And along came Nico!

After a year into service, I was the fortunate recipient of a visitor from the great states of America, my sister Nicole! Thanks to govt school loans, she could afford the trip here. It was absolutely amazing to show my sister, someone from my family and from the states, my life here in Cameroon firsthand. And after more than a year of not seeing each other, we had a lot of catching up to do. The trip was filled with adventures of public transport, new eating experiences and the frustrations of getting hassled by the police. Oh Cameroon, you know just how to outdo yourself.

It was great to show everyone one in village my Twin sister. To which they exclaimed,"Same mother, same father?!" Yes, that was a question. And "Oh you look the same!" And except for Nico's new haircut, we pretty much did. The airline lost her baggage for a while (Eff AirFrance) so Nicole had to wear my clothes and we really did confuse people in village.

Here are a few photos:


We hung out with neighbor kids.


We drank delicious fermented millet. Thou, nicole wasn't too fond of it.


All in all, we had Fun! I wanted to add more photos but Nicole only sent me a few so I blame her. But she has a full facebook album if the curiosity strikes.

Shout out to my sister: Love and Miss.

Nobody makes me bleed my own blood! Well, except for that moto driver...

I am a little behind on blog posts due to the death of my mac, lack of internet service and just a plain ole shortage of computers but don’t fret; I’m still here! And hoping you are too. So I am rewinding to the rainy month of July. As I was returning to my village with all my baggage and myself atop a moto, we took the turn entering my village a bit too fast and slid out in the sandy gravel. Fortunately I was wearing my helmet and there were no serious injuries, just a moment of shock and a couple bad scrapes. After picking myself up I turned to see a herd of villagers running my way to see if the moto driver and I were hurt. I realized my leg and palms were bleeding so another man offered to bring me to the hospital to be cleaned and sterilized. By the end of the day, the rest of the village knew what happened and received many visitors that week as I hobbled around my house. (Disclaimer: Photo following, don’t look below if you get queasy at that stuff. And yes, I took a picture of the fresh wound at the health center. That was right after I stopped tearing up because the antiseptic stung so bad. The doctor was amused and told me I was interesting. I'm sure he meant it as a positive compliment.)

Because of how often I have to take motos as transport and the lack of safety here I figured the probability of an accident happening was just a matter of time. Once (hopefully) out of two years can’t be that bad, right? The worst part of it was the fear instilled in me for a month after every time I had to take a moto. My body would freeze up on the inside and nausea would take control. I have to admit I enjoyed a beer or two beforehand to stay relaxed. But that feeling has passed and now I feel comfortable traveling again. I am just much more conscious of who is driving the moto and his condition (drunk?) and the speed. It healed up fairly quickly but left a pretty big scar. I'm sure my daily treatments of vitamin E oil will get it lookin new in no time.

Welcome Home, Fatty

Everytime I return to my village after a couple weeks of traveling or gone for just the weekend, it is customary for the villagers to comment on how much weight I have gained (even if I have not gained an ounce):

"Oh tu as pris le poid! beaucoup!"

Translated to: "Oh you have taken the weight! A lot of it!"

Most of the time I believe it is meant to be a compliment. Some villagers will follow the statement with "very good! Cameroon is good to you!" Those are the people who enjoy seeing me plumper. And when you tend to be a little heavier, it means that you have the money to feed yourself well. And often. And yes, perhaps I have gained a few more pounds. I mean it is hard not too when the only food to eat is couscous, rice, pasta and more heavy, full-of-carbs food. And when I travel I can find more tasty food such as salads, omelettes, grilled fish, cheeseburgers (yes, cheeseburgers!) that it is too hard not to pass up. And with the climate usually hovering around 90 degrees, it gets too hot to exercise.

So it's acceptable in the Cameroonian culture to make blunt statements about physical appearance such as weight, skin color, clothes, etc. but we are taught in the states to hardly ever comment on that, let alone a negative aspect. It is hard to get used to this at first, thinking that my friends in village were just being rude and mean. But they don't mean it like that and it is just part of the culture. It is easier to just accept it and not get frustrated over it. And so now I just joke back with them saying "oh yes, I have eaten so much good food!" So soon I will return home again and expect the comments (compliments?) of my weight once again. All this talk about food... I think it's time to fill my belly up with a chicken sandwhich and fries! And just maybe they will have ketchup too!

Rainy season: what does it mean?

Being back in village during rainy season (which is also my summer vacation) has given me a lot more time to relax during the spurts of rain that come every other day or so. Rainy season means the villagers are out at their farms planting and cultivating in the morning. It means the pitter-patter of sprinkles on my aluminum roof. It means occasional great big thunderstorms that seem so much more intense than in the states. They seem to shake the ground up to my insides, scaring me but also giving the feeling that I am so close to something dangerous. It gives the feeling of being alive. Rainy season means cooler weather (about 80 degrees) and steam floating off of the mountain and intermingling with the dark clouds above. It means green grass, green fields and green plants; it doesn’t look so much like desert anymore. It means more bugs, mosquitoes and creepy crawlers creeping into my house and me being thankful for mosquito nets. It means more flies, flies that stick to your skin, flies that after a while you just stop bothering to wave away. It means the electricity is cut more often, gone for days at a time. It means more time to read, write, watch movies (when there is electricity) and reflect. And it means more time to write blogs such as this.

Rewind: sometimes it goes by so quickly I’ve got to look back and see what I missed to tell you.

Let’s back up to the month of May, when this occurred.

The chief of the village is whom we call the Lamido. He is the big man, a grand, the head honcho of my village and a couple surrounding villages. I met him a couple times when I first arrived but it was easy to see he was very old and feeling it. His scrawny limbs rested on a mattress inside while I greeted him from the outside steps. At every fete, there was a chair dedicated to his place but it always remained empty. He was soon sent to Douala for medical reasons, after several months he returned to Lara in May to die within a week. I missed the funeral but knew it was customary to stop by the chief’s palace to give my condolences.


The palace of the Lamido.

I went one evening to find several large rugs placed outside in various spots filled with sitting Muslim men. It is how they show their respect for the dead, by sitting outside of the house for days and nights included. I can actually tell when there has been a death in the village by this act alone. Once I arrived, I realized my nervousness of not knowing what I was doing or what was protocol. I knew I should give my condolences but I didn’t want to insult the Muslim religion. Luckily I saw a man that I knew sitting down, the president of the parents’ association, so I walked toward him. He waved me over, refused to let me take my shoes off (another custom), exchanged greetings with me and offered up his son to lead me throughout the palace compound. I entered into a main room where several more men were sitting talking; I presume by the tone it was a serious discussion within family members. After greetings I was lead to the back of the compound and through a maze of walls and mud huts. Everywhere I looked there were groups of people, mostly women and children, doing various activities. I gave my condolences to the three wives of the deceased chief, who sat mourning quietly on mats, reminiscing in their heads. I made the mistake of offering my hand to the first wife, who refused and I immediately realized I offended her. The boy leading me around could see my embarrassment and told me not to worry about it but needless to say, I did not do it again with the next two wives. I greeted other groups of female family members who also sat on mats but chatted and gossiped and thanked me for coming. I saw other people walking around but was not sure of their purpose. As we came to the end of the tour, a large group of women were in the various stages of mixing and kneading dough to bake. Upon inquiry, my guide told me that on the 8th day after the death, the Muslim tradition is to make a special kind of gateau (cake) for all of the family to eat. I just happen to be there on that day. Ya know, once you took away all the bright-colored pagne, sitting mats and mud huts, it wasn’t much too different from our own way of funerals in America. Just family all meeting together to mourn and commemorate the death.

Two weeks after the death of the old chief, a board of important community members elected a new chief for the canton of Lara. He is only 27 and still a student at the university. I went to the election and it seemed like the majority of people were very pleased with this decision. It was only afterwards when I started hearing that he was too young and people must have bribed for the vote. I never know what to believe with the rumors here so we’ll see what decisions he makes for the village in the upcoming year.

We’re halfway there! Whoaaaaaa! (…think bon jovi tune) One year down, one to go.

I’ve spent a little over a year here in Cameroon and what a year that has been. I’ve had so many experiences that I can’t decide if it feels as though I arrived in country just last week or that I’ve already spent five years here. Somehow the two options exist simultaneously in this life we live as Peace Corps Volunteers. Living in a small village in Africa has taught me many skills, some of which I will never have need for again. I would like to share with you a few of the lessons I have picked up over the year.

• Cleanliness is just a difference of opinion. My neighbors think I am dirty because I don’t sweep the rocks in front of my house. I think they are dirty because they don’t wash their hands with soap. Just opinions.
• Having only an outdoor bucket bathing area is actually quite liberating and enjoyable. Except when the weather decides to be rainy, windy and/or cold. Then I decide that a shower is not necessary that day.
• My cooking has improved ridiculously. It’s amazing how creative one can be with the village staples of rice, onions, mangoes and Maggie cubes. One day I will post some of the recipes I cook.
• If a meeting is scheduled for 1 p.m., the meeting won’t start until 3 p.m. on a good day. And that pretty much goes for any event scheduled with a time.
• Nassara! Nassara! No, those people are not yelling my name with a little accent twist to it. It just means ‘white person’ in the local language. It is hard to be always reminded of your skin color when that is what we are taught to ignore in the states.
• Just because it is an American-based company, does not mean the people who work for it are competent. Case in point: Sonel (AES), the electric company.
• Duct tape is the best invention ever. Not only does it fix pretty much everything but can also be rolled up into a ball for a fun game for the classroom.
• I can make anyone smile here by breaking out in dance. My white girl dancing is amusing to all Cameroonians. Sometimes they smile approvingly and other times they are just straight out laughing at me.

That’s just a few of my observations from the year. And I’m eager for all of the lessons and surprises this next year in Cameroon will bring and I can continuing sharing with you all. Thanks for the support!

Koki and piment: a spicy mush that is most likely clogging my arteries as we speak…er as I write this.

So I just had my market – day usual: a delicious 100 cfa filling of koki and piment which amounts to about 20 cents. During my training in the south I tasted the koki and absolutely hated it. Couldn’t even imagine how people could stomach this oily mess. But since moving to the North and becoming more accustomed to the Cameroonian staples, my hatred has transformed from ‘I wouldn’t even feed that to my dog that I don’t have’ to ‘okay I can eat this occasionally’ and then to ‘I really enjoy this and will start buying it every market day.’ Now my likeness toward koki has blossomed to a full-blown love of it. I crave the spiciness and count the days down to the next market day where I can buy this orange blob again. I am just not sure if the koki and pimont ensemble share the same feelings.

To explain, the koki is made up of finely grounded white beans mixed with a whole lotta palm oil, which a red thick oil. Piment peppers, salt and other spices are added to the mix before boiling for a while. Then I eat it with piment – a very spicy, oily sauce. It doesn’t seem to have much nutritional value just the fact that it fills the belly up quickly and cheaply. I don’t want to have to judge my weekly serving but I can’t see how it could be beneficial for my heart arteries. So I might not have any more nutrients or vitamins in my system, but don’t worry mom and dad, I am keeping the weight on!

Bon appetit!

8 mars: bon fete! (march 8, happy women's day!)

Athough Women's Day is allotted on March 8, the activities began a full week before. I joined the women playing football a couple times in a tournament! It turned out to be really fun, tiring and amusing to see some of the older ladies kick a ball around. But there were a couple younger players who were pretty intense about the game and I kept up for the most part, but I found out later that they said not to push the 'white girl'. But it was a great bonding experience sweatin' it out with the ladies. There was also cultural soirees which are events held in the evening and the women dance or act out sketches. I didn't always understand the sketches when they spoke the native language of Moundong but they did speak of the rights and equalities of women in Cameroon which is great to at least start talking about it!

On the actual day of March 8, I 'marched' (yes, i said march) in a line in front of the important people of the community in my pagne (fabric) specially made for Women's Day 2010. Here are a couple photos of the defilé.



They stuck me right in front of the lines. Very Awkward.





I spent the rest of the day partying with the women and my Girl's Club. The evening was full of eating, drinking, socializing and cant forget about the dancing! And as for the whole production, I met some of the more influential and successful women which was great to see in my little village.

Quality Bilingualism for Quality Education; You can decipher what exactly that means...

I wanted to share some photos of Bilingualism Day so enjoy!


My 6eme class singing Row Row Row your Boat.


My 5eme class reading a Cameroonian poem in English.


My 4eme class singing the chorus of Lean on Me


A class singing and dancing to This Old Man.


And some students playing Simon Says.

Now that I know how this works I hope to add more photos in the future. Go English Day!

so...how about that weather?

I fully realize that in the states when we start talking about the weather it is because we have run out of things to say or the conversation is going nowhere. It is quite the opposite here. People like to do this thing called ‘state the obvious’ so the weather is discussed in almost every conversation. And its not even like the weather changes dramatically. I probably say ‘Yes, it is hot today’ about twenty-seven times a day. But I don’t mind. In a way it connects me with the people here. Now on to my real topic: I really am going to discuss the weather.

Dry season started in the middle of October when the rain officially stopped. But we could see the real change within the first weekend of December. Suddenly everything actually felt dry, the heat and air, and a light cloud of dust descended onto my village. It disappeared but the wind appeared in its place. During the months of December and January, every night the wind came, forcefully blowing its way around my house. Because my village is located right next to mountains, the wind is amazingly powerful. I would wake up several times a night from the noise of wind whipping past the windows. And it would be chilly in the morning! Too cool to bathe in the morning and I even wore a sweater on some days!

The combination of dry season and the wind increased the amount of dust in the air. My sinuses cannot seem to become accustomed to it because it has left me with a bloody or very runny nose. There is also this phenomenon called the harmattan winds that blow in from the Sahara and fill the air with dust. From what it sounded like it was not bad this year but there were some days were it was hard to see the mountains next to my house. Now the coolness has parted ways and it seems to be heating up very quickly. At midday the sun is already beating down with full force and it is stronger than any sun I felt in the states. And it will only get hotter in March…whew…so how about that snow in the states?