Bilingual? More like two hundred and fifty-six-something-lingual.

Although the official two languages of Cameroon are French and English, it is really quite different in the field. From my experience I would say majority of Cameroonians speak French (some speak French well, some speak a simplified version of French) and the majority of Cameroonians do not speak English. They might know a couple of words here and there and have the greetings memorized but actual conversations are not possible.

My village is pretty small and what we call “en brusse” so there is even less formal language and more of a mélange of tribal languages. The tribe in my village is the Moundong so they have their own langugage but the language of the Extreme North, Fulfolde, is from another tribe. The villagers have told me that by the end of two years I will speak fluent Moundong but I am finding it pretty difficult just to pick up this gibberish. Luckily, I have several students who find it very amusing to teach me the local langue. I have a couple of pages of translated phrases and the students will force me to practice with them. And I can always get a kick out of the older ladies of the village if I throw out some Moundong words.

But all these languages are getting hard to keep track of and sometimes speaking English has even become more difficult. In class, I speak a slower, simplified version of English. A couple of my colleagues practice their English with me but once again, I have to think of simplified phrases before I respond. It is an interesting blend of teaching English but speaking another language to communicate. So there’s a reason if you start noticing my blogs becoming more dull and simplified. Maybe I can just add some French and Moundong to spice it up.

And to those of you stateside, happy thanksgiving! Eat a cold turkey and mashed potato on wheat bread sandwich for me. Mmmm mmmm.

fulfilling (or lack thereof) my duties as a woman

For one, I am a terrible cook. At least in these conditions. I still have not been able to find a gas tank for my stove. I don’t understand how there are just not any bottles and an explanation has yet to be given so it remains a mystery why I cannot find one. So I cook over charbon (charcoal) and it is Difficult! There is a technique to lighting the charcoal that I cannot seem to master so that takes about an hour. Then actual cooking time takes about another one to two hours depending on how long it takes for the charcoal to really heat up. I have to plan my meals far in advance so usually I try to make as much food as possible that will keep without a fridge. So far I have made goopy pasta, runny oily eggs and metallic-tasting rice (that’s a whole other story that I will not get into here). None of it has actually tasted good but I guess it is edible because I haven’t gotten sick. I managed to eat most of the meals mostly because I was hungry but I had to throw some of it to the dogs. My lack of skill is embarrassing. It gets better every time so hopefully soon the food will be decent! Good thing for Maggie seasoning (MSG in a cube).

And second, I often surprise people when they ask me if I am married and have kids and I respond no to both questions. Sometimes for shock value I like to add that I don’t want this. I mean I am a lady of child-bearing age (if not too old), what else could I possible want? Then they start inquiring about if I would marry an African, specifically a Cameroonian. I have had some people, usually men, tell me as-a-matter-of-fact that I will get married and spend the rest of my life here. (They obviously don’t know me. Not that I am necessarily opposed to the idea but I am not really the type to sit in one spot.) Guys will ask to be my petit ami (boyfriend) the second time they see me. I feel as though they see me as a ticket out of here. The ‘unwanted attention’ does get tiring but it quickly makes you realize an aspect of life here: relationships of the genders.

A round of applause for teachers everywhere…and especially those in conditions such as these.

Although I have only been a teacher for a couple short months, I have gained a tremendous fold of respect for other teachers. This is a hard job, no doubts about it. I teach in concrete classrooms with completely open windows (the weather is mostly just hot so it works okay), so bugs, bees and lizards have free range. Parts of the roof are even missing in one of the classrooms. There are about 60 students in each of my classes sitting two to three at wooden desks.

Not only are the conditions rough, but actual teaching is tough. It is different everyday how the students will react. One day they could listen, take notes and participate in everything and the next day they couldn’t care less what I am doing in the front of the classroom. It is quite a feeling to be standing in front of 60 students with blank faces or not concentrating at all. I could make a lesson plan that I think will totally rock but becomes a total flop. It can definitely be frustrating but they are just kids and actually teaching me something. What’s that? Patience. And the job is more tiring than I ever imagined. It is like you are performing in front of the students and you constantly have to keep their minds attentive. Five hours in and I’m done. Props to those teachers who have to teach for longer.

Teaching has its perks too. Sometimes a class can go so well it puts me in a state of amazement. (Usually the next class breaks it pretty fast). But I will have to say that it is quite another feeling when you see a child’s face light up because he understands. You are getting through to someone. And the kids are quirky too. They can usually make me smile or laugh at their antics. I will catch them misbehaving and I all have to do is give them a look and they get all squeamish and scared. And sometimes they are just straight out funny. And every once in awhile they will yell at each other if the class starts to become too loud. A true miracle: when I don’t have to punish the students because they do it themselves.

Teachers everywhere deserve more than just a round of applause but that is all I got now.

a few natural bumps in the road never hurt anybody

After about a week of travel and banking, I finally moved in to my house at my post. My completely empty house except for my luggage and me. But on the upside, I live right next to a couple of mountains! I’ve climbed up them a bit to see the whole view and it is wondrous to see so far. Especially now since the landscape is still green, but in a month everything will be a dusty brown. My counterpart that I met with during training was affected to another school district but he was nice enough to come back for a day to introduce me to other school officials. So far everyone has been very friendly to me (maybe even too friendly sometimes). But I am slowly making friends and getting to know the community. As the only white girl in the village, people already know who I am and that I am teaching English at the lycee. It’s a little awkward when they come up to me like we’ve have known each other forever and I have no idea who they are. I spoke with a Catholic Mission here about getting some furniture built and I finally received that a week ago! I have had trouble finding a gas tank for a stovetop so I lived off street food for two weeks. Since my village is pretty small there is only benins (fried dough) and cooked beans. It was like the Fourth of July fireworks in my intestines for a good week. And my bathroom is an outside pit latrine (basically just a hole in the ground) so that has been interesting. I made friends with these two sisters who cooked for me and showed me how to cook meals over a fire. So I can eat real food finally! I’ve already seen some of the difficulties I will face as a female and how my experience will be different from a male volunteer. There are two other volunteers about 10 kilometers away in a bigger town where I can escape to if I need support. Petit a petit.

I’m officially a volunteer! (well, practically)

So tomorrow I will swear-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This means I am officially employed by the U.S. government! Yay for a permanent job! It also means that training is over! And that our whole group made it to the end without anybody leaving yet! Sorry for all the exclamations, it’s just all a very exciting time.

So I also leave for post on thursday and am on my own once I get there. It has been a crazy two months of emotions. It’s been stressful, exciting, nerve-wracking, touching and more. The group spends every day during training together and we’re family now.

I am thrilled to leave for post and settle in where I will live for the next two years but it will be hard to leave everyone. I have heard numerous times that the first three months at post are the hardest because it is a whole another set of adjustments we have to acclimate to. And we are on our own to figure it out. Wish me luck! And let the ride continue…

Oh my love of bicycles and tomatoes inspire my writings

Last Saturday we received our mountain bikes and a full four hours of how to make them work. Okay, so it was more like how to fix and maintain them which I guess is pretty useful information. Anyways, I was still pumped to get a bike even though it is a heavy mountain bike…road bikes just can’t handle the Cameroonian terrain. I finally took it for a spin the other day with a couple of friends around the village. Let me tell you, there is nothing more breathtaking then riding my bike through the hills of this gorgeous town. I mean the views are amazing (I wish my camera could capture the beauty in the same way I see it) and after pedaling up some of those hills, I literally couldn’t breathe. But the downhills are intense! I’m a little afraid not to brake a little on them but they are so exhilarating. But about halfway through the ride, my bike decided to break and a part just fell off. I was going slow enough that it didn’t matter but I couldn’t ride without it so we ended up having to walk an hour back home. Still made the 7 pm curfew though!

Another story I would like to share is about tomatoes. A lot of the Cameroonian dishes are made with a tomato type sauce, therefore a lot of tomatoes are diced up. But there are no cutting boards here. So what do ya do? Oh, just cut it in your hand! But don't you worry, the knife is too blunt to cut yourself. My mother definitely laughed at me when she had to show me how to cut the tomato. I tried to explain that I know how to cut a tomato, just in a different way but I could clearly see on her face what she was thinking – ‘stupid Americans’. After cutting a whole bowl of tomatoes, I would have to say I’m not bad at it. Not good per say...but not bad.

Car talks and Cow Stomach

Last week I had to make a trip to the provincial capital in the west with a couple other volunteers to fix some banking issues we had. Our training director, David who is an awesome Cameroonian, took us in a Peace Corps vehicle. He has been very helpful and accommodating and even plays soccer with us every Thursday. Anyways, to get to the point, we were conversing in the car and somehow we came up on the topic of our host families and what they get in return for allowing us to stay there. Most of us assuming that Peace Corps pays them plenty, without saying any type of amount David informed us that they receive just a little. Not even enough for all our food and utilities (water, electricity) that we use! Then he mentioned that some of the families do not even accept the payment. They just want to do it because they want to help. He explained, “Africans do not have money, but they always have space for foreigners. And food to go around." Just made me think. And it think it made more of an impact when were driving by poor neighborhoods and slums.

And speaking of food, I ate cow stomach the other night by accident. It was kinda dark when my sister gave me my plate of food but I could tell it was meat and boiled plantains in some sauce. So I asked her if the meat was beef and she said yes. So I took a bite and it didn't taste like any beef I've ever tasted before. Very rubbery and not much flavor. So I asked her again what type of meat and she explained that it was the stomach of the cow. She must have saw my face because she laughed and asked me if I didn't like it. I managed to swallow the piece of meat but she happily proceeded to eat the rest of the meat off of my plate. I lost my appetite. Needless to say, I am very excited to start cooking for myself.

It’s only a bus, train and moto ride away…but remember your helmet.

By looking at the map, it is quite a bit a ways away from the center region. In fact it takes about 2 ½ days of continuous travel time to get there from where I am at right now. And traveling in Cameroon is an experience in itself that I would like to share with you all.

First I take a five hour bus ride to Yaoundé, the capital, to catch an overnight train. Imagine the first time riding on a train was in Africa! The train has different cars for different ticket prices. Since I was traveling with three other trainees who are posted in the north we got a ‘couchette’ which is a very small room with four beds and a window. It can get really shaky but for the majority of the time it is pleasant to lay down, watch the scenery fly by and feel the breeze. The train can take anywhere from 14 to 24 hours depending on what type of problems it runs in to, including derailment. It seems as though the train derailing is a common occurrence and nothing to worry about, but I have hard time wrapping my head around that idea.

Then there is another eight-hour bus trip to my post. The easiest way to describe the buses is they are like large vans with rows of benches across and no seat belts. What would normally fit five people comfortably across, Cameroon squeezes in at least eight. If you are not touching the person next to you then the driver can fit in more passengers. I’ve actually become used to it pretty quickly and it makes me feels safer when the driver is hurtling down bumpy dirt roads. I feel like I have less of chance of popping out if there was an accident.

And motos are used around the village. They are cheaper and can get to more places than a car could fit. Peace Corps requires us to wear helmets so we have to lug around a clunky helmet when we travel. And we are the only people who wear them; I’m not even sure if Cameroonians understand why. A little bit scary at first, but then motos turn out to be fun once you get used to them.

I will always have lots more traveling stories to tell but that is all for now. The most important part of traveling here is to not pay attention to the actual driving. It will just make you sick and scared for the whole trip.

A little place that I will call home for the next two years

I went on my site visit last week! I am not supposed to tell you of my exact whereabouts on here but I can say it is in the Extreme North Province of Cameroon. This is where I secretly wanted to go so I am really excited to get a post there! So I will tell you a little bit about it from what I know so far.

The village is small and located next to a couple of huge mountains; a view that I will enjoy waking up to every morning. The mountains even have hiking trails that I will have to check out! The high school has about 1,000 students and eight male teachers. I will be the only female and only English teacher in the school – a bit intimidating. The students come from my village and the surrounding villages. I don’t have a house yet but most likely I will have electricity (sporadically) but no running water. Yay for bucket baths and paying children to bring me water from mysterious sources!(No worries, that is totally normal) And the closest internet is about 1 ½ hours away so my updates will be less frequent.

From what I’ve heard from other volunteers, the extreme north is extremely different from what I’ve been experiencing right now. For one thing, it is about ten times hotter. In the hot season, temps reach 115 degrees in the shade. It has a huge Muslim population, so it is more conservative in dress and mannerisms. The area is also more laid back and chill. In the words of another volunteer, “its just too damn hot to get angry.”

Omelet, Spaghetti, Tomato, Onion and Pimont Sandwiches. Yummmm.

So this entry will be about the food. Why, you ask? Because I love food and I know you would like to read about the food I eat in Cameroon.

So I stay at host family, who feeds me breakfast and dinner. For lunch, I and the other volunteers are on our own but there are a couple shops/homes nearby.
For breakfast, I usually have hot chocolate and baguette bread with butter and a chocolate spread on top (think nutella). They don’t have milk here so the hot chocolate is made with condensed milk powder, chocolate powder, sugar and hot water. Tastes just like Swiss Miss. If only I could find some marshmallows.

For lunch, I usually have one of three options. Either a sandwich made up of an omelet with spaghetti, tomato, onion and pimont (a spicy spread) mixed in. Sounds a bit weird but I actually start craving them already. Or I cut up an avocado with my swiss army knife and make an avocado and Laughing Cow cheese sandwich. Or I buy a bowl full of Cameroonian food from a local mother who cooks up huge pots of delish food. She usually makes a mashed potato/black bean mixture, spaghetti mixture, some type of vegetable mixture that looks like sauerkraut but tastes a million times better and fried plantains.

For dinner, it varies. I’ve had a rice mixture with cut green beans and carrots. Or small potatoes with fish and peppers. Or fried plantains. Or boiled plaintains with a cooked bean mixture. Or rice with a peanut sauce and fish on top. It doesn’t sound too unusual but the spices they use are different but common to every dish so everything has a Cameroonian taste to it. Oh! Just the other night I had fried potatoes which tasted exactly like some hot french fries! They were unbelievable amazing! And I think the more I eat, the more my host mother likes me. It’s a good trade-off.

Rouge, rouge earth

The ground here is a bold, brick red. It is a very beautiful landscape with the lush green trees and fairly blue sky. Only thing is that it gets everywhere! Inside my shoes, on the desks we sit at, inside the house and more. Although Cameroon is a developing country, it has a very up-kept appearance. The Cameroonian culture is to keep your shoes clean at all times. It is said that a Cameroonian will look at your face to meet you, then look at your shoes to judge you. So I try to stay as clean as possible, although this is hard when there is a rain burst every afternoon or so and the red dirt turns into a slippery, red mud slide. I have yet to fall but I am almost expecting it to happen at one point. But the mud gets caked to my shoes by the time I get anywhere. So it is common to wash your shoes about everyday to every couple of days to keep them clean.

Speaking about up-kept appearances…yesterday after class, a group of us went to play futball (soccer) with some of the Cameroonian trainers and locals. It was awesome just to have some fun and de-stress from all the class! It was also great exercise with the Cameroonians practically running circles around us. So this red dirt would collect on the ball and then deposit itself on us as it hit our legs, thighs and possibly arms and clothes. By the end, we were all basically covered in a sweaty, red dust with our shins a dark maroon. In Cameroon, women do not really play sports or wear shorts. Both of which I was doing. On my way home I just happen to run into my host mother and her friend. My mother knew I was playing futball but they both couldn’t stop staring at my dirty legs. I tried to explain/joke about it in my basic French but I can’t imagine what was actually going through their heads. Very uncomfortable so I rushed off to shower. And clean my shoes, of course.

I came and I saw

I have been in Cameroon for a little less than two weeks and already I know that Cameroonians (and most of Africa, for that matter) LOVES President Barack Obama. And all caps on love is not an exaggeration. They believe that since Obama is black, his family has originated from Africa, which it has. But since they don’t know exactly where, they believe he came from Cameroon. And Cameroon is extremely proud to have a Cameroonian United States of America President. I’ve seen Obama’s face on billboard advertisements for a cell phone service. His face is painted on the fronts of barbershops so you can get the Obama haircut. Today, I even saw a sign saying Club Obama but I am not sure what it was…maybe a restaurant?

Most of all, I just find it interesting that they are so interested in America and know so much about us but we know very little of them. I couldn’t even tell you where Cameroon was in Africa before I received my Peace Corps invitation. America is just known to the rest of the world, developed or not. It just amazes me that this place with unreliable electricity, poor Internet access and such a different way of life, knows America. But the majority of America does not even realize that.

More observations: I saw a bee for the first time yesterday. Not really a big deal except that it was the SIZE OF A HUMMINGBIRD! Cant imagine the sting on that. And the keyboqrds are wierd and mqke me type like this.

Yes, you have come to the right place.

So this is my newly formed blog. I want to share my Peace Corps/Cameroon/Africa adventures with everybody so I am going to try out this whole blogging thing. But to be honest, I don't really know how my internet connection will be. As backup I might end up just sending out a group email out whenever I can...if you want to be added to that list, just message/email your address to me!

I am a lil overwhelmed with everything that I have to do before I go (the 'to-do' list seems never ending)...but super stoked that I just booked my ticket today to my staging event in Philadelphia! I leave June 3rd at 7:08am. DYT > PHL > AFRICA!