Some More Time

Travel is tight in Cameroon. Cars, vans, and buses pack an extra person in wherever they can fit. You might even take a car with four people sitting in the front. The driver is literally sitting on someones lap. It can be hot, sweaty, and cramped, but I have no problem with any of this. It isn't that bad.

I left for training in the city of Ngaoundere on a cramped bus. The first step of my trip was to get to Bafoussam. Bafoussam is the Capital of the West region and on the way to Ngaoundere if you travel overland. I decided a while ago I would not be taking the train and would instead travel via cars and vans to the training. I would get to see more of the country. From the South West region to the Adamawa region, where Ngaoundere is situated, is roughly a three day journey regardless of which route you take. My first stop was to stay with a fellow volunteer just outside Bafoussam. Yaya is an entertaining girl and she put me up for the night in her house. She even brought some wild mushrooms back for dinner with caps the size of softballs. She made up a mushroom alfredo sauce that was delicious and then we caught up over a few drinks (it had been about four months since we had seen each other).

I left the next day for the east Adamawa. There I would stay with Hunter, a good friend. The travel agency vehicle we loaded into was a beaten up van. The frame had many dents and lots of rust. The windshield was cracked and the seats were falling apart. A real beauty, and fortunately the driver put me in the front seat which is less cramped and has a window. We left at one in the afternoon and should have arrived sometime around eight pm. Instead around six at night we broke down in the west Adamawa. Nothing but trees and dust around for miles. Occasionally a motorcycle, container truck, or another agency vehicle would pass by. We were stopped for about an hour as the driver and two mechanics changed the tire and tinkered with the axle. We continued onwards into the night. Around eight pm we broke down again. This time it was a different tire. This time it took almost two hours. I simply stood outside and stared off into the dark countryside. Occasionally lights would appear and sometimes flicker out in the valley down below. Somebody was down their, doing what I couldn't imagine. We continued on and finally hit a rest stop at eleven thirty at night. The stop was about an hour or two from my destination. Didn't look like there would be much time for catching up with Hunter that night. If only I had made it. Before we could get on the road again after our rest stop the mechanics had to fix another problem with the vehicle. Now it is one thirty am and we are back on the road. It is dusty and terribly bumpy forcing us to slow down and navigate the cracks and ditches at a snails pace. This was fortunate because one of our tires popped off after we hit a ditch badly. We lost control and crashed into a ditch on the side of the road. No one was hurt. I got out and called Hunter. It didn't look like we would be continuing in this car. Luckily Hunter told me of another volunteer who lived in the village I broke down outside of. He gave me her number and I called her up. She woke up and answered, and I can only think I have incredible luck. So I spent the night at her house before continuing on the next day (Thanks a million Kate M).

This day I was to travel to Banyo in the west Adamawa. From there it would be one more day to get to Ngaoundere and training. For this occasion I would be traveling in small passenger cars. Four people in the front and four in the back. From the village/rest-stop Bankim it took about five hours to get to Banyo and I had to switch cars once. I packed into the front seat for the first car and luckily got the window seat again. A new mother sat on  half of my lap for the ride. Her baby was quite cute and would occasionally try to reach out and touch my facial hair. Closer and closer he got, until at the very end he was able reach and touch my beard. He seemed very loved. Anytime he would start to cry out his mother new he was hungry and would breast feed him. Not out of the ordinary at all here in Cameroon. The second car I was squished into the back right next to a window that didn't open. One hour into the ride I found out I was squished next to a woman who gets car sick. The driver handed her a plastic bag and she started retching. As she is pressed up against me, dry heaving, the driver is navigating a terrible road full of bumps and ditches. Each one a threat to jar the woman's mouth away from her plastic bag. I guess you could say I was lucky again. Not much was coming out and we never hit a bad bump. I arrived clean and happy in Banyo where I would stay with Shannon. Banyo is nice. Good fish.

The next few days passed uneventfully and I made it to the Peace Corps training. The week of training in Ngaoundere was uninspiring to say the least. I continued my travels and began exploring the north of Cameroon.

When We Come Down.

Meetings meetings and more meetings. I have met with many Common Initiative Groups, Schools, and credit unions for several reasons. To introduce myself. It is the natural first step when you want to do work with something. You talk to it and tell it a little bit about yourself and discuss your qualifications. Needs assessment is another reason. As a Peace Corps Agroforestry volunteer I am here to find out what problems Cameroonian farmers have. Hopefully I will know how to help them, and if not I can do research or find knowledgeable farmers/agronomists who DO have the answers. Lastly these meetings have gotten me out and about exploring the culture and livelihoods of Cameroon.



The Common Initiative Groups (CIGS) have been mostly farmers and mostly older women. They welcome me warmly and usually at the end of most meetings offer me food, palm wine, or beer. Sometimes they even sing. The needs I have identified have ranged from diseases and pests to reliance on expensive chemical fertilizers and no money for capital. Also, a lot of male farmers drink any money they made from the harvest during dry season. Thus their families starve. Basic business education, soil fertility, and better crop management training is in order. I am outlining a plan of attack with the ministry of agriculture and KFC. Over the next several months I will hopefully hold training sessions that will address the farmer's professed needs. Though immediately I am traveling to Ngaoundere for some Peace Corps in service training. Then I am off to explore the waste land deserts of the grand north.



The few schools that I have met with have shown much interest in environmental clubs and human rights clubs, though I will be focusing on environmental clubs. I have no idea how the idea of human rights clubs came about. The Cameroonian I am partnered with, Justin, scheduled a meeting with me to go over our plan of attack to start these clubs. He told me that I came up with the idea. I recall no such thing. I digress, the meeting today went really well. I met with a large group of high school students and pretty much gave them an introduction to environmental and human rights clubs. Questions were asked and giggles were had at the site of a white man. The principal at the school I met with today offered me a teaching gig. I think I will pass, for now. Since they are at the end of a term and exams are approaching work will begin in earnest next term in April.


The credit unions are small micro-finance institutions that provide loans to their members. The members themselves fund the unions and earn interest on the stocks that they buy. Money is made through the interest paid on loans taken out. Members are allowed to take loans of a size relative to their number of stocks. This ensures proper monetary amounts are given to capable members. My capacity to help them revolves around providing business training to the members. I also am researching using credit unions to fund farming cooperatives that market cocoa. This idea was actually the genesis of a Cameroonian. They are smart. Sometimes I feel like I am here to nudge their ideas along.


I guess each of these activities themselves merit more in depth discussion. Of note is my failing grasp of the English language. If you encounter words incorrectly used, it is because I have been in Africa too long.

Memories

I became sick again. Same old crap that I described before. The noticeable difference this time around was that I fully anticipated each malady I would suffer. Another day spent at a hospital hobbling into the bathroom with an IV stuck in my arm. Third time will likely be the charmer.

My forays into cooking have been mostly in the area of breakfast foods. A loaf of bread is easy enough to find as are eggs. Powdered milk is everywhere and so are oats. With these I can make oatmeal, eggs, french toast, and with various vegetables a decent omelet. Flour is also easy to find and with bananas I have made some delicious fluffy banana pancakes from scratch. Local honey or packets of jam work as great toppings. I have found maple syrup at the bare bones super market but it costs maybe 4000 CFA (eight bucks). Not buying it. Lastly Irish potatoes are everywhere. They make home-fries or hash browns. I am trying to figure out the best way(or preferred) for morning potatoes. I tried my hand at some potato pancakes. I have never had one before so I have no idea what it should have come out like. The ones I made seemed like fluffy but crispy hash browns.

I went to the local bar around 1pm this past Sunday. There aren't a variety of places one can go to do some work and be sociable. The exact amount of places people hang out at are two; churches and bars. I found myself on another typical Sunday with a little French studying and some work proposals to draft. Most Sundays this season have been full of endless blue sky peppered with clouds. Hot humid heat causes me to sweat before I even sit down at the bar. Its about a two minute walk down a bumpy dirt road through jungle. As I sat down to begin studying I noticed a particularly drunk Cameroonian stumble outside to the outdoor seating where I was situated. His half open eyes were glazed over and his Pidgin English was neatly impossible to understand with such slurring. He saw my white skin and was enamored. He stumbled over to talk to me and shake my hand. There is not much one can do in a situation like this but smile and continue on like nothing is wrong. Distractions like these are commonplace in the western world, and the world over they usually seem to work themselves out on their own. I ignored him and turned back to my paperwork. The fellow patrons of the bar naturally stepped in and played their parts. They pulled the drunkard away from me and berated him for bothering me. I was clearly doing work and he was clearly a sloppy drunk annoying the white man. Thus I was able to return to my work like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Immediately after this another patron, far too drunk for the early afternoon was attempting to start a bar fight. I watched this interesting event unfold and resigned to put off my work for some more time. The second drunkard finally left  yelling taunts back and forth at his adversary till his friend pulled him off down the road. My work was then able to start in earnest for a few hours until I met my neighbor. He arrived on a shiny new motorcycle wearing a nice suit and a dalmatian patterned cowboy hat. I had a drink with him and ate some pepper soup with plantain. It is like a spicy gravy or sometimes tomato soup with chunks of cut up and boiled plantain.

A different evening at a bar studying and working on some project drafts my pen ran out of ink. A little girl, maybe four or five years old saw this and gave me her blue pen. I plan to give her a coloring book and some crayons to return the favor. Overall I have seen many beautiful and wondrous gestures from the little kids of Cameroon. Many of the kids in my neighborhood have never seen a white man. They have learned my name and are slowly spreading it around to all of the kids in my neighborhood. It started with my omelet mama. Her daughter hangs out and likes to ask me how my day is in Pidgin. A few of the other kids also like to practice their French with me and learned my name as well. Now whenever they see me and their friends yell “White man!” they correct them. The omelet mama's shack is the epicenter of sorts, and from their I have seen my name spread from household to household and kids a few blocks away have learned my name whom I have never met. 

In recent memory my funniest occurrence was at a bank ATM. I have a new bank card and had not used it much. Nor were there any special instructions given with the card. I felt it safe to assume it they operated much the same as ATMs in the states. I entered my card and pin and requested 100.000 CFA. Almost two thirds of my monthly allowance. I figured it would easily last me well beyond the next payday in two weeks. I took my leisurely time, first grabbing the card, then the receipt, and then finally grabbing for the money. Too slow. The machine sucked it back up. I stood their, confused.This turned into amused bewilderment as I realized I could not get my money out of the machine. I walked inside the bank and told the teller what happened. She looked at me like I made a big mistake. I played the game without knowing the rules. She told me you have to snatch everything quickly, or the machine will eat it back up. I now had to write a complaint and send it to the head branch in Douala. This effectively put my 100.000 CFA in limbo. I had roughly 40.000 CFA left to make it to the next payday. This wouldn't be hard at all. One can spend 2.000 CFA per day and eat well. Thats 28.000 CFA needed for two weeks. It would have been a piece of cake. Then, as I stated before, I got sick again. Hospital bills and medication ate up that last bit of money. All would have been interesting and difficult if my friend and fellow volunteer Joe had not been around. He was able to lend me some money and help me out recovering too. That floating 100.000 CFA has been returned to my account. It took about three weeks.

A few pests have become my flatmates. We have become fast friends. A cockroach fell off the wall and onto my back as I lay in bed. I jumped up and flicked him away.  The cockroaches usually appear at night, scurrying around my bathroom or the hallway. They are disgusting. My much more amicable roommate is a small mouse that lives in the attic. He has a fuzzy tail and looks like a chipmunk. I don't see him often, he is nocturnal and possibly has agoraphobia. I only see him every few weeks, but I find evidence of his existence in the droppings of his that I find in my living room. Spiders are everywhere. Creepy spiders that appear to have more characteristics of their arthropod relatives than common web spiders. They are big, Maybe two or three inches long. They resemble crabs and are quick. I can see one on the wall right now. He hasn't moved in about thirty minutes. I await the day I wake up with a bruise and two little fang marks on my body. My favorite roommates are the lizards. Small newts, geckos, or skinks that hurry across the walls and ceilings. They stay somewhere outside or in the attic. These lizards are found everywhere in the south of Cameroon. One morning I was awoken by two lizards. They were locked in battle and fell off the window and onto my pillow, right next to my head. I grabbed one of them by the tail but he snapped it off and scurried away. I recaptured him and then released him in another room. I later found a bit of his tail in my bed. I have not the heart to kill any of these little guys. However I kill ants indiscriminately. They find my food and eat it. So I surround my stores of food with water or soapy residue. I could mix up a natural pesticide made of hot peppers, soap, and garlic. But I am lazy. It is supposedly effective.

Electricity bleeds from metal objects plugged into walls. I have shocked myself a few times from metal pieces on my laptop. A nice sharp jolt that makes you whip your hand back. The weirdest part of this is that my electric stove conducts electricity pretty well. It is cheap Chinese crap from Nigeria. Maybe 6 bucks. My most notable clash with my stove was during a breakfast session. I had my pan on and some butter melted to make an omelet. I cracked an egg on the side of the pan and dropped it into the pan. Electricity ran up the egg slime and bit me on my finger that was immersed in the slime. This was quite an amusing way to be shocked. My language tutor is also an electrician, I might have to ask him for some advice.

My city is in the South West of Cameroon. I am not supposed to post the name of it for some security reason or other, but if you came to the South West region of Cameroon and asked around in the few cities for a white man, it wouldn't take long. The city is quite dusty and hot right now. During dry season it rains very little and is always hot and humid. Sweat is dripping down my body just typing this. Eating makes me sweat. Juggling makes me sweat. Thinking about sweat makes me sweat.

I passed through Yaounde and Douala on my way to post and those cities are massive and sprawling. Read this for an idea of what these cities are like: Douala! You can get pizza, burgers, fries, Indian food, Chinese food, and shop in a supermarket for western goods. If you care for that, I am fine with fish, rice, beans, eggs, and soya (street beef). The trip took about six hours in a cramped van. Five people per row and one stop. Its express service baby.

The clouds seem closer here. It seems like they are more personal here in Africa, like you know them better. Storm clouds are another thing. As a storm rolls over the city you can hear it before you see the rain. My first storm was a curiosity; it sounded like several large trucks driving off in the distance. Then the shack I was working in was bombarded with rain. And just like that it passed and the sun was shining but several minutes later. It appears rainy season has come about a month early. Rains have been coming just about every other day. 

Vast jungle sprawls out around my city and the paved road ends here. I have traveled on motos out into the bush and it is beautiful. Trees and brush so thick you cannot pass through without a machete. A great sea of green everywhere you look. The dense jungle opens up for massive plantations of bananas, oil palms, rubber trees, and plantains. Thousands of trees in neat rows. The nearby crater lake is gorgeous. An isolated tribe offers boat rides around the lake and to its village on the other side.  

The organization I work with is a sort of umbrella organization. They are a Common Initiative Group (CIG) and work with many other CIGs. The organization, Key Farmers Cameroon, (KFC) pulls all of these other CIGs together and works on projects or  training formations. I have traveled around and introduced myself to many of these groups, and I will be assessing their professed needs and figuring out what I can do to help them. These groups are not exclusively farmers either; one is made up of women who own small business and run small shops, another is made up entirely of people with HIV. This will provide me with a diverse workload which is great. I have also met with a  micro finance institution and a few schools to start figuring out how I can help with the agri-business and environmental education aspect of my job. Slowly but surely I am beginning to grasp a clue as to what I will be doing for two years. Hopefully something like the first project Douala Recycling.

Sick

Training progressed much the same as before. Agroforestry formations, language class, lunch, class, then soccer or off to the bar. I made French level and took two weeks of pidgin class which will be useful in the South West Region. Pidgin is hard to describe, but a Cameroonian put it nicely to me one day. He told me “Here we speak Pidgin! No grammar! Talk Pidgin!”. Basically subtract a lot of grammar from English and add a bunch of slang and you have it.

The end of training came, but not well. I was sick. The day before swearing in I had some bad diarrhea. It had started the day before but this day was different. There was nothing left to it. It was just water. Then it became blood. I wasn't hungry. I drank lots of water and hoped this would pass. One day of diarrhea is nothing. Then the fever came. I started to burn. I was getting woozy and could no longer function normally. I hopped in a Peace Corps car and told the driver to take me to the hospital. Luckily  a fellow trainee and friend Caleb wasn't feeling well and came along. Absurd to say it was lucky he was sick too, but I was in a much worse way. We arrived and they took my blood pressure and temperature. The intense heat and fatigue was wearing at me. The doctor wasn't in so they took us to another hospital. Here they took blood samples and immediately after I vomited. I felt much better and then they put an IV in me at my wrist. Some slow drip anti-malaria medicine. Everything seemed better. I was slowly walked into a room and put in a bed. I lied down and stared at the ceiling. Unfortunately the bizarre feeling of an IV in my arm started to get to me. The room started spinning and I felt like vomiting. Then the pain medication kicked in. I lied back in a euphoric state and started counting bugs on the ceiling. The Peace Corps Nurse Anne was there and I joked with her. The Country Director who was in town for the swearing in ceremony came in to check on me. It was very comforting but I don't remember what I said in my delusional state. Some jokes, maybe. Regardless they both made me feel a lot better and well taken care of. They left around 10PM and a doctor showed up. They moved me to another room where I would have access to a bathroom. In my previous room I had a little stool pan. They also asked for a stool sample. This was not hard as I soon had diarrhea again. I went and filled up a small glass jar with mostly blood. The doctor left and I was left alone with a slow drip IV and my diarrhea. Every ten to twenty minutes I had to go. It was always bloody. I had to hobble to the bathroom and attach my drip to the window. It was a slow process and sometimes I didn't quite make it to the toilet. I had a handy supply of toilet paper though, so cleaning up was possible. I didn't leave a mess like a complete invalid. Despite this everything was fine. The worst was over. I hadn't eaten in over a day but that didn't matter. I finally stopped and went to sleep.

The next morning I had made a few runs to the bathroom but I was better. I ate some bananas for breakfast and drank a lot of water. Nurse Anne showed up and I said I could make it to swearing in. I changed and hopped into the Peace Corps car. Swearing in took place in the center of town at the place of celebration. There were many important local figures and even the U.S. Ambassador showed. We were seated under and awning and listened to several Peace Corps Administrators, the Ambassador, and some big shot local authorities make speeches. Then we stood up, took an oathe, and that was it. I was now a volunteer. As soon as it ended and pictures ended I made a bee-line for the nearest restroom.

There was food and a reception for the volunteers and families at the training center. The food was a great mixture of Cameroonian and American. After I went with Nurse Ann back to the hospital to get the results of my blood and stool tests. The doctor stated that I had malaria parasites in my blood and amoebas in my stool. This can not be entirely trusted. But I did have one or the other. I was given two different medications and a multivitamin. The first was an anti-malaria pill and the second was to kill amoeba and bacteria infections. Great. Time to start work.

Untitled

There are many things that can make a man lose control of his bowels; undercooked food, bacteria, amoebas, drinking cheap alcohol, etc. All of these things are readily available in Cameroon. In every market the food sitting out acts as landing pads for flies. Luke warm food for dinner is quite common. Bacteria are in all the water and must be at least filtered, if not boiled as well. So if you find yourself with diarrhea it could be any number of things. It can be impossible to trace the source. Thus one night after eating luke warm food and drinking a few beers and some palm wine, I found myself in a predicament.

First lets discuss palm wine. Palm wine is made by felling palm trees and tapping them to harvest the liquid inside. This liquid is palm wine and it begins fermenting the second it is tapped. It is put in containers that allow air flow so as to prevent gas buildup. However for this same reason it allows insects in who are attracted to the sweet smell of the palm wine. Over time as it ferments it becomes stronger and less sweet. They call it matango or the white stuff in anglophone regions. It tastes like fizzy, sweet, and sour white stuff. I often found bugs floating a glass or liter and the locals merely said to pick it out. Its normal.

One night, which seemed to be a regular night, I jumped out of bed in a terror. I knew I was about to immediately evacuate my bowels and had but seconds to spare. I waddled around my room, groping along the wall in the pitch black darkness of a village without electricity. After ten agonizing seconds I could do nothing more. I took step from the wall, dropped my boxers, and shit on the floor.

I wiped it all up into a little black plastic bag, tied the bag shut, and dropped it out my window. I bleached the floor and went back to bed. The next morning I went and claimed my bag, then tossed it in the trash pile to be burned later. This is something that is not uncommon for volunteers in Africa. Well, I cannot say my specific case is common, but rather problems with bowels and crapping in the bushes is not abnormal. Some might say my case was a rather absurd extreme. 

Pictures

Pictures of the future not yet told.

My house. 

My backyard.

View from my porch. 

My bathroom. 

My future kitchen.

My future bedroom.

My hallway and counterpart. 

Downtown. 

Busy busy busy. 

My office. 

View from the balcony.

Add caption

Token photo. 

My neighborhood. 

Clouds rolling up the side of Mt. Cameroon. 

Me. 

The northwest. 

Lake Barombi. 

The rock. 

Boat man. 

Oil refinery at the beach. 

Black sand beach. 

Limbe. 

Accommodations for Noel 

My old car.