What does development have to do with eggs?

I live in a construction zone. When I first moved in, it was so beautiful and peaceful here on the outskirts of town. Now, it is anything but. It is noisy, dusty when it isn't completely muddy, there are construction workers everywhere, and there is no road or side of the road that is safe to walk on. C'est grave.

But what does this have to do with eggs? In all my bitching about how horrible my life is here in Ebolowa since construction (or, let me start with the destruction that is on-going) started, my neighbor reminded me that you have to crack eggs to get omelets. So, assuming that omelets are better than eggs (which they are if you are talking about a spinach and cheddar cheese omelet), I will just have to be patient to have something better. But will Ebolowa post-construction be better than Ebolowa pre-construction? Are omelets always better than eggs? Do you not loose a little egg when you try to make omelets?

Most of city preparation has been in destroying temporary structures. This means I no longer know where to find things like clothes and other random household items. This also means people are being kicked out of their homes that are next to the road. Walls, houses, and stores are being torn down. It looks like a war zone. The x's being spray painted on structures are like the death sentences for trees in a thinning operation in a forest. People, including children, are spending time breaking rock that is being quarried out into gravel. Sometimes they use hammers, sometimes they use bigger rocks. Wetlands where people used to fish are being controlled with manipulation of clay, earth, and tunnels. It seems like this work will never finish.

And what will we have after all of this is over? A road that is wider and smoother than the road to Yaounde, more urban sprawl caused by increasing populations and displaced people, more expensive stores because they are in permanent structures, probably more wealth, but definitely more pronounced poverty. Do I really need these omelets? All I really need is my water to be working again, because I am tired of fetching water, and some peace and quiet.

NDE

I guess maybe it wouldn't technically count as Near Death Experience, but karma, luck, God, something had a hand in my fate. I decided to take the VIP bus to Yaounde yesterday. I kept bitching in my head about having to pay 5000 CFA, 10 bucks, for a round trip ticket that doesn't really leave on time and isn't really all that comfortable. So, leaving 15 minutes late, we are off. About 30 minutes later, we get a killer flat tire. I watch as the driver expertly changes the tires. During this time a car passes us, going oh so slowly on the main highway. Another bus, the one I would have taken had I been feeling cheap, passes, and soon enough we are on the road again. About 2 minutes later, we slam on our brakes (very dramatically, mind you), as we come very near what was a head on collision between the bus I could have been on trying to pass the little slow car, and another bus returning to Ebolowa. MERDE. Could that have been the VIP if our flat tire came 2 minutes earlier? Could that have been me if I had taken than bus? And in the traditional Cameroonian way, everyone under reacted to a situation that would have made me empty the folks out from all of the stopped vehicles, and fill them with all of the people who could have been injured, rushing them to the hospital. And then we continued on our way once the rain got hard enough and it was decided, "Eh, they're fine!"

Halfway across the earth and back

It was during my layover in Paris that I was reminded of what I had been missing. I witnessed a grown man, a tall one nonetheless, threaten to hit another man who pushed past him in line to board the plane. The pusher was forced to push past the tall man because the tall man was so appalled that upon his request for an upgrade, they did not comply, that he remained blocking the line from scanning their tickets. The pusher, it seemed (and I could tell because he was shouting the entire time), had paid a lot of money to fly from Douala to JFK (yeah, join the club!) for a seat he can’t even fit into. The pusher, upon receiving his reply from the helpless Air France (that’s an oxymoron) employee, reminded me of exactly what it was I had forgotten about the states. I believe his phrasing was something like, “I don’t know how you do it in your country, but in America I have rights that the law upholds!”

Ah, yes, land of the free and the litigious.

The pusher had apparently never taken any form of public transportation in Cameroon. Because I can tell you how luxurious those seats felt to my ass after 10 months in Cameroon. Aside from the window that you can never open (this, I say, because Cameroonians HATE air breezes in the cars), they were two completely opposite experiences. Do you want to talk about leg room? Try sitting in the jump seat of a mini-bus with a large man in the jump seat in front of you. Bread and cheese and wine? Sign me up! Give me those basic human rights. Just don’t let anyone “below” you know what they are missing out on. (I can hear it now, ‘You mean you can leave your bag on the seat and no one steals from it?’)

So, after this wonderful reminder of America, I then got to spend 3 joyous weeks in it where I reveled in being able to say what I want, a) because it’s in English, and b) because it doesn’t matter if I hint at my liberalness, and be invisible/not a celebrity. I also ate everything I saw. So, 10 pounds later, here I am back in my house. Only nothing is the same. I have my computer, and even internet, which means I have something to do when I am holed up in my house hiding from the rest of the world.

But also, my perspective is completely screwed up. During my visit, I had a lot of time to process and answer questions (No, grandma, I don’t go to the movies. There are no movie theaters in Ebolowa), some more intriguing and thought provoking than others. I have to say, questions really help you think through and process what exactly is going on. I think all I have finally concluded is that our basic interactions here in Cameroon are generally much more human and personal. I say this, purposely, because I have a brief follow-up to the stolen tree story; He who stole the trees then apparently tried to sell them to Judith, not knowing we work together. I also came home to find that my landlady completely removed my garden out front of my house while I was gone. Talk about passive aggressive! When I confronted her, she placed the blame on the kids because they were the ones who physically removed the plants. She also said it was getting ugly. Well, yes, it is a garden and if you hate green next to your house, you will hate it, so you probably shouldn’t agree in the first place. I also came back to find that my friend’s counterpart stole money that was supposed to help pay for a camp she ran. I would have taken him as completely honest, but it seems trust is fleeting, as is honesty. When I think about what it means to do things that leave a physical hole, it is always the psychological effects that take the greatest toll. In reality, the 300 dollars her counterpart stole, which may be a lot to many people PCVs work with, is big because she knows now that he is no longer trustworthy. I will never trust the man who stole my moringa trees. And I will try my hardest to make his life even just a little bit harder.

And what has really changed in my head is my understanding of corruption in Cameroon. Before I thought I could understand it somewhat, but now I am as lost as ever. What I do know is corruption happens like badness. People can do bad things every once in a while. Bad people are also good people. Corrupt people are also fair people. Otherwise, how could my friend’s counterpart have slipped under the radar for two rounds of volunteers? Am I, myself, just waiting for little seeds of corruption and greed to slip through the people I know best? Does this happen in the States? Or do we do our job for the satisfaction it brings us? How universal is this seed of corruption lying dormant inside us or is it exclusive to people from corrupt places? I would like to think that my American Work Ethic (The AWE) keeps me in line, but maybe those of us with the AWE are the exception rather than the rule.

Now it seems I am even more confused and conflicted than ever. But alas, after 5 really difficult days back home, mostly spent hiding in my house on the computer (yay home computer!) or walking the dog, I am starting to be lifted into my new second-go-round Cameroonian reality- one specifically that lacks cheese, cold fresh milk, and hoppy beers.

Gotta wonder why...

Sometimes I just think to myself: why the heck am I doing this? What am I really bringing to these communities? Is this more of a selfish learning experience, an excuse to play in the jungle for 2 years and then return to the states where I can continue my regular life?

Inspired by my friend Andrea to start a moringa nursery with my counterpart, Serges, as an income generating project, I convinced my supervisor to give me about 200 seeds of Moringa for free. Each Moringa tree can fetch about 5 dollars on the market in Yaounde, maybe 4 dollars in the South since they are so new. We worked on filling the sachets with earth and we planted the seeds together. I had it in my head that I could bring a small business volunteer down to help Serges with the business aspect of running a tree nursery. About a month ago, we found out that (someone important from the regional ministry, who's name shall not be named) of animal husbandry was looking for moringa trees! Great! What a great opportunity. You have money? We have trees!

About a week ago I got a call from Serges telling me that he got rid of most of the trees. I asked him how much the delegate bough them for, to which his response was he would tell me in person. A few days later, in person, the real story comes out. It turns out that he took them for free with his word (which, in my opinion, is not worth much) that he would help my counterpart access a government subsidy.

This problem is so complex. First of all, the people running the government subsidy couldn't be happier to give away their money. For them it is a problem of finding the groups that fit the bill. Secondly, what an abuse of power! He who shall not be named loves throwing his power around, and even tries to use it to get me to spend the weekend at his ranch when I ask him questions like, "I have a farmer interested in rabbit raising. Any advice?" The answer: "I raise rabbits. You should come to my house this weekend and you can see for yourself. " Uh, not going to your house, even if it were for a minute, because you are clearly a dirtbag. He gets what he wants, without having to pay for it, because his money and power are worth more than other peoples'. Third, it is evident that in the game of corruption, money begets money. This is a system contrived to keep the poor at the marginal levels of society while the rich continue to profit from their wealth (re: power). This system becomes all the more evident the more time you spend in it, and especially since I have been reading The Fate of Africa by Martin Meredith, a modern history of Africa post-independence. I am about halfway done, and I am already getting bored by the repetative nature of modern leaders. Yes, they are corrupt, yes they exploit resources to their advantage, and no they don't give a damn about their own people.

And what did my counterpart have to say? "Lauren, this is how we fight corruption. You have to get at it from the inside, build yourself up a little, and then you can say no to corruption." Uh, I think that is a good way to support corruption. And God forbid you advance yourself a little, what comes next? I only see this history repeating itself. If you can ever advance yourself from poverty to the point where you have a little cash to spend, I think history tells us that you will likely become a part of the system. I was so disheartened (re: realized I threw away a lot of time and government money to feed into the corruption system. SHIT, really?) that I had to tell Judith; sage, sage Judith. Her reaction: You can never count on anyone in this system but yourself. If you want to see change, don't expect it to come from anyone but yourself. Maybe I like that because it resonates with the American can-do, but it seems to be the only way for me to explain it to Serges. And it is likely he wont understand. But, because it is likely that He Who Shall Not Be Named will "forget" his promise to help Serges access this subsidy, maybe Serges will get it in the end.

And I learned, yet again, that things for free are easily thrown away. It is when you pay for them that you realize their value. I just hope that I can make up for feeding into the corruption. And that, after I take my vacation back to the states (Oh, thank goodness for vacations), I will want to return to my post. Even if it is only for my puppy.

Sorcery

It is true that once you open your ears to something, you start to hear it more and more. I never realized what a huge role sorcery plays in Cameroonian society until this past week when the chef of my neighboring village was arrested for having sexual relations with a 13 year old girl. The chef, a politically recognized man in his 50s with two wives and a rather extensive village, had been seducing a daughter of his friends for some time with money and sleeping with her. The girl, when confronted by her mom about her sudden weight loss, admitted that the chef had been seducing her for sexual encounters. After an elaborate set up, the police caught the chef naked getting ready to have sex with the girl. Although I am glad he has finally be caught (I have heard from multiple sources that he has been doing this for many years with many young girls) it is extremely frustrating that they had to wait for "proof," specifically they had to arrest the man when he was completely naked. Whatever happened to children's rights?

Even more disturbing is the talk of sorcery's role in the matter. My counterpart, upon hearing the story, told me that sorcery is to blame. As if the man had no part in the matter. What an easy way to wipe your hands clean of the problem! Who is responsible? Oh, don't worry. Someone cast a spell on him to make him want to have sex with minors. And give them cash stashs. Totally normal. While homosexuality is frowned upon in Cameroon (many would easily throw their children to the streets if they found out they were gay), forced sexual relations with minors is caused by sorcery, and therefore not his problem! Fortunately there is some sense of justice here and he will be convicted to many years in prison, though socially he has been excused.

After all of this talk, I find out later a friend's nephew, after writing his bacc exams, died suddenly at the age of 19. This, too, was attributed to sorcery, as it was unexplainable past "He died of mal au ventre". Furthermore, upon discussing the recent break up of two friends, I found out that her infertility, the cause of the break-up, was a result of sorcery, specifically the aftermath of a sorcery battle between her former fiance (who was killed by this sorcery) and his cousin.

So, sorcery is apparently everwhere. It is a real part of people's lives and somehow explains what is otherwise unexplainable. I guess this makes sense in a world where the envionment is uncontrolled and uncontrollable. When nothing else makes sense, it has to be the supernatural. I was imagining how I would write about sorcery yesterday on my way out to the road, and as I was leaving Judith's, an older woman who was talking to herself started talking to me and asking me about my feet. This was all simply strange until I saw her holding something probably used in rituals in her left hand. I tried to dismiss her as simply crazy, bothering the only white person, because she was, afterall, not wearing any shoes. But I still can't help but wonder if something bad will happen to me for dismissing a sorcerer or if she will cure my perpetually sprained ankle.

My three pregnancies and why I am always sad to not be in the NW

Realizing that a usual stint for the average Peace Corps volunteer is 27 months, I realize that I have successfully completed my first 9 months, meaning I have had one baby. What does this mean? That everything has gone from being weird, strange, new, exciting, adventerous, must I go on?... to my everyday. I recently met the new stagieres right after they got off the plane. Fresh off the Boat, and I mean it. It was good practice for me to tell a story that, to me, seems so normal, but to others is maybe hilarious. For example, the fact that whenever I take a car to a village I have learned to wrap my clean clothes in plastic bags because there is a 95% chance a chicken will poop on my stuff. Hilarious, right? Not unless you have had to wear a kabba that stinks like chicken crap. En plus, the langauge. I have now accepted that I entirely incapable of speaking in pure English. This is especially grave if I am talking shop and am forced to use words that I only know in French. So Franglais has become the norm. So being as I will be heading back to NJ in only a few weeks, meeting the newbies (as I am now a sophisticated sophomore) was good practice for what kinds of questions to expect. (For those of you who are dying to know, my favorite questions pertained to how I am the dirtiest person I know in village, which now I realize is not too different from my life in the states, and also where I got my chihuahua from, being as there are no pet stores in Cameroon, right?)

So, here I am, dreaming of the NW. Yes, as in Oregon since I have started to read Sometimes a Great Notion, but really as in the NW of Cameroon where the climate is fresh, there are mountains to climb and beets to be eaten (BEETS!!!), and where I am infinitely jealous of the kind of work PCVs have to do there. First off, the housing is incredible! There is more money in the NW because people are better entreprenuers. Tim has a toilet that flushed with a handle! And tiles. Oh, how much nicer on the feet than cement. But the real heart of the matter is the work. Everything is already set up. No joke. For example, I attended a two day mushroom cultivation workshop. Rad. In the NW, they ask if you want to do animal raising? Great! We will set you up with a biogas tank so you can cook with the methane fuel produced by your animal's crap. Want to fertilize your field? Great! We will take the slurry from the biogas tank and throw it on your fields. And then, with your produce, you can feed your animals! What a complete and perfect system. And everyone you could ever want to talk to is located right in Bamenda. How wonderful. In the South, you are lucky to find anyone who does animal raising, like for a living, not just keeping goats who run around whereever as security. People also have very little need for fertilizer, as the shifting agriculture system keeps the land fertile. And wood? Well, there is too much of it that people don't even value it. So, yes, I am envious. The whole system is already in place and volunteers get to work with what already functions.

But then, on my way home I was yelled at by a security patrol (as in some guy who gets paid to check the buses for functioning fire safety equipment) because I brought my 3 month old puppy on the bus. What do you mean I can't carry him in a market bag? Yes, I can see how this is dirty, but is he really dirtier than a child with snot running down his face? And if he sleeps the whole time, what's the problem? And no, I am not putting him in a cage underneath the bus because he would die. So, the drawback of all that infrastructure is the infrastructure. I was realived when I returned to Mvan bus station in Yaounde to take my agence back to the dirty South and me and my puppy we greeted as family by my friends who work there. In the South we have no mountains or functional international NGOs, but we do have the possibility for something better, a clean slate. And if it is done right, I can see how it can be even better than the NW because we have trees (specifically not eucalyptus) and wildlife and security (no banditary like in the NW). Plus, I dont have to speak slow, special English for people to understand me. I will stick to my struggling French because Cameroonians can learn to adapt to me.

The problem with d'oh! Or d'eau, water.

Water is one of those things that most people in the developed world take for granted. I can honestly say that I am not technically-minded enough to understand how water works. All I know is that sometimes I have it and sometimes I don't. Most recently, water was out for 10 days, making the record of days without water, and also the record number of days without bathing. The reason? The contractors who are building the road for the national agro-pasto comice (scheduled to take place in December, and all they have done is destroyed the sides of the already paved road). A major difference between developing and developed nations is thoughtful planning. The contractors, apparently, decided to start building the road without first talking to the water and electricity societies, meaning they just bulldozed over the existing infrastructure, chewing up our water pipes and electric lines. In addition to breaking the pipes, they also refused to fix them, meaning that until I got really pissed off and went to the regional delegate of agriculture, threatening the impending arrival of my supervisor, nothing happened. And the only reason our water tubes were fixed was because I am white. And also because I demanded justice. There is an expression here, when I am in my rights I don't budge. So, knowing my rights to justice and needing someone to take responsibility, I got water fixed in my village.

With the visit of my director, we visited my supervisor, who is responsible for many of the water projects, Peace Corps and not, in the South. He dragged us all out to a village about 5 km from my house to visit a former water project of a PCV. He told us that there were problems, but I didn't realize the extent of the problem until we talked to the chef of the village. The village, divided into two quartiers, has water conflict issues. They are all the same family, but what does that mean when you see that your water site is a little bit en brousse and the other quartier doesn't have to walk more than a minute to get water. So, the quartier up the hill is not only jealous that their point is less developed, but when there are water problems, it is the first site affected. This, of course, is all determined by the geographical features of the village and the fact that the water point is gravity-fed, not a pump. So vandilism happens. Tubes are broken, whether on accident or on purpose, and fingers get pointed. The chef, of course, denies all responsibility, and blames the quality of tubes, when the committee d'eau never finished their work with burying the tubes, leaving many of the sections exposed above ground. With a motivational talk from Hans, my supervisor, the village seemed to understand that it is their responsibility to take care of their water source, as les etrangers are not affected whether the village of Olem has water or not.

Which brings me to some of the many fears I have with doing my water project. Although the village is wonderful and has a strong sense of community, there are so many things that could go wrong. And once you get used to having an improved water source, it is not easy to go back when something breaks, which it inevitably will.