JE SUIS FAIM!!!

           Those of you following along at home will remember that my last post was (partially) dedicated to some of the incredible people that I left back in America. I thought I would bring it full circle in this post and talk a bit about two of the incredible people I met in Bamenda-my postmates Cynthia and Eric. They finally reached the end of their countdown today and are currently headed back to America, having successfully finished their time in Cameroon. Today was also their “gonging out” ceremony, in which they were officially given RPCV status and publicly recognized for their respective achievements during their services. In terms of work, they were both quite accomplished: Cynthia taught many business classes, worked with teen moms, and lawyers (among other things), and Eric founded a software development company and trained a pair of motivated Cameroonians how to write computer code (among other things). They left quite big shoes to fill, and Bamenda is certainly going to miss them.

This is what happens when you have an addiction to selfies...

            But more importantly, (for the purposes of this blog, anyway…) I’m going to miss them both terribly. They welcomed me to Bamenda and offered me a refuge when Cameroon was just…too much to handle. Cynthia became the person I called when I had a work setback, the one who comforted me when I broke down into tears on my birthday, and the one who informed me of the importance of cleaning out my bathroom drain (what a game-changer). And of course, Cynthia and Eric were both always there to celebrate all of the obscure American holidays, watch a movie on their projector, and play a game of Settlers of Catan or two. Them being at the end of their services while I was just starting out created an interesting dynamic between us, and I often found myself questioning my take on a certain aspect of life here thanks to their opposing perspective. Cameroon can be a frustrating place to live, but they helped me find the humor in certain situations and set my expectations appropriately. I’ve finally learned never to attempt to apply logic to life in Cameroon. And they were always quick to share their seemingly never-ending supply of care package rations.

Eric and his work counterparts, Yovla and Akor

            Their departure also marks a milestone of sorts in my own service. Although they have a replacement volunteer, (Lexi is only here for six months to continue Eric’s software project) it’s officially time for me to leave the nest and commit to establishing my own presence in Bamenda. I wish them the best of luck in their next adventure and am incredibly grateful for all of the fun we’ve had over the past seven months or so.

My Tummy's Turning and I'm Feelin Kinda Homesick...

Exactly a year ago, my friends and I walked across a stage, were handed our diplomas, and officially became college graduates. I know this blog is supposed to be about my experience in the Peace Corps, but I feel like I owe at least one post to those crazy kids that walked across that stage with me a year ago and the adventures that they have undertaken since then. Also, I’m still coming to terms that a year has already passed since that day that another group of students has taken our place since then. On that note, congrats to the Carleton class of 2014. You did it.

            But back to the issue at hand: my 2013 Carls and the places we’ve gone this past year. I mentioned in one of my first posts about our various plans and the things we expected to do. For the most part, my friends are I have been good about following through with our respective plans, but almost everyone added their own little twists (as they tend to do). Collectively we’ve been on four continents (and back from three of them) and have made almost no money. Some of us have decided to continue what we’re doing for another year, and one of us decided to quit the original plan and head to the Grand Canyon to work with the mules instead. Many of you may be able to guess who that was. We’ve celebrated one engagement, suffered at least one major breakup, and logged thousands of miles behind the wheel/handlebars (by car, bike, and for me at least, motorcycle).

            A year ago, we were so entangled in each other’s lives that it may have been unhealthy. These days, the term “staying in touch” has real meaning and is (surprise, surprise) harder than it sounds. I’m lucky in that I left my circle of Carleton friends and entered right into the close-knit group of Peace Corps Volunteers (fun fact: turns out those groups aren’t mutually exclusive-there are currently two Carleton alums in Peace Corps Cameroon!). But I’m so glad to know that my Carls are out there on the other side of the globe having adventures of their own and I can’t wait to see them again so we can have time to catch up for real.

The original plan for this blog post was to end right there, and leave my life here out of it for once. But this has been quite the weekend, and that just wouldn’t be right. My adventures here began early Friday morning, when I joined the entire Bamenda CamPost (post office) team for their 10^th anniversary march. I first agreed to march before I knew much of the plan, and was taken for quite the surprise when I realized that I had gotten myself into. The march began at 6 AM, contained a full half-hour warm up, a walk across town and back (definitely didn’t know that going in…) and then a cool-down. Total time: about two hours. Important components: matching t-shirts, professional motivators, a truck blaring music, and a police escort. And here I thought I was agreeing to a casual walk across town with a new friend. You live and you learn.

             The other event this weekend was a daylong canoe trip that a few friends and I went on. I also agreed to this activity without much knowledge of what I was signing up for (it’s kind of the way things work here) but in this case I was pleasantly surprised. The trip was professionally organized and initially felt almost like an American canoe tour. That is, until we learned that part of the fee went towards paying a “hippo monitor”: someone who paddles in front of the group to watch out for hippopotamuses lucking ahead. Although I was glad to have this additional guide, most of the trip passed without major incident and we almost forgot about the potential danger. The journey was beautiful, and it was honestly quite nice to get a glimpse at Cameroon without constantly being under scrutiny. The trip took longer than we had expected, and towards the end our group drifted apart a little bit. My two friends and I were pretty far ahead of the rest of the group (but still behind the hippo monitor) when we heard a splash and then looked up to see two pairs of eyes peering out of the water. Hippos. The hippo monitor quickly turned around and paddled back upstream, and we followed suit. Luckily, there was a cluster of rocks sticking out of the water a safe distance away, so we headed there and climbed out of our boats. The rest of the group slowly caught up to us and we alerted them to the situation ahead. The two hippos (a female and her calf) slowly advanced towards us, which was fairly terrifying. But apparently they decided that we weren’t worth their time so backed up the way we came and left us to decide what to do next. Some members of the group would have happily waited on those rocks indefinitely, but that wasn’t a realistic option. So we calmly and quietly got back into our boats and headed back down the river. Luckily we were close to the ending point and arrived without further incident. This being Cameroon, the logistics hadn’t been quite worked out; the designated river exit was legitimately the steepest bank I have ever climbed, and also the muddiest. Of course I didn’t make it up without falling down once. So muddy, sunburnt, bug-bitten, and sore, we headed back to civilization. What a great day.

Cradle to Grave

It’s kind of incredible how eager Cameroonians are to share their major life events. In the six months that I’ve lived in Mendakwen, I’ve attended them all-a marriage, funeral, birth/naming ceremony, and even school graduation. So far I haven’t been invited to a single Bar Mitzvah, but I’m not holding my breath on that one. The past two weeks have a little overwhelming, as I was found myself at a funeral, naming, and primary school graduation in quick succession.

            As much as possible, I generally avoid trying to directly compare aspects of life in Cameroon to those in America. The cultures function as such completely different systems that it tends to be a pointless enterprise, as well as a frustrating one. But the life events that I’ve been included are such universal experiences that they lend themselves pretty easily to comparison. And in this case I don’t necessarily think that one culture comes out on top, so I’ve decided to share my thoughts on them. I’ve decided to list the events in the order that I attended them as opposed to chronologically in order to best show my reactions and keep in mind my relative experience with Cameroon at each point. Also, please forgive the bulleted lists. I tried to write this out longhand, but it became so long that no one would have gotten through it.

Marriage

·         Original date of wedding ceremony moved several times due to disagreements between the groom and the bride’s family (but was not moved to accommodate the couple’s daughter’s school schedule)

·         Bride and groom arrived at ceremony together and half an hour late

·         Groom declared that the marriage would be monogamist (he had the option of polygamy!) and the crowd cheered

·         Couple had already received a traditional marriage and this ceremony was just for the civil system

·         Wedding reception had its own Master of Ceremonies

Funeral

            This one was the most different from its American equivalent.

• ·         Entire funeral party went to the morgue to watch as the body was placed inside the coffin
• ·         “Hearse” played music that would be fitting for an ice-cream truck the entire way back to the family compound
• ·         The appropriate grieving process seemed to involve simultaneous weeping and dancing. There was a live band blasting music the entire time.
• ·         There were funeral programs passed out that contained the schedule of events as well as tributes from family members.
• ·         Members of the grieving family all wore matching fabric. If a funeral isn’t the perfect opportunity to show off the family style, what is? 
• I had to leave relatively soon after arriving at the family compound-it was all just too much for me. I can accept different ways of celebrating, but I had a hard time with the mix of emotions being expressed. I wish I had a better way of describing this event, but I think it might fall into the category of “you had to be there”.

School Graduation

My next-door neighbor, Asmahan, graduated from primary school this past week. She attended Chantal Biya’s (the president’s wife) Champion Primary School, which is a government school that receives support from the first lady herself.

·         Event began two hours after it was scheduled. I was proud of myself when I showed up a half hour late, thinking I had finally gotten the hang of this “African time” thing. If only.

·         The ceremony began (as most things do) with opening prayer.

·         The appropriate graduation gift was a terribly tacky fake flower that they were selling by the road outside from the school. Asmahan had specifically asked for one, and I didn’t want to disappoint her, so I got her the least offensive one I could find. There was visible cardboard on all of them and they looked like they had all already been through a few graduations. The boys selling them should have been paying us to take them off their hands. 

·         The program was an entire page long and offered the promise of an entire day of graduation activities. I wish I could say that I stuck around long enough to confirm or deny this. I left after four hours, but there was no end in sight.

·         There was a graduation cake that was nowhere near large enough to feed even the entire graduating class (about 40 students). I needn’t have worried, as the cake was only intended for the invited notables, teachers, and parents brave enough to go take a piece. There was definite begging on the part of the MC for parents to come take “a taste”. This was when I decided I had had enough.

·         All of the students participated in some form of dancing. There were costumes at multiple parts of the ceremony, but I didn’t see a single cap or gown.

·         It looked like all of the graduating students would receive a bucket, but I’m not sure anyone got a diploma.

·         My neighbor graduated first in her class and as the best female student overall. This isn’t any kind of cultural difference, but I’m quite proud of her!

Naming ceremony

·         I should mention that I wasn’t aware of my next-door neighbor’s (and close friend) pregnancy until she was in her eighth month. Chalk that up to the style of dress here or my general cluelessness, but the whole baby thing definitely took me surprise.

·         The baby wasn’t named until he was almost a week old. I missed most of the ceremony (it unexpectedly started much earlier than planned), but I know the name was officially given at the local mosque. The new baby is named Mohammed, just like his older brother. Luckily, they have different middle names, which I’m assuming they will go by.

·         The most appropriate baby gift was a bar of soap, and the various guests completely filled a bucket with the stuff. They all brought the exact same kind-a beige unscented square that is made by the palm oil company. I wish I knew what the new mother is supposed to do with it all; she definitely can’t wash her new baby and it will likely take years to go through it all just by washing clothes and dishes. One of the many mysteries of my existence here.

As confusing as these new experiences have been, I’m incredibly grateful and humbled by the ease in which my new friends have allowed me to join in on such intimate moments of their lives. They’ve been quick to show me parts of Cameroonian culture and ensure that my time here is as informative and rich as possible. I’m not always quick to remember the parts of Cameroon that I enjoy, but my friends and neighbors here always top the list. This post details the major events that I’ve attended recently, but a more comprehensive one would include the everyday greetings, the easy routines, and all of the people here who regularly go out of their way to make me feel at home.

Unlimited Texting has come to Cameroon!

Any Peace Corps service will be filled with challenges, but I think some of the toughest ones that I have faced so far have been the mental ones. It’s often much easier to focus on the difficulties that come with life here than see all of the potential opportunities that lay ahead. There are many Volunteers that finish their time in Cameroon jaded and cynical about their expectations for development here, and I don’t want to be one of them. I have noticed recently that my patience often wears thin and that I find myself frustrated at some of the inconveniences that used to amuse me. This past week was especially challenging, as I attempted to restart projects that I had neglected during my preparations for Jake’s visit. Progress moves slowly here and in my experience so far, constant vigilance is required to keep projects moving.

            So in an attempt to counter some of the negativity I’ve been feeling, I’ve decided to write this post about some of the things that make my service great. Some of them are unique to my post, some to Peace Corps Cameroon, and some can be applied to Peace Corps service in general.

• ·      I have nearly complete freedom to choose my work projects, work partners, and set my own schedule. My only limitations are the availability of committed work partners and geography.
• ·      Part of setting my own schedule means that I almost never have to get up earlier than I want to. So I’m never tired. I’m still getting over this novelty.
• ·      The fun of shopping at the market still hasn’t worn off. I have a few “market mamas” that I’ve gotten to know, and I try to be loyal to them whenever possible. It’s way more satisfying to buy vegetables from a woman that I know than a generic supermarket, even if the selection overall isn’t nearly as good. And they’re usually much fresher.
• ·      I get way more joy out of American-made goods than I ever did back home. One of my market mamas gave me a Hershey’s Nugget today and it made my day. It was stale milk chocolate, and I’m not sure I would have even eaten it in America.
• ·      I live in my own apartment for the first time in my life (and probably the last for a while) and never have trouble paying rent. My landlady and I are going to “make sport” together this afternoon by walking the two kilometers down the mountain to Bamenda and then back up.
• ·      Getting clothes custom-made is totally normal and brings approval from my Cameroonian friends and neighbors.
• ·      It has never been easier to make friends. My neighbors were so curious about my presence here that they welcomed me with open arms, and continue to make me feel at home whenever I stop by.
• ·      The Peace Corps gives us the most comprehensive medical care I ever expect to receive. And although I haven’t been very impressed with the quality of care available in local facilities, we always have the PC medical office in Yaoundé to take care of us if we need it (as well as the option of medical evacuation…but let’s hope I don’t need that). I theoretically have a pair of glasses headed my way (courtesy of the US government) to replace the pair that I lost at the beach.
• ·      The climate here is warm and comfortable, but somehow lacking in mosquitoes. I really got lucky on that one. Also, the landscape is stunningly beautiful and consists of grassy mountainsides, sometimes with animals grazing.
• ·      You don’t sign a binding contract when you become a PCV, so we’re all free to leave whenever we want. For me this means that every day that I spend here is my own choice, not just a step towards fulfilling an obligation.
• ·      There are almost 200 other PCVs scattered across the country, most of whom are only a phone call away (some don’t have phone service). Talk about a support system. And the phone company we all use just introduced an unlimited texting plan for $1/month. Game-changer.

I’m sure that I could think of more benefits to life as a PCV if I tried, but I’m happy with this list for now. In the meantime, enjoy all that June brings your way. That’s my strategy these days.