The ideas expressed below are not endorsed by or representative of the U.S. Peace Corps.

Also, I'm aware that "obviousment" is technically not an officially accepted French word.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Rainy Season Transitions and a Return

For a country that doesn't experience winter, life in Cameroon is full of transitions. The most obvious ones tend to be weather related; at the moment we're in the midst of what feels like a never-ending rainy season and all conversations seem to touch on the effects of the current “cold”. (Full disclosure: I don't think it's dipped below 60 degrees the entire time I've lived here). But there are other transitions at work as well, and as my first full year in Cameroon comes to a close I'm more acutely aware of them than I think I have been in a while.

One of the more visible transition going on at the moment is also quite familiar: the closing of “summer” holidays and the preparation for the students' return to school. It seemed a little strange to me that Cameroon follows the same calendar that America does; after all, it's not like Cameroonians experiences summer in the same way that we do back home. But the rainy season here is also a busy season for farming, and children provide much-needed labor in their time off from school, which brings me to my next transition.

During the school holidays, I've noticed an interesting exchange of children in my neighborhood. As far as I can gather, it seems like children from the “village” (less developed areas) often come to experience city life for a few months. Their more urban counterparts often head out to the village to spend time with their extended family members and offer a hand on the family fields. My landlady's family experienced both: she sent her children off to the village in the Littoral (another region), and welcomed a new set of children that were somehow related to her for a few weeks during the month of July. Prior to coming to Cameroon, my frame of reference for school vacation included idyllic summer camps, family vacations, and occasional jobs in air-conditioned buildings. Although I've never heard any sort of complaint regarding the way school vacations are spent, the kids in my neighborhood seem quite a bit more excited to resume school than I can ever remember American kids being.

Even the process of heading back to school in Cameroon is slightly different than it is in America. One of the major sources of economic stress for many families is school fees. Nearly all schools in Cameroon (including public schools) require pupils to pay an annual fee for attendance. For public schools these fees aren't too steep (approximately $80/year), but for a family with many children of school age, these fees can quickly become overwhelming. Once you add in the required books for each year and a few sets of mandatory school uniforms for each child, the period right before school begins can become quite financially taxing. 

My own life here isn't excluded from what appears to be this season of transitions. August has been a month unlike any other so far, and it's hard to believe that it's almost over already. In this month alone, I attended two Peace Corps conferences, traveled down to the sticky, mosquito-infested Southwest for a few days, and had more house guests than ever before. It's been a great month, but what most distinguishes it from all preceding months is how much time I spent in the company of other Peace Corps Volunteers. 

Cameroon is a great country in which to serve as a PCV, at least in terms of the Volunteer community. There are more Volunteers here than in almost any other country in the world, and I've met some incredible people. But as close as I feel to many of the Volunteers here and as often as I see them, serving as a PCV tends to be a primarily solitary experience. Since arriving in Bamenda last November, I've spent more time on my own that I ever had before. And while I think this is on balance good for me, having other Volunteers constantly around was certainly a welcome change. My friends Clare, Anna, and I managed to make cream cheese brownies a reality last weekend. Just think about that one. 

All of the time I've been spending with other Americans recently has hopefully prepared me for my most anticipated transition-I'm headed back to America this week for a much-needed dose of life back home. It seems a little unbelievable sometimes that life continues in America in my absence, and I'm sure that spending a month stateside will contain some unexpected challenges. But I'm beyond excited to see my family, friends, and puppy again, and can hardly wait to jump back into life in America. 


And not to worry, my Cameroonian friends haven't missed any opportunity to mock the amount that I'm looking forward to seeing my dog. 

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Ongoing Thought on Development and the Peace Corps

I joined the Peace Corps blissfully ignorant about the large world of development. Sure, I knew about the existence of the World Bank, the history of colonization, and the disparities between living standards worldwide. But I somehow never thought about my place in this large puzzle or the implications of the existence of organizations such as the Peace Corps. Selfishly, I was much too concerned with the prospect of living in Cameroon for two years and leaving behind everyone I know to concern myself with silly matters such as the role of the international community in shaping development policy.
            The first few weeks of stage were tough enough emotionally and physically that these larger issues continued to escape my attention. But I remember the first struggle that I went through, which was when I learned that the Peace Corps has been working in Cameroon for over 50 years. ‘How could our work here possibly be valuable or substantial if we haven’t worked ourselves out of a job by now?’ I remember wondering. Because as I saw it then as and I continue to see it now, that should be the world of development agents on any level.
            My confusions over the concepts of development have continued the longer I’ve lived here. First I watched a kid in my neighborhood answer his cell phone as he pumped water at the local borehole. Then I realized that the aspects of life in America that I consider to be our strongest signals of development: consistent electricity, running water, and higher education, simply aren’t valued here to the same degree that they are back home. Instead, many Cameroonians have skipped right to the later, more status driven items such as cell phones, personal cars, and soft drinks. It can be a little unsettling.
            I visited my friend Anna at her post in Tombel last week, and while I was there I had the opportunity to co-facilitate an international development seminar that she has been teaching. We started the class with a brief overview of international development post-Marshall plan, and there were quite a few participants who surprised us with their knowledge on the subject. But as soon as we moved from the history of development to the actualities of living in a developing country, things got even more interesting. We asked the class what they see as the signs of development in Cameroon, and all of the responses were large-scale projects in the major cities. Cameroon is rich in natural resources, and many international corporations have invested in extracting them. There is oil off the coast, lumber in the forests, and various minerals to be found throughout the country. But Anna tried to steer the conversation back to development on an individual and community level and discuss the Millennium Development Goals. We talked about maternal health standards, clean water, and universal literacy. Side note: the town of Tombel has the strangest water system I’ve ever seen here-the residents have running water, but only between the hours of 6:30-7:30AM. Luckily, Anna and her postmate Ben don’t find this to be a problem.
            We went around the room and all of the students introduced themselves and shared their professions. There were quite a few “applicants” (i.e. job-seekers), but also many farmers, which wasn’t surprising considering that farming is the majority occupation on Cameroonians. Given that Anna and I are both Agribusiness Volunteers, we asked the farmers in the class what their main obstacles to success are. And across the board, they all said that their businesses require injections of capital (preferably from the international community) in order to be financially viable. It’s true that farming requires a number of relatively expensive inputs right up front and involves a certain degree of risk. But this conversation was one that was quite familiar and one that can be frustrating as a foreigner here.
I’ve only recently gotten to the point in my service where I’m able to have frank discussions with community members about their goals and opinions regarding development. One of my Cameroonian counterparts, Augustin, expressed his frustration to me today about the way many people here spend their money and how this is delaying the growth of Cameroon. This discussion began regarding the large amount of money spent on funerals and the accompanying celebrations. It isn’t fair to tell others how to spend their money, but the case of funerals seems particularly interesting, as the financial burden falls primarily on the immediate family of the deceased. Augustin went on to tell me that he expected nor wanted such a lavish celebration upon his own death, and that he would prefer that his family save their money for more pressing needs, such as school fees. People like Augustin give me hope for the future of development in Cameroon, but his sentiments directly counter the widespread culture that currently exists here.
            Which brings me back to my earlier struggles regarding the long-term status of Peace Corps Cameroon and my evolving feelings on the way that international development is currently structured. In my opinion, development projects that are conducted by visible outsiders contribute to the widespread sentiment that development is primarily the responsibility of these outsiders. I’ve attempted to avoid this problem by viewing my role in the community as a resource connector, not a resource obtainer. I’m lucky in that I live in a city with many opportunities, markets, and resources, so this is easier than it would likely be in a smaller village. But I’ve really struggled with the sense of dependency towards the international community. I think it’s important to recognize my privilege here, and I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunities that my status as an American has afforded me. But I do think it’s important to be critical of the impacts of our nation’s actions abroad and try to shape my service as to minimize the potential harms that come with sending a young, inexperienced, white-skinned Volunteer as a “development agent”.
            Luckily, I’m finally getting to the point in my service where I’ve found work projects and partners that I’m excited about. I’m optimistic about the way things are going, but I’ve definitely shifted the way that I think about my time here. Two of Peace Corps’ three goals are centered on cultural exchange, and I’ve really come to see these as the most valuable part of my life here. The amount of impact that two years of my work will have on the agricultural industry of Cameroon will be negligible at best. But I’m already quite satisfied by the impact that my presence is having on my friends and neighbors. I think it’s valuable for them to see me as just another person to hang out with, just another friend to gossip with, just another mouth to feed. My ordinary existence in Upstation Bamenda is the near opposite of most experiences they’ve had with Americans in that I’m not on television, not offering large sums of money, and always make time to talk to them. So although I often have doubts about the potential work that I can accomplish during my time here (and the unintentional impacts that it will have) I never question whether or not my presence here is without value. Just going from “white man!” to “Auntie Casey!” is enough for me on that front, at least for now.
             

             

Monday, August 4, 2014

On Friendship and Gas Bottles

Something happened today that I had been expecting for a few months now: my gas ran out. A little explanation might be necessary here; Cameroonian houses don’t have any sort of built-in cooking gas pipe system. Instead, people that choose to cook with a stove (as opposed to a fire outside) buy refillable gas bottles that can be replaced as necessary. The nice thing about this is that it allows for total flexibility when it comes to house design-the kitchen can be anywhere! But the unfortunate part is that these bottles must be physically exchanged when empty, and (surprise, surprise) gas isn’t always available. There were a few weeks back in training when there was no gas available in the entire town. Well, that’s what they told us at least. This meant was that I found myself cooking eggs over an open fire before 7AM on more than one occasion. Rest assured, that wasn’t a sight that any of you wanted to witness. 
            But now that I’m settled at post, I pretty much had my cooking situation on lockdown. I don’t have a “country kitchen” (outdoor house with a fire pit), nor do I want one. I’ve been quite happy with my stove/gas bottle setup and somehow had managed to go the past eight months without having to replace my bottle. It was kind like a miniature Hanukkah miracle for the last two months or so.
Of course, the bottle replacement system isn’t as straightforward as it could be. First you have to buy a gas bottle, which comes filled with butane gas. But even this first step isn’t as simple as it should be. There are two gas companies, and once you commit to a bottle, you’re stuck with that company. Never mind the fact that you return the bottle and take new one when you go in for a refill. Loyalty is the only option here.
            Knowing this ridiculous aspect of Cameroonian life, I decided to go with the more readily available and cheaper option, CamGaz. It seemed like a pretty safe bet at the time. And today, when my gas finally sputtered out, I wasn’t too concerned about what lay ahead. I’m lucky in that I can replace my gas in my town-some other Volunteers have to take their gas bottles on multiple hour moto rides in order to replace them. I called up my favorite taxi driver, Godlove (his real name), and asked him to come pick my empty bottle and I and take us to the store. Other than the daily rainstorm, everything went great until we arrived and were told that my bottle wasn’t eligible to be refilled and thus couldn’t be traded in for a new one. I would have to buy a new bottle, which costs the equivalent of $60. To put in in comparison, a simple refill costs only $15. But after nearly a year in this country, I’ve learned not to simply accept whatever a shopkeeper tells me. Godlove and I pressed further and the issue was more clearly explained to us. Apparently the government of Cameroon had decided that as of the end of June, the only bottles that can be refilled are those that are manufactured by the company that refills them. When I looked closer at my bottle, I saw that it had been produced by Shell Gas, not CamGaz, and was thus essentially obsolete, as Shell doesn’t sell bottled gas here. Apparently there was some sort of safety concern at play here, although the official memo the shopkeeper handed me didn’t go into detail. I had simply gotten unlucky when the gas station attendant had selected a bottle to use back in November, and today I was going to have to pay for it.
            Grumbling, I borrowed money from Godlove and gave it to the shopkeeper. But just to verify the plausibility of the situation, I decided to call my friend Aisha for her opinion before I committed to such a seemingly unnecessary purchase. I explained the situation to her and she found the claim entirely possible, although just as frustrating as I did. But before we hung up, she told me that she had an extra gas bottle lying around that was still eligible for replacement. I could just come and take that to exchange for a new bottle. What a lifesaver. So Godlove and I took my bottle back up the hill and picked up her empty spare. We were able to trade it in without incident and I saved a bunch of money.
            In the midst of my frustration I was trying to think about what an analogous situation would be in the US, and then realized that it just doesn’t exist. Products are recalled all the time, but the company always takes the fall and often loses quite a bit of money. In Cameroon, consumers are expected to take the loss for the mistakes of others, often at great personal expense. This case was pretty minor, but it’s easy to imagine how paying for the mistakes of others could get expensive rather quickly.
This story could have easily been one of frustration over the unfairness and inefficiency of an aspect of Cameroonian life, but it isn’t. Instead it’s one that ends in my gratitude for the generosity of a friend. In Cameroon, community often picks up where the system falls short. People depend on the relationships they cultivate over any official system, and I’m honored to see a physical sign of my inclusion. Peace Corps told us over and over during training: integration is key. I saw yet again today how true this is.


Friday, August 1, 2014

It's the Little Things...

I try not to use this blog as a space to complain because I don’t really think that’s what it should be for. But this has been a tough week for Peace Corps Cameroon (and if you’re keeping up with the news, Peace Corps in general) so please forgive this less-than-enthusiastic post. The major news here was the closure of Peace Corps operations in the North region. This has been coming for quite a while now, as the situation with Boko Haram has been escalating. The final blow was struck this past week after another kidnapping, and we got the official news on Wednesday that all remaining Volunteers will be relocated within the next two weeks. At this point there were only 13 Volunteers still stationed in the North Region but most of them are from my training group so the news hit pretty hard. To all of the displaced Volunteers I wish the best of luck and my most sincere “ashia”.
I certainly can’t claim to be an expert on the security situation in Nigeria or Cameroon, but I want to assure you all that all of the attacks have taken place quite far from where I’m currently living; my best estimate would put the closest at least a three-day’s trip away from me. In the US, you can get from Minnesota to Texas in two days (and I’m speaking from experience on that one). Just think about that. Anyway, in comparison to that kind of major blow, my struggles this week are exceedingly minor. But they still rattled me in a way that I wasn’t quite comfortable with, and I’d like to think they’re worth sharing.
The first happened on my way home from town earlier this week. I hailed a taxi, got the driver to agree to take me where I was going (taxis routinely reject passengers if they’re not headed in the direction the driver is going) and got into the front seat, as the back seat was already occupied by two other passengers. This wasn’t unusual, as Cameroon uses shared taxis as its primarily means of public transport. As I got in, the driver looked at me and told me that the fare would be 300 francs (about $0.60). I laughed at him, laughed, and told him that I would pay the usual price, 250 francs. The taxi man looked at me and seemed surprised. “Oh, you know how things work around here?” We both had a good chuckle about his failed to attempt to cheat me, and the women in the back joined right in. There are few things that Cameroonians love more than the public humiliation of others.
After this little incident, I relaxed a bit. I had the front seat of the taxi all to myself (always a good day), and the daily rains hadn’t started yet. I was looking out the window enjoying the scenery when I happened to glance over at the driver. To my dismay, he was in the process of opening a sachet (prepackaged plastic bag) of whiskey with his teeth while driving. I exploded at him. Luckily, he hadn’t gotten the sachet open yet, but seemed surprised by my outburst. I lectured him on his responsibilities as our driver, the unacceptability of drinking and driving (not to mention drinking while driving) and the fact that he was currently on the job, not relaxing with his friends. I should mention at this point that Cameroon has an extremely strong drinking culture. Beers here are large and cheap, and palm wine is widely available (at least in my region) and even cheaper. It’s extremely common to see (primarily) men sitting around drinking all day long, and many professional engagements include some sort of “refreshment” of the alcoholic sort. But there has to be a line somewhere, and in my book drinking and driving is clearly on the wrong side. My driver seemed nearly acceptably abashed, and left the sachet in the console for the remainder of my ride. I reduced the fare that I paid as a continuation of my disapproval, and exited the car with strict instructions to the girl in back not to let him drink for as long as she was in the car. She seemed to be in agreement, but hadn’t uttered a word throughout my entire outburst. I think that unfortunately, this wasn’t nearly as surprising an event for her as it was for me.
My second setback this week was much less dangerous, but riled me up in a way that few things here do. It started simply enough: one of my light bulbs burned out. I live in a decently sized city, so replacing it was easy enough. I headed to one of the electronics stores on Commercial Avenue and chose the best one I could find. I should mention that this isn’t the way that many Cameroonians would solve this problem, as the fact that my bulb burned out after about four months speaks to. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of value placed on quality workmanship or durability. Solving the immediate problem tends to take precedence over a long-term repair. But I’m American, and I don’t like having to replace light bulbs, so I chose a good one. The salesman tried to show me a smaller, cheaper one with a different connector, but I figured he was just trying to play me and insisted on my original choice. He told me it was 3500 francs ($7), which sounded like way too much to pay for a light bulb, even a nice one. But the rain was coming, and I wanted to get home before it started coming down, so I gave him 2750, which was all I had, and got home before the rain came.
Of course, he knew what I needed better than I did. It turns out that Cameroonian light bulb sockets are different than American ones (why??) and I had bought a bulb that wasn’t compatible with the socket it needed to go into. So, with my tail between my legs, I returned to the store the next day and explained the situation to the woman at the desk, who had luckily been there the day before. Returns aren’t really a part of the Cameroonian shopping experience, so I was effectively asking for special treatment. I took the smaller bulb with the correct connector, and asked the price. She told me that it was 3000 francs, but that she would give it to me for 2500. At this point, I knew she was ripping me off. There was just no way that the smaller bulb was ever worth 2500 francs, and we both knew it. That’s a lot of money here. So I did something that I probably shouldn’t have. I accused her of giving me the white-man price. This is a fairly common phenomenon here, as the above taxi situation suggests. There are few fixed prices, and less than scrupulous vendors will often ask for a higher price from customers that they think can afford it. This always includes obvious foreigners, and no amount of time spent here will ever change the color of my skin.
The book African Friends and Money Matters lends some insight into the differences between the ways that Africans and Westerners view money and daily business transactions. The author claims that by asking for a higher price, the vendor is showing the customer that he recognizes the customer is in a high economic class and is effectively honoring his status. This may be true, but it just isn’t how it feels in the moment. I always feel like I’m being cheated or taken for a fool, and in the case of the light bulb, I’m afraid it was the latter.
Despite my misgivings about the price, I realized there wasn’t much left to do. The difference between what I had initially paid and the new light bulb was 250 francs, so I asked for it back. The shopkeeper looked at me in surprise and told me that that was her transaction fee. After all, it’s just 250 francs, right? Kind of a gift of sorts. Well, that just wasn’t going to fly that day. She had already cheated me twice (by this point I realized that I had overpaid for both bulbs) and I just wanted my reimbursement. She finally agreed that I was, in fact, owed the difference, but then told me that she would give me the money, just not that day. What?! I asked when I could have it back, and she told me to come back in a month. A MONTH?! She told me that she simply didn’t have the money, and that I should come back when she did. I’m not proud of what followed, but it may have involved some shouting on my part, negotiations involving the taking of both light bulbs (even though I could only use one of them), and a heated explanation of the differences between American and Cameroonian businesses. Finally, she opened her purse and pulled out 250 francs. Of course she had it the whole time.
The kicker to this story comes about an hour after I left the shop, after I learned the real price for the bulb (1300 francs if you’re not a good bargainer, 1000 if you are) and returned to my house to finally install it. It turns out there had just been a slight electrical problem with the socket that was fixed when I adjusted it to install the new bulb, meaning that the original bulb hadn’t burned out after all. You win some, you lose some.   
I guess what I’m trying to share here isn’t my electrical ineptitude, but just the occasional struggles that come from my role as such an obvious foreigner here. People try to cheat me on a regular basis, but most of them just laugh and admit to it when you accuse them of overcharging you. There’s definitely a good humor to it, at least most of the time. What got me in this situation was just how much she took advantage of my ignorance and refused to offer me what I considered basic customer service. I try not to compare American and Cameroonian aspects of life any more than I have to, but in this case it was kind of unavoidable. All I wanted was some light in my bedroom.
On the bright side, this week has pointed out to me how much good a vacation from Cameroon will do me. See you in a month, America!