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.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The rage: This one is going out to my baby's mama.
Le rage, or rabies. Here I am sitting in Yaounde at the Peace Corps office where I rushed in on emergency today to get myself injected with post-exposure rabies vaccine. These past fews weeks I have been dreaming of what blog entry I will write, and a week ago decided it would have to be on dogs in Cameroon. They, by far, have the worst life in the whole country. I realized this about the mother of my puppy, who I used to let into my house and would frequently feed. She came into my life a few weeks after I arrived in village. Papa Billy found her tied up out en brousse. He brought her back to village, and kept her chained up, waiting for someone to claim her. By the time no one came and it was decided that she was officially Papa Billy's new dog, we had become friends. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to run with me, but she would come and keep me company in my house. Until she went into heat. Before I knew it, she was pregnant and everyday I loved seeing how big she was getting. Soon she was HUGE and eventually gave birth to 11 puppies. And then she skipped over her youth and went straight to ragged mama, ca va dire if she were a person, she would be the drunk mother with a cigarette hanging out her mouth, bruises on her face from abusive boyfriends, refusing to nurse her starving baby. You get the picture. By the time I took my puppy from her, she had definitely seen better days; Her nipples are now hanging down like a 50year old mom who has never worn a bra, and her open wounds on her ears wont ever heal because of the flies. I have even started to kick her out of my house and I have stopped sympathetically feeding her.
To top this all off, Thursday she was mal a laisse, and would run up to certain men in village to bark at them. I asked why she was so agitated and Papa Billy replied that one of these men had been given a dog by the commisariate of something. This was a gift of food, though. So she could sense that he had killed a dog and was upset by it. Apparently on top of all the bush meat people eat here, they also eat dog. It is a delicacy that people say tastes good. This is evidently not a ntaionwide practice and probably exists in the more forested areas, because people tend to cultivate less. I accepted that this was the reason for the dog's behavior until Friday night when she would not stop barking at all. I was talking to my landlady and said something about how weird the dog was acting. She said, "Ils nous apprennent ca a l'ecole. C'est le rage." They teach us this in school. It is rabies. OH MY GOD, I thought. She is right, the dog is rabid! Unfortunately, because of our relationship (she will lick my wound-covered hands to greet me) and because my teething puppy is still trying to nurse, I believed that I was exposed to rabies. Yikes! That is scary! To top it all off, after I entered my house for the night, I stopped hearing the dog barking and convinced myself that Papa Billy had taken her en brousse to be killed. Which brought me initially to Yaounde Saturday morning in rush, convinced that on top of compromising my health I would have to kill my puppy.
After taking care of my booster shot, I returned home. Everyone was sitting outside. they all heard that I rushed to Yaounde for the rabies shot, but they all asked me where I was anyway. I told them, and everyone just laughed at me. Apparently the dog had calmed down and was back to her normal self. The next day I spent several hours walking with her, and she was completely normal. Which means that her agitation at the dog eaters was the best explanation. So now I will take my puppy to Yaounde to get him vaccinated because I can not risk another scare like this.
Also, I recently had sweet revenge on a menacing rat that fell into my quarter-full bucket with bleach water and couldn't get out. After 30 hours the thing finally died, and I will be able to sleep more soundly. Take that, rat!
To top this all off, Thursday she was mal a laisse, and would run up to certain men in village to bark at them. I asked why she was so agitated and Papa Billy replied that one of these men had been given a dog by the commisariate of something. This was a gift of food, though. So she could sense that he had killed a dog and was upset by it. Apparently on top of all the bush meat people eat here, they also eat dog. It is a delicacy that people say tastes good. This is evidently not a ntaionwide practice and probably exists in the more forested areas, because people tend to cultivate less. I accepted that this was the reason for the dog's behavior until Friday night when she would not stop barking at all. I was talking to my landlady and said something about how weird the dog was acting. She said, "Ils nous apprennent ca a l'ecole. C'est le rage." They teach us this in school. It is rabies. OH MY GOD, I thought. She is right, the dog is rabid! Unfortunately, because of our relationship (she will lick my wound-covered hands to greet me) and because my teething puppy is still trying to nurse, I believed that I was exposed to rabies. Yikes! That is scary! To top it all off, after I entered my house for the night, I stopped hearing the dog barking and convinced myself that Papa Billy had taken her en brousse to be killed. Which brought me initially to Yaounde Saturday morning in rush, convinced that on top of compromising my health I would have to kill my puppy.
After taking care of my booster shot, I returned home. Everyone was sitting outside. they all heard that I rushed to Yaounde for the rabies shot, but they all asked me where I was anyway. I told them, and everyone just laughed at me. Apparently the dog had calmed down and was back to her normal self. The next day I spent several hours walking with her, and she was completely normal. Which means that her agitation at the dog eaters was the best explanation. So now I will take my puppy to Yaounde to get him vaccinated because I can not risk another scare like this.
Also, I recently had sweet revenge on a menacing rat that fell into my quarter-full bucket with bleach water and couldn't get out. After 30 hours the thing finally died, and I will be able to sleep more soundly. Take that, rat!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The problem with my urban village
I returned, at last, after a victorious two week break from post. I was so antsy to return to post, just to get away from all the drama with Peace Corps and other volunteers. Only I forgot why I was so anxious to get away in the first place.
I saw a new road that was built in the 2 weeks I was gone. I asked the gendarme where the road leads to, and was told it goes to the chateau d'eau. Oh, what a surprise. So Andrea and I take a short walk to the end of the road, which happens to be right next to a farm where a few women were working. We ask them, "Where is the chateau d'eau?" Pointing at a piles of rocks, they both reply, "Right there. It is a chateau d'eau!" My frustration with all of this is the knowledge that before the big national agropastural comice/event was even gossiped to have been scheduled to happen here, my village was so content living as they were, waiting for the government to bring them things. I assume this is all a problem of being so close to the city that eventually the government HAS to do something, right? A former PCV had tried to arrange a water source in my village so we wouldn't have to trample through the grasses and mud to fill our bidons when the city water is cut (which is daily). All the villagers had to do was show up to a meeting, and they couldn't even do that. Yet they complain about their quality of life and problems of village development. But now everyone is content because, Gosh! They waited long enough and now the government has finally done something!... Even though there rest a pile of rocks on the end of a dirt road.
Second problem: My landlady knocked at my door at 8 pm to borrow 5,000 CFA, a good amount of money. She said it was because she didn't have enough money to buy peanuts to plant. Let me break down this situation.
1) This is a peanut culture. People never eat all of their peanuts from the harvest before because they know they have to plant more next season.
2) She just built a sweet porcherie that rests empty because she probably ran out of money to buy a piglet. Also, she just built a brand new kitchen that is really nice, and probably most of the size of my house.
3) She has just now decided to lay some new cement on my stairs and the stairs to all three of the apartments.
4) Finally, how many peanuts is she planning on buying? There is no way that she could spend 5 mille on peanuts. It might actually be humanly impossible to spend that much on peanuts unless you are planning on feeding the entire city of Ebolowa peanut sauce for dinner.
So not only is the problem that maybe she is bad with her finances, or maybe that she is liar (and an uber-religious Witness, at that. God is judging you!), but then she came to my door the next morning at 8 am to ask for the money because I said I could have it for her in the morning. Seriously? Does she think that I made 5 mille appear in the 12 hours between 8 pm and 8 am, all of that time spent in my pajamas?
...I actually had exactly 5 mille I could have given her, but what message would that have sent?...
The amusing thing is that there is a chart that helps PCVs identify what stage they are at in their volunteer experience, as most volunteers follow a progression of different emotions. Right now I am at the intolerance of host culture stage. Yup, that is right on.
But thank God for puppies, right? They make everything better! Kittens are cute, too, but I have puppies running around, and I have my puppy claimed. He is currently the littlest puppy, brown like his mama, and covered in fleas and infested with worms. But soon he will be mine and I will buy the magic medicine at le veterinaire to make him the best cared for dog in all of Ebolowa. Unless he dies between now and next week, which is always a possibility.
Also, I will go to a seminar on tree propogation techniques like marcotting and grafting. This will be at a place in Cameroon where I can see three countries at once: Cameroon, Guinea Eq. and Gabon. Hopefully, too, I will learn something that might be a useful skill.
Until next time!
I saw a new road that was built in the 2 weeks I was gone. I asked the gendarme where the road leads to, and was told it goes to the chateau d'eau. Oh, what a surprise. So Andrea and I take a short walk to the end of the road, which happens to be right next to a farm where a few women were working. We ask them, "Where is the chateau d'eau?" Pointing at a piles of rocks, they both reply, "Right there. It is a chateau d'eau!" My frustration with all of this is the knowledge that before the big national agropastural comice/event was even gossiped to have been scheduled to happen here, my village was so content living as they were, waiting for the government to bring them things. I assume this is all a problem of being so close to the city that eventually the government HAS to do something, right? A former PCV had tried to arrange a water source in my village so we wouldn't have to trample through the grasses and mud to fill our bidons when the city water is cut (which is daily). All the villagers had to do was show up to a meeting, and they couldn't even do that. Yet they complain about their quality of life and problems of village development. But now everyone is content because, Gosh! They waited long enough and now the government has finally done something!... Even though there rest a pile of rocks on the end of a dirt road.
Second problem: My landlady knocked at my door at 8 pm to borrow 5,000 CFA, a good amount of money. She said it was because she didn't have enough money to buy peanuts to plant. Let me break down this situation.
1) This is a peanut culture. People never eat all of their peanuts from the harvest before because they know they have to plant more next season.
2) She just built a sweet porcherie that rests empty because she probably ran out of money to buy a piglet. Also, she just built a brand new kitchen that is really nice, and probably most of the size of my house.
3) She has just now decided to lay some new cement on my stairs and the stairs to all three of the apartments.
4) Finally, how many peanuts is she planning on buying? There is no way that she could spend 5 mille on peanuts. It might actually be humanly impossible to spend that much on peanuts unless you are planning on feeding the entire city of Ebolowa peanut sauce for dinner.
So not only is the problem that maybe she is bad with her finances, or maybe that she is liar (and an uber-religious Witness, at that. God is judging you!), but then she came to my door the next morning at 8 am to ask for the money because I said I could have it for her in the morning. Seriously? Does she think that I made 5 mille appear in the 12 hours between 8 pm and 8 am, all of that time spent in my pajamas?
...I actually had exactly 5 mille I could have given her, but what message would that have sent?...
The amusing thing is that there is a chart that helps PCVs identify what stage they are at in their volunteer experience, as most volunteers follow a progression of different emotions. Right now I am at the intolerance of host culture stage. Yup, that is right on.
But thank God for puppies, right? They make everything better! Kittens are cute, too, but I have puppies running around, and I have my puppy claimed. He is currently the littlest puppy, brown like his mama, and covered in fleas and infested with worms. But soon he will be mine and I will buy the magic medicine at le veterinaire to make him the best cared for dog in all of Ebolowa. Unless he dies between now and next week, which is always a possibility.
Also, I will go to a seminar on tree propogation techniques like marcotting and grafting. This will be at a place in Cameroon where I can see three countries at once: Cameroon, Guinea Eq. and Gabon. Hopefully, too, I will learn something that might be a useful skill.
Until next time!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
GENIUS!
This past Saturday I went on my first hike since leaving America. It was my second time out to visit a farmer, though the first successful time. Sometime in February Serges and I were solicited to work out au village, about 1 hr away by moto. I was so excited that I agreed to pay 6000 CFA (a lot to drop in one day on transport) to the moto driver. When Serges and I reach the village, we start our search for a man named Eric. We do not find him au village, and are told to wait at the closest arrondisement. We arrive at the next biggest village, where we wait a while. Finally a 16 year old boy, the son of our farmer, comes to tell us we have to go en bruce, 5 km, to see him. "What? Why isn't he here and why did he send his son?" Convinced that we were forgotten and stood up, and moreover not prepared to walk out 5 km en bruce, we left feeling disheartened. But Eric solicited us again and we set our appointment for last Saturday.
Prepared for a hike, Serges ported his boots and we met Eric out on the road. After an hour of hiking past fields, ponds, through wetlands and streams, we finally reach Bakasi, named after the disputed Nigerian/Cameroonian border. As it turns out, this man and his entire family live 3 km away from the nearest road, 5 km from the nearest school, in what I like to call homesteading. 15 years ago, he started digging (by hand) his first fish pond and 13 years ago he moved his entire family out to his 50 hectares of land. Now what he has is 13 fish ponds, one of which looks natural and surpasses the size of Ebolowa's Lake, 6 small ponds for fish reproduction (multiplication?), 13 mutton, a pig, chicken, fruit trees, rice, plantain, and every other usual culture of the South. This man was a genius, in many ways, because he got away from the noise of living in village, can more effeciently work the land (without the commute), and has a very well integrated agricultural system. Everyone calls him crazy for this, because his children walk 5 km there and back to get to school everyday, and he has to carry his dying fish out for an hour before he hits a road where he can sell (his delicious Tilapia). But he is really just someone with a new idea (hard to come by in Cameroon), who is doing it successfully (he will soon become the chef of his village... as soon as his sons are old enough to have families of their own), while everyone else watches with jealous eyes. It may be Paradise in Cameroon. Especially to sit there, drinking palm wine, eating fresh fish, overlooking a beautiful lake.
Prepared for a hike, Serges ported his boots and we met Eric out on the road. After an hour of hiking past fields, ponds, through wetlands and streams, we finally reach Bakasi, named after the disputed Nigerian/Cameroonian border. As it turns out, this man and his entire family live 3 km away from the nearest road, 5 km from the nearest school, in what I like to call homesteading. 15 years ago, he started digging (by hand) his first fish pond and 13 years ago he moved his entire family out to his 50 hectares of land. Now what he has is 13 fish ponds, one of which looks natural and surpasses the size of Ebolowa's Lake, 6 small ponds for fish reproduction (multiplication?), 13 mutton, a pig, chicken, fruit trees, rice, plantain, and every other usual culture of the South. This man was a genius, in many ways, because he got away from the noise of living in village, can more effeciently work the land (without the commute), and has a very well integrated agricultural system. Everyone calls him crazy for this, because his children walk 5 km there and back to get to school everyday, and he has to carry his dying fish out for an hour before he hits a road where he can sell (his delicious Tilapia). But he is really just someone with a new idea (hard to come by in Cameroon), who is doing it successfully (he will soon become the chef of his village... as soon as his sons are old enough to have families of their own), while everyone else watches with jealous eyes. It may be Paradise in Cameroon. Especially to sit there, drinking palm wine, eating fresh fish, overlooking a beautiful lake.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Why I love America
In the 4 months that I have been at post I have learned so much. Firstly, I learned to never trust anyone. My neighbor who invited me out to her village for a 5 day seminar turned shady; ca va dire, I have reason to believe she is a liar and a petty thief of soy seeds and soy money. If you ever suspect anyone of being immoral, it is usually best to assume that they are. But this is a lesson learned the hard way and really makes me reconsider the eyes with which I view this world. I keep forgetting that I am the white girl here. Despite calls of "La Blanche!" or "nytangun" in patoi, I feel so at home here that I never notice just how different I am outwardly. I realized that my neighbor was using me for small cash and for "partners" in the states, never with the intention of improving the conditions of her own village, her own family. Whenever someone talks about partners, they always assume that you know someone who can get them money. Furthermore, whenever someone talks about partners, they are probably not sincerly interested in doing work, but would rather sit comfortably and eat buffets, laughing while food falls out of their mouths and the rest of their family sits outside the window looking in with big eyes. Also, whenever someone wants you to work without your counterpart, they probably just want to trick you into going to their village to show off the white girl, reinforcing their high position in society. I have realized this the past few villages I visited with friends who were surprised when I asked why we were turning off the road instead of picking up Serges, my counterpart, first. "Oh, you want Serges to come?" HELLO! What do you think you are doing?!?
Despite learning the everyone has a village that needs a water pump (God, I hate water projects), I have also learned that the people who understand Peace Corps are probably going to be my only true friends during my time here. I have grown to really appreciate Serges more and more everyday, not only because he may be the only 36 year old Cameroonian man without a child, but because he works hard and he really understands Americans. Also, he knows that while I have some money here to enable me to live comfortably, I have very little financial means in the states, not counting my debt for student loans.
Other things that I really miss about America includes the fact that Americans are capable of listening to new music, not the same CD that took over 4 months to change, or the same Wyclef song that I heard once for an hour while it was played on repeat at a loud volume. I miss that it is okay if I don't cook. I am so busy here that I don't even have time to go to the store, or marche, let alone cook anything. My response to what have you prepared today? "Je travaille et je n'ai pas la femme." Or, I work and I don't have a wife. Aren't you lucky that you get to eat real food at the end of the day instead of soy yogurt and popcorn? I also miss the change in seasons. Everyday is the same, even the rainy season is just as rainy as the dry season and the dry season is just as dry as the rainy season. Everyday the sun rises at 6:15ish and eveyday the sun sets at 6:30ish.
But here there are mangoes, a bucketful at a buck. And as long as there are mangoes, I am content to put up with this other crap because at the end of the day, I get to close my door and play with my postmate's cat, who I am cat sitting, or the neighbors dog, who knows I always give food, and be in my own mini-America, though one without malls, televisions, fastfood, and all the other things I could do with never experiencing again.
Despite learning the everyone has a village that needs a water pump (God, I hate water projects), I have also learned that the people who understand Peace Corps are probably going to be my only true friends during my time here. I have grown to really appreciate Serges more and more everyday, not only because he may be the only 36 year old Cameroonian man without a child, but because he works hard and he really understands Americans. Also, he knows that while I have some money here to enable me to live comfortably, I have very little financial means in the states, not counting my debt for student loans.
Other things that I really miss about America includes the fact that Americans are capable of listening to new music, not the same CD that took over 4 months to change, or the same Wyclef song that I heard once for an hour while it was played on repeat at a loud volume. I miss that it is okay if I don't cook. I am so busy here that I don't even have time to go to the store, or marche, let alone cook anything. My response to what have you prepared today? "Je travaille et je n'ai pas la femme." Or, I work and I don't have a wife. Aren't you lucky that you get to eat real food at the end of the day instead of soy yogurt and popcorn? I also miss the change in seasons. Everyday is the same, even the rainy season is just as rainy as the dry season and the dry season is just as dry as the rainy season. Everyday the sun rises at 6:15ish and eveyday the sun sets at 6:30ish.
But here there are mangoes, a bucketful at a buck. And as long as there are mangoes, I am content to put up with this other crap because at the end of the day, I get to close my door and play with my postmate's cat, who I am cat sitting, or the neighbors dog, who knows I always give food, and be in my own mini-America, though one without malls, televisions, fastfood, and all the other things I could do with never experiencing again.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The strangest day of my life, and I'm not one for exaggeration
Ok, so I am one for exaggeration. But I think if the block of 24 hours to which I am now referring is not the strangest block of 24 hours in my life, it at least makes for the top 10.
In my recent trip to Campo, we arrived Monday afternoon. Tuesday was the day we spent planting soy in the morning, and I sold 11.5 kilos later that afternoon. Finally, after finishing with formations, Judith and I are ready to go. We run into one of the head Gendarmes in town, who bribes Judith with a case of boxed wine to drive the 5 km south to Campo Beach to pick up wine fresh from Guinea. We also pick up some passengers, including one guy who works for the Minestry of Elevage, doing stuff with fish monitoring (although I probably misunderstood) and a graduate student from Yaounde, looking at the petrol effects on fishing. We return to Campo to pick up the president of the agricultural group platform, and another mamman, as they, too, were travelling to Kribi. Right as we stop the truck in town to pick up the engine stops running. We sit around, fiddling with the engine for a while, when someone who the president referred to as "a famous mechanic from Douala on retreat" comes to help us. After a while of watching him smoke a cigarette, and staring over all the helpful bystanders, he decides we need to gerryrig the car. This basically involves a technique known to many as hotwiring the car. Right on. At last, it seems the car works again. So, it seems we are on our way out of town. We drive to the Gendarmerie to drop off the box wine. Right as we are pulling up, the car dies again! I watch as a gendarm with something that resembles a wire cutter tries to unscrew the bolt in the place where we have gerryrigged the battery. At last, after realizing trying to use a wire cutter to unscrew a bolt by turning it to the right (rightie tighty, lefty loosey just isn't the same in French), a gendarm who wants a ride into Kribi pulls out the proper tool (le cle) and fixes the wire so the car works again! Here we go!
Only, wait. Not really. About 5 km outside of Campo, a truck is stuck in the mud, and right next to the truck, a pick-up is stuck, too, both on their way into Campo, making the road impassible. After eating a few mangoes (arguably the best food season here), I hop out, take off my sandals, hike up my skirt, and go knee-deep into mud to try to push the pick up out. This need to help was not caused by my desire to leave Campo, or my want to help people. Instead it came from the fact that on the way into Campo the other day, the man who works for Min. Elevage told me that men are stronger than women because woman can't push cars. So, I managed not to fall in the mud, and learned to keep my foot in my mouth. At last, we pushed the pick-up out, and Judith had the car out of the swampy spot. And we were on our way! Only, not. The car stopped working probably 30 times over the 75 km stretch back to Kribi. Each time, we managed to arrange the car so it eventually got us back to Kribi. Once in Kribi, the pick-up stopped entirely as we are dropping off the mammas. Judith, exhausted from a drive that took 5 hours, decided to rest a while in Kribi. Finally, after several hours, we find a mechanic who is very good at what he does, and perfectly arranged the car!
Instead of returning through Yaounde, an extra 100 km on a paved road, because now Judith has spent lots of money trying to fix the car, we decide to return through Lolodorf, all on dirt road, but much shorter. We are told the road is good, so we take off. About 10km outside of Kribi, we are stopped at what might have been the result of someone with the worst idea ever. A truck driver decided to turn around a 10 wheeler on the narrowest strech of road, resulting in a stuck truck that blocked the flow of traffic. We stop the car and wait and eat mangoes. About 20 minutes later, another, slightly smaller truck arrives, backs into the stuck truck, and tries to knock the truck out of its stuck position. You have never seen this, except maybe at a demolition derby. They try several times, but to no avail. After another 30 minutes, a bulldozer comes and bulldozes a new path around the stuck truck to enable traffic to pass, right through someone's front yard! The whole time as this was happenening, I kept thinking that this would NEVER happen in America; the housewife would run out of the house screaming and the husband would hire a lawyer to sue the state. MERDE!
The rest of the ride back was incredibly beautiful, and we stopped in Lolodorf to say hello to another volunteer. The road between Lolodorf and Ebolowa takes you through some isolated villages, around some mountains, and deep into the forest. It is truly beautiful. As we continue along our journey, we note all of the villages we pass. Some villages don't have signs, so we stop to ask the villagers. In what was definitely the best reaction I have ever received as a white person in Cameroon (even topping small children crying in fear), was a girl of about 13 and a boy of about 10, on their way home from the field, looking at me in fear, and despite Judith greeting them in Bulu, they dropped the bags they were carrying. The girl ran, without looking back, into the forest, while the boy took off down the road from where we came. That's right, apparently I instill fear in teenaged children, also. The only thing I can think is that they saw my sunglasses and thought I was an alien from outer space with vacant black eyes. I just wish I could have been there when they told their parents at home later.
So, it was a bizzare 24 hours, that ended with me exhausted at home, eating popcorn for dinner.
Also, I spent the weekend back with my host family in Bangante. In Cameroon, there are two steps to a funeral. The first is the deiu (or something spelled like that) which is the burial. The second is the funerai, which is a huge party. The burial was passed with a lot of wailing, fainting, and falling. You can imagine that it was not like a funeral in the states. Fortunately I was only there for a few hours of wailing, which I was told later by my friend who was also in for the funeral had happened throughout the week. But the funeral was well passed, and I enjoyed being back again for the first time in a long time. This is especially true, as I have, as of today, been in Cameroon for 6 months, and have a very new perspective on my time here.
In my recent trip to Campo, we arrived Monday afternoon. Tuesday was the day we spent planting soy in the morning, and I sold 11.5 kilos later that afternoon. Finally, after finishing with formations, Judith and I are ready to go. We run into one of the head Gendarmes in town, who bribes Judith with a case of boxed wine to drive the 5 km south to Campo Beach to pick up wine fresh from Guinea. We also pick up some passengers, including one guy who works for the Minestry of Elevage, doing stuff with fish monitoring (although I probably misunderstood) and a graduate student from Yaounde, looking at the petrol effects on fishing. We return to Campo to pick up the president of the agricultural group platform, and another mamman, as they, too, were travelling to Kribi. Right as we stop the truck in town to pick up the engine stops running. We sit around, fiddling with the engine for a while, when someone who the president referred to as "a famous mechanic from Douala on retreat" comes to help us. After a while of watching him smoke a cigarette, and staring over all the helpful bystanders, he decides we need to gerryrig the car. This basically involves a technique known to many as hotwiring the car. Right on. At last, it seems the car works again. So, it seems we are on our way out of town. We drive to the Gendarmerie to drop off the box wine. Right as we are pulling up, the car dies again! I watch as a gendarm with something that resembles a wire cutter tries to unscrew the bolt in the place where we have gerryrigged the battery. At last, after realizing trying to use a wire cutter to unscrew a bolt by turning it to the right (rightie tighty, lefty loosey just isn't the same in French), a gendarm who wants a ride into Kribi pulls out the proper tool (le cle) and fixes the wire so the car works again! Here we go!
Only, wait. Not really. About 5 km outside of Campo, a truck is stuck in the mud, and right next to the truck, a pick-up is stuck, too, both on their way into Campo, making the road impassible. After eating a few mangoes (arguably the best food season here), I hop out, take off my sandals, hike up my skirt, and go knee-deep into mud to try to push the pick up out. This need to help was not caused by my desire to leave Campo, or my want to help people. Instead it came from the fact that on the way into Campo the other day, the man who works for Min. Elevage told me that men are stronger than women because woman can't push cars. So, I managed not to fall in the mud, and learned to keep my foot in my mouth. At last, we pushed the pick-up out, and Judith had the car out of the swampy spot. And we were on our way! Only, not. The car stopped working probably 30 times over the 75 km stretch back to Kribi. Each time, we managed to arrange the car so it eventually got us back to Kribi. Once in Kribi, the pick-up stopped entirely as we are dropping off the mammas. Judith, exhausted from a drive that took 5 hours, decided to rest a while in Kribi. Finally, after several hours, we find a mechanic who is very good at what he does, and perfectly arranged the car!
Instead of returning through Yaounde, an extra 100 km on a paved road, because now Judith has spent lots of money trying to fix the car, we decide to return through Lolodorf, all on dirt road, but much shorter. We are told the road is good, so we take off. About 10km outside of Kribi, we are stopped at what might have been the result of someone with the worst idea ever. A truck driver decided to turn around a 10 wheeler on the narrowest strech of road, resulting in a stuck truck that blocked the flow of traffic. We stop the car and wait and eat mangoes. About 20 minutes later, another, slightly smaller truck arrives, backs into the stuck truck, and tries to knock the truck out of its stuck position. You have never seen this, except maybe at a demolition derby. They try several times, but to no avail. After another 30 minutes, a bulldozer comes and bulldozes a new path around the stuck truck to enable traffic to pass, right through someone's front yard! The whole time as this was happenening, I kept thinking that this would NEVER happen in America; the housewife would run out of the house screaming and the husband would hire a lawyer to sue the state. MERDE!
The rest of the ride back was incredibly beautiful, and we stopped in Lolodorf to say hello to another volunteer. The road between Lolodorf and Ebolowa takes you through some isolated villages, around some mountains, and deep into the forest. It is truly beautiful. As we continue along our journey, we note all of the villages we pass. Some villages don't have signs, so we stop to ask the villagers. In what was definitely the best reaction I have ever received as a white person in Cameroon (even topping small children crying in fear), was a girl of about 13 and a boy of about 10, on their way home from the field, looking at me in fear, and despite Judith greeting them in Bulu, they dropped the bags they were carrying. The girl ran, without looking back, into the forest, while the boy took off down the road from where we came. That's right, apparently I instill fear in teenaged children, also. The only thing I can think is that they saw my sunglasses and thought I was an alien from outer space with vacant black eyes. I just wish I could have been there when they told their parents at home later.
So, it was a bizzare 24 hours, that ended with me exhausted at home, eating popcorn for dinner.
Also, I spent the weekend back with my host family in Bangante. In Cameroon, there are two steps to a funeral. The first is the deiu (or something spelled like that) which is the burial. The second is the funerai, which is a huge party. The burial was passed with a lot of wailing, fainting, and falling. You can imagine that it was not like a funeral in the states. Fortunately I was only there for a few hours of wailing, which I was told later by my friend who was also in for the funeral had happened throughout the week. But the funeral was well passed, and I enjoyed being back again for the first time in a long time. This is especially true, as I have, as of today, been in Cameroon for 6 months, and have a very new perspective on my time here.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Puppies!
After a long awaited pregnancy, my neighbor dog finally gave birth! She started off the day of March 9th as a skinny dog with a big belly full of puppies and ended the day as a skinny dog with no belly and 11 puppies yelping and drinking mama's milk. It was very exciting until yesterday when my friend told me that unless we kill some of the puppies, they won't survive because mama is too skinny and doesn't have enough milk to nourish 11 pups.
Here is the scenario: Amanda and I buy dried fish (super cheap at the rate of 10, or 11 plus the cadeaux, for 500 CFA, a buck) for the dog because she never really gets fed by anyone. We bring the goods home and start to feed the dog, who is literally starving and had never eaten anything so fast in her life. My landlady walks by and tells Amanda, who is caught in the act of (GASP) feeding a dog food meant for human consumption! My landlady tells Amanda to give her the fish instead of wasting it on a dog. After repeating this several times, I realize my landlady is not joking. Instead of ignoring the obvious awkward moment, I ask my landlady, "Have you given birth to 11 before?" After she responded, "No," I thought she wasn't going to think much past that. But after a few hours of me being in my house, getting upset at Cameroonians for not understanding how to treat animals, and her being in hers, she said to me, "The bible tells us to treat our animals like our children and if we can't care for them, we shouldn't have them." Her thoughtful reflection of my position on this matter was rooted in God, but if that is what it takes to help us relate, then that will suffice for me.
In other news, I saw where/what my water project will entail. I can not say that I am thrilled out of my mind every time I think about getting into water projects, in general, but it was really neat to learn what it takes to get water to a village. We start in the water catchment area, chosen as an area where water is highly concentrated. Water is funneled into a tank, and then stored into the resevoir tank. From here, the pipes connecting the storage tank to the village commence in a descent that continues through to the village where gravity helps bring water to the community faucet. It is all so simple! This means I will get to start my Peace Corps Partnership soon, and you will be able to give me money, tax-deductable, to help bring water to a small village, where the chef has 5 wives and over 30 children!! What economic crisis?
Here is the scenario: Amanda and I buy dried fish (super cheap at the rate of 10, or 11 plus the cadeaux, for 500 CFA, a buck) for the dog because she never really gets fed by anyone. We bring the goods home and start to feed the dog, who is literally starving and had never eaten anything so fast in her life. My landlady walks by and tells Amanda, who is caught in the act of (GASP) feeding a dog food meant for human consumption! My landlady tells Amanda to give her the fish instead of wasting it on a dog. After repeating this several times, I realize my landlady is not joking. Instead of ignoring the obvious awkward moment, I ask my landlady, "Have you given birth to 11 before?" After she responded, "No," I thought she wasn't going to think much past that. But after a few hours of me being in my house, getting upset at Cameroonians for not understanding how to treat animals, and her being in hers, she said to me, "The bible tells us to treat our animals like our children and if we can't care for them, we shouldn't have them." Her thoughtful reflection of my position on this matter was rooted in God, but if that is what it takes to help us relate, then that will suffice for me.
In other news, I saw where/what my water project will entail. I can not say that I am thrilled out of my mind every time I think about getting into water projects, in general, but it was really neat to learn what it takes to get water to a village. We start in the water catchment area, chosen as an area where water is highly concentrated. Water is funneled into a tank, and then stored into the resevoir tank. From here, the pipes connecting the storage tank to the village commence in a descent that continues through to the village where gravity helps bring water to the community faucet. It is all so simple! This means I will get to start my Peace Corps Partnership soon, and you will be able to give me money, tax-deductable, to help bring water to a small village, where the chef has 5 wives and over 30 children!! What economic crisis?
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