Up to the Adamawa!

A few weeks ago my friends and I decided to take one final big trip around Cameroon. It is a bit too early for our last hurrah, but we want to see as much of the country (and our friends) as we can before we enter into our last three months in country, when travel is forbidden. So we decide to head to the Adamawa Region, the only part of the Grand North that we are still allowed to visit.

Although the Adamawa Region is adjacent to the Northwest Region, where I live, the best way to get there requires going back through Yaoundé (a seven-hour bus ride) and then taking an overnight train up to the regional capital of N’Gaoundere. I decide to break up the trip to Yaoundé by stopping in the small city of Bangangte, where my friend Ben lives, to spend some time with him before he leaves the country. As my friend Anna has described, Ben is a unique individual, and I’m going to miss him greatly. On this particular visit, one of our main activities is finding and carrying water back to his third-floor apartment. Most people would have seen this as a chore, but to Ben it is simply a creative way to get some exercise, and have some fun with his neighbors while we’re at it. We borrow a wheelbarrow from some amused children (or pikin, as the Anglophones call ‘em), ask a neighbor to let us use his tap, and begin the climb back up to Ben’s house. Along the way we entertain some of his Anglophone neighbors (those white men di carry wataa!!) make some friends at the bakery that offer us some gateau (cake), and endure the harsh stares and heckles from his evil landlady that hangs out just outside his door. Never a dull moment.

The next day I continue my journey to Yaoundé, stopping a few times to snag some pineapple and other snacks out the bus window. This level of convenience is something that I expect to miss greatly about Cameroon; I can’t remember ever being sold fresh fruit from the convenience of my seat back home. But everything else about those long hot bus rides? Those I think I’ll be happy to leave behind.

The overnight train between Yaoundé and N’Gaoundere is the only pleasant form of public transportation that I’ve experienced in Cameroon thus far. They even offer a sleeping car, which is the only option I’ve ever chosen. It is wildly expensive (25,000 CFA compared with 10,000 CFA for a second-class ticket), but makes the trip pleasant, as opposed to something to be endured. Our four-person car already has four people when my friend and I arrive; somehow a woman has convinced a hapless train conductor that her two elementary school-aged children are both less than four years old. If they’re willing to squeeze into their two beds I guess it’s fine by me!

We arrive in N’Gaoundere before I even wake up and exit the train to a slightly different world than the one we left last night. Although the station itself is bustling, the general attitude feels less rushed, less abrasive, and a bit calmer. Overall, the Grand North is much less developed than the rest of the country, but it also has a culture unlike that found down south. We hire a car to take us to Mbarang, my friends Hannah and Will’s village, and the entire transaction is completed without any screaming or fighting. It’s a bit disorienting.

As is typically the case in Cameroon, the drive is simply stunning.  We pass rolling green hills dotted with thatched-roof huts called “boukarous”. There are fewer banana trees than I’ve come to expect, and almost no small towns lining the road. We have arrived during the month of Ramadan, and our driver asks if he can stop the car to pray at the appropriate time. We agree, and he pulls into one of the towns and disappears into the mosque at the side of the road. So do many other men; we can see their shoes lined up just outside the doors.

            To reach my friends’ village we have to leave our car at the main road and continue by motorcycle. This section of the trip is close to an hour, but is equally beautiful. And experiencing it by bike is less comfortable but much more visually gripping. We pull up to the village and see Will walking down the main road. The driver continues along to Hannah’s house; it’s a small village and everyone knows where it is.

            Our time in Mbarang is tranquil and enlightening. The village is visibly split into Christian and Muslim quarters, and the development level of the different sides is informed by the occupations of its residents. Most of the local wealthy cattle herders are Muslim, whereas the poorer farmers tend to be Christian. Life in Mbarang slows down during Ramadan, but activity increases during the late afternoon in preparation for breaking the fast. The section of the main street near the market is taken up by people selling (primarily fried) foods, and we’re more than willing to give them all a try. A crowd favorite is “kosai”, which are small fried white bean patties. They were described to us as “pseudo chicken nuggets”, and then (upon further reflection) “pseudo vegetarian chicken nugget imitations”. Well, Chick’n Nuggets they are not, but they’re not bad at all. And at 10 CFA a pop (~$0.02) you can’t go too far wrong.

            Our time in Mbarang is over far too quickly, and it’s time to head back to N’Gaoundere. Although I live in another big regional capital, life in N’Gaoundere feels in many ways as new as it did in Mbarang. The taxis that I depend on in Bamenda are nowhere to be found, and public transport is limited to motorbikes. Instead of Pidgin English being shouted in the streets, a mix of French and Fulfulde are used at a much more manageable volume. We make a pilgrimage to the popular “kalichi” store that sells what appears to be a local version of beef jerky. Available in both pimente (spicy) and non-pimente versions!

            One day we take a car out to Tello Falls, a beautiful local waterfall. The drive is as beautiful as I’ve come to expect, and equally eventful. We only fishtail a few times as we slog our way through the mud, and accidentally find ourselves in the village of a fellow Volunteer. Her village is so remote that when we call to tell her that we’re nearby, she doesn’t even believe us. But it’s always great to see the villages and homes of our friends and get a glimpse into the little worlds that we build around ourselves.

            On the way back to Bamenda I stop for a few nights in Yaoundé. It’s that time of year again; a group of Volunteers is “gonging out” and heading back home, their services complete. These celebrations tend to be a bit bittersweet, as we want to celebrate the accomplishments of our friends but also accept that they’re going to be a bit harder to contact in the near future. This particular group arrived just before mine did; in many ways it feels like we’re in this together. We’ve had the longest to get to know them and went through the process of discovering Cameroon together. But as sad as I am to see them go, their departure really drives home the reality that we’re up next. Three months from now, we'll be the ones dressed in ridiculous traditional outfits and saying our final good-byes to Cameroon. I'll believe it when the time comes. 

                                                                                           

Electricity Woes and Cultural Wonderings

Electricity just returned to my house after a 48-hour absence, the longest it has ever been out.  Although my brief span without power wasn’t really more than an inconvenience, the situation that led to its shut-off nearly drove me to my breaking point. And I think it speaks to a world of larger issues that plague Cameroon and (maybe even) points to why development work in Cameroon can be so frustrating.

            To give some quick background, I should explain that my apartment is wired for electricity with the local power company. And my electricity is always quite consistent; living near so many local bureaucrats all but guarantees that. As a (bitter) Volunteer living in a smaller town told me when I moved in, “the lights never go out in Upstation”. This comes as a harsh contrast to much of the country, where power outages are frequent and can last as long as months. Some smaller villages are still waiting to be connected to the grid and exist in a world of candles and small solar panels.

            The one qualm that I had with my connection to the grid was that I share a bill and meter with one of my neighbors. Each month one of us would receive the bill, show it to the other, and then we would divide it into our rough shares. He always took care of actually paying the bill; the world of Cameroonian utility companies is one that I’m happy to avoid whenever possible. But the bills stopped coming a few months ago, and I just assumed that my neighbor was taking care of them. He’s a busy man and works as a regional distributor for popular products such as Pringles and Huggies diapers. We have a good relationship, and I assumed he would ask me for the money at some point in the future.

            So imagine my surprise when I came home after a short trip to find that my power had been switched off. A short conversation with another set of neighbors told me that the utility company had come around in my absence to switch it off. Apparently the bill hadn’t been paid for three months. And to make matters worse, we had some how racked up a total bill of nearly 150,000 CFA (nearly $300). Given that my monthly electricity bill typically hovers around $10, I knew this wasn’t going to end well.

            My bill-sharing neighbor was nowhere to be found, and a quick call told us that he was in the capital city of Yaoundé, a 7-hour trip (on a good day). He told me to sit tight, and that he would be back in less than a week. Probably. I was told that I could call a technician from the electric company that would be happy to come switch my power back on for a 5,000CFA bribe. But I decided that probably wasn’t the right path to go down (and he didn’t come even when we called).

            At this point I was beginning to get a little hysterical. It wasn’t the prospect of a night or two without power that freaked me out, but that this was a problem that might not be able to resolve for the rest of my service. I know that many of my friends have lived nearly two years without any kind of real electricity, but my resiliency stores are wearing thin. I wasn’t in the mood to go out and buy a small solar light. And I certainly wasn’t in the mood to live in the only house in the neighborhood without working lights.

            Enter the Peace Corps community to save the day. My friends were full of suggestions about how to proceed, and one recommended that I connect my house to a neighbor’s existing connection. Her postmate had done something similar, but unfortunately in his case all of his neighbors were less than honest. In the end he had to move out of house because he ran out of neighbors to buy electricity from. He also couldn’t get behind the idea of living without lights in a neighborhood full of electricity.

            Bouba, the Bamenda Peace Corps logistician, was the true hero and got my landlady (who lives next door) to allow me to connect to her house’s power. I had trouble believing that this would be a realistic solution, but that’s exactly what happened. An electrician simply ran a cable directly between our houses, and just like that, the darkness lifted. Now the only remaining issue is paying my landlady each month for the power that I use. And dealing with the outstanding power bill…but I’m hoping to put that off for a little bit.

            As happy as I am to have power back, I know that I’m playing a risky game. Adding the complication of power consumption to the relationship that I currently maintain with my landlady certainly has the potential for disaster. My friend Sarah’s take on the issue is that she hoped that this situation doesn’t “get bad in the remaining time” I’ll live here, which had been my exact feeling.

            This brings me to my original point, which is that life in Cameroon often feels like a race against the clock. Part of that is certainly the limited schedule on which Volunteers operate; we know going in that we’ll only be here for about two years. But the way of life here is also much more imminent than anything I remember back home. Things both break and are fixed with alarming regularity and the focus seems to be on the current status, rather than long-term prospects. Maybe this is a result of limited resources and an economy of action, but I’m not convinced. It seems to stem from an entirely different mindset, one that chooses immediacy over endurance. It’s the reason that many items are sold in single-use quantities, even if it means they cost more over time. Life over here often feels like the antithesis of our Costco big-box obsession, and is focused on having enough to make it through the day.

            Obviously, I’m oversimplifying. In a cultural context the concern for immediate problems over long-term solutions makes quite a bit of sense. But as an outsider, it can be incredibly frustrating. I can’t wait to get into a car and not assess the extent to which it is on the border of collapse. Or deal with a technician that is prepared to fix something the right way, and not the cheap way.

             As for the larger development issues, I can’t help but wonder if this cultural difference plays some role in the general dissatisfaction. What if the Western focus on sustainability is permanently up against the Cameroonian emphasis on immediate solutions? That’s a larger topic to discuss, but is one that I can’t help but think about as my immediate role in the world of international development draws to a close.