Future Volunteers of Mbakaou, Cameroon or Bogo, Cameroon

My work in Cameroon is done, but I wanted to leave something for those that follow.

Bogo, Cameroon was closed off to Peace Corps Volunteers and many other foreigners because of the actions of Boko Haram.  I have a few documents relating to my time there that may be of use to any service worker venturing there..  I also wanted to post a few documents from my time in Mbakaou.  I know one thing that was frustrating for me was finding any resources on work done prior to my arrival.  It's not much, but perhaps someone will find it useful.

Mbakaou, Cameroon:

Mbakaou, Cameroon - Post Book - Oct 2014
This is a document that I wrote for my successor in Mbakaou.  It was meant to be casual and humorous while hopefully conveying some information about living and working in the village.  If you are looking for any interesting bits about life in Mbakaou, you'll find it here.

Mbakaou, Cameroon - Malaria Survey - Mar 2014
This is an Excel document for a survey on malaria in Mbakaou that I conducted.  I went to a number of households and asked the head of household (or usually the oldest woman) these questions.  There is a summary page that I threw together of some interesting stats based on information other volunteers were gathering.

Bogo, Cameroon:

Bogo, Cameroon - Community Needs Assessment - 2013-01-09
This is a document I wrote up after a few months in Bogo.  I gathered information from a variety of sources and compiled it look for areas where I believed I could work during the rest of my service.

Bogo, Cameroon - Post Book - Nov 2012
I take no credit for the creation of this document.  It was given to me when I first arrived in Bogo and compiled by volunteers before me.  The date is that which I received it.  It was of course the basis for my own Post Book that I wrote about Mbakaou.

Other Materials Created by Me:

Manuel de Reference des Pairs Educateurs - Nov 2013

This document was created by myself and Caitlin Howe, the greatest partner in crime ever.  It's in French and supposed to be used by Cameroonians to assist them in outreach for HIV/AIDS prevention.

Wahl, Dale - Peace Corps Description of Service - Oct 2014

Finally, if you made it this far, you might be interested in knowing more about what I actually did during my time in Cameroon.  This is the official report of my service.

If anyone has more information or documents that you think would be beneficial for future service workers in Mbakaou or Bogo, please feel free to send me a message or comment below and I'd be happy to host them.  Good luck.

Oh and my future blog is located here: Welcome to the Daleverse

Vaccination Refusals

Had an interesting day today.  We've had some  bad press recently since they discovered a possible polio case here.  Considering we report some hundred percent vaccination rates that really shouldn't be possible. Certainly not the first time paper didn't match reality.

I went with a friend of mine today and hunted down families refusing vaccinations.  Things are done differently here than America, obviously.  When they do the campaigns, they just walk door to door and give kids vaccines.  They don't have to ask parents or even check to see if they have been vaccinated before.  Since I've been in my village, we've probably done ten polio vaccine campaigns and there are certainly some kids who have been vaccinated ten times (three doses are plenty).  Hell, probably more if they have parents who actually bring them to get vaccinated.  If someone refuses to be vaccinated that just annoys the people doing the vaccines and they move on.  No one has ever bothered to explain WHY people should be vaccinated.  Adults usually ask to be vaccinated too so that it will "give them strength".

I actually asked why people didn't want to vaccinate.  The reasons were, well, reasonable.  Some said that they thought the vaccinations actually made their children sick.  A lot of vaccines have the side effect of causing a slight fever over the next couple days.  I didn't get down into the dirt as to why that is, because telling them that we were giving them a dead/crippled version of the illness seemed counterproductive.  I did tell them that this was a normal side effect and they shouldn't worry.  I also had to explain to them that just because the kid had a vaccination didn't mean they wouldn't get sick at all.  Explaining that their children could already be sick or get sick with something else unrelated to the vaccination often was enough.  Sometimes I'd explain that we knew it wasn't the vaccine that made the child sick simply because we gave it to tons of children and if it was the vaccine, then all the kids ought to be sick.  Usually this was enough to satisfy them.  Oh the best reasoning that we'd make them sick is that they'd then go to the clinic after and have to pay high bills.  Vaccinations as a money making scheme for the clinics.  Those bills in reality for other illnesses.

I'm not sure if these people will actually now get their kids vaccinated.  Every last one of them told me they would (or at least my translator said they did).  Could be they were just humoring the white man who rode in from lord knows where into their tiny little compounds out in the bush.  Course that might be reason enough for them to follow my advice.  But honestly, I think if anyone just bothered to sit down and explain to them why and how to be healthy, they would at least try.  And these are the people who are at least asking questions.  Would you blindly take medicine handed to you?

I really would like to see these strange interactions from their perspective .  It has got to be the weirdest thing in the world.

Foreign Visitor, Actual Work, and a New Adventure in Mbakaou

I feel like every time I sit down to write to you guys I'm reminded of what my friend told me long ago.  I may have even mentioned it in this blog before (do you want me to go to search or actually use this time to write to you?).  The hardest pull for the writer is between finding time to write and doing things worth writing about.  Probably one reasons writers often become drunken recluses.

My friend Sarah visited Cameroon.  While she'd never spent time in Cameroon before, she currently works with Doctors without Borders in the Central African Republic.  It was less of me showing her the hard life in Africa and more her trying to relax in the relative tranquility of Cameroon.  Honestly the idea of vacationing in Cameroon is… somehow sinister.  I certainly can't complain about my rough life to someone who has to figure out how to provide doctors with the supplies and materials necessary to put machete victims back together.  And really complaining about Cameroon is all I ever do with other Americans; her selfless existence is a harsh mirror to try and look into.  Luckily she drinks wine and I know a few places that sell it.

We did have a pretty fine time.  We climbed a mountain.  We went to see a beautiful crater lake with another Peace Corps Volunteers.  There, we learned to shoot bows and arrows (something I hadn't expected to learn in Cameroon).  I showed her around my village.  I have a whole tour system now: Health Center, Market, River, Dam, Bar.  Then we spent a couple days at the beach.  She met a lot of other volunteers who asked her how the hell she could work in a warzone.  Come to think of it most Cameroonians asked her they same only they were more surprised when she said she was going back.

She was only here for a week.  It was odd vacationing so soon after vacationing, but I at least excused myself in that I needed to go down south anyway for work.  After she flew, I went over to Buea in the Southwest region.  The HIV Committee that I'm on was running an event at a yearly race they do up Mount Cameroon there.  When I say the HIV Committee, I really mean Ashley and Erica.  They put the whole thing together and the rest of the committee helped as we could.  They were disappointed in the success of the event, but I think that's just viewing how various things failed.  As someone who was not involved in the planning, I just saw 700 plus people get tested for HIV, thousands of people come up to our six tables to talk and learn about HIV and AIDS, a thousand plus people get packets of free condoms, and all of this done by the 20 or so Peace Corps Volunteers who came PLUS maybe 40 local Cameroonian volunteers who we had trained that week.  Yea, the DJ didn't show up. Yea, the hospital techs got there hours late with half as much staff as promised.  And yea, we could have better utilized the volunteers we had.  We'll learn from our mistakes and next year it will be even better, just as this year was better than the last.  (Therein does lie the biggest Peace Corps problem: none of the organizers and only a few of the volunteers will be here next year to run it again.  DOCUMENT EVERYTHING.)

I was impressed and super glad to be a part of it.  Even if I felt awkward being as insanely tired as I was at the end of race day.  I stood all day talking to Cameroonians and doing an insane amount of condom demonstrations, but other people ran a marathon up a mountain.  Whatever, I'll be using my refined skill for years to come; how often do you need to run up mountains?  And why?

After that, I spent a couple relaxing days in Kumba.  I went to a pool.  I ate what I swear to God was actual American fried chicken.  I met a cool German and a cool Dane, even if I made a fool of myself forgetting where the hell Danes come from (I loved Beowulf too).  Ate more good food and spent a lot of time just relaxing in the best ways possible, before finally working up the courage to spent the 24 plus hours of travel it took to get back home.

Course then my buddy Will passed through on his way back from the same event.  We drank plenty and took a half a day trek out into the bush of Mbakaou where we finally found my alleged National Park.  Unfortunately we did not bring any sort of guide and all the buildings there seemed deserted.  Whatever, there was a sandy beach, secluded section of the river, and some rapids to look at.  Still no elephants.  Really, the only wildlife I've seen so far are little monkeys and a large variety of birds.  Where are all these giant African animals hiding?  Lion King lied.

Malaria/Evil Spirits Defeated!

It has been pointed out to me that I ought not leave you hanging when it involves life and death situations.  You will be happy to know that my friend's wife is currently much better.  She's walking and talking and cooking and cleaning.  Clearly she was suffering from a really bad case of malaria and the medicine made her better.  Or she was possessed by evil spirits and the shaman fixed that problem.  Possibly both.  I'm not qualified in either field.

Death is always a bit closer here.  So far no one I've known well has died, but pretty much everyone I know has lost someone.  In America, it is mostly the elderly who go.  Here a canoe turns over and three or more kids drown.  That can happen in the States of course, but it has happened twice since I got to Mbakaou.  People get sick with malaria or typhoid or something else and pass away.  Ask someone how old they are and you'll be surprised how young they are for how old they look.  You age quicker here and there aren't that many old folk to begin with.  It's a rough life without basic health and sanitation.  And food...

Right, but my friend's wife is fine!  So suck it, Death.

I'ma work on turning these a little more upbeat in the future.  Scout's honor.

Sorcery: Up Close and Personal

Kids wake me up from a nap.  Someone's sick someplace and I'm supposed to follow them there.  I can never get much information from kids; our French levels rarely come to any agreement.  I follow them because this isn't the first time people have showed up at my place asking for my non-existent healing services.  On the way, I'm a little annoyed at myself for the reoccurring lack of credit on my phone.  Luckily these people know me and are familiar with my "I'm not actually a doctor" routine.  They just want my help finding the doctors.  A task I'm actually suited to: errand boy!

It turns out to be my best friend's pregnant wife who lives on my compound.  She was with some family and suddenly became feverish and very obviously sick.  I get my friend the nurse at the clinic who goes to get meds while I get her on a moto and take her home.  He thinks it is malaria.  It probably is malaria, but there is no real way to know aside from getting her on a moto to the nearest hospital an hour or so away.  He puts her on an IV, shoots her full of drugs, puts more in the IV, and leaves some pills for her to take after she calms a bit and isn't shaking.  She's delirious and pretty bad off, but there doesn't seem to be anything to do.  Her husband, my friend, is away from town for a few days.

An hour or so later they come and get me again.  I'm worried she's worse off and we're going to have to figure out how to get her to a hospital.  Instead my night gets really weird really quick.  They want me to take her off her IV and hold her down.  The hardest part about living in the mist of a foreign language is being unsure whether you don't understand the words or just the idea.  I think she's dead.  Eye's wide, she don't seem to be breathing, and she certainly isn't moving.  I'm about to check her pulse when an older man comes in and throws some strange herbs into some coals burning nearby.  It's African medicine time.

She was in a bad place before with the sort of fever that doesn't let you lay still; aching and burning up, muttering "help me".  This is different.  I watch this woman shoot straight up in her bed.  Men and women rush to grab her and hold her down.  She wretches and tries to break free, managing to get her IV out her own self.  I watch her eyes roll back into her head and listen to her speak loud and clear. 

I wish I knew what she was saying, though it was clear it wasn't in a language I understand.  She was not herself, she was not there.  I don't know what our medicine man was attempting, but it looked like an exorcism.  Eventually another woman… joined in and needed to be held down too.  They were separated and both made to breath in the smoke from the coals.  Eventually they both calmed and had to drink some mixture made with the burnt herbs.

I'm out of my element when it comes to modern day medicine and I certainly have no idea what I should have done there.  Should I have tried to stop them?  I don't even think I could have; they had already done… something to her before I even arrived.  In the moment, I felt nothing.  Awe perhaps.  Curiosity too, I won't lie.  But I was frozen without an inkling of an idea what to do.  I just watched and wondered.  Now I'm just sad and mad.  Basically I just spent an hour watching a drugged pregnant woman toss about.  One who was very sick and had her regular treatment stopped so that she could be put through lord knows what.

If she gets better, do you think they'll blame the medicine or the sorcery?  And if she doesn't get better, what gets the blame?  Worse, what the hell do I tell my friend, the husband and father to be?

Answers at the bottom of a bottle

Staring at a bottle of scotch.  It's Johnny Walker Red.  I prefer Black, but you can get a bottle of Red for the equivalent of 16 American dollars.  It is just me and the bottle though: no glass.  Drinking straight out of a bottle feels like a problem.  A glass would imply some sort of control over the situation.  Really though, it is just inconvenient to clean my one glass.  You have to go to the well, draw water, wash the glass by hand and then rinse and dry it or you end up with soapy tasting booze.  That's a lot of work when you don't really need the glass to begin with.

I haven't known what to write about for quite some time.  Lost the ability to express what I'm experiencing.  Mostly I'm just bored.

The little things people are always amazed that I deal with are really nothing.  To live an hour out on a dirt road from a town that is itself far off the beaten path.  To not have regular electricity (honestly, it is amazing I have any).  Water comes from a well.   Language, culture, isolation.  Food.  I live with an inordinate variety of animals.   You get used to it all.  It's not even hard after awhile.  Don't get me wrong: fuck cockroaches; I kill those on sight.  Flies too as they spread disease.  And I've poisoned a number of mice cause those bitches get into food that has been shipped specifically for me from America.  That's worthy of capital punishment in my book.  Ants, lizards, spiders, frogs, and the rest pretty much just passively exist in my home.  I don't care.  What gets you is when you ask yourself why you are putting up with all those things to being with.  And you don't have an answer.

Work is not going anywhere.  Everyone tries to tell you that it is the relationships you build, the individuals you touch and inspire, and the people who walk away empowered to change their lives.  That sounds all fantastic, but I don't give a damn.  Strange individuals?  Couldn't care less.  I care about friends and family, but strangers have never moved me in the slightest.  I want to change systems and create opportunities so that those who are actually worth a damn can move up.  I had amazing chances growing up mostly because of the hard work put in by my parents and theirs before them.  And because of our culture's idea that if you work hard you deserve to progress.  I have a debt to society and want to pay it by providing others with a chance too.  But not a handout.

Development is broken.  I could talk about it all day.  The Peace Corps was designed as a diplomacy organization and has just not sorted itself out to do development.  Virtually all the development organizations I have run into (and it is an extreme rarity) don't have people on the ground.  I may have already told this joke… Missionary sees an African in a hole trying to get out; he throws a bible to him and walks off.  NGO worker sees  an African in a hole trying to get out; he throws a bunch of money to him and walks off.  Peace Corps Volunteers sees an African in a hole trying to get out; he jumps in and asks him how he's doing.  "I really could just use a ladder."

I don't have an answer, but I'll keep looking.  I believe it might be at the bottom of this bottle.  If not, there are others to search.

Wait!  I just got it: the answer is "ladders"!

I've got jokes! Cameroonian style.

Made a decent joke at my clinic today.  I make a lot of jokes naturally, but it is harder to do in French and in Cameroon.  As best I can reckon, their humor is about something bad happening to someone because they made a mistake.  Or possibly witchcraft.  They don't do sarcasm, which is unfortunate because I still use it endlessly.  They just believe me, poor souls, unless I state something so completely and obviously false they know I must be lying.

So the Chief of the Health Center walks into the clinic and, stating the obvious per Cameroon, says, "It's just us today; no sick people."  That's been incredibly common of late on account of a variety of reasons: Ramadan fasting means no meds allowed, fishing is out of season means no money, and rainy season means you might get wet (seriously, no movement allowed when it rains, but to be fair they are walking or riding on a motorcycle to go anywhere).  We've discussed these reasons ad nausium, but I blurt out, "Then we've done it!  We've cured all the diseases in Mbakaou.  Good job everyone; let's report to Tibati."   It took a moment for my strange statement to process and then endless laughter.  "Haha, there are no more sick in Mbakaou." 

I laughed too.  But a part of me felt suddenly sad.  They aren't here, because they are too poor.  They aren't here, because they are ignorant that they need to be.  They aren't here, because they have no faith in our help.  They aren't here, because we couldn't help them even if they were.  And they are all still sick.

Haha, you thought I was going to make you laugh, but then I made you feel feelings.  Suckers.

"I will literally drink your blood!"

Sometimes I find my work incredibly frustrating.  There are a lot of things that I could blame like poor/often non-existent educational system or the fact that most NGOs seem to just distribute free shit making that the assumed stereotype for foreigners in Africa.  However, like with most things, a bad day at work might just be the combination of a shitty night of sleep, French-fatigue, and REALLY loud children constantly underfoot (there is a reason Peace Corps Volunteers have a reputation for uncommonly locked doors… and excessive drinking whenever they make it to a big city).  And so, on this particular day these poor villagers were undeserving of my wrath.

I was tired and the whole presentation on HIV and AIDS just didn't go like I wanted.  I always give them in French and my counterpart translates them into Fulfulde or Biya or just possibly just random noises so that I'll think he's doing work.  As I've mentioned, I can usually at least follow the Fulfulde even if I make relatively little effort in trying to speak it myself.  That works well when my counterpart is on the same page as me, translating what I say, or at least following the general outline.  Le Gros recently went to get some special training on HIV/AIDS.  That's a good thing and his knowledge and skill at presenting is why I work with him.  But he was off on tangent after tangent and I was just lost at the presentation I was supposed to be giving.  It's hard to know what to say next when you don't know what was said last.  (In reality this isn't that big a deal; I can say whatever and he can decide whether it bears repeating.)  Not the end of the world, but I was feeling dead after an hour and a half of trying to keep up.

Then comes the questions.  These are always hit or miss.  Sometimes people just ask me to diagnose whatever random disease afflicts them and I'm left wondering if they were even listening to the topic.  That's a "go to the clinic/hospital; they need to do 'special' exams" which you'll of course realize means "fuck if I know".  Easy enough.  But that day…  A probably lovely old woman started to ask me where my medicine was and tell me how I need to bring it to her and give it out to everyone for free.  The fact that I understood this EXACTLY in Fulfulde goes a ways to show you that this is often a question.  I just snapped.  I told her that I didn't know her.  I asked her who she was that she though I should give her free things.  And then I asked why it wasn't enough that I left my country, my family, my friends, and my goddamn language to just try and educate her and her people.  (Note: I still can't actually use profanity in French, because they don't and I've missed out learning it.  It's super annoying.)  I'm guessing that my counterpart did not translate that exactly as her next demand was that I build a clinic in her village.  In a better mood I might try to kindly explain that not enough people even go to the clinic in Mbakaou to justify the salaries of the three people working there.  I ignored her.  Next question please.

Le Gros could tell I wasn't my best and clearly wanted to just get on the road.  Good of him.  But I wasn't done and was looking to see if anything I said had sunk in.  I did get to explain why having another Sexually Transmitted Infection makes it more likely to contract HIV, but then I was told that I was wrong and you couldn't get HIV if you weren't already infected with something else.  Now that's a myth that needs to be rectified (also, did you say that I'M WRONG?).  That got into another belief that condoms can give you HIV.  The argument went very much downhill from there with a man telling me I needed to buy condoms from the market and test them and me telling him I very much did not and would not.  Then there was me demanding to know where he heard this idea (I probably didn't need to ask where he read it or saw it in this tiny town with no electricity) and telling him that whatever whiteman that had told him this fact was a liar.  It ended with me stating, with conviction I don't actually have, that HIV could not live outside a human body and thus could never live inside a condom to infect anyone.  I told him that if he were to have HIV in his body right now and die, I could literally drink his blood after five minutes and be fine.  I would like to point out that this method of education and argument was not read from any Peace Corps provided book and thus a concoction of my own imagination.  And, finally, I left.

I would like to say that I have absolutely no idea how long HIV can live outside the human body.  Much less how long in a warm corpse.  I would never drink the blood of, well, anyone and definitely not someone I knew was infected.  And I'm pretty sure there is someone--someone who actually could reasonably answer questions like this--who could figure out a way to put HIV into a condom for people to contract.  I don't know why they would do this, but we humans are awfully smart.

That was the long.  The short of it is that sometimes being a Peace Corps Volunteer can be incredibly frustrating.  And also that thousands of miles away you can snap and come close to starting a headhunt for witches (seriously, don't tell people you'll drink their blood).  If told to another PCV, a story like this will invariably elicit a response like, "Yea, I have days where I want to do something like that too."  "Want" of course being the key word that differentiates my teaching style from those of my peers.

Malaria in Mbakaou, Cameroon

Malaria pisses me off.  It pisses me off for a number of reasons, but the main one has to be the fact that it is entirely conquerable.  We used to have malaria in America, but we destroyed it.  We did it in a very American fashion by killing every mosquito we could find.  This included the use of everything from now banned chemicals to literally covering ponds or other sources of standing water with oil (I saw a great PSA recommending this; someone should find it and post it).  Given there are still mosquitoes in the States, these last efforts weren't the real source of victory, but massive roll outs of bed nets, screening houses, and actually taking drugs did.

Malaria kills untold millions of people across the world and particularly in Africa.  The devil in me says that we have a population problem anyway so who cares?  But wait there is more!  It doesn't kill most people, it just makes them reoccurringly sick.  To ask someone in Cameroon if they have every had Malaria is a ridiculous question; I have simply never met anyone who could answer "no" to that question (maybe a child young enough, but then I'd have to talk to children).  So malaria just kicks you on your ass, making you unproductive while you recover and brings down the productivity of whoever is taking care of you.  I often recommend that if a family has somehow managed to obtain a bed-net that they let the children sleep under it; they are more likely to die than adults who have survived malaria before.  It's often pointed out to me that if pappa gets sick no one works the fields and no one puts food on the table.  Everyone suffers.  I can make no argument against that logic.

There are two things needed to get rid of malaria here.  Number one: sleep under mosquito nets.  The mosquitoes that can give you malaria only come out at certain times of the night.  Yea, you'll be exposed when meeting, greeting, and cooking outside, but at least the majority of the night you'll be protected.  Ideally houses should be screened, but based on the inability to provide mosquito nets I feel that is too crazy a dream to bother mentioning.  Number two: take your damn medicine.  If you are sick, go and take meds as quick as possible.  The main problem here I see is that meds cost money (and often aren't even in supply).  If you know you can possibly recover on your own and have in the past, then it is cheaper to not go to the clinic.  Again logic I understand.  Course, you still have malaria and every mosquito that bites you can now give to everyone else.  My normal lesson here is "don't be a dick".

Cameroon and the organizations here to help have simply failed.  Supposedly meds are free to kids five and under.  If you can find them.  And only if it isn't complicated, meaning you aren't too sick and vomiting up the drugs.  If they have to give you an IV, you'll pay plenty.  I like the strategy to get people to go to the clinic earlier (less time to transmit), but it's not working.  You want to get rid of malaria, everyone has to be able to get treatment.  As far as mosquito bed-nets go, the distribution failed.  They attempted to give one net for every two people under the assumption folks would bunk up (never mind that culturally most husbands don't even share the bed with their wives where I am).  Here at least, they did a crap job of telling anyone they would be giving away nets, so very few were given out to begin with.  What else did they drop the ball on?  I ask people everywhere if they know how you get malaria.  They don't know that it comes from mosquitoes.  No one mentioned this to them.  Thus no connection between mosquito nets and malaria was made.  Instead the few who did get nets had to decide between sleeping under a hot net and not getting bitten when you were probably sleeping fine before or using this nifty new net to do something else like fish or catch termites.  Eat more or sleep under a hot net: easy choice.  Oh and because the nets were given away for free and might be again (though no one knows when), no sensible businessman will sell them.  And no clinic wants to either or else be accused of hording the free ones to see for their own profit.  So if you want a net, good luck finding one.

Maybe this is just a simple case study of Mbakaou, the town lost off in the wilderness, but I keep hearing similar stories from everywhere else.

Work, work.

I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again: it can be quite hard to figure out what exactly you are supposed to do as a Peace Corps Volunteer.  Our mandate is vague to say the least.  Future volunteers should know that before signing up.  I was excited and enthusiastic about the freedom, but a lot of the time I find myself wishing I had more structure and support.  Having projects is a lot about luck; I fell into most of my projects in Bogo and I've had the good luck of falling into them here too.  (I think agricultural volunteers have the worst of it since they have to contend with planting seasons and weather on top of luck.  People at least have the decency to stay relatively unhealthy year round for us health folk.)

First thing a PCV is supposed to do is protocol.  That is to say, you have to introduce yourself to all the important people in the neighborhood.  Cameroonians tend to take protocol pretty seriously in general and it can be a bit of a slight if you don't come bye to say hi.  Above all this is a security measure to let government officials, gendarmes, and police all know you are in town and connect you with the people who can help your ass in a pinch.  I didn't take the big guys too seriously at first in Bogo (I wanted to be down to earth with the common man whom I all this way to help damnit!), but learned that they really do help you make all the connections you might need to the sorts of people who can help you get things done.  This time around, I've taken advantage of these little interviews by having them help me set up future ones with community members to talk about health issues in general.

I have officially visited each of the thirteen villages surrounding Mbakaou and introduced myself to their respective Djaros (Jawro) or cheifs.  At these little sit-downs, which are usually short and sweet, we've decided on a time when I could come back and address the village.  I've done that tour too, which usually starts with me asking everyone to talk about what sorts of health issues they have.  It always starts with malaria and other general diseases and then digresses down to people and their individual maladies or talking about how their backs hurt after a day in the field.  After that I talk about how people get sick generally, find out what sort of water sources they use, and give some basics on why they should use mosquito nets, wash their hands, or go to the clinic when ill.  I have to write up a report for the Corps that is basically a big needs assessment and this is a good way to sort of survey the population.

Currently, I've started going back and talking about specific things.  The health clinic has a large problem with pregnant women coming for neither prenatal consultations (or antenatal, I don't remember which term to use) nor to give birth.  I have a nice big presentation with pretty pictures that I borrowed from the clinic and I've been talking to both men and women about it.  The presentation talks about everything from how a woman gets pregnant to what the clinic can do for them.  It also goes over family planning if they are so inclined.  That topic is a bit taboo with some, but sorely needed.  I always find it odd that God would give someone so many kids, but not enough food to feed them.  Maybe he sent me to tell you to wrap it up, gents.

These meetings are going to be the backbone of whatever other projects come my way.  Right now I only have three or so groups in Mbakaou proper and would like to expand that.  The intention is to come up with different topics and presentations, then make the rounds.  Honestly, I've had great feedback so far.  It is eye-opening to see what people have never been exposed to that seems so basic to us.  Even the things they have heard are so far down the grapevine that it is impossible for them to sort out fact from fiction.  Just being here to answer questions and dispel rumors seems to be a boon to their spirits.

Updates (Titles are the Hardest Bit)

The trick to a successful blogpost is, apparently, all in the title.  You can look over to the right and see the top five posts and figure out why they are there.  I think if I learn to combine these titular successes with some actual wit I might be able to gain a more widespread readership.  As of now, it seems clear that my readers are whoever happens to be on facebook at the time I post.  Though I'm not really sure why I care since I don’t make a dime off this or anything of that sort.  Let’s say it just strokes my ego.

Well, you will be happy to know my computer is up and running.  It cost a hundred bones for them to replace the harddrive and fill it with goodies like Windows.  A bit too much of it is in French at the moment and I did lose lots of data.  Pictures I’ve taken of Cameroon and some documents of varying importance.  As well as the entirety of my nighttime library.  If anyone was willing to throw some things on a flashdrive, I’d very much enjoy some music.  A dance mix would be nice; I never bothered to collect that sort of thing myself, but it just is non-existent here.  Erin and I require soundtracks to our Bogo dance parties: Pitch Perfect only goes so far.

My friends, life is good.  Work slowly drags itself into the making.  I’ve somehow become a slight intermediary between an NGO called Education Fights AIDS based in Maroua and the GIC (association/organization/whatever) that I work with in Bogo.  I say that, but all the real credit goes to the most amazing Natasha.  She’s a VSO volunteer based in my town.  She’s a Canuck that has the luxury of knowing French from birth and thus is an infinitely more effective volunteer.  Natasha also happens to be infinitely more ambitious or proactive or I can’t even think of the word, but I spend most of our time together desperately trying to figure out what the hell I can contribute.  The rest of the time I’m thinking about how I really just want to have the opportunity to hire her at some point in the future.  She could work wonders with an actual budget; until then she keeps me busy.

I’m down south at the moment since I was fortunate enough to join the HIV/AIDS Committee which is designed to help assist and encourage all volunteers in country to work on projects combating the disease.  I will also be sticking around to learn more about water, sanitation, and hygiene and how to help schools.  That last one was requested of me and a bit of an accident.  I avoid schools like the plague.  I can’t deal with that many unruly children; someone needs to teach them some damn discipline.  Based on fantasy, my disciplinary actions would all result in my sudden imprisonment or possible deportation.   We’ll see how I can assist my lovely ville in improving their school system’s sanitation practices.

Has it been awhile?

It probably doesn't feel like long to you.  I think it's been, what, three weeks?  Which really isn't that long.  But damn if it doesn't feel like forever to me.  Internet/information isolation is... a foreign concept and one that I haven't really gotten a grasp of just yet.  Sometimes I find myself wondering how the hell people did this back in the day of snail mail.  I'd have to write a letter every damn day to ensure enough people responded to keep me from losing my mind.  Just need that good ole fashion American English on the occasion.

Things are running smoothly at post.  I've been busy.  Projects are starting to form and roll out.  I just helped open a boutique.  Doesn't really sound health related and I'll admit it's a stretch, BUT it's a boutique that specializes in selling products produced by women's groups in the Bogo arrondissement (region?  district?).  We'll have to see if anyone shops there, but the cool thing is it is a great way to introduce new (hopefully better and nutritious)  food products.  So that's women advancement (which is basically health as women with dollars tend to spend 'em on family) and tasty food variety!  HEALTH.

I've also finished my needs assessment report.  Well the rough draft at least.  I'm currently on my way down south to have a couple weeks of training with Peace Corps.  My lovely counterpart will be going with.  We'll be combining all the info from the needs assessment with training to hopefully make me a more effective and productive volunteer.  Poor bastards don't stand a chance.  That can be taken so many ways...

Anyway, I should be relatively connected for the next bit.  That means you beautiful people can expect more of what you know and love.  Me.

Soy Time

People gots ta eat.  In the Extreme North, they need to eat better.  I seem to focus a lot of my work on nutrition education, particularly for mothers and children, but really everyone needs it.  One of the things I want to get going in Bogo is soy.  It's relatively cheap and definitely so when considering the nutritional value.

Plus, turns out, it can be delicious.  On paper I'm trying to help out people.  In reality, I'm just hungry and will lose my mind if I eat any more damn massed up millet.

Now making soy into an edible product is apparently difficult and an all day affair.  Which is exactly why I need to teach other people how to do it for me.

STEP 1:  Soak the beans for a bazillion hours (or twelve).  OK, easy enough, wash 'em and throw out sticks or twigs or whatever, then toss 'em in water over night.  Now they absorb water, so make sure there is plenty.  Else you end up with the top HALF moldy by morning.  Whoops.

STEP 2:  Grind those suckers up.  The trick here is getting other people to do that for you.



Didn't even pay them.

Above is the manual method.  DO NOT RECOMMEND.  The second time I managed to find a guy with an electric powered grinder.  Sure there was no on/off switch and he just used rocks to hold the exposed wire together, but this is Africa.

STEP 3:  Mix the ground soy with more water and then squeeze the liquid out.  Basically spoon it into a porous tissue and really wring it out.  Discard the rest.  Pretty sure you can dry the rest and do something with it, but I don't actually know.



That strainer was worthless and so was the rag.  My neighbor gave me her head scarf and it worked perfectly.  Really should buy her a new one...

 STEP 4:  Boil the liquid.  Voila, that's soy milk.  Let it boil for ten minutes and you can drink it.  Well, let it cool and add sugar, chocolate, whatever.

STEP 5:  Cut the fire/stove down to low and toss in vinegar.  It should congeal; let it keep doing that for like 15 minutes or until you get all of it.  Now you got yourself some tofu!  The strainer is useful here to collect the chunky bits that you want.  Mash all that together with some spices.  MAGGI all the way in Cameroon.  Now you've got taste.

STEP 6:  Pile it all together and find a big rock.  Some people have boxes or whatever to shape it.  I had a chair and a rock.  You'll leave it so all the water drains out and it becomes hard.  This can take awhile.  It'll be spongy and sold.  Cut it.


Advanced soy smashing device.

STEP 7:  Get ready to cook it all.  You toss the chopped up pieces into oil and fry them.  Mmmm good.  You can eat them just like that OR, and I highly recommend this, you make yourself some delicious sauce.  I went the tomatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, spices route and it was divine.



This is where the magic happens.  Kitchen magic.



STEP 8: EAT!!!

I have made SOY!

En Brousse

My counterpart took me out into Africa.  Proper Africa.  The part of Africa where there are long stretches of land interspersed with occasional trees.  Mostly just brush and bushes for are far as you can see.  You know what I’m talking about, it is the Lion King or National Geographic (back when it was worth a damn) and you are half expecting some beast to pounce on you from behind a bush.  There were three of us ridding a moto on narrow little footpaths, bouncing along and scrapping against the brush.  That’s what en brousse means by the way.  In the bush.

Pretty accurate depiction of the countryside.

I might add that our “moto” was of course basically a dirt bike.  That’s what they all are here. They are plentiful.  You can buy one for six hundred American dollars, which would be more tempting if they didn’t literally just kick a volunteer because he was caught riding without a helmet.  Dirt bikes are appropriate here.  This is the Sahel, which is not as deserty as I originally thought.  There are plenty of trees providing God’s gift of shade in this heat and they grow millet and strange gourd like things as well as random other crops like cotton.  But the ground is sand wherever there isn’t something alive.  The little footpath or game paths (I just can’t call them moto paths as it seems clear they are not meant to be) seem to me to be the growing desert.  It isn’t the sands just creeping in mass as the desert grows; no, the sands are webbing out as plants get uprooted or destroyed and creating islands of green to be later engulfed.

Cows, the road is not for you!

We went to seven different villages that day.  None of which were very large; the biggest had maybe twenty compounds.  That’s important too; families live on compounds with their extended families.  In the city that means concrete walls that surround a number of small, usually one room, buildings each with their nuclear family.  Part of that communal living really appeals to me, though I have my own compound and can hardly keep people out so the lack of privacy might prevent me from enjoying it too much.  These compounds might be small with only one family and some animals, but the larger ones could have over twenty people and dozens of animals.  Of course out in the bush, these families were poor.  Most places had maybe one shared well to drink from.  Everything seemed covered in dust.  Clothes were often tattered, though many women obviously took pride in their beautiful robes.  I do think people were happy though.  Or maybe just happy to see us.

We were there to examine kids for malnutrition.  This was actually the second round of visits for this program.  The first was before I arrived.  My counterpart is a volunteer with this Red Cross initiative.  She has been out to virtually every village in the Bogo area and checked as many children as possible.  Then the undernourished ones can travel into the city and receive free nutritional supplements: plumpy nut.  I’m actually incredibly pleased with the program and judging by the number of children we found, it seems to be working.  The test is relatively easy and just involves measuring children’s upper arm.  Feed, rinse, repeat.  The problem is of course how you pay to send someone out to all the villages and pay for all the food.   People out in the bush don’t know their kids are undernourished and they are not likely to just show up in town to check.  And what if they can’t afford to come into Bogo?  While out there we talked about a lot of other issues: pregnancy, malaria, vaccinations and the question is how you get that healthcare out to where it is really needed.  I met a small child who was semi-paralyzed on its left side.  They don’t know why; the family couldn’t afford to get back into town and make the visits to the hospital. 

It’s ok though cause that baby was super happy.  Just sitting there laughing its ass off.  Adorable, fat baby.  Some babies cried when they saw the strange white man.  Some stared, eyes wide.  That baby just laughed and pounded the ground with its hand.  In fact, I can happily say I only terrified one little girl.  She stopped dead, stared at me for a full minute, then screamed and ran away crying.  Everyone laughed.