Treking about Cameroon

We complain about travel in America.  We complain and we really, really shouldn't.  You don't know pain.  You know not suffering.

You guys remember that time I had my host family kids stay with me?  Well when I took them back down south we all had to ride on the train.  Since I was buying their way, I bought us all second class tickets.  In the future, I'll choose jumping into a bear pit over this option.  It is an overnight train that is a minimum of 12 hours.  Do you know how second class works?  They just sell as many tickets as possible.  I'm not convinced there is any sort of limit.  We pushed and shoved our way through the eight second class cars looking for anywhere we could find space.  All the seats were taken.  People were laying on the floors beneath.  Even the connectors between cars were full.  There was only standing room in the aisles.  Some lovely humans scrunched up and provided we four with a single seat.  I gave it to the kids and sat on our luggage in the aisle being pushed around every five minutes by someone trying to get by.  This went on for half past eternity before I gave up.  I left those children and paid some exorbitant fee to whomever and was allowed entry into the dining car where I slept on a table.  I came here to live the life of Africans.  The contract was a little fuzzy on which sort of Africans and I've since decided it doesn't include second class ones.

Point is that I felt some weird sort of uncomfort in the luxury of the States.  I was picked up from the airport in a car and had my own seat!  ALL MINE!  I'm pretty sure I fidgeted in it the whole way not knowing what to do with myself.  Driving around on my own left me with the constant compulsion to pull over and try to pick people up.  Here a car ride means four people in the front and four in the back.  At least.  This does not count children who are non-entities and can be shovel anywhere.  Yes, in trunks, but not so often.  You just pray you don't get the bitch sit and have to share with the driver.  I'll say truly that this is the one time I find myself ok with malnutrition.

We'll toss out the full 24 hours I spent in airports and planes to get back to Africa.  Sure I didn't sleep a wink either way.  On the way home it was complete glee that kept me up (plus a desire to watch every film I'd never heard of before).  On the way back it was the anxiety of "Why the hell did I get on this plane?  I know exactly what's waiting for me this time!".  No, it was that train ride.  I paid for the sleeper car to share with three other Cameroonians; price doesn't matter for some things even if I still barely slept.  I had to be up by 4:30 to make sure I caught my stop.  Then pile into a car per above instructions for a couple hours.  Then hire a couple of motorcycles (loaded with 100 plus pounds of baggage) and another hour.  Oh and don't forget we aren't exactly on freeways.  Yes, some of it was paved--pothole ridden naturally--but the majority wasn't.  It's dry season so basically the entirety of this affair involved eating dust and gaining that special layer of Africa I'll be keeping for the next year.  It protects against the tireless sun.  Airplane, train, car, motorcycle.  I actually could add a boat into the trek if I wanted.  I don't.

I've learned a lot about myself living here.  One of those things is that if I'm ever going to work in Africa again, they are providing me with a goddamn car.

Dear America,

I’M COMING BACK!

Only temporarily yes, but I will set foot on your precious soil in less than a month!  I come to eat your food, drink your beer, and see how many women swoon when I say “Name’s Dale.  I work at a health clinic in Africa.  Helping kids and stuff.  Look!  Here are some pictures of me with them that I had printed immediately upon landing.”  Prepare yourself!

I fly into DC, our beloved capital on the 13^th.  I already feel giddy as a school girl.  Spend the weekend there and then head down to North Carolina afterwards.  Likely with a raging hangover.  In fact, there is a good chance I spend three weeks in either a food coma or drunken haze.  Hopefully both.  I just… I just can’t wait.  Tears of happiness are forming.

Until then, I’m doing some silly formation that Caitlin dragged me into.  Training people to be peer educators and spread knowledge about HIV/AIDS.  Work, pfft.  I’ll probably tell you about how it goes and stuff when it’s over.  First impression: very tiring.  And it’s hot.  Go away dry season…

Wait, I should buy a coat; it’s winter there, right?

From Limbe with Love.

Hotel's beach

Lunch downtown

Happy as a lamb

Kribi!

Those of us whose relationship goes beyond this blog probably saw pictures fly up on Facebook.  You may have noticed that I'm pretty shitty about posting pictures.  Luckily not all the volunteers are so slack.  A grand thanks to Jaclyn who is responsible for eighty percent of what goes up online.  This does weight what you see toward our vacationing and partying.  I promise my life isn't like that the vast majority of the time…  It has just been that way from the past month.

After all that hard, hard work during training--all those late nights playing capture the flag and discovering a bar that actually had DRAFT BEER--I needed a little vacation.  It was actually slightly forced upon me as anyone who regularly reads  BBC might know.  All the same, I headed west to the closest ocean available: Kribi beach.

It was, as all oceans are, beautiful.  Plus westward oceans get sunsets!

 I spent four or so days there.  A whole mess of us went and basically took over a small resort there.  I stayed a bit farther away with a smaller group under the slightly pampered conditions of hot water, fresh towels, A/C, and a beach-side pool.  Regret nothing.  We had bonfires and drank wine on the beach under stars.  I ate pizza, spaghetti carabona, and the greatest shrimp ever (three separate times!).  The African sun is not something you toy with and the majority of us have grown pasty hiding from it.  We fried ourselves lounging on the beach.  It was a fantastic vacation.

Oh, one last awesome fact about Kribi: waterfalls.  They have waterfalls that flow right into the sea.  It's majestic and magical and all that.  Though it did feel a bit too touristy and I kinda prefer hiking to something more secluded.  Still swimming in the ocean near crashing waterfalls is a nice way to spend the day.

Training down south

It was called IST which is an acronym I should probably know.  Pretty sure the "t" stands for training though.  My whole training class got together for the first time since we first departed to posts.  It was, as one might imagine, a bit of a shit show.  Extreme isolation ending suddenly with being surrounded by a language and culture you actually understand can lead to… certain excesses.  A couple weeks of that can take it out of you.

The training itself was relatively useful.  We brought our counterparts from all over Cameroon.  It was incredibly interesting to just watch how different people from all over interacted with one and other.  Cameroon is bilingual too; everything had to be in both English and French.  This kind of draws everything out, but can be pretty useful to someone still learning French.  Actually, it got really interesting when we broke into groups and I found myself in the middle of anglophones and francophone translating.  The classes or subjects were a bit simplistic and I found that incredibly boring and frustrating till it was pointed out how much our counterparts were learning.  Honestly the main things we taught were different methods for critical thinking.  I did learn a lot by listening to other volunteers both in my group and who have been here longer.  We shared best practices and strategies and I think I gained some useful ideas to try out in Bogo.  I look forward to what might hopefully be some fruitful projects.

The rest of the training was fantastic.  It was lots of catching up with old friends and sharing Peace Corps stories.  We looked a lot at how people had changed.  What does Peace Corps really do to a person's personality?  I will say… well, it makes sense to feel alone at an isolated post, but it is a strange thing to feel alone amongst a group of people all who are supposed to be your friends.  Even amongst people you know, love, and will always call friends, you still find yourself alone, thinking of all the people at home who know you best.

Training was an interesting transition.  It was a goal we were striving for.  "Stay at post, tough it out, and wait till you are reunited" was the mantra for the first months at post.  Now it is over.  We have no short term, easy goals.  It is "return to post and make a difference."  We have to find our own way.  Wish me luck.

Rain!

Water fell from the sky yesterday.  Hadn't seen that one in awhile.  Per usual, the Americans drew strange looks from Cameroonians as anyone from the Grand North ran outside to stand in it.  I should have snagged a few photos of us arms spread staring straight up like kids in a winter's first snow.

Two and a half months is really not a long period of time, but... it is just the strangest thing to never see rain.  Weather has always been unpredictable for me and everywhere I've ever lived has had rain pretty regularly.  I'm not the sort of person to check the weather; I just go outside and look at the sky.  And I get rained on a lot because of it.  The Extreme North (and the two other regions making up the Grand North) are completely dry for months at a time.  I can just leave things outside and it doesn't matter.  Because I know, with a hundred percent confidence (take that weathermen of the world), that it will not rain.

I think I miss rain.  I don't think about it often and sort of just got used to it.  The climate in Bogo is awesome.  It's like I'm living in the wild west and expect to run into Clint Eastwood around any corner.  Yea it is hot and going to get much hotter, but I'm vaguely getting used to that.  Plus you just hide inside of under the shade.  If you are rich, you sit in front of a fan.  I do miss bodies of water.  Also, having a river of sand is just weird.  I'd happily take a creak.  A bit of rain is a requirement for that from what I'm told.

The North West

Or the north part of the west.  It’s a bit confusing.  Cameroon is kinda shaped like a chicken (seriously, go look at a map).  There is this whole western part where they speak English.  The northern part of it is called the North West and that makes sense except there are three other regions that are much farther north.

We had quite the adventure and left Monday afternoon and didn’t get back till Thursday.  This probably doesn’t seem like much, but when every second of every day is planned a bit of an escape seems damn near the most amazing thing ever.  I think we spent half the time in a bus and that was fantastic as far as I was concerned.  It was too bumpy to actually do work which leaves hanging out, listening to music, and drinking.  I’M JUST KIDDING.  The only person who’s allowed to drink on the bus is the driver.

There may come a point when my jokes no longer make sense to anyone other than Cameroonians and Peace Corps Volunteers.  Apologies, ye faithful need just bare with me.



Cultural note: No, they do not speak Spanish anywhere in Cameroon so I’ve no idea why it’s called the “Super Amigo”.

This was our first time out in a real city since Yaounde.  Sure we still had a curfew, but it was extended to 10 o’clock.  And besides, we all went to the same hotel.  That means we got to still be together as opposed to alone (or rather with families of people who don’t understand us linguistically or culturally).  It was fantastic.  PLUS we stayed in super nice hotels.  Or… well there was hot water!  And water pressure!  Yea, we shared a bed with another volunteer, but at this point we are just one giant family anyway.  And the food… it’s like they read my blog or something, because we ate so well.  We had, oh what’s the word in English, I think I’ve forgotten… OPTIONS.  I spent infinitely more money than they gave me to spend, but it doesn’t matter; I fattened myself up quite nicely and can just live on the reserves in the coming week (actually, I seem to be shedding pounds already and I barely can find the time to work out). 

I realize I haven’t bothered showing you pictures of things like the town I’m actually living in or my home...  You will happily take whatever I give you and I will not hear a single complaint.  Anyway, I’ve really wanted to try to explain to you what I’m looking at here every day.  It’s a strange unique beauty.  The contrast between the buildings and humanity with the monster here that is “nature” is so stark I can’t always wrap my head around it.  I have tried to take a number of pictures, but they are pale comparisons to what I’m looking at with my own eyes.  It’s massive, impressive, and somehow incomprehensible.  It’s like being atop one of the mountains of the Appalachian and staring over an expansive forest only you are in the middle of some run down village that feels plucked from an old western flick.  And the sky… if you’ve talked to anyone that’s been to Africa, they told you about how much bigger the sky is here.  I know that makes little sense.  It just can’t be bigger.  But I’ve seen it.  And it is.  I’ve seen the clouds here and I’ve seen storms roll in from the distance.  You don’t need an umbrella here; you just check the sky and walk home before the rain catches you.



In the other direction there is a waterfall cascading down those mountains.  Seriously.

I’ve tried to take pictures of the stars.  It should be mandatory that cities cut power for an hour during the night at least once a month so we can all go outside and see what is really up there.

We learned a lot on our trip.  I learned how to make tofu from soy.  And it was actually incredibly tasty unlike almost every other time I’ve eaten tofu.  I also learned how to make soap, though I couldn’t stop relating it to the book/movie Fight Club.  It was intended that we learn to make wine, but somehow that got cut.  Don’t worry, I’ll get that knowledge soon enough.  All these are sort of income generating projects we use to get to communities and have them fund other projects.  It makes for more sustainable development if we set up health projects along side income sources. 

We also experienced probably the best day yet.  A lot of time is spent learning how to do need assessments and different sorts of projects we can start.  The how we actually get people and communities involved and committed seems incredibly daunting and we hear about as many efforts from volunteers that fail as those that succeed.  Sometimes the tasks seem insurmountable (like those mountains in the distance; go ahead, give ‘em another look).  But we spent a day in the most welcoming community I could imagine.  All of us including the PC trainers were taken aback by their response to our arrival.  They organized welcoming parties, a feast, songs, a work demonstration, and had speeches prepared.  It was all a thank you for a successful water project that a volunteer helped get underway.  Basically harnessing a spring and pumping clean water to a village of 1,500 people.  I can’t really describe the response except to say it was unexpected and brought, what do you call them, emotions to the surface.  Strange watery droplets and such tried to form.  It was just a reaffirmation of why I came all this way.  Hope and a sense that things really can be accomplished.

On that note, don’t go expecting as much from me.  That volunteer had more positive energy than I have cynicism.  

That’s the best picture I’ve got of a ton of people digging out a trench for the water pipes.  They are just community members, not paid workers or anything of the sort.  I have a great video… but I’m barely overcoming the picture problem at the moment.

I’d like to go into more about how the actual project started and worked.  Both technically and organizationally.  I will see about getting that info and talking to the volunteer who actually did it.  Otherwise I’ll just go back to making jokes about my life in Africa.

Dale out.