i>,) and tied up my loose ends in America, confidently knowing that I'd be able to pick up my life exactly where I'd left it.<br />
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In retrospect, that was naive. <br />
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I remember hearing before I left that I was going to change more personally than I'd be able to change my community, but it never occured to me how much my "old bubble" would change while I was gone: deaths, terrorist attacks, engagements, graduations. When I eventually return, I won't be returning to the same America that I left. Likewise, I won't be returned to my family or friends in the same condition as I left. The longer I'm here, the more thankful I am to have such a strong base of support on all sides of the planet to support me through all of the dramas and successes that comprise a Peace Corps service. Packages, emails, letters, phone calls, monetary donations to projects: people have reached out consistently when I've needed it the most. There are no words for how appreciative I am, sappy as that might be.<br />
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There are also no words for my excitement at finding out our fish farming project has been officially selected for funding! After months of struggling and re-writing because of deadlines and agricultural seasons, my post-mate finally called me with the happy news. Mike and Melissa, I'm so proud of us!!!!!! Together, we're going to go share the good news to the association that we work with. The word "overjoyed" doesn't even come close to describing my emotions. What's a girl do to celebrate? Eat boiled green beans, onions, and green pepper while writing a blog post by candle-light. Yep, I'm celebrating pretty hard. I <i>might</i> even eat that leftover half of a pineapple from earlier.... <br />
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Anyhow, the project will be hosted by the Amicale des Handicapes de la Kadey a Batouri, a group that works to elevate the status of handicapped/HIV+/orphaned/at-risk youth and adults through access to education, vocational training, and health-care. The group is lead by a woman named Pauline, who is truly one of the most dynamic and persistent people I've ever met; while she can be a high-stress personality, I've become a more patient, aware person because of knowing her. My work with Pauline started out as just teaching the kids at a weekly youth group, but our work together grown ever since. <br />
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Starting July, work to create our 3 fish ponds for Tilapia, Kanga, Silures, and Clariases will begin, and the work will be hefty. We hope to have all of the construction completed and the fish installed by November when Mike and I leave. Likewise, we'll be training youth on reproductive and sexual health topics in order to help them avoid contracting HIV, other sexually transmitted infections, and early pregnancy. Both youth and adults will be trained on fish farming (or, pisciculture, if you want the technical word) as an opportunity to gain a vocational skill.<br />
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There are a lot of things that have happened during my service that I'm proud of, and I've never regretted coming for a second. But, if this project actually succeeds, then I will be able to leave Batouri knowing that it's a better place than when I first arrived and not just superficially: whole families will be able to better nourish their children, more youth will have access to the hospital-care that they need, more preventative medications will be available to these families, and more children will be able to be enrolled in schools. The potential implications of this are far-reaching. Amazing, right? <br />
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I'll be sure to post more details soon as they become available. In the mean-time, I hope all of you go out and celebrate Batouri cluster's success with a large cup of ice cream (or large bowl of soup, if you're being health-conscious.)<br />
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Take care, everyone!<br />
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PS. Guess who found their second-ever Green Mamba in their house last week? Apparently the Cameroonian solution is to pour used diesel around the house and around the trees where they're frequently found. My friend gave me some diesel this morning, so keep your fingers crossed that this works for me!</span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-3188517858907743272013-04-20T04:34:00.002-07:002013-04-20T04:34:36.799-07:00PeaceDespite, or perhaps because of, the instability of Cameroon's neighboring countries, Cameroonians are quick to remind you that this is a country of peace. Considering all of the drama in Nigeria, Chad, the Congo, and the CAR, it's incredibly telling just how zealous people here safeguard the notion of peace. The Cameroonian president, Paul Biya, is known country-wide as a man of peace, and rhetoric pretty much dictates that at least once in every conversation you need to make the statement that "<em>Le Cameroun est la paix</em>," or some derivitive thereof. I've found myself in debates frequently about whether justice and righteousness are more important than peace; as it turns out, American's value peace in a whole different way than any Cameroonian I've ever met. <br />
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Cameroonians value peace as an essential quality for life, and become quickly embarrassed if the peace is compromised for any reason. Corruption is acceptable because it helps to keep the peace and stability of the country, the region, and the town. Although religion is an important part of the cultural values, religious values that promote justice are suppressed if they might be considered a justification to break the peace--whether either Islamic, Christian, or Animist. It's for this reason that a lot of times Cameroonians have a difficult time understanding American foreign policy and current events. Cameroonians are personally offended by the violence in America perpetrated by citizens; more than once, I've been told that they could never live in a country like America where people are free to create violence as they choose. All that said, though, despite our differences in beliefs, there's a feeling of mutuality and togetherness in the losses that America's suffered this year between the bombing at the Boston Marathon, school shootings, and the movie theater shooting. As Americans, we're at a critical decision-making time of how we want to respond and the kind of relationships we want to foster for the future.<br />
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It's easy for stereotypes and prejudice to fester after moments like this. The overarching goal of terrorism is to create fear to further the hatred, so it's important that rather than closing ourselves off from "the outside" and "the others," we keep reaching out and seeking to understand other people and places. In this country, most of my best friends are Muslim. We've watched the news together and worried about the future of the people and places affected by terrorism and discussed how religion is sometimes manipulated by people into a force for hatred. People have called me frequently to check and make sure all of my friends and family members are safe and to apologize for the fates that have befallen the American people. The Boston Marathon Terrorist Attack is a tragedy, but rather than shutting ourselves off from everone else, we need to try and open ourselves up to learning about others and creating understanding. There are bad Muslims. There are bad Christians. There are bad atheists. More importantly, though, there are incredible people belonging to each major faith group. We are all together in this fight, because whether we want to believe it or not, this is a fight that affects everyone worldwide. <br />
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That may all be seen as a soapbox, or as being out of line. Or, maybe not. Either way, though, let's move right along onto something a little less controversial.<br />
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Word's starting to hit us here that the new class of Peace Corps Cameroon Youth Development Volunteers has already started to receive their invitations. If you're one of them, congratulations!! I hope that as you read through the past (and future!) entries of this blog, you have a better understanding of the ups and downs of service; it won't always be easy, but it will always be worth it. Ideally, you should really, <em>really</em>, <em><strong>REALLY</strong></em> want to take over my post, as it's definitely one of the best places in the country. Or, something like that. The rest of y'all, well, thanks for staying with me this long and putting up with my relatively frequent soapboxes. I officially have dates for my Close of Service Conference: there is no denying that the end is coming.<br />
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Up until then, though, I'm staying busy both integration-wise and work-wise. I've been eating mounds and mounds and mounds and mounds of Couscous de Manioc and Koko (a green, peanut-based sauce with grass-like leaves in it.) Sound appetizing? Probably not, but, man, there's a good reason that people in Batouri tell you that once you've eaten Koko, you'll never want to leave again. I also finally made a seriously fabulous female friend one morning while buying eggs at the corner boutique. And, I finally made it out to visit the gold mines, which was a weird experience. I'll try and right a separate blog focusing just on that, but it was mind-blowing seeing the degree of environmental degradation and work conditions that people endure for such a small amount of gold. Work-wise, I'm staying busy with youth group, grant applications, and doing work on Women's Rights advocacy to prevent violence against women.<br />
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Right now, I'm in Yaounde. We just finished up our Youth Development Steering Committee meeting, and I'm headed up to Ngaoundere (the capital of the Adamaoua region) tomorrow night for our second Mid-Service training...which apparently is intended less to be informative than to be a giant publicity grabber. Tonight, I'm headed out to a concert being hosted by an NGO that works on Malaria awareness, prevention, and treatment.<br />
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<strong><u>Take care and stay safe!</u></strong></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celerating Women's Day with some of my favorite little ladies!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicX8OVg2xVuW6FdPyo7sZbcHrwrn_y2WyLianpOr9F3b78Yu8CgWkAWrahNTu2H8vVjOvtVdYsUwbcFkqDD6HrnxhL2zhWtIjJddlkzrejI_VlMrYFYlEkmEzXZJsC3ZeQoAP-XeX4By8/s1600/small2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicX8OVg2xVuW6FdPyo7sZbcHrwrn_y2WyLianpOr9F3b78Yu8CgWkAWrahNTu2H8vVjOvtVdYsUwbcFkqDD6HrnxhL2zhWtIjJddlkzrejI_VlMrYFYlEkmEzXZJsC3ZeQoAP-XeX4By8/s320/small2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awareness seminar on Women's Rights and Violence Against Women in Ndelele, East Cameroon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhGWK77aN8swWede8QP12DoYvgNyXiOhFksMabv4BlhyphenhyphenhvzDwie-1fLbmyhRIzVMOXCv5VLpjB1QIKoU2Z5VSP2nb1bMBNmUW2zt76l6ANLL_94WsXXPXFgIjwcjoUdo1bv-LsFWv3_o/s1600/small4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhGWK77aN8swWede8QP12DoYvgNyXiOhFksMabv4BlhyphenhyphenhvzDwie-1fLbmyhRIzVMOXCv5VLpjB1QIKoU2Z5VSP2nb1bMBNmUW2zt76l6ANLL_94WsXXPXFgIjwcjoUdo1bv-LsFWv3_o/s320/small4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rainforest in Kambele, a village just outside of where I live.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfjh-MKCxnpjIOix_TRK_uK3ZCuSCey08MKw4dsXT3fEI21lFCaqbSk0zxibjpustVrvpbIdwv2BQE4bnNiOZesIqD0v4VyYCA6Xv1xGAVj1Hq76MsSoqhUJJl1r0ZjuE7lUbfdz9QJA/s1600/DSCF7031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJfjh-MKCxnpjIOix_TRK_uK3ZCuSCey08MKw4dsXT3fEI21lFCaqbSk0zxibjpustVrvpbIdwv2BQE4bnNiOZesIqD0v4VyYCA6Xv1xGAVj1Hq76MsSoqhUJJl1r0ZjuE7lUbfdz9QJA/s320/DSCF7031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scratch that: gold-mining in Kambele. Well, hello, there, Malaria, global warming, and environmental destruction. Everyday, these mines find more than 1.000 dollars worth of gold flakes per day, although there are also diamonds and sapphires in the area.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8hM14wnj_8AAEmqj-2HUMH5KdfseJNJ4p705IGcC4eZ2DWJsfw8SCDLOUHbWvsWcmSWQ4MoFSembA7faVD9bNGkhcAetHQeio_V9_I6y6FDPNzKtukcwkPVe-r6LTcDN5gOwwizmPRE/s1600/small5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE8hM14wnj_8AAEmqj-2HUMH5KdfseJNJ4p705IGcC4eZ2DWJsfw8SCDLOUHbWvsWcmSWQ4MoFSembA7faVD9bNGkhcAetHQeio_V9_I6y6FDPNzKtukcwkPVe-r6LTcDN5gOwwizmPRE/s320/small5.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michelle, one of the little girls I work with. She'd been in the hospital about 2 weeks ago following a fall in a latrine, but now she's back to being her ultra-sassy self.</td></tr>
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gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-49112267315794105282013-03-07T02:21:00.001-08:002013-03-07T02:21:19.568-08:00The Suns and the Rains
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5 March 2013<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Suddenly, I’m
finding myself asking the all-important question: where did all my time go? Looking
at what’s left, I’m feeling pressed for time and like I have a
lot to cram in before this coming December. There’s a lot to do, a lot to
learn, a lot to experience, and not much time left to go. A number of “lasts”
and mile markers of PC Cameroon service have happened recently: Mid-Service
Training, my last Christmas/New Year’s/Valentine’s Day in country, my last
Youth Day celebration, and my last In-Service Training. I’m about to celebrate
my last Women’s Day in Cameroon and to celebrate my last Easter as a Peace
Corps Volunteer. I can count the months until my Close of Service Conference on
one hand, and I can count the months of service left on less than 10 fingers.
If there was ever a time that basic math was fun, it’s this time right here: 27
months-17.5 months complete=9.5 months. My mind is officially blown by how
little time remains—I remember being amazed when I first lasted in Cameroon
nine months!</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Looking back,
there are a lot of bizarre things that strike me about Peace Corps; from
learning tips on how to prevent having snakes in my house to being taught how
to best butcher a chicken, there’s never been a day when there hasn’t been some
kind of survival skill to learn. These skills are useful, yes, and (sometimes)
have the ability of being useful in the States, but the most striking thing
I’ve come to learn is that less technology you have and the less developed your
community is, the more vulnerable you are to “the elements” and the less
control you have over your daily life. This seemed kind of exciting the first
go-around, but now that this actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feels</i>
like my life and not some crazy-long tourist adventure, the excitement has
given out to frustration and feelings of restriction.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Weather here works
in extremes and theoretically in cycles: long dry season, short wet season,
short dry season, long wet season. Every season has its own weird reality and
particularities, and they're getting more extreme as climate change takes hold--it's predicted that the average temperature in my community will rise another 5-10 degrees farhenheit; no one here debates the existence of climate change, and it's so engrained that even the most uneducated people can point to specific examples of how the climate/weather has changed in the community (dates of the rains, rise of temperature, decrease of the rains, etc.)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The precipitation amounts change each season, and so do the
temperatures, but so do food availability, workload, attendance at
school/work/meetings, road conditions, and health risks. There aren’t any
weather reports here, so you need to be intuitive about what’s likely to
happen, and also about what else might still happen. Ultimately, you should
prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and be willing to go with whatever
ends up happening. No person can control weather, but there are things that
make it easier to manage: consistent access to transportation, infrastructure,
weather reports, consistent phone reception, safe housing structures,
insurance. Clearly, those things don’t tend to exist in a lot of the places
where Peace Corps tends to work. From where I stand in Cameroon, the lack of
shelter from weather has created and reinforced a belief that God makes all
decisions for humankind and that NOTHING can be changed or can deviate from
that path. If there’s any mentality that impedes and stunts development: it’s
that one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Earlier this week,
I was returning from training the new Youth Development Volunteers at their
In-Service Training. We all thought we were still in long dry season, turns out
we’re not: a freak storm hit while we were traveling, and NONE of us were
dressed for the weather or prepared for the consequences. I did everything I
could to prepare, mainly meaning that I called someone in Batouri to figure
out how the rain was there to decide whether I should travel. It turns out I
made the wrong choice: our car pin-balled across the road for hours because of
the weather. A little girl’s carsickness made her vomit everywhere, we lost
control of the car and ran over a piglet, got stuck in mud for 45-minutes while
a group of bribed villagers helped our driver get our car un-stuck, and
everyone struggled to make it back into the car because everybody was dressed
in the requisite dry-season-travel sandals. Welcome to rainy season travel in
Eastern Cameroon, world. </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s a girl to
do, though, when you’re out with friends and a freak storm hits? There aren’t
any motorcycles to give you a ride home, and even if you are, the road is dirt
and the driving conditions get bad quickly. I don’t live in the center of town,
so when these freak storms, I have to retreat to one of my post-mate’s houses;
this week, it ended in an entirely unexpected sleepover at my post-mate’s house
since there was no way to get back to my own. It's not uncommon for people to miss work, doctor's appointments, meetings, etc. because of these freak storms. Nobody has much control over their daily lives in rainy season.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s a whole
code of rainy season survival tips, and you learn them fast once you start
living it. Once a storm hits, it’s important to immediately put out your
buckets and bowls because you don’t know if water will go out and for how long.
Today, I collected about 30L of rain water to prepare…just in case. I still
have running water at the moment, but I also still remember the time that water
was out in town for two weeks and I had a visitor. You get really good at ready
the signs of whether a storm is going to hit: stillness followed by a strong
wind wind, a dark sky, leaves on the trees turning upwards. You learn to avoid
walking underneath mango trees because mangoes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">frequently</i> drop to the ground, and they aren’t exactly a light
fruit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You don’t just
feel the effects of weather in big ways. You grow to learn that if it starts
raining and you have a meeting starting in 30 minutes, don’t bother showing up,
because they’re not going to either since transportation is null. After a few
days, you perfect your technique of waking up that shopkeeper who’s taking the
requisite “it’s painfully hot in dry season” nap. Certain clothes can’t be worn
in certain seasons, and because hand-washing is really the only system here,
you learn which techniques work best on the mud versus the dirt. You learn that
cement holds heat, and that during dry season, it’s much better to cook
outdoors over a fire if you have the possibility. You also learn which seasons have the most cockroaches, which for me is...right now. Eff. You move around less from 10-4p, and you grow to plan your daily activities based on the availability of shade and water.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is my last
short wet season. Am I going to get nostalgic for these freak storms and get
paranoid about putting out buckets? Most likely. Still, it’s going to be
magical not to have to put life on hold for days while everyone waits for the
ground to dry out.</span></span></div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-32593038705173684002013-02-14T08:40:00.000-08:002013-02-14T08:40:17.957-08:00All the Skills!
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">9 February 2013<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are a lot of useful, work-related skills you gain (or, at
least, have the opportunity to gain) as a Peace Corps Volunteer. There are even
more that really have nothing to do with the reality of what most of us live
like and work like in America. With only 10-months left of service, I’ve been
finding myself thinking a lot about the “logical next step” and how to get
there from where I am right now. I’m a little out-of-shape in the department of
résumé-making and job applications, but right now, mine is looking a little
like this:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stephanie
Gasior<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Youth Development Volunteer: Peace
Corps, 2011-2013<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">B.P. 39 Batouri, East Region, Cameroon<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Making Croissants and Pains au
Chocolat<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer is able to, with assistance
and without the use of an oven or conventional tools, create edible,
butter-filled deliciousness to be enjoyed at any hour of the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Filling Polypots<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer quickly, knowledgably, and
capably can fill polypots in preparation for Moringa Trees.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">§<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer
can explain the benefit of Moringa Trees and distribute grown samples to a
loud, pushing group of Host Country Nationals<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Texting in French Abbreviations<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer can effectively communicate
a message through a short SMS by utilizing French abbreviations including
“dmn,” “bjr,” and “ajd’hui.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer can understand texting
abbreviations and lingo…most of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Using a Machete for Yard-Work<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When time permits, volunteer is able
to do her own yard-work with a machete without inflicting bodily injury to
herself or others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reading Mercury Thermometers<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When wondering if she’s sick,
volunteer is able to clearly read and clear a mercury thermometer in either
Celsius or Farenheit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Explaining the Purpose of the
Electoral College<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In either French or English, volunteer
is able to explain the function and purpose of the Electoral College while
maintaining that the existence of an Electoral College does not annul the
American democratic system.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Making Tofu<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Given certain materials including soy
beans and vinegar, volunteer is able to create tofu adhering to the taste sets
of both Americans and Cameroonians as well as to preach to the importance of
protein for youth and pregnant women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Saying “No” to Marriage Proposals<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Without being phased, volunteer is
able to say “NO!” to marriage proposals including by asking horrendous dowries,
explaining that she’s already married to numerous men, explaining the
importance of love in a marriage, explaining the demanding nature of American
women, ignoring the question, and forcefully responding in the negative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eating Food with Hands<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Without the use of utensils, volunteer
can quickly clean all fish-meat from bones. Volunteer successfully uses
couscous of a types (except corn when avoidable) to mop up sauces of all types
without making too much of a mess out of herself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level3 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">§<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer
has retained the ability to use a fork and spoon when necessary, and excels at
using knives when cutting food out of the palm of the hand rather than on a
plate or flat service.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Early Morning Productivity<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With or without the aid of
early-morning rooster crowing, volunteer is able to drag herself out of bed
early, make coffee, eat breakfast, work-out, shower, plan/schedule five
different work meetings, and finish all her shopping at the market before
nine-thirty am. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Riding Motorcycles<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer is able to strap on a
helmet, mount a motorcycle from the left side, give directions loudly from
underneath a helmet, dismount from the left side, and pay a moto-taxi-man the
correct fare. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Using a Bucket-Flush Toilet or Pit
Latrine<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer has mastered the use of all
forms of toilets and latrines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hand-Washing Jeans<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Without the use of a brush or other
abrasive surface, volunteer can hand-wash a pair of jeans to be cleaner than
the washing machine at the office in Yaounde.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cleaning Vegetables<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer knows and practices proper
vegetable-cleaning methods including bleaching, scrubbing, and peeling. When
boiling, volunteer actually lets the water come to a boil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Waiting Patiently<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">o<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Volunteer is able to calmly sit
through long, repetitive work meetings as well as breakdowns on the side of the
road without compromising personal opinions on timeliness or being prepared for
inevitabilities.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Other non-descript skills: tearing into packages in about 4
seconds flat, cleaning and preparing beans, washing dishes, holding babies,
entertaining small children with weird facial expressions, organizing coloring
books, avoiding bush meat</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yep, hear that sound? Those are all the job offers for a new age, politically-minded
chef/house-keeper rolling in. So many practical job skills!</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should say that I feel like I’ve gained practical, marketable
skills, too, and that I actually have an idea of what the “next step” is, which
I didn’t before I came here. But, it’s been these more un-tangible,
un-marketable skills that have defined my experience and pushed my boundaries. There’s
training for work, partners on the ground to teach you along the way, and
resources to consult that can help you define your work, but the only way to
learn how to deal with going without (insert favorite American good here,) or
to learn to manage a household, or to be comfortable in your own skin is to
learn through your individual experience. It’s been almost seventeen months in
Cameroon, fourteen of which I’ve been living as one of three or four Americans
in a city of 40,000 Cameroonians. Those experiences can’t be boiled down to a
short bullet-point on a piece of paper, they become a part of a person. And
that’s where I am now, trying to figure out what the niche in the American job
market is for a cockroach-killing, bean-sorting, fidelity-encouraging, female
French-speaker….</span></span></div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-90353761616610815812013-01-05T07:10:00.000-08:002013-01-05T07:10:06.269-08:00Lucky Number '13 (hopefully!)<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">1 January 2013</span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Today is a momentous one. After years and years of trying, I finally
entered into my uncharted territory. If you’re expecting a profound statement
about cultural diversity or work, you’re about to be massively disappointed.
But, I finally achieved a ridiculous life goals I set for myself
years ago on a bored Saturday afternoon: I beat Spider Solitaire on Difficult
Mode. I attribute this win to my friend Ali who sent me a text this morning to
wish that 2013 brings me all that past years have refused me. First choice?
Maybe not, but it still feels weirdly exciting. Thanks, universe!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The last time I wrote, I was not in the best place mentally. Things have
gotten better, but I’m still glad that I wrote a blog post from that
perspective. I always feel guilty talking about the negatives because I don’t
want people to think terrible things about Cameroon or the Peace Corps, but it’s
also unrealistic to paint a picture from only the rose-colored glasses side of
life. It’s liberating, and I’m going to try harder to keep things balanced.
Consider that my New Year’s Resolution if you’re into that kind of thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">With it being the opening of 2013, it seems high time to have a chat
about holidays and parties, especially considering that last night I went to
the strangest New Year’s Eve party of my life. Last year, I arrived just before
Christmas and New Year’s and I spent both of them with Americans in towns that weren't my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This holiday season, I’m a year in. Nowadays,
I can actually communicate, I’m more socially adept in the Cameroonian context,
I spent both holidays “in village,” and have apparently gained a reputation in
government circles for being tougher than a boulder. After a full day of
grinning ear to ear because of all the wishes of “Bon année!” and “Bonne
fête!,” it’s time to address some of what I’ve learned the past two weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="background: white; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ten Things I Learned This Holiday Season</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If you ever are invited to do a <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secret
Santa exchange with a group of Cameroonians, especially social heavy-weights
(“Grands,”) acceptable gifts include Chanele No. 5 Paris Parfum from the
People’s Republic of China, gaudy silver and pastel blue clocks, tee-shirts,
and porcelain plates. Giving bottles of wine or baked goods à la America would
be a social faux pas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You can bake some pretty killer cookies without an oven. Sugar cookies
baked in a skillet? Don’t mind if I do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If you are at a New Year’s Party hosted by a priest, expect to be
awkwardly herded into Mass just before midnight, and no, it doesn’t matter that
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everyone</i></b>
at the party is already buzzed. Also, you’re going to have to read a confusing
French Bible verse with words you’ve never seen before in front of everyone.
Good luck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Normally, at Cameroonian functions, you can expect everyone to be a half
hour to an hour late. This is not true at the holidays: everyone will be about
3.5 hours late. This gives you sufficient time to eat all the fish heads,
chicken necks, and hunks of cow fat…or the many other <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actual</i> delicious things on the holiday spread. Your choice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Complaints about holiday weight gain are not just an American thing. In
a country that generally views weight-gain as a fantastic thing, even
Cameroonians are complaining about the weight that they’ve put on. I may have
gorged myself on American food while other volunteers were in Batouri to
celebrate with us, but at least every Cameroonian in town feels the same way
about themselves. Zero guilt. This was a well-celebrated season!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There is no direct translation for “reindeer” in Cameroonian French.
Rudolph is now a red-nosed antelope. Luckily, Cameroonian Christmas music is
actually only church music, and the only New Year’s music that I’ve heard
repeats “Bon année, Bon année, Bon année-o, Bon année!” the entire song. I may
never get it out of my head ever again. Pray you never have to celebrate a new
year with me in the future.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">When preparing to go out to a Cameroonian party, you need to leave your
American self behind. Cameroonian women who are “out” in the social world are
divas. You have the option of wearing something uncomfortably tight, low-cut,
leopard printed, blinged out, or any combination thereof. The more make-up you
wear, the more respected you will be, as evidenced by the trend of plucking off
your eyebrows and replacing them with a thin line of painted on liquid liner.
Your hair should be a perfectly coiffed expression of your personality.*
Shaving is considered a violation of all that is natural, normal, and
beautiful. Reason number 484856 that it’s difficult to make female friends in
this country.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There is always room for another surprise. Always. Stop trying to
prepare for it, because there’s always going to be someone who does something,
someone who has something, or something that just happens for no reason. You can’t
control it, it just is what it is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In “Happy New Year” text messages, it’s customary to wish two to three
specific things that you hope for each person. My wish this year for all my
workaholic friends in town is tranquility. For all you on the other side of the
planet, I hope that 2013 brings you peace, conviction, and the strength to make
it through all that life throws your way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">You get what you pay for: you can treat your friends like bad Chinese
sandals that last for two weeks, or you can treat them like a rare pair of
American tennis shoes that will survive everything the world has to throw at
you. When you treat someone like family, you’ll get it back when you need it
the most. You’re only as alone as you let yourself be. This holiday season,
I’m thankful to have everyone back at home as well as a family of volunteers
and Cameroonian friends to help get me through it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So, lucky number 2013. I’ve got a good feeling about this one. After
all, if I’ve finally won a round of Spider Solitaire on difficult, who knows
what magic tomorrow may bring?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">*</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">My hair was done today by a team of 6 different 2-7 year olds. I’m
pretty sure about a quarter of what I used to have was ripped out in the
process. If my hair is an expression of my personality, my personality must be
chaotic and going in all different directions. I work with the best kids on
this side of the Atlantic, it’s official.</span><br />
</div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-52849556099750686652012-12-28T05:02:00.001-08:002012-12-28T05:02:30.927-08:00And sometimes, nothing works.<span lang="FR" style="font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">27-12-2012<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There’s really only one word to describe how I’m feeling right
now: exhausted—physically, emotionally, and socially. There’s a burn-out on the
horizon, and right now it feels totally out of my control. We’ve got that old
saying of “you win some, you lose some,” and if that’s true, then I’m ready to
win a few battles and for things to calm down. Hear that, universe? I’m calling
for a truce effective…err…three days ago. </span></span><span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s not enough to have your personal life exploding, usually you’re
having problems at work or with friends in town and with other volunteers, too.
And, you’re far enough away from everyone and everything that it all just
multiplies because you’re stuck brooding once things start going wrong.
Everybody has their limit, and mine has been reached.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I haven’t done a very good job about talking honestly about the
things I find difficult with life here or about different problems I’ve faced.
It’s not that I don’t want to give the whole picture, it’s that I’m too
overwhelmed by those moments and I’d rather not immortalize them. I’m a year
into my service and I still don’t feel like I have done anything that matters
some days. If I left tomorrow, would anyone feel like I’ve contributed anything
or that their life is better because I was here? I don’t know. I may be a
better person for having been here, but is that enough to justify it? Commence
the Mid-Service Crisis. I have 12 months (or less) left to make this matter,
and I don’t know that it’s enough. Most days I’m positive that it’s worth it
and that I’ve made slow, steady progress both personally and for the community,
but it’s those other days and weeks that can really be enough to make you
question everything.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll take a breather now and try to give an example.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Two of the children I’ve worked with passed
away while I was in the US because of malnutrition and the sudden stop of AIDS
anti-retrovirals to Batouri. Another couple of the kids I work with have chosen
to return to living on the streets and to gold-mining instead of finishing out
their education. The AIDS rate at my post has risen to close to 12%. I’ve also
learned that less than 20% of the kids in my youth group have birth
certificates, meaning that they can’t travel, can’t legally finish their
education, and can’t ever hold jobs; in all of Batouri, the percentage of kids
with birth certificates is still less than 50%. These aren’t exactly the kind
of things that make you feel great about having hope for change in your
community, so I already wasn’t feeling great about the way things are going
here. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right after returning from vacation, I was given a suitcase of
random toys and art supplies for my youth group kids from a development group.
Some of the things in the suitcase were useful, and some weren’t, but the
bigger problem was that the group and the woman I work with were somehow under
the impression that the suitcase was full of clothing and school supplies. The
fault lies on both sides; the donors emphasized that the “suitcase is so large
it’ll take two people to carry it” [it didn’t] and the Cameroonians made
assumptions that the group was rich enough to send everything they could ever
want in new, spotless condition. I broke the news, and it didn’t go over
well—because I was the only non-Cameroonian around, I automatically became the
scapegoat at fault.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We planned a Christmas
party to give out the gifts we did have and to celebrate the success of the
students this trimester. We made plans for numerous important officials to
attend, made a menu of American and Cameroonian foods to prepare, and created a
list of kids in the group who deserved the gifts. Problem #1: there weren’t
enough gifts to give out to all 70 children. Problem #2: not all of the gifts
were relevant or useful. Problem #3: we accidentally forgot to put about 15
kids on the list. Problem #4: none of the officials we invited bothered to show
up after assuring us that they’d attend. My post-mates and I spent hours
sorting out the gifts, buying more gifts to make up for the fact that we didn’t
have enough, baking cookies, preparing tofu, budgeting, creating invitations,
etc., and none of that was enough. Nothing went right. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can prepare and prepare and prepare and give your everything,
and still everything fails. Nothing makes you feel quite as great about
yourself as seeing 10 kids crowded around a plate of food screaming, hitting
each other, and refusing to share, except for seeing a group of children crying
about how their notebooks aren’t of the right lineage or having a parent
complain that the toy you gave their child is pointless and won’t help them to
succeed. One of my boys is currently ranked as the student with the best grades
of all the five secondary schools of Batouri, and all I could do for him was
give him a pat of the back, two notebooks, two pencils, a sharpener, and a pen.
There’s a certain sense of injustice inherent in all of this: if these kids
were in your average American home, they’d be receiving at least twenty times
what they received today. I’m embarrassed and irritated, but I also feel
helpless: I physically can’t do more than I’ve done. When your best isn’t good
enough, what do you do then? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had a cold that’s been kicking my butt for a week now. I
broke my stove baking cookies. I burned both arms multiple times whenever a
batch of cookies would finish. The ants have taken over my kitchen. Every time
any liquid goes down the drain in my sink, it floods my kitchen floor creating
a disgusting muddy mess. The roosters won’t stop crowing. I’m out of mint tea.
I haven’t had time to do my laundry, and I’m running out of respectable looking
clothes to wear since everything is covered in dust. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. I’m
not feeling like I’m in a great place right now, but I’m telling myself that
this is temporary. I keep trying to remind myself that you need to go through
lows like this to appreciate when things actually do go right. But, at the same
time, I can feel myself becoming more and more jaded and disenchanted.
Something’s got to give.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With all those complaints said, I feel like I should balance them
a little with a few positive things: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>--My
post-mates and I are going to my Counter-Part’s New Year’s Eve party.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>--Cameroonians
really liked the sugar cookies we baked, and a couple of people want to learn
how to bake them so that they can start selling them in town. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--Marissa arrives to Cameroon on
January 6<sup>th</sup>!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--I had a great Christmas with all the
other volunteers who came to visit us in Batouri. I may now own a Blue Power
Ranger mask compliments of a white elephant exchange ;)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--I met a really interesting secondary
school student who spoke surprisingly clear English and who asked a couple of
very intelligent, forward-thinking questions.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--The cold mornings and evenings mean
that I’ve been shamelessly indulging in coffee and tea, which has been great.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--The new Regina Spektor CD: I’m in
love.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">--Starting Saturday, I’ll finally have
a few work-free days to decompress and catch up on life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Here’s to the power of positivity?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take care, all, and have a very happy (and safe) New Year!</span></span><br />
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gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-35180756670334417852012-12-18T01:53:00.001-08:002012-12-18T01:56:32.324-08:00Bringin' Dusty Back<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">14 December 2012<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">So, here I am: back in Cameroon and very
quickly falling back into the same routine I was in before I left. My house is
a little fuller of American goodies and photos, but it’s also a lot fuller of
red dust, dead insects, cobwebs, and wood-dust left for me by my friends the
termites. The seasons changed while I was gone, but otherwise, things are the
same as I left them. The best way to put it is: it’s a relief to be back. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">I know I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been
trying to culture myself and read big pieces of literature I’d never read in
the US. For the past month or so, I’ve been leisurely working through
Steinbeck’s <u>East of Eden</u>, and the other day I found this gem of a
dialogue between characters Adam and Samuel about Samuel’s upcoming travels to
visit his children:<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">“You’ve earned it. You’ve
worked hard enough on that dust heap of yours.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">“I love that dust heap,” Samuel
said. “I love it the way a bitch loves her runty pup. I love every flint, the
plow-breaking outcroppings, the thin and barren topsoil, the waterless heart of
her. Somewhere in my dust heap there’s a richness.” (Chapter 24, section 1, p.
297)<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">It’s a begrudging love and one that you
have to laugh at yourself for, but this dry season, Batouri is my version of
Samuel’s dust heap. I can’t easily explain what it is that I love about
Batouri—it’s loud, messy, unpredictable, and far from glamorous, but it’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mine</i> and definitely full of possibility.
A lot of the things that I love about it here <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">are</i> the things that make it difficult and frustrating to live in.
I’ll be the first to criticize Batouri nine times out of ten, but it remains
that I’m possessive, defensive, and loyal to my town to the core. I feel the
same way about America. It’s a blessing to be in love with two places that are
so different and that offer so many different things. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">It was great to be back in America and to
spend time with family, friends, bad television, an oven, and a non-foam
mattress, but if you’re reading this, I probably saw you, talked to you, or
you’ve chatted with my family, so I’d rather save some space in this entry to
talk about things that aren’t my vacation. You’d think coming back would be
difficult; no one in their right mind would be glad to be without electricity
again, right? I feel cleansed and refreshed, though. I’m feeling like I can
finish out this last year strong. One last year: that’s all I have left to do
and learn everything that I’m missing. I’ve spent more time in Cameroon than I
have left on my contract. Mind-blowing. Cue a few long minutes of
self-reflection. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">Since coming back, things have been calm. School’s
are out for break, and everything in town is pretty slow (minus a steady growth
of toy vendors that keep popping up everywhere.) I’ve had a few meetings since
coming back, but otherwise have mostly spent time trying to catch up on
cleaning, catching up with friends, and trying to avoid getting hit by the
motos. Oops. My friend tells me December is the month when secret societies who
do evil and various spirits/sorcerors try to meet their quota of evil deeds by
causing motorcycle and car accidents; I’m attributing the increased number of
accidents to people drinking too much because of the holidays and not being
able to see well because of the dust. Cultural lesson of the day: superstition
holds a special place in the heart of Cameroonians. Whatever the reason for all
these accidents, I’m doing a lot more walking than usual. I like the idea of
keeping my head attached to the rest of my body. I also like the idea of
someday being able to navigate through the nooks and crannies of my
neighborhood without having to ask someone what road I need to take home; one
year down, and I still get lost trying to get home. Ridiculous. But, back to
the realm of work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">I attempted to teach my youth group
“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” which was mostly hysterical and adorable, but
one of my older kids who’s in the English section of the Bilingual High School
mastered it. Little successes, right? The kids are going to sing it at our
Christmas party December 27<sup>th.</sup> We’re going to prepare Cameroonian
and American food (American food being tofu and french fries…I’m sure the
majority of you are cringing at that,) exchanging gifts of toys and school
supplies that I’ve gotten as donations, and singing the song for the parents
and government delegates who will hopefully show up. I’m also catching up to
speed on the millions of changes that are happening at my host institution (the
formation of a support group for people in town with Hypertension and Diabetes,
the creation of a “governing council” with three separate arms to ensure that
the group doesn’t get swallowed up into the Catholic Mission, the selection of
new families to receive donations, change of days for donations, etc.) <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">On the horizon, I’ve got a big Christmas
celebration to look forward to, a New Year’s Eve celebration with coworkers in
village, the visit of my bestie from the US, Mid-Service with the other Youth
Development Volunteers at the end of January, and serving as a trainer for the
new Youth Development Volunteers at their In-Service Training at the end of
February. It’s going to be a lot of back-and-forth from Yaounde and beyond, so
here’s to hoping that things with transportation start calming down (which they
should, since December’s already almost over!) It’s about to be a busy few
months, so I’m relishing this last week of quiet and being alone at home! <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">For those of you who asked while I was home
about easy, always appreciated things to send to me when I’m here: Crystal
Light, packets of cereal and oatmeal, instant soup packets, instant coffee
(bonus points for Starbucks Via!), tea, Ziploc bags, seasoning/sauce packets,
photos, dried fruit, magazines, incense. I hope that helps, if not, I’m always
happy to talk about what random American items I’m missing badly. Finally, for
anyone who may want to know, I bought a second SIM Card for my phone—you can
now reach me at either (237)74 05 79 85 or (237)98 82 41 29.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; color: #eeeeee;"></span><br />
<div style="background: white;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="background-color: black;">Take care, everyone!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-25188963492692297792012-11-10T02:47:00.001-08:002012-11-10T02:47:53.220-08:00America!Birthday cake. Pink lady apples. Broccolli Cheddar Soup. Grapes. Spinach Salad. Stuffed Shells. Portobello Burgers. McFlurries. Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches. Diet Mountain Dew.<br />
<br />
America, you are so good at making food. You're kind of incredible. Really. I've missed you. It's funny some of the things you miss that you <em>never</em> cared for when you were in still State-side. Who <em>ever</em> wants to eat meatloaf besides a Peace Corps Volunteer idealizing everything they can't have? If America had to have a taste, I'm pretty sure it'd be ketchup. And your amazing, meat-less meals: those are heaven. To that, all I have to say is: <strong><u><span style="font-size: large;">BRING IT ON</span></u></strong>.<br />
<br />
I've been in Yaounde a couple of days now enjoying hot showers, salads, pizza, and English. The city has put up a good fight, but it can't compare: I am so ready to fly out of here and into America tomorrow night. I'll be there from November 12-December 1st, and talking to other PCVs, the general reaction is "Wow. You've lasted this long without leaving the country? Wow." It's time.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of predictable things to miss about the US: food, a well-formed justice system, transparent government with only very limited incidents of corruption, women's rights, family, English. There are a lot of other, more strange things that I miss, though--the things that touch your life on the most basic level, things I never really reflected on before leaving to come here.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Trash Disposal: Garbage menhouse on predictable intervals to get rid of your refuse? HEAVEN! We burn all our garbage here, but since I don't have an area of ground that wouldn't catch on fire, I have to throw things in other peoples' trash piles. Nothing makes you feel so rich as having to reflect on the last pile you threw your Vache Qui Rit wrappers in in hopes that the community won't notice.</li>
<li>Punctuality: African time runs notoriously a minimum of a half hour behind, almost always more. I've waited up to five hours to have meetings.</li>
<li>Reliable phone reception: Nothing is more fun than having an important conversation that ends up getting dropped or every second word missing. Truly. </li>
<li>Restaurants that actually have every item on their menu</li>
<li>Shop-keepers that don't sleep on the job and get irritated about you waking them off</li>
<li>Coffee Shops</li>
<li>Fixed prices</li>
<li>Not having to worry about termites eating your furniture</li>
<li>Being able to wear shorts when it's hot outside</li>
<li>Anonymity</li>
</ul>
Don't get me wrong, there's a lot I love about this country. There's a lot I get frustrated with about America. It's easy to have an idealized version of what life was like in America and to slam Cameroon for all its negatives. But right now, that doesn't matter: I'm heading home.<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">My youth group kids singing a song to me that they wrote. They're kind of the best.</span></em></div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-57299046829262598902012-10-27T03:24:00.000-07:002012-10-27T03:24:20.022-07:00Challenges<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">22 October 2012<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">When you join Peace Corps, you
expect the most difficult thing to be physical discomfort. And, quite frankly,
a lot of the times it is. Being far from family and friends from home is never
going to be easy, but at least we’ve got a strong community of support amongst
the other volunteers since we’re all the same distance away, have the same
worries about our families, and have all missed important life events of people
we care about. Volunteers get placed in places where there’s no water, electricity,
or cell phone service. Others of us get placed in places where all of those
things go out frequently and unpredictably. Travel runs late or never takes
off, and you’re never quite sure how many times you’re going to break down once
you get going. You’re a slave to the weather, and most likely you stand out.
Badly. Corruption abounds. The language isn’t your own, and sometimes you make
ridiculous mistakes. These are the things that you get good at laughing off
fast, because otherwise you’d go insane. If you get a big group of Peace Corps
Volunteers together in a room, it’s likely we’re going to be in a competition
of who’s got it worse and throwing around the term “Posh Corps” to prove just
how much harder we’ve got it. If one-upping was an Olympic sport, you can bet
that the US team would be Peace Corps Volunteers. It's one of our more lovable
qualities. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">What you don’t expect, though, is getting
used to the discomfort. I can’t buck the system and magically bring reliable
phone service to a whole country, so it’s better to find the positive in it and
be thankful that you’ll get a few hours of quiet. Water’s out again? Cool,
kids, guess we’re rocking a scarf to cover up the greasy hair. Bus still hasn’t
arrived? Great, time to eat breakfast! Go with the flow is the name of the game
in Peace Corps Land.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">There are some things, though, that
you can’t and shouldn’t get used to. There’s a whole host of these things, but
everybody’s got their big hot button issue ranging anywhere from animal abuse
to malnutrition to the culture’s failure to accept homosexuality. For me, it’s
the lack of respect for women. It took moving here to understand just how
important the Women’s Rights movement was in the US, but I can tell you right
now that I’ll never under-value that again. I have a new appreciation for
feminism after living in a place where chauvinism and male-dominance affects
every aspect of daily life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Communities often prefer to get male
volunteers over female volunteers. Women can’t easily be friends with men and
should expect to lose most over marriage proposals. Females can’t sit in
certain seats in buses or cars, and are almost always expected to have some
kind of a chaperone. Likewise, women can’t go to places like the mosque, and
need to be cautious about being seen in other locations like the bar. Male
volunteers can go travelling with their best friends from town, but as a
female, this will always be off-limits no matter how close of friends you are. Certain
foods like pistache (or bananas in some regions) or cuts of meat are
automatically off-limits unless you’re male. Stereotypes about women will
affect work and personal relationships. It’s a lot to remember and balance when
you’re used to being told that you’re worth at least as much as a man and that
if you work hard enough, you can have everything in reason that you want. These
things are chump change compared to the realities Cameroonian girls are dealing
with, and that’s what makes it the hardest—it’s easier to deal with hardships
when you know it’s just you and that those hardships were your choice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Cameroonian girls are often denied
the right to an education, married off at the age of 12 to 40 year old men,
can’t demand the right to fidelity or monogamy or condoms, and are underfed in
favor of their male siblings. Women are subjected to rape and violence and
taught that it’s a normal form of punishment for not serving dinner on time or
speaking out of turn. In many Cameroonian ethnic groups, if a women’s husband
passes away, then she’s forced to go through humiliating widowhood rituals and
sometimes forced to marry the sibling or father of her husband. In some ethnic
groups women’s families have to pay a dowry to marry off their daughters making
her permanent property of a man, and in the majority of the rest, a man has to
pay the dowry to the woman’s family. Women are considered baby-making machines,
and it’s not abnormal for a woman to have five babies in five years or less.
Men complain and yell at their wives for their failure to give them male
children. A woman has no legal right to land or property. In short: both
socially and legally, women are viewed as being less than men.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">As a woman, it’s offensive, and I
hate it. Ever since returning from a week-long trip to small villages in the
bush to help distribute materials to the Family Agricultural Schools in my
department, I’ve found myself a lot more aware of the super-human strength and
willpower women in this country must have to keep on living under these
conditions. In one of the communities I visited, women weren’t allowed to speak
in front of their chief as a sign of respect for his power, and in another
women weren’t allowed to leave their homes after nightfall. I can’t imagine
that living under all those prohibitions, especially ones inapplicable to men,
gives you a strong sense of self-worth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I love Cameroon and I love my
community, so I’m not willing to give up on it and let it be what it’s always
been. These situations and the knowledge of what women here are dealing with
give me a sense of purpose, direction, passion, and fight; rather than giving
up, I’m starting to work in all 7 of these schools in the department to teach
Men’s Engagement, Women’s Empowerment, and Gender Equity for the remainder of
my service. In less technical terms, that’s everything from HIV/AIDS education,
conflict resolution, teaching about the difference between sex and gender,
working with parents to help them speak with their children about puberty, and
teaching that violence and rape isn’t what makes a male a man. I’m still
working out the details but I’m bound and determined: it’s happening. Hell hath
no fury like a woman scorned, after all. My host organization is arranging for
all of my transportation, and each community will be responsible for my
lodging, food, and security. Right now, I’m working at doing basic assessments
of every community to determine the specific problems I need to target in each
and to determine if there’s any correlation between gender dynamics and the
success rates of the schools. I start my assessments in Pkanadji and
Garoua-Sanbe on Friday.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: small;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I’m lucky to have a
partner in my new post-mate, but I’m still fairly certain that we’re in over
our heads. I might also be utterly screwed language-wise since only a small
handful of people in each village (in one village: one person total) speak
French and my Kako is limited right now to saying good day, donkey, thanks, duck,
mat, and good-bye. That said, I know that I’ve got communities that have been
welcoming me with open arms, honesty, and a willingness to work with me to help
make changes and improve the social situation of the people in their village,
which is a lot easier than fighting people to get them to pay attention. I’ve
got next to no idea what I’m doing, but I’ve got a big sense of fight, a
motivated national organization to partner with, and a bunch of little villages
that believe the future to prosperity is through emancipating their women, and
for right now, that’s enough to go off of. Hopefully.</span></span></div>
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-54326242521529277072012-10-03T09:57:00.002-07:002012-10-03T09:57:40.623-07:00Reality, or something like it.<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;">2 October 2012</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 12pt 0in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Now that I’ve passed my
year mark, it’s time to admit it: blogging is getting harder and harder. Every time
I sit down to write, there’s about five deleted drafts before I finally find
something that I feel like is worth writing about. I’ve been here long enough
that I’m struggling to figure out what’s interesting to other people that
haven’t been to Cameroon, much less to explain it all in intelligible English.
But it’s not just that, it’s so much easier to sit and watch movies on my
laptop than to try and analyze my experiences in the context of America. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">How do you capture a
place that’s so different and difficult to define and make that make sense?
…I’m not so sure that you do…. But, if we’re going to be honest, I can’t really
understand what volunteers in other regions talk about with some of their
experiences, either. The Northwest volunteers combat the evil JuuJuu spirits,
the Far Northerners bond over their mutual hatred of hot season, and the
volunteers in the West Adamauaua can discuss their extreme isolation from the
rest of the country. I can’t understand what that’s like; that’s part of the
difficulty of living in a country that possesses all of Africa’s major
terrains, all of Africa’s different varieties of climates, and where the people
speak about 260 languages and often can’t communicate with one another. This is
a country with two official languages, so if we can’t all have one common
language, how can we expect the culture to be the same? And if the culture
isn’t the same, how can we expect to be able to make anyone else actually
understand? And how can you make someone who’s never seen it appreciate it?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">There are a lot of things
that clearly distinguish Peace Corps as being a difficult experience: not
speaking the language fluently, living in a culture you don’t always
understand, trying to find worthwhile work that the community is passionate
about making happen, dealing with loneliness and being far from home. I’ve
gotten better at dealing with those. Harassment isn’t a big deal anymore, I
laugh off the “white skin” comments and usually respond to marriage proposals
by telling people that I live in a place that’s colder than the freezer they
buy fish out of. The fat comments sting, but the cultural context and the
positive connotations associated with weight make it such that I know the
comments rarely have anything to do with body figure but rather their hope of
your happiness and feelings of welcome in their country. Loneliness isn’t a
problem because I’ve created such a strong network of friends in town and with
other volunteers in the region. Corruption doesn’t enrage me to the level it
used to because I’ve been confronted with it so many times during my service. Quite
frankly, I’ve come to love living here. It’s not easy, but it’s definitely
always been worth it. What’s the hardest is trying to assimilate the reality of
my life here in Cameroon with the reality of my life in America and remember
that somehow they’re both real. It’s not survival that’s hard, it’s talking
about the hows and whys and trying to find a way for my current reality to fit
into somebody else’s reality. It’s like fitting a large square peg into a
circular hole; you can only get so much of that peg in at one time before
having to pull it out and try from a different angle. That’s me with blogging
nowadays. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">It took me a long time to
make things make sense, and the more I talk with buddies in other PC countries,
the more I realize that we all struggle with it and none of us really knows how
to address that to anyone who hasn’t had to deal with that in a long-term
situation like Peace Corps. That alone makes it difficult to explain what I do
and what Peace Corps is to anyone who’s emailed me to tell me they’re thinking
about applying. Add on the fact that you don’t know anything about where they
could potentially go or the project they’d be assigned to, and it starts to
near on impossible. It’s frustrating when you’re applying that nobody can give
you these answers, and it’s even more frustrating during training that the
answer you receive most often is “it depends.” Turns out, it does depend. It
also turns out that it’s frustrating not to be able to give those answers. You
want to be able to make things accessible and easily understandable, but that’s
not reality. Ever. And not just about Cameroon or Ukraine or the Dominican
Republic or Senegal or Zambia, it’s hard to explain the reality of the US to
people who’ve never experienced it, too. See: <span class="userContent"><a href="http://whatshouldpcvscallme.tumblr.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://whatshouldpcvscallme.tumblr.com/</a></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">That’s what makes
blogging so hard, and this job so difficult. But, that’s also 66% of the job: goals
two and three of Peace Corps are both cultural exchange and an attempt to make
“the other half” make sense. I get paid to make friends, tell you about how I
wash clothes by hand, make Mexican dinners from Cameroonian friends, and post
photos for you on facebook. Coolest job ever? I think so. I can’t really
describe what it is that I love so much about my job or my community, so I
might as well make fun of how ridiculous my life tends to be here. And, for
that, what’s a better, more embarrassing American reference than Disney? <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Based on my real life at
my real post and real conversations I’ve had or heard about me, I present to
you, “La Blanche” re-written to the tune of “Belle” from “Beauty and the
Beast.” Do yourself a favor and look it up on YouTube to appreciate the glory
of how well the lyrics fit, will ya? <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 12pt 0in; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="FR" style="mso-ansi-language: FR; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">La Blanche<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></u></b></div>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">“Little town, it’s a
sleepy city. Every day, different from the one before. Little town, full of
really loud people, waking up to say: bonjour, la blanche, bonjour bonjour
bonjour! <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">There goes a moto with
some harassment like always, the same old comments as before. No morning’s been
the same, since the moment that I came to this poor undeveloped town… Good
Morning, Souer!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Good morning, mon frere! <br />
Where are you off to?<br />
The market. I’ve just finished the most wonderful fruit and I…<br />
That’s nice. Sister, my US Visa, hurry up!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Look there she goes again
that Blanche, she’s walking, all the way from Trypano*! Always on her way into
town, on her feet, she walks into town. No denying she’s a strange one, that
Nassara.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Bonjour!<br />
Good Day!<br />
How is your family?<br />
Bonjour!<br />
Good Day!<br />
How is your health?<br />
You need this fabric!<br />
That’s too expensive!<br />
<br />
There’s nothing better than this village-oise life!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Ah, my Blanche!<br />
Good Morning! I’ve come to buy more bananas.<br />
Finished Already?<br />
Oh, I couldn’t put them down! You have any for 100 francs?<br />
*Laughter* Not since yesterday.<br />
Oh, that’s fine. I’ll go over… there!<br />
THERE? But why not buy these oranges?<br />
But sir, bananas, they’re my favorite! And the price, I know it! I’m a
Cameroonian in disguise!<br />
Well, if you like them that much, they’re yours.<br />
But Sir?<br />
I insist!<br />
Why sir, thank you! Thank you very much!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Look there she goes
again, she’s doing the market!<br />
I wonder if she’ll marry me?<br />
With her shining, sweaty face, and her feet covered in mud,<br />
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that Blanche!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Oh! Isn’t this amazing?
This is my favorite town because, you’ll see! Here’s where I met that student,
and we had that one really great conversation about HIV!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Now it’s a wonder that
she’s always busy; it’s 10am, she should be at the bar! Well, behind that
white, shiny face, I’m afraid she’s always in a race. Very different from the
rest of us, she’s rich unlike the rest of us, she’s different from the rest of
us, our Blanche!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Wow, you didn’t miss a
shot, Gaston! You’re the greatest footballer in the whole world! <br />
I know!<br />
No football alive stands a chance against you! Hahahaha! And no woman, for that
matter!<br />
It’s true, Amadou, and I’ve got my life planned around that one.<br />
Who? The white woman from Trypano?<br />
She’s the one! She’s the lucky one I’m going to marry!<br />
But she’s…<br />
The most beautiful woman in all of Batouri!<br />
I know, but…<br />
That makes her the best. And don’t I deserve the best?<br />
Well of course, I mean you do, but….<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Right from the moment
that I saw her walking, I said she’s gorgeous, and I vowed: here in town
there’s only she, who speaks English good enough for me, so I’ve made my plan
to woo and marry the Blanche.**<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Look there, he goes, oh
he’s so sketchy! Monsier Gaston, he smells so bad! Run fast, dear women, I’m
hardly breathing, he’s such a tall, dark, sketch, and smelly moto-man!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">[Insert Mixed Chorus of
“Show Me the Meaning (Of Being Lonely)”, unidentified angry gangster rap, “I
Done Seen My Wifey”, and weird Fulfulde music mixed with screaming people and
beeping moto horns]<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">There’s nothing better
than this village-oise life!<br />
Just watch I’m going to make that Blanche my wife!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Look there she goes
again, that Blanche she’s yelling. A most peculiar mademoiselle. With pagne
down to her shin, look how much she’s fitting in! She really is a sassy girl, a
sweaty but a sassy girl. She can’t really be an American
giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl, our Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanche!” </span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Yep. I think I lost a few
cool points in the making of this blog entry, but hey, gives you a pretty
decent idea of what Centre-Ville is like, right? It’s loud, crazy, and
sometimes pretty frustrating, but it’s mine, it’s home, and I love it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Trypano: My surrounding neighborhood, a 20 minute walk from Centre, of which Cameroonians are petpetually amazed that someone would voluntarily choose to do. Number of times I've walked into a public place and been recognized as "the white girl whose always walking": Countless.<br />**True story.</span></span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-69491427175571800432012-09-19T10:07:00.001-07:002012-09-21T04:15:39.662-07:00One Year of Cameroon?<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">19-9-2012<br />
<br />
I’m practically at my year mark in Cameroon, which is the strangest realization
I’ve had in a long time. The new Environment, Health, and Youth Development
volunteers are arriving to country on Friday. There are no excuses anymore:
we’re all expected to be older, wiser, and have life in Cameroon “all figured
out.” It seemed reasonable in training to expect a volunteer a year into their
service to have all the answers and be able to make everything make sense in an
American perspective. Now that I’m on the other side, I’m well-aware that I
don’t have all the answers and I can’t make everything make sense using America
as a benchmark because it’s usually not the first thing to pop in my head. What I also can't do is make surviving in this heat look effortless, although I DID finally get cold enough one morning to bust out the wool legwarmers that I impulse packed at last second. With that said, though, what
I have had is a lot of time to for new experiences, personal growth,
and self-reflection. Sometimes it’s been easy and overly positive, and
sometimes it’s the exact opposite, but this whole process isn’t done yet: I
still have a little over a year to go, and by this time next year, I’ll have
even more new experiences, personal growth, and self-reflection under my belt. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Cameroon, too, has been through a lot and grown over this past
year. On a national level, Cameroon competed in the Olympics, and left with no
medals and seven fewer athletes than they’d come with. Our First Lady, Chantal
Biya, has supposedly disappeared and the Cameroonian rumor mill says everything
from her husband having her killed off to her having an affair and running away
because she’s pregnant. The two most Northern regions (creatively called the
Far North and the North) are currently experiencing flooding that has killed
crops and livestock, destroyed homes and infrastructure, and injured and killed
a few dozen people. As time passes, we can expect the rates of Cholera and
Malaria in those two regions to skyrocket because of standing water. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">My region, the East, has dedicated the area for a hydroelectric
dam (name: Lom Pangar) being built by the Chinese with plans to be completed in
15 years. This’ll allow the whole region to have electricity and phone access,
as right now, the majority of our towns and villages have neither. The
President recently announced that by 2015, the road from Bertoua to Batouri to
Kentzou to Yokadouma will be paved, and we’ve actually already started to see
the company’s cars in Batouri on a regular basis—my fingers are crossed that
they’ll have started the paving process by the time I leave country in a year. Within
Batouri itself, we had a visit from the National Minister of Public Health
which ended in a donation of medical equipment, medications, and beds for our
new Catholic hospital. We’ve tarred and graveled the two roads in our
Administrative Quarter, repaired the walkway/bridge in Centre to be motorcycle
accessible, and are currently building our second two-story building in town: a
gas station. We’ve opened a new bakery and new bars, we received money from the
national government to host a two-month agriculture-and-civic-engagement
vocational training for 100 youth, and we’ve had a few major incidences of
corruption. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">None of that is exhaustive; there’ve been more changes on both
the macro and micro levels. It’s reassuring to remember that Cameroon’s
changing, too, and it’s not just me who’s been adapting and learning to
function in this culture. A year older, a year wiser, right Cameroon?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;">So, this weekend is the big year marker: how am I going to
celebrate? Friday, I’m hosting a big birthday party for a friend of mine in
town; he’s never had a birthday party before, so I’m going all out—homemade
dinner and dessert, guests, etc. I’ve never seen someone so excited before!
Saturday, someone is coming over to help me hoe out my weeds. As I was
attempting to machete my overgrown flowerbeds and weeds this week, two
neighborhood university students showed up to volunteered to help for the day
since they had nothing else to do; they promised to find me a friend to help
out whenever I need it. Saturday is always laundry and housecleaning day—this
one in particular needs to include washing my floors since they haven’t been
conquered since my cleaning woman quit on me. Sunday, my post-mates are coming
over for a brunch with homemade bread, and then I’m going to try and get in
touch with a friend of another volunteer who just moved to Batouri to start
teaching. I’ve been trying to make a female Cameroonian friend my age who’s not
married with babies, so I’m pretty excited about this. And, that’s about it.
That’s life here. It may not be figured out exactly, but it’s definitely into a
more comfortable routine. That’s good enough for me :)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-66609813968217326952012-09-06T09:19:00.003-07:002012-09-06T09:25:04.733-07:00A Completed Project!<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">5-9-2012<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Out here, the majority of our phrases can
be used in a million ways. “Ashia” can be either something sympathetic when
something is difficult like carrying a heavy bedan of water, or snarky and more
like a schaudenfraude. You can “du courage” someone as a good luck, or
something more like an “ouch that sucks.” In the East, though, the one I hear
the most often is “ca va aller,” roughly translated as anything from “yeah, it
happens like that sometimes,” “eh, it’ll come together,” to “you can’t do
anything about it anyways.” Whether one phrase having so many divergent
meanings is being efficient, confusing, or just plain ridiculous, I have yet to
figure out. The fact that this phrase is the most popular one in the region
tells you a lot about our culture and how it’s so often misunderstood. We
aren’t really known as being the core of ultra-motivated, development minded
individuals—we’re a lot more like the deep South of the US: hesitant to change
and ridiculously slow moving…an area stereotyped as one where only those who
would never turn down a challenge choose to trek.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I used to hate the phrase when I moved in,
but it appears I’ve given in to it. Ca va aller, non? In an average day, I
probably say it about 10 times, but those last two weeks when I was preparing
for and completing a major project? Minimum of 20 times a day. Someone doesn’t
show up for a major finance meeting? You don’t know if you have food arranged
for lunch? You haven’t finished posters yet or remembered to bring presentation
materials or found people to present important lectures? You can’t shower
before your presentation because waters been out a few days? You need to change
the schedule of the day half an hour before starting because two random people
showed up and demanded the right to present? Eh, ca va aller, mes amis. It’s
only natural that the conference would have followed this pattern, right? This
is Peace Corps Cameroon, after all. We’ve all had it happen, we all get
frustrated by it, and yet, on some sick level related to procrastination and
adrenaline, we all love it. You can fight it, or you can deal with it. It’s
either the best part or the worst part of my job, and I’m pretty sure I
fluctuate between the two extremes each of the ten times I say it per day. Ca
va aller. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">Despite all of those major frustrations
(and about 30896745 others that I didn’t mention,) we managed to host a pretty
darn good conference to train 12 teachers, 40 women, and a French Nun on the
benefits of using Soy/Moringa and how to use them, including information on
income-generating activities and women’s empowerment. I say “we” purposely; there
were PCVs who donated Moringa seeds and sent them down East, PCVs who came
through on vacation and helped stuff sacks with dirt for the Moringa seedlings,
family members and friends who donated money to finance food and other
necessities, volunteers who at the last second decided to come and lend a
helping hand, three Cameroonians who stepped up to be presenters at last
second, and other volunteers who’d been involved with the project from the
get-go. Together, we managed to put together something that I’m pretty proud
of. Flawless? Absolutely not. Apparently Moringa roots cure HIV/AIDS (thanks
Monsieur Eba,) our soy seeds weren’t quite ready for distribution, and we
definitely started behind schedule (or would have if we hadn’t created a
schedule morning of,) but that’s not what matters. Actually, that bit about the
Moringa roots and HIV could be a problem…I’ll deal with that for next time, but
in the mean-time, it made for a great joke for our post-conference mental
health vacation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">All things considered, what actually did go
right? Remembering that we’re literally starting from a base level of
explaining what a soy bean looks like and why it’s important to eat more than
just manioc every day, it’s pretty incredible how excited people were and how
closely they were taking notes about what we were talking about. People
actually seemed to get the hang of the tofu making process, and they were amped
about the price difference between soy and regular meat. The grins of people’s
faces when they received their moringa trees were priceless. Nothing exactly
went the way I’d planned on, but it’s a big confidence boost that it got
presented to the national Minister of Public Health this past week. Yep, I
think I’m okay with calling this project a success. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">We’ve got a whole host of spiders, snakes,
and weird tropical illnesses, sure, but these moments of legitimate
accomplishment make everything else pale in comparison. It’s just too damn
impressive watching a project you’ve worked on for months coming to fruition,
even if it hasn’t gone the way you’ve foreseen it to. Those moments make all of
those “ca va aller” moments about a million times more worth it. Maybe these
Easties are on to something, or maybe they’ve just adapted the idea of Hakuna
Matata. Either way, it doesn’t matter: you get only one life, so live it. Why
micromanage the things that aren’t micromanageable?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #cccccc;">I’ve left this entry short on purpose so
that I could upload a few photos to go with it (or would if the internet was fast enough to support it,) but I do want to give a big bit
of credit where credit is due. Many thanks to the friends and family of Warren
Walikonis, the family of Roger Morris, the Women of Faith Bible Study from
Immaculate Heart of Mary Church in Cuyahoga Falls OH, Sarah Jennings, Jon
Gelleta, Laura Pearson, Justine Little, Mike Burbidge, Janelle Walikonis, Geoff
Miles, Jessica Worful, Melissa Lafayette, Patrick Dennis, and Molly Starke.
Pretty amazing group for such a small, obscure community, right? Y’all
contributed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">MASSIVELY</i> and I
appreciate it!</span> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank You!</span></span></span></b></div>
gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-16899702380329241202012-07-18T05:03:00.005-07:002012-07-18T05:03:29.325-07:00Il Faut Innover: On Agriculture, Education, Work and Being a PCV<span style="font-family: Calibri;">14-7-12<o:p></o:p></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sometimes
I’m wrong about things. Occasionally. Stubborn though I am, I’m willing to say
that I was wrong about the idea I had about how I’d never find work in the
East.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Batouri
treated me to a few months of meetings that ended with marriage proposals and
me coming home to complain to anyone who’d listen. I stressed about how I
didn’t have enough to do, how to make friendships that went beyond just surface
conversation, and spent a lot of time wondering if I’d ever sound older than a
two year old in French. I set my house up, learned the lay-out of Batouri,
learned a lot about the problems youth were facing, made a few new friends, got
much better at laughing at myself, and, without realizing it, kicked my French
up a million notches. I got clothes made, learned how to make good food out of
what I could find at the market, and read a lot of the classic literature I
always wanted to read in college. Somewhere right around there, though, I
realized I had a million ideas for projects and had the luxury of choosing
between them. Talk about unexpected surprises. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few months
ago, I couldn’t have talked about what it was like going au village to do work
or what it was like watching projects coming to fruition; now, I’ve had
experience with both. I’ve realized more than once that I had three separate
things scheduled during the same time slot, which is so opposite of the
beginning where I spent a lot of time walking around town trying to make
connections with anyone who’d talk to me. I’ve found some fantastic friends who
actually care about me as a person, and that most of the time, I’m not relying
on volunteers anymore to be social. In short, it’s been a lot of big changes
quickly…this may be one of the few times in Cameroon that something has
happened so quickly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve proved myself not
only wrong about that whole working in the East thing, but I’ve probably also
proved myself to be the biggest perfectionist in Peace Corps Cameroon. Moral of
the story: perfectionism pays off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Seeing the
trainees come through on their site visits has helped me to see my service
through the lens I saw my post-mates through during my own site-visit, and it’s
been a reassuring reality check of just how far I’ve come. Cameroonians asked
me to translate their French into English, I explained different potential business
projects both in Batouri and outside of it, talked about adjustment and the
challenges that are inevitable as a woman in a male-dominated culture, and
listened to friends talk about how they’ve seen me grow so much in the past
seven months while I blushed awkwardly. Friends are finishing their service,
and mine is really only now getting geared up: I’m really NOT the new volunteer
anymore, and it’s a fantastic feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been
working with Soy and Moringa through the plantation that Janelle and I started
at Esperance. The plantation is a story in and of itself—brought into being in
memory of Janelle’s father, expanded in honor of my Grandaddy, and grown
dramatically through the generosity of the Women of Faith Bible Study at
Immaculate Heart of Mary Church. It’s not exactly that that I want to talk
about, but an opportunity that this project has given me. Through these
donations, I’ve been able to start plans to expand the project into Mbounou,
Mbone, Garoua Samb<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">é</span>, Kentzou, Kpangandi, and Djouth through the organization
Coordination Nationale des Ecoles Familiales Agricoles du Cameroun (National
Coordination of Family Agriculture Schools of Cameroon.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m biased
for sure, but these schools are the best hidden secret in my department and I’m
totally confident that they’re going to be able to do great things for their
students and their communities with the Soy. Ecoles Familiales Agricoles, EFAs,
are Family Agriculture Schools, an alternative source of education for youth
that have been somehow already been hurt by the system (jailing, inability to
pay school fees, huge class sizes in traditional schools, lack of a nearby
secondary school, etc.) EFAs don’t discriminate based on gender, and in an area
where only 15% of girls who start pre-school eventually make it to secondary
school, this is a big deal. The schools fight for food security in the region,
as well as to educate communities about nutrition and sustainable development
practices, including fighting against corruption, meaning that they’re
passionate about the same factors that drove us to start this project in the
first place. And, in the Youth Development aspect of the project, EFAs have a
huge focus on life skills and preparing their students for a future in which
they responsibly support themselves and their families. Pretty remarkable, no?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instead of a
traditional secondary school, students only complete three years of training
but all of the training is directly applicable to their future—English, French,
Agriculture, Business, and Life Skills (ie: goal setting, morality, budgeting,
etc.) By the end of the three years, students complete an internship, learn the
basic techniques of growing and cultivating plants that work for their specific
area as well as how to raise and slaughter animals, specialize in a topic of
their choice, learn financial management, and complete an original thesis on
their topic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Teachers for
these schools are specially trained by the organization rather than the
government; each community chooses their teachers out of farmers they trust
with their children and who they believe can pass along valuable knowledge.
They are held to high standards from the organization, and unlike conventional
Cameroonian secondary schools, teachers come from the communities they work
with, so they can actually speak the local languages and relate to their
students on a cultural level.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve been
able to attend a couple training sessions for the school leaders and teachers,
and I’ve also had the opportunity to go to a small, isolated village in the rainforest,
Djouth, to see the process behind opening these schools and to see the passion
that drives instructors. It’s inspiring work, and I’m thrilled to have the
opportunity to continue learning more, even if it does mean many more carsick
hours of travel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every year,
about 90% of the thesis proposals submitted by the students of the EFAs in my
department revolve around 4 topics: manioc, piment, maize, and peanuts—things
that everyone grows and that don’t fetch as much money as other things. To convince
us to think outside the box, the coordinator of the schools in the Center,
South, and East (Adrien,) cited some interesting statistics: the oranges that
fetch the most money in the Yaounde market are grown in the East but aren’t
available in our own markets, cucumbers and pistache would grow well in our
soil but instead we ship them in from everywhere else, and no one in the past
five years has written a thesis on commercializing a product (ie: drying and
selling moringa leaves or processing manioc into couscous) although that adds
great selling value. Worked up into a lecturing passion that I’ve never seen
outside of Cameroon, Adrien dropped a line that’s caused me to do some thinking:
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">il <u>faut</u> innover!</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Il faut
innover; it’s a simple phrase that means “it’s necessary to innovate,” not
exactly a riveting statement in normal conversation, but in a region where
people are scared of change, a sentence like that is a big deal. Business-wise,
the implications are clear—when you do something different, the chances for a
big profit are huge…so are the opportunities for failure. These schools are
doing more than that, though, they’re coming up with innovative solutions for
the under-education of youth and food insecurity, for example. Community
members are held accountable for their community’s development and well-being,
and think critically about how to include marginalized groups (Baka-Pygmies,
illiterates, young girls.) Where the norm is to produce students that aren’t
prepared to handle the real world as anything more than moto-men, these schools
are taking the “un-formable” and making them responsible citizens. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Innovation
is something drastic, something with the possibility of changing lives:
rejecting the conventional solutions knowing of the risk of failure but
believing beyond measure in the hope of success. It’s helping those that
society has given up on to pull themselves up and prove everyone wrong.
Creativity, hope, passion, and risk: to me, these are the aspects that I see as
at the core of innovation. That’s asking a lot of anyone of any race, culture,
age, or ethnic group, but in places where individuality isn’t valued and where
creative thinking isn’t taught, it’s harder to encourage. It’s easy to stay
stagnant because it’s what you know, it’s much harder to take risks and take
chances because you don’t know what will happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We ask our communities
to innovate on a daily basis, and it’s frustrating to not see changes
quickly, but it’s harder to remember that we need to come up with innovative
solutions ourselves and make our own changes. We’d never
have been effective if we kept trying to work in the same way we’d work in
America. It’s not just the French, it’s the way you address sensitive topics or
learning to respect authority in places you never would have thought it
necessary or realizing the way you’re perceived in different outfits in
different communities. It happens unconsciously through our actions with
people, but sometimes (and painfully,) it’s pointed out to you. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s where
I am right now—aware of the changes I’ve made, knowing that many more are still
in store, and taking risks that’ll hopefully pay off big in the long-term for
myself, Batouri, and the surrounding communities. And that, my friends, is
innovation at work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-62130047374526924592012-07-07T11:08:00.000-07:002012-07-07T11:08:59.756-07:00Happy Birthday, America!<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4-7-2012<o:p></o:p></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy
Birthday, America! You’re growing into your age with grace, and, I’ve gotta
say, I appreciate you more and more every year. Sweet land of liberty and all
that jazz, sure, but you’re a land where corruption is not tolerated, where
courts uphold the principles of our founders for the betterment of all peoples,
a land supportive of creativity and innovation, and a place where being an
individual is respected and encouraged. America, you’ve got a place for farmers,
business executives, stay-at-home fathers, and young women putting themselves
through medical school; we crazy, complicated Americans are united by a desire
to push towards being our best in keeping with our own individual principles.
We’re a group of many colors, opinions, faith backgrounds, livelihoods, and
ethnicities, but you’ve brought us together and given us a common identity to
uphold: American. This is one girl who is proud of that identity; keep up the
good work, America. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">How exactly
does one celebrate Independence Day abroad? In true American style: with
hamburgers and French fries. If you ever read any food-related literature in
the US (the locavore movement in particular, but most eloquent cookbooks tend
to romanticize this, too,) you hear a lot about how every meal deserves to have
a story behind it, a story more complex than opening a box from the freezer and
throwing it in the microwave. In general, I think reality is a more complicated
than that, but, hey, it’s a good thinking point. Quite frankly, this Fourth of
July meal DID have an adventure attached to it, and I was struggling to think
of a blog topic, so this entry pretty much decided itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Background:
sitting at an office in Alliance with Idrissou chatting about life in Batouri,
corruption, development, and bushmeat, when all of a sudden he asks if he can
ask me an important question. About 99% of the time when people ask me if they
can ask a question, the question is if they can marry me. Luckily, I have more
faith in Idrissou than that, and even more luckily, his question has nothing to
do with marriage, but with hamburgers. <br />
<br />
“Stephanie, do you know how to make hamburgers? Can we make them together
sometime?”<br />
<br />
Do my ears deceive me? Somebody WANTS to eat American food? Mind you, this is a
man with a photo album and many cell phone photos of himself and various former
Peace Corps volunteers eating hamburgers together, but, the fact remains: a
Cameroonian asked to eat American food. Have I ever actually made a hamburger
before? No, but there’s no better time than the present, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Day Of: I
wake up at 7 and the sun is so blazingly bright that I am positive that it’s
going to be the greatest day and these hamburgers that I’m going to construct
are God’s gifts to all other hamburgers. I’m definitely going to be able to
return to the US and open a diner with hamburgers that are so famous that
people will travel across the country to eat them and food spies will
constantly be there trying to divine my secrets <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">à</span> la Willy Wonka and the
Chocolate Factory. I drink my tea, get dressed in a kaaba (big like a muumuu
but far uglier) since the market will only be like 40 minutes max, and hustle
out my door to catch a moto to the market.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m lucky
enough to have an everyday market, but normally our produce isn’t too great
since very few people actually grow food out East; by the time the majority of
our vegetables make it out to us, they’re on their last legs. But, hey, I’m a
hamburger goddess, and the world seems to be cooperating: all these veggies
look fresh and beautiful today! Forty minutes later, my market bag is totally full
and I’m still missing a number of the most important items on my list, most
importantly: the meat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since I live
in a Muslim area, it’s easy to buy cow meat, as a few cows are slaughtered
every day. I visit the usual meat guy of the volunteers, and he cuts me my kilo
of fillet, surprising me by being nice enough to get some of the fat off. Upon
asking him to get the meat ground, his face falls…the grinder isn’t there
today, it’s not going to be arriving at all today, and, no, he doesn’t know
where else I can go get it ground. Panic sets in. I visit the peanut paste
Mommas to see if I can use their grinders at their houses—these Mommas know
everything, of course, and inform me that the grinder has to be there and I
just haven’t looked. Panic sets in harder, and I trek over to another
volunteer’s house to drop off the veggies so that I can lighten my load and
continue my epic search for a meat grinder. On the way, a moto driver finds it
necessary to point out the color of my skin and to almost hit me in the
process, but to my surprise, random Cameroonian woman comes to my defense. What
is this ridiculous world in which grinders don’t exist but feisty women
defending my honor (okay, fine, my skin color) do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Trekking
back to the market, I get a phone call from another volunteer, the new Kentzou
volunteer is in town on his layover, can I come hang out? I’m unshowered,
wearing a muumuu, carrying around raw meat, and this endeavor is already far
longer than the forty minutes I expected: hamburger goddess is frazzled. New
volunteer leaves an hour later, so I check with two friends to see about using
grinders at their houses. Nope. I check the market again to see if the grinder
has returned. Nope. Full blown panic ensues. Favorite market Momma sees
hamburger goddess on her third tour of market of the day:<br />
<br />
“You’ve been doing the market a long time today.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Well, yes.
I need to get this meat ground and the grinder is nowhere and no one will help
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“It’s not
here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No. I’ve
checked already. Many times. I need this meat by tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Momma takes
charge and explains the sitch to the meat-men, earning my business probably for
forever, as she saves my hamburgers from certain doom. Meat-man whips out his
machete and proceeds to “grind” my meat by chopping it over and over and over
and over; a little less beautiful than the pre-packaged hamburger meat you get
in your local grocery store, but, hey, I’m not picky. Besides, by now, I had
almost resigned myself to making “Steak Burgers” for dinner. Hamburgers >
Steak Burgers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Total time of the
adventure: three and a half hours. Total damage to the pocket book: 8,000CFA. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hamburger
goddess stocks up on candles just in case, drinks a Diet Coke at friends’
boutique (nothing quite like the splurge of a Diet Coke on a stressful day,)
and returns home to prepare for what is shaping up to be a truly interesting
dinner party with volunteers and #1 Hamburger Enthusiast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dinner-Making
Commences: All is going well in the magical land of hamburger creation; lady
liberty is clearly smiling from abroad on my fantastic efforts to honor her
birthday. I may have accidentally bought cabbage instead of lettuce, but who
eats those weird green leaves anyways? The French fries are cooking, all the
vegetables are cut, I’ve prepped the meat, and just as I get ready to light the
oven, the power goes out, and stays out for the next three hours. Luckily I had
bought those “just in case” candles, right? This is an inevitable part of every
dinner party I host; thanks, Janelle, for passing down this tradition ;) There
is nothing quite so fun as inspecting a hamburger by candlelight to see if
you’ve managed to get it cooked all the way through or if you’re going to be at
dire risk of Salmonella.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">More fortunately, it was a lovely dinner in the company of friends and food.
You can’t put a price on a good dinner party, and it turns out that may be the
one big skill I’ve picked up in Peace Corps. Cheesily enough, maybe it’s true
that good food nourishes the soul. We had great conversation about politics and
religion (aren’t those supposed to be two things you never talk about with
people if you want to retain their friendship?) And, perhaps most importantly,
it turns out that maybe I DO know how to make a pretty solid burger. As for the
future of hamburger goddess, she’s soon going to teach the boys how to make
hamburgers with the important caveat that they cook burgers for her: making
feminism happen one burger at a time. End of story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy
belated America Day, everyone! </span>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-27254143334316228162012-06-03T12:04:00.000-07:002012-06-03T12:04:15.390-07:00June Already?Well, best way to say it: it's been an interesting month, guys. I feel like May was clear across the board and difficult in a million different ways. Two separate Medical Holds in Yaounde, one set of Program Advisory Committee Meetings, a World Map started and finished in a week, final arrangements made for the Soy/Moringa plantation at Esperance Vie in honor of Warren Walikonis, a potential unexpected donation to said Soy/Moringa project (thanks, Immaculate Heart of Mary!,) two exceptionally awkward marriage proposals from friends, the end of the Handicapped Youth Group for the school year, the 40th Year Celebration of the Reunification of Cameroon, a visit from volunteer-friends from the Extreme North, and one very messy house waiting for me at the end of all that. There's been lots of little things in between that all--lunches with friends, evenings spent watching soccer games, days with absolutely nothing to do but watch <em>another</em> movie--but May has tested me on a lot of different levels. I'm still standing, and, most of the time, remembering to breath. Altogether, I call that a success, and it feels good.<br />
<br />
The newest Stage has officially arrived in country, and they're actually getting ready to move in to Bafia to start training: I'm no longer part of the newest, most inexperienced group. Crazy. Somewhere out there in Yaounde is my new post-mate, and they had better be the best Stagaire this country has ever seen. Batouri deserves the best :) With that said, it's crazy to look back at how much has changed over the almost six months I've been at post. Electricity has been in and out, mango and avocado seasons have come and went, I've been living without paved roads, I've made friends, found Cameroonian dishes I really like, figured out how to locate (some) of the Western foods I miss the most, and discovered lots and lots of things about Cameroon that continue to puzzle me. I've picked up a lot of French (there's still a long way to go,) and I've lost a lot of English. Every day is an adventure, an adventure that goes someplace unpredictable and always ends with some kind of unexpected lesson. Six months in Batouri, eight months in Cameroon; Peace Corps--the hardest job you'll ever love.<br /><br />With all that said, know that I think of you all often, and miss you all! I don't post enough photos on this blog, so right now with the "fast" Bertoua internet, I'm going to take this opportunity to share and explain some photos of what I've been up to recently.<br /><br />With Love,<br />
Steph<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6i4w2knKOUd-AIae06LZK9svASCDXXegzNJIjp6XAEB8e2HAGwX6tGNW-7owFOXyf1jsFhkgtg3pKkuc2sri5EmdVE5Yom52UhrYUS_sGmQ5So0vo4tYTe8yGO74N9GPIHD4yKTNnGk/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI6i4w2knKOUd-AIae06LZK9svASCDXXegzNJIjp6XAEB8e2HAGwX6tGNW-7owFOXyf1jsFhkgtg3pKkuc2sri5EmdVE5Yom52UhrYUS_sGmQ5So0vo4tYTe8yGO74N9GPIHD4yKTNnGk/s320/035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>This is the field where we're planting the Soy and Moringa at Esperance Vie! These plants help combat malnutrition and will help ease some of the instability of the food supply at certain parts of the year. The first harvest will be ready in late August or early September, just in time for workshops for the families at Esperance on how to grow these plants, why to grow these plants, and how to cook with them. Exciting stuff!</em></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">This is the photo of the students and Janelle working on the World Map at Lycee Bilingue. We put in about four hours of work a day, sometimes more, for a week. In the brown is a Geography teacher who stopped by and helped us correct all of the little details in Europe and the Middle East--turns out, all those little countries are WAY more difficult than either us or the students anticipated. We're hoping that teachers will be able to use this map as a resource for their classes for the upcoming school year.</span></em><br />
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<br /><em><span style="font-size: x-small;">After one long week of early mornings, coffee, and celebratory biftec, we finished the map! This is a photo of Janelle and I with a group of the staff and students that helped us out. Look at that beauty of a map! This is a very stereotypically Cameroonian photo, by the way, Cameroonians do NOT believe in smiling for cameras!</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">My two homes: Ohio and the East region of Cameroon. The kids couldn't believe just how far I traveled to come live out here with them, and when Janelle showed them where she lived (California,) and we told stories about what it's like where we come from, it blew their minds.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Janelle and I at the site of the "Sacred Rocks" in Batouri, an absolutely beautiful site, especially when you luck out with beautiful whether like this! It's the little moments like this one where it suddenly hits you that you do, in fact, live in Africa and it is a pretty fantastic life :)</span></em></div>
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</div>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-16090883514368556122012-05-11T09:00:00.000-07:002012-05-11T09:10:57.784-07:00Cameroonian Potpourri<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Calibri;">9-5-2012</span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">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? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">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! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /><span style="color: white;">
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. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">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!<br />
<br />
With Love,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">Steph<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-61985090457464991512012-05-02T07:55:00.000-07:002012-05-02T08:04:54.137-07:00Travel<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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 <em>did</em> 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.<br />
<br />
In Batouri/Bertoua:<br />
<br />
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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span>
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /><span style="color: white;">
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.<br />
<br />
Leaving Post:</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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, </span><span lang="ff-NG" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-ansi-language: #0467; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">inshallah</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">, 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. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: white;">Other Forms of Transport:<br />
<br />
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….<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
With Love,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Steph</span></div>
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<br /></div>gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4088463997925384873.post-81882583801778514242012-03-27T14:11:00.001-07:002012-03-27T14:11:21.565-07:00Culture ShockI'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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <em>uncomfortable</em>, 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!<br /><br />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. <br /><br />Crazy.gasiorsahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17423121783870718127noreply@blogger.com1