Beans and Beignets

When I was a kid there was this farm a few towns over that used to sell fresh doughnuts on the weekends. Honestly, I can't say that I remember them all that well, but I do remember that it was exciting when we used to go get some-we could watch them come off the machine hot and fresh and then get dipped in cinnamon sugar. And then one day they sold the property and had to close the farmstead and doughnut operation. My family stood on line for over an hour the last weekend to get some of the last doughnuts that they would ever make. So I was excited to learn that the beignet culture in Cameroon was still strong and there are beignet mamas to be found in all of the villages that I've ever been to.

One of the first people that I befriended in my neighborhood was the woman who sells beans and beignets (and fried fish, but I have no plans to ever buy it) up the road from my house. And although I don't patronize her shack as often as she might like, I pass her on my way home each evening and she's always friendly and quick to greet me. And as I mentioned in an earlier post, Mama Marguerite is always generous with her dashes, giving most customers an additional beignet (or puff-puff for the Anglophones out there). So a few weeks ago I asked her if she would be willing to teach me how to fry beignets, and she readily agreed. I reminded her of this yesterday, and she told me that I could come and learn from her this evening. But she took our lesson a step further, and invited me to come help her make the beignet batter in the afternoon at the church where she lives. I showed up not knowing what to expect-I've seen quite the spectrum of kitchens and food preparation in this country so far. But the kitchen was reasonably clean and she seemed to have a pretty set process for her preparations. As she was setting up I learned that she's been selling beignets for the past seven years, so it makes sense that she has the whole process down by now. Most of the preparation had already been done by the time I arrived, but she quickly put me to work mixing the dough. And we put the phrase "made by hand" to a whole new level-I mixed the dough using most of my arm as the mixing spoon. She makes a lot of beignets and the batter took up almost half of the (smallish) garbage-sized barrel that I was mixing it in.

But the real fun began after we brought the supplies halfway down the hill to her little shop. She had a herd of small boys that helped us carry everything down and get set up. One of them made a dirt/water mortar to rub on the bottom of the frying bowl-I think it protects the bowl from the flames, but I'm not sure on that one. Mama Marguerite started the first batch of oil, and demonstrated how to quickly throw a spoonful of pancake batter (she has quite the array of products) into the oil so it sits right. My first few attempts were a little too cautious and resulted in small circular pancakes (silver dollars, if you will). At this point, a few people had wandered past and remarked on the oddity of seeing me in the hut trying my hand at frying. I've been living in my neighborhood for just about two months now and it seems like most of the people that live in the area are aware of my presence here, as I don't exactly look Cameroonian. So my new role as beignet assistant was quite entertaining, especially as I struggled to deliver the perfectly circular beignets they've come to expect. I watched Mama Marguerite a few times and wanted to try it myself, but it was a serious strugglefest. Dropping beignets into hot oil is a tricky business, and involves "cutting" little drops of dough out of a goopy fistful by squeezing batter through the hole between your thumb and forefinger. And of course, it's not as easy as it looks. None of my beignets were the same size, nor were they round or smooth. Most of my creations were lumpy, oversized, and the customers looked at them with surprise. Mama Marguerite was quick assure everyone that I had made them and was obviously still learning. But as the evening went on I slowly improved. My beignets began to resemble their more ordered counterparts, and although they weren't exactly right, they were at least passable. I ended my stint as a beignet-maker with a healthy respect for the craft and the knowledge that my talents lie elsewhere. But it was a chance to interact with my neighbors in a different setting and give them the opportunity for them to see me try something new. And even though my time selling beignets was even shorter than my time selling bagels, it wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday evening. Now I just have to get the batter out of my clothes.

TL, DR: I spent the afternoon making and selling beignets with my local beignet maman. My beignets were kind of a mess, but it was fun to spend the afternoon trying something new and getting to know more of my neighbors. And they all had a good laugh at my expense.

Off to Work?

I was talking to my dad recently when he mentioned that a lot of people have been asking him when I'm going to start my "real work" as a PCV. It's possible that no one has asked him this and that was his subtle attempt to remind me why I'm here and encourage me to get my work projects going. But in case any of you are wondering and have been asking him, it's true that as of late, my days (or weeks) recently haven't really been spent working, at least in the traditional sense. In my defense, it's been the holiday season and it seems like much of professional Cameroon essentially shuts down for the last (and first) few weeks of the year. And that's not even taking into account personal leave, which many of my potential work partners have been taking in conjunction with official holiday leave. So I have used the past few weeks to get myself settled into my community and (more) comfortable with life in Bamenda. I've never really lived in a big city before, and having one at my doorstep (or 10 minute moto ride) is a new experience for me. And it's not like Bamenda is anything like any city I've ever visited before. I wish I knew of a better way to explain how this city is like, but all I have for this post is to say that the holiday season (or just Christmastime here) in Bamenda is even more stressful and chaotic than it is in New York. And I didn't even think that was possible.

But I have been (fairly) busy these past few weeks. I found my way to the other side of the city and learned that in order to get to Bali, it's necessary to take a "bush taxi" (basically paid hitchhiking) with five other passengers (I had the misfortune to find one with an obese woman occupying one of the four places in the backseat with me). A friend and I made some pretty delicious zucchini chocolate chip coconut muffins with the zucchini that we bought at the NW Agricultural Expo. And I spent Christmas trekking across my village and back to fulfill my social engagements (and was served rice on four separate occasions). I've had my 1000 CFA notes ($2) refused because they weren't in good enough condition (the moto driver didn't want to hear how unacceptable that would be in the US), and finally found the orphanage that (turns out) is less than 500 feet away from my door. I finally had a sofa made (an adventure in it of itself-it was delivered sticking out of the trunk of a taxi!) and started to make my apartment feel a little more like home. I started making social calls with a friend and her family and visited my first Cameroonian hospital (An experience that is worthy of its own post, but I'm sure my Health PCV friends have some better insights in their blogs). And maybe the most important (and dreaded) milestone of all-I finally succumbed to my first major sickness in Cameroon. I'm doing much better now, but being sick alone in a foreign country is no fun at all.

I'm still very much thinking about time passing on a seasonal trajectory, and the lack of "real" seasons continues to frustrate me. It's been hard to miss the weather updates coming from the Midwest recently (my mom went as far as to forward me the Carleton parents email chain about the brutal temperatures this week-someone's having a hard time letting that period of my life go…) and my brother just moved to Wisconsin this past week, so I've been wishing him luck from afar (this is a boy who chose his college based on which schools he could wear shorts at year-round). But here the weather patterns are as different from there as could be and we only have two seasons-wet and dry. Right now we're solidly in the middle of dry season and I've never seen so much dust in my life. The afternoons are hot, and the evenings cool (but not cold, as all my neighbors seem to think). A bunch of PCVs got together to celebrate New Years Eve with a barbecue at the Bamenda office for some grilling and lawn games. It was much more reminiscent of 4th of July than NYE, but a great way to close off the year with friends that I haven't seen since stage.

As the New Year begins I'm hopefully going to be getting my "official work projects" going and starting back up with Heifer. As new PCVs we're also required to submit a Community Study/Assessment during our first three months at post, and the deadline is coming up more quickly that I would like. So the new few weeks will be spent gathering data and trying to piece something useful together to present to my stagemates at In-Service Training in February. So it's seeming like the time for playtime is going to have to be on hold (of sorts) for the immediate future, as I try to figure out which projects are worth investing time in over the two years. Stay tuned for news on the work front (I promise that it'll come!), but rest assured that my time here isn't being wasted. And if you're in the US (at least the East Coast and Midwest), enjoy the snow for me. We're severely lacking in it over here.

TL,DR: Any work projects have kind of stalled these past few weeks as Christmas and New Years hit in a big way. I managed to fill my time in other ways and had my own series of small adventures. And I'm writing this from my new custom-made sofa in my own living room (of course, I don't have internet at home yet, but that's a challenge for another day…)!

Never Too Young for Nostalgia

Things are going well here at Upstation, and I'm beginning to think that my integration here is a very real possibility. But for this post I want to instead talk about the year that was 2013 (the abbreviated version) and how humbled I am by the number of things that have worked out well this year. 

Midwinter ball stylin'

A year ago, some of my college friends and I hatched an elaborate New Years Eve plan centered around Milwaukee, WI. One of our recently graduated friends was (and still is) living there working with College Possible, and we all thought it would be fun to ring the new year in there before heading back to Northfield for winter term. So my roommate Laura and I flew out to Milwaukee and some of our friends set out by car from Colorado. It turns out that Colorado is pretty far from Milwaukee, and they weren't slated to arrive there until almost a full day after us. So after Laura and I arrived in Milwaukee we made the suggestion to cut their drive by a few hours and meet instead in Northfield. I don't know what NYE in Milwaukee looks like, but I have no regrets as to this decision. I got to ring in the New Year with some of my favorite people in the place that had become my home these past few years, and it was exactly the kind of celebration I wanted. And the New Years Day that followed was a winter vacation filled with hot cocoa and Ice Kuub. What more could you want? But as Rivers and Roads, my favorite song by The Head and the Heart promises, "a year from now, we'll all be gone, all our friends will move away". The people that I spent NYE 2013 with are currently scattered across the globe, in California, Wisconsin, Connecticut, China, and even a few still in Northfield. They're quite a bunch and I'm missing them like crazy. But more on that later. 

Sometimes finals got a little rough.

I think all of the people with whom I celebrated last year were well aware that this would be an important year for us. We all (or at least most of us) graduated from college and headed off to pursue new challenges. And while I knew in December 2012 that I would most likely be celebrating this year's NYE across the globe, I definitely didn't know about all the times that my life would change between then and now. I ended up deciding to graduate from Carleton a trimester early without any real plan of how to spend those 10 weeks. I knew that I wanted to stay in Northfield and celebrate all that is spring term (little did I know that there would be no spring this year in Minnesota), but that was as far as my plan went. Enter Richard, who told me about an AmeriCorps job based in Northfield that was slated to end in October. Perfect. By the time all was said and done, the job was at Faribault High School working with the academic support and college access programs. And after a marathon spring break road trip that included upwards of 13 states, my first speeding ticket, wild horses, Colonial Williamsburg, the extend Silver clan, and an exchange of co-pilots, I began my first post-college job. I can't say I ever see myself working in education long-term, but it was the perfect way to transition out of my life as a student and into the role of (essentially) a volunteer. I met some incredible students that showed me a new perspective on life in Rice County, and I surely learned more from them than they ever learned from me. Many of them were recent Somali refugees and were still adjusting to life in Minnesota. A notable moment was when as I attempted to explain my vegetarian lifestyle, one of my students looked at me in disbelief and asked "Does that mean you don't eat camel?!?" 

Minnesota love.

And even though I wasn't attending classes at Carleton anymore, I was still able to have some college fun, and there's no time like spring term for fun. My friends and I danced to Smash Mouth in the cold at Spring Concert, progressed across campus and town, and drove to Madison and back in one day to watch our friends compete in the National College Ultimate Finals. We donned corsages for prom, relaxed on the Bald Spot, and played our final games of True American for a while. And then it was over. They handed us our diplomas, we sung the alma mater, and then we processed through a tunnel formed of our professors into our lives as college graduates. And as much as I have my friends to thank for keeping me going through many of the challenges that college brought, the biggest thank-you of all belongs to my parents, who really made my graduation from Carleton possible. I know that they might sometimes wish that I had chosen a post-graduate path a little closer to home and I am incredibly grateful that they supported me throughout the process leading up to my departure and continue to encourage me (and send me care packages!) from afar. 

Senior week playtime. Who are these fools?

My job in Faribault was slated to continue throughout the summer and morphed a few times as the school year ended and summer programming came and went. A summer highlight was my first road trip out west, when Teddy and I  headed out to Yellowstone by way of the Corn Palace, Mt. Rushmore, Crazy Horse, Wind Cave National Park, and more bison than I could count. I ate my first huckleberry bar and got mistaken for a motorcyclist for the first time. (Here that happens on an almost daily basis.) But sooner than I would have liked, it was time to leave my life in the Midwest and head back to the East Coast. Luckily, that also meant that it was time for two of my favorite weeks of the year at Camp AmeriKids. The people that I meet there have amazed me for the past two years, and this summer was no exception. I have them to thank for encouraging me to dream big and be open to the possibility of miracles. 

America's a pretty cool place. 

The time between camp and Cameroon passed in something of a blur-a month that only felt like a week or two. I spent as much time as possible with family and friends and somehow attempted to prepare both logistically and mentally for this new life step. it turns out that packing for two years in a new part of the world is an adventure it it of itself. And then the next thing I knew, it was September 11th and time to head to Philadelphia. And (if you've been following along) you know the highlights since then. I met some incredible people that are going through this with me (albeit throughout the country). We made it through training and life with our host families together. And then we swore in as Volunteers and headed to our posts. So that's where I am now, a month into life as Volunteer and amazed that 2013 has come and (almost) gone. 

And as for 2014? I have high hopes for how it will turn out, although I can't possibly dream of another year filled with the amount of changes and love that 2013 brought. I'm settling into my role as a new community member, and have a lot still left to learn both professionally and culturally to maximize my time here. But Upstation is already feeling like home and I know that time will only bring me more comfort with my neighborhood and my life here. And I want to thank all my family and friends (near and far) for sticking with me throughout this crazy year. It turns out that we're never too young for nostalgia, and I'm missing you all and the times that we shared terribly. But wherever the past year has brought you, I hope this next year is filled with smiles, laughs, and more than your fair share of adventures (if that's your thing). And I'd love to hear how things are going, so send me an update whenever you get the chance. 

TL,DR: 2013 was pretty great and I'm looking back fondly. Only time will tell what 2014 will bring, but I'm looking forward to what it has in store.

P.S. Yesterday I bought a Babar towel outside Main Market. Some days Bamenda is a great place. 

New friends made across the world!

My friends and I worked Reunion and got
a glimpse of our lives as Carleton alums!

On Expectations and Realities

I don't know if any of you have ever applied for the Peace Corps, but those of you that have know how little say in the decision-making process each applicant has. I had jokingly decided that I would be posted with Peace Corps Fiji, (little did I know that Fiji apparently cancelled their Environment program a while ago and this wasn't even a remote possibility) even though I had been told relatively early on in the process that I would be posted somewhere French speaking. And even when I received my assignment for Cameroon I did relatively little research about the country that I would be spending the next two years. I'm pretty sure that up until the day I left, my dad knew far more about this place than I did.

It's kind of funny how little say we as PCVs have in determining how two years of our lives are spent. I certainly didn't pick Cameroon, and even though I did list Upstation Bamenda as my top choice on the preference sheet that we filled out, I did so knowing next to nothing about this place (in my defense, doing research during stage was much tougher than it had been in America). And despite all that, I'm doing just fine here. Today I saw a couple of volunteers from my stage for the first time in a month. I do have pretty frequent contact with other PCVs, but this was the first time I had seen anyone from my stage other than TJ, who is posted quite close to here. So it was really interesting to hear how things are going for my friends posted in a different part of the country after our first month after at post. 

We met at PresCafe, the closest thing we have to an American style restaurant. It's a pretty incredible place-my standby has become the caprese pasta salad with feta and a paw-paw (papaya) smoothie. Of course, PresCafe is still in the craziness that is Commercial Avenue (in the craziness that is Bamenda), but it's a nice refuge and I'm lucky to have it nearby. But to my friends, PresCafe was an unbelievable haven and lightyears away from their lives in village filled with fufu and eru (I think it's a leafy green stewed with pepe, but I've never seen it here). I certainly didn't come to the Peace Corps thinking that I would be living the way I do now; my neighborhood is considered to be one of the fancy parts of town and I live quite close to the governor. My apartment has relatively consistent electricity and running water, and I don't think I'll ever have this much space to myself again.

It's not fair to try to compare Peace Corps experiences, but I couldn't help but think how different our lives have become in such a short time. Both Julia and Val are Health volunteers, and have been assigned to local health centers that they have already begun reporting to each day. Meanwhile, I'm still trying to get my feet on the ground with Heifer and frantically try to learn about agroforestry in the meantime. And they're both posted less than a day's travel from me-my friends in the North and Adamawa regions are without a doubt faced with issues and successes quite different from mine. 

I certainly didn't come to the Peace Corps thinking that I would be living the way I do now; my neighborhood is considered to be one of the fancy parts of town and I live quite close to the governor's residence. My apartment has relatively consistent electricity and running water, and I don't think I'll ever have this much space to myself again. And when I really get a craving for Lucky Charms, all I have to do is head back to Commercial Avenue and resign myself to paying 3200 CFA (just over $6). I've never considered myself much of a city person, and it's a little strange that my first real experience with urban commuting has been in Cameroon. But the cool part of my lunch with my stage-mates was how happy all of us seemed with our assignments. Each post has something different to offer, and I think all of my friends have been great about looking for the highlights of our situations. We do have to live here for the next two years, so we might as well enjoy it. A few weeks ago, just after we got to our posts I exclaimed to one of my friends from stage that I had been given the perfect post. She corrected me, telling me that no, I had been assigned the perfect post for me. Time will tell if that description holds, but it's nice to hear that my friends are doing well scattered throughout the country.

In other news, I visited the Cameroonian equivalent of the State Fair today. It was the Northwest Agricultural Expo, and was filled with farmers showcasing their crops and livestock, with prizes being awarded in each category. I met a local beekeeper who invited me to come check out his beehives (apparently they're in the bush?) and ate some local "ice cream" that came in a little plastic pouch. There were even women standing proudly around their prize-winning vegetables, which was a nice reminder of life back in the Midwest. Unfortunately, no prizes were awarded for "largest squash" or "best seed art" (no seed art at all!) and it was severely lacking in terms of available sweet corn or Giant Slides. But there was enough fried food to go around, and a great opportunity to see a cross-section of the Cameroonian agricultural industry. I even was able to find some brown rice to purchase, something that I had previously thought was unavailable in this country. It was even grown in Ndop, the site of our mini-excursion last weekend. A highlight of the visit was when I tried to buy some honey from one of the competitors (not my beekeeping friend). I asked for a sample, as my friend Katie has introduced me to the complexities of honey and the differences that come from bees that have pollinated various plants. She informed me that she had no sampling sticks (of course), which I took to mean that sampling wasn't a possibility. I laughed at myself for thinking it might be. But then she unscrewed the cap and told me to stick out my finger. Sticky, but yum. (I bought it. Banana pancakes with honey tomorrow). Maybe it wasn't that similar to the State Fair after all.

Other exciting recent developments: I finally purchased a mop and broom this afternoon. Talk about a long time coming (today marks a month at post!). I caught myself smiling as a swept up this evening. Terrifying. And the hot water coil saga continues: today I partially melted my plastic bucket that I heat water in with my new(!) heater. It never ends.

TL,DR: It was cool to see how happy my friends are at posts that are so different from mine, and got me thinking about the different directions my life could have taken as a Peace Corps Volunteer, even in Cameroon. For a lifestyle that none of us had much of a say in, it's nice to see how adaptable everyone is so far and learn about the different ways of life in this country.

P.S. I have been dashed a coconut on two separate occasions in the past two days. It definitely doesn't feel like the holiday season here. 

Driving Misadventures and Ostriches!

As of early last week, I felt kind of like I had hit a plateau in terms of integrating into my new community. Creating a life for yourself in a new place turns out to be a pretty interesting process composed primarily of gradual inclines but interspersed with steep accomplishments. I was worried that I had kind of fallen into a rut with my integration, and that my life would just kind of stay the same for the foreseeable future. And my worries were compounded by my lack of progress on the work front. My stage-mates and I joined our communities at an interesting time of the year in terms of work-we got here in late November and it seems like a lot of offices go on break for the last two weeks of the year or so. I can only speak for the Bamenda region, but people here are primarily Christian and celebrate Christmas in a big way. So I wasn't too optimistic about getting anywhere on the work front before the holidays and decided to just introduce myself to potential work partners before break begins.

And it took three visits, but I finally got to meet the country director for Heifer International Cameroon. And on my fourth visit I even got to meet one of my work counterparts and begin to set expectations. So more to come on the Heifer front, but it's good to know the ball is rolling on that front.

Speaking of balls, I had my first tennis lesson last week. There have been quite a few "am I still in the Peace Corps?" moments in the past few weeks, but the hour that I spent on the court was one of the most pronounced. There are definitely some advantages to having a city at my fingertips, and the tennis court and resident tennis pro are definitely two of them. Given that I'm not going to really be learning another language during my time here, I figured I might as well come home with a new skill.

This past weekend was filled with adventures and some pretty high-quality steps towards integration. I spent Saturday with Cynthia, Eric, a Cameroonian Eric, and the newest American to come to Bamenda, Edith. We headed up to Ndop, a subdivision about an hour away. Or, it's an hour away if everything goes right. This being Cameroon, actual travel time is usually double the expected, and this trip was no exception. About 20 minutes into our trip, we stopped for gas and continued on our way. That is, until a few kilometers up the nearest hill, when the car sputtered and quit. It turned out that the gas station attendant had filled the car with petrol (diesel) instead of gas, and terrible things were happening to the inside of the car. I know pretty much nothing about how cars worked, and was pretty oblivious to the severity of the situation. My postmates informed me of the necessary steps to right the problem and the unlikeliness that we would be able to continue our adventure. It must be said that this was a completely unnecessary problem to encounter (as Eric said of the gas station attendant "he has one job!") but I have to give the auto "mechanics" of Bambui some credit for fixing the problem remarkably quickly (two hours or so…). This is especially impressive if you know that the first step towards solving the problem involved a man crawling under the car and banging on some part with a big rock (was he hoping to drain out the fuel that way?) right in front of a lumberyard. But we continued on and eventually made it to Ndop, where we visited a tea plantation/menagerie of sorts. The whole experience was a little unsettling and involved chimpanzees, boa constrictors, and ostriches. Our Cameroonian friends were much more in awe of the animals than we were, but it was a beautiful drive and nice to spend a day away from Bamenda with friends. And the evening brought a long-overdue opportunity to show off my skills at the game of Set. A big thank-you to all of my TB friends-turns out all of those hours finally paid off.

That would have been enough adventuring for me for the weekend, but I had promised my friend Bridget that I would accompany her women's group (the Unique Sisters) to greet the new fon (chief) of their village. An interesting cultural note: fons do not die, they merely "go missing". The reason for our visit was that the old fon had gone missing and had been replaced by one of his sons, and the Unique Sisters wanted to formally introduce themselves to him. I'm not sure if I heard this right, but as far as I understand, the new fon will always be a son that is born after his father becomes the fon, and often is born to a second (or later?) wife of the fon. Polygamy is legal in Cameroon, and is almost always practiced by tribal leaders.

Anyway, I have changed in many ways since coming to Cameroon, but there are certain parts of my character that have very much remained the same. My lack of timeliness definitely falls into this second category-Bridget and I arrived late to the palace and missed the formal introduction to the fon, coming just in time for refreshments and gossip among the women. Luckily, there was another group that came in after us so I was able to observe the introduction protocol. And then the fun began, when both groups danced for the fon. I was never known in America for my dancing ability, and this is another thing that has unfortunately remained very much the same. I gave it my best shot, but all of the women very much knew all of the moves, and I very much did not. In addition, they had all come in matching uniforms, and I don't have one. Needless to say, it was easy to pick me out of the crowd. But all of the women were incredibly welcoming, and I look forward to attending more Unique Sisters events during my time here.

When I came home, I was proud of my work towards integration for the day and was a little exhausted from all of the weekend's excitement. But my neighbors next door were all playing jumprope (girls) and soccer (boys), and I've been wanting to join them ever since I moved in. Today was that day, and I headed over to join in on some jumprope fun. My French is still pretty rough (and they're all Francophone), but it was really fun and I again felt really welcomed.

After the games were over, I decided that was enough. I needed some time alone and went up to get some supplies for dinner. But when I came back, my landlady/neighbor stopped me and invited me over for dinner. She and her family have been very accommodating and friendly ever since I came, and I couldn't bring myself to refuse. But luckily, she prepared a dish that was far too spicy for me and I took a few bites and was quickly excused from the rest of the meal. Unripe bananas and dried fish sauce-definitely not something I've ever seen stateside. And I don't even want to talk about the amount of fried grasshoppers that I saw being eaten today-literally unacceptable. Turns out that's really a big thing here.

Peace Corps Volunteers are encouraged to have secondary work projects in addition to their primary ones, and I was hoping that mine could be some sort of work at the local high school. Many government high schools are bilingual, which means that there are two sections-one taught in English and the other in French. It does not mean that students typically receive instruction in both, which is what I had previously assumed and was disappointed to learn was not true. But after a few initial visits during the past two weeks, I headed back today for another meeting with the Form 2 chemistry teacher who had been my previous contact and whose class I had sat in on last week. Unfortunately, I hadn't been told that this week was "rascal week", when teachers often don't show up for their classes, as all of the exams have already been given. It turns out that teachers will sometimes miss their own classes in order to have time to grade papers, and I observed this firsthand this afternoon. When I showed up to observe again, I was faced with a teacher-less classroom and a lot of students without any kind of assignments to do. It should be said that I have no classroom teaching experience, (although I did audit Methods of Teaching Science this past winter!) but I didn't want the students to just sit around and cause trouble. So I gave it my best shot and we struggled through a review of balancing equations. The students were actually much better behaved that I would have expected, given that my presence is very much still a novelty on campus and I'm planning to head back on Wednesday. Hopefully their actual teacher will be back and I can just help as needed, but I'm not too optimistic on that front.

TL,DR: Last week finally brought some progress on the Heifer front, and this weekend finally included some outings. There was a menagerie, a male cat named Lady Grantham, and lots of palm wine. Only time will tell how this week can possibly compare.

P.S. For anyone that remembers my misadventures with my hot water coil, they continued this morning when I found part of the prong stuck in the socket from the last time I used it. Needless to say, it's something of a lost cause and needs to be replaced already. There's nothing quite like the quality control in this country…

Birthday Avocados and Lucky Charms

Yesterday I was dashed an avocado. Dash, meaning "give" is one of the few Pidgin words that I've retained but is turning out to be surprisingly relevant. Early on in training we were told that Cameroon is very much a gift-giving culture, but before coming to post, I had only seen the other side of it. That is, every time I left my host family's house for more than a few hours they would ask me to bring them something upon my return. Or the man hanging out next to the market mama would ask us to buy his bananas in addition to our own. I found the whole thing a little unsettling and rude and didn't understand it at all. But then I came to my new village and began to see that the dash (or, in Francophone, "cadeau") culture is very much two-sided. When I would go to the beans and puff-puff (beignet) mama, she would routinely slip in one more puff-puff than I ordered. One time I was shopping in town when the Volunteer I was with demanded dash, specifying that he would like one red pen and one blue pen as dash for the planner that he was purchasing. I was stunned. Isn't demanding a present kind of…rude? But then I started to try it on my own. When I went to shop for vegetables at food market, I asked for dash when I was purchasing my cucumbers. Next thing I knew, I had received a bell pepper to go along with my cucumber and a surprised smile from the market mama. It looks like one small step towards integration is to demand dash with purchases. But of course, not always. I'm not that integrated yet. But back to the avocado. It was a present from the mama who I sometimes buy breakfast, and was one of the highlights of my day. A place where people give me avocados? Sounds like a pretty ideal spot for me. And to be fair, it was only 50 francs (10 cents), but that's okay with me too. Guacamole (or, as my neighbors call it, puree) every day!

 My main event this weekend included attending a women's group hosted by friend Bridget. Starting one of the first times that I saw Bridget a few weeks ago, she had told me about this meeting and how I would help her prepare food to serve during it. As it turned out I wasn't really able to help her cook (I just don't yet have the necessary skills for a meal of that importance) but I did attend the meeting. I'm sure there are many different types of Cameroonian women, but I have mainly been exposed to powerful, self-assured ones. This meeting was no exception, and I quickly found myself in a room with 13 empowered women, all of whom were wearing matching outfits. Of course. Truthfully, I didn't understand much of what was said during the course of the meeting. My Pidgin is nowhere near good enough to catch it all. But I do know that there was some sort of savings group that went on, as well as a discussion of rental chairs and plates. And we're going to meet the fon (traditional chief) this next Sunday. And yes, I said we. The assumption was that since I had been present during the meeting, I would of course join them on their trip to the fon's palace as well. In case you're interested, we'll be bringing some sort of yellow soup with meat in it (achu), two bags of salt, and a jug of palm wine. And the outfits will make another appearance. It's too bad I won't have one to match. But it does speak to the welcoming culture of Cameroonians, and their willingness to introduce an outsider to their culture. It could have been really hard for me to live in this neighborhood, as I'm definitely an anomaly here. I haven't met anyone else who lives alone, nor have I met any other Americans. But my neighbors have been more than hospitable, and most of them stop me on the road to ask about my day and ask how I slept (that's a major question here). Just this weekend I was invited into my next-door neighbor's home, and offered a full meal and soda in addition to being presented with photo albums after photo albums of the entire family. And I've been informed that it's rude to try to refuse any offered food or drink. This country is going to take its toll on my body. But it was really nice to meet my neighbors and I've definitely felt more comfortable walking past their house each day knowing that I'm welcome to stop and joke around with the children. Hopefully I'll get to know them much better as my time here extends, and (as my dad once wrote a letter saying) it's always nice to know that your neighbors are looking out for you.

Another fun excursion last week was to the local cattle market. Most villages of Cameroon have a weekly (or once-every-8-days) market day, and Upstation Bamenda is an exception of sorts. It turns out that we're too close to Bamenda Food Market to justify an additional traveling market, and that my neighbors just go into town to do their shopping. But we do have the weekly cattle market, and given that I'm theoretically here to work with cows (and their respective people) I thought I should check it out. So Bridget and I set out Thursday morning to see what all the fuss was about. And to be honest, it was exactly as described. It was kind of like a cross between a rodeo and a regular market, with all of the cows (and their herders? cowboys?) in a big fenced in area. We were informed that the entrance fee was 500 francs (1 dollar) per head, but humans could get in free. And I was invited to come check out the cows by more than one herder, one of whom explained that I could send the animal back to my family as a Christmas gift. So sorry that I ruined the surprise on that one… But it turned out that we had made a mistake in coming in the morning, as the fun really begins after all the transactions have been made. A cow can sell for 500,000 francs ($1,000), so after his cows have been sold a given rancher (if that's the right term) has quite a bit of disposable income. And in Cameroon, money made is money ready to be spent. So there is lots of eating and drinking that goes on in the afternoon. I guess we'll have to go back to see how it all goes down. But my life isn't completely composed of random fun excursions (although I did manage to fit in another latke-making session with PCVs Cynthia, Eric, and Tommy to close out Hanukkah. It was a cultural exchange!) On the work front, I've actually started making some slow progress. One of my favorite parts of Peace Corps so far is that they encourage us to take the first three months at post settling in and introducing ourselves to our community members. I've definitely been trying to do that (as my attendance at a three-hour meeting that I had no role in hopefully speaks to) but I've been getting a little restless. There are only so many books that a girl can read in such a short time span (my current recommendation is Half the Sky, by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn), and I wanted to start finding some more tangible ways to get involved here. I've tried to be careful not to make commitments to projects, but so far I've introduced myself to administrators at the local high school as well as one of my potential coworkers at Heifer International. It turns out that I even have my own office at Heifer, which is definitely a little unsettling. But I'm going to try to put it to good use, and I've been learning a little bit about the current work that Heifer is doing with biogas and improved cookstoves. More news to come on that front as I learn about the project.

And a confession: TJ and I were grocery shopping last week in one of the American-style stores in Bamenda. And I like to think that I've been doing a pretty good job of cooking using ingredients that are generally available locally. I eat a lot of eggs, tomatoes, onions, green beans, and pineapples(!). But while we were shopping I saw that they had Lucky Charms for sale, and I caved in a big way. In America, I don't think I ever bought Lucky Charms. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I said at least once that I don't like them and am a pretty die-hard Honey Bunches of Oats fan (with Almonds, obviously). But here, they're the best thing that I've bought since coming getting to post. It's a little unsettling. This country changes you, that's for sure. And one last note: today’s my 22nd birthday, and it’s a little strange to be celebrating so far from home. So far I was able to continue the annual phone call for my shared birthday window with Holly, and we’ll see how the day progresses from here. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22.

TL,DR: The dash/cadeau culture here is a funny surprise, and I could see myself getting to like it. It's basically sharing with another name, and that's definitely my jam. I'm starting to expand my web a little bit (or explore my pasture, if the analogy holds). And it turns out that Lucky the Leprechaun (if that's really his name) has made it to Cameroon!

Settling in and Celebrating Thanksgiving!

It's officially the holiday season now, I guess. Thanksgiving is behind us (more on that later), and December has begun. If this had been anything like the past few years, I would be back home for winter break in Westchester bundled up in sweaters and cords, preparing to head to work at a local gift store and listen to Christmas music all day long. As much as I enjoyed that, I'm currently sitting on my balcony in shorts and a t-shirt listening to music of my own choosing (currently The Head and the Heart's new album-shout out to Teddy for sending that over). During college my school always gave us the entire month of December off, so I should be used to unstructured time this time of year. But my new life here takes unstructured time to a whole new level. The Peace Corps pretty much gives you the first three months at post to just get settled into your new communities and begin the long process of integrating. I've been living in my village for just over a week now and have been taking things pretty slowly. I've never lived alone before, and that itself is something of an adjustment, especially since I spent the past two months living with seven other people at my host family's house. Things are just so…quiet. And clean. I've never considered myself to be that much of a neat person, but (unless you're Laura) there's only so much mess that one person can make. My new apartment has two bedrooms, a big living room, a kitchen and two balconies. I'm currently sitting on the balcony that looks out over the mountainside surrounding Bamenda, which is my favorite place in the whole apartment. There are cows grazing in the distance and from right here, life is pretty great. Because of the timing of Thanksgiving and coming to post, I actually didn't spend that much time in my village in the past week. When you come to post, one of the ways that you're supposed to spend your first few weeks is doing "protocol", which consists of introducing yourself to the important people in the area. These people include potential work partners, the heads of government ministries, local safety/security authorities, and the traditional chief. So far I've only made a few introductions, but I made sure to go meet the local chief, who is called the fon. We had rehearsed meeting our chief at one point during training and I was expecting a lot of formality and ceremony. But in reality, my fon seemed very welcoming and casual. He gave me his approval, and then asked me if I would be able to recruit other Volunteers to work in the area, as there is a lot to be done here. I don't know if I'll be able to do that, but it was nice to have his support and hear his enthusiasm for the PC. Also, I got to take a motorcycle up to his palace, which is a sentence I never thought I would be able to say. The other event of this week was Thanksgiving and the preparation for it. Thanksgiving isn't a holiday that I get very excited for, but it came a week after we got to our posts and I didn't really have any plans for it for the first time in my life. Luckily, there are other Volunteers stationed in Bamenda that welcomed me to their dinner and told me that I could even come help make pumpkin pie. So I headed down late Wednesday morning, thinking I would make pie crust for a few hours and then come back up to my apartment for the night. I should state that I've never played an active role in Thanksgiving preparation before, but I have made my share of pumpkin pies. But for all of you that think that Thanksgiving is a lot of work in America, please come on over to Cameroon. Imagine trying to make the whole dinner with no real oven and just a Dutch oven that can only handle one dish at a time. Admittedly we had to substitute chicken for turkey, but other than that we had an authentic Thanksgiving experience. There was even Stovetop stuffing and jellied cranberries. We even managed to make pumpkin pies from scratch, using local squash that tasted remarkably similar. Bamenda is an incredible place. Some other highlights of my first week at post:
1. Made my first friend in village! I was out for a walk on my first morning here and I ran into this woman who proceeded to take me back to her house for breakfast and to meet her family. She's already planning to introduce me to all the local dishes-yesterday brought njama-njama, the first green mush of vegetables that I've enjoyed here so far. Today's introduction wasn't quite as appealing-fried grasshoppers. Not even joking. I couldn't even try them.
2. Celebrated TJ's birthday at PresCafe, my new favorite restaurant in Cameroon. It's kind of a little slice of America in Bamenda with a Cameroonian theme to it. They have smoothies and pizza. I might become a regular. And TJ turned 28!
3. Bought a water heating wand! In Bafia, I was taking cold bucket showers like a champ. Sometimes I even giggled to myself when my host family heated their water for bathing-it was so hot there the idea of voluntarily heating water seemed a little ridiculous. Well, the Northwest is another story entirely. I have running water and a real shower, but it's cold. Really cold. I took a shower the first few days but it was a trying experience, and ended with me shivering in my towel for a few minutes each time. So I bought a hot water coil. It was easily the best $3 I've ever spent. It is essentially just a metal coil that you stick into a bucket of water for a few minutes, and it heats the water pretty well. Let's just say it was a game-changer. I'll be clean in this country after all. And I've only electrocuted myself twice so far. Not even mad.
TL,DR: Survived my first week at post, celebrated Thanksgiving like a real American, and was told by one of my neighbors that she understands my French better than my English. Nothing in my life makes sense anymore.

The view from my rear (favorite) balcony.