Another Quick Update

I hadn't written anything at post for the blog so I feel a bit guilty. I'll write up this quick update just to let people know how things are going.

The first term of the school year ended today. The students received their report cards and were released for Christmas break. I wasn't there. Thursday was a Muslim holiday so I came to Yaounde early in order to get some errands finished today. I have to admit, after all the work of filling in report cards & grade registers I'm glad I'll be finished soon. It is tedious! The English Club has begun preparing for Bilingualism Day. I hope this year is more successful than last year.

I picked up TONS of packages this time and I want to thank everyone who sent me stuff or wrote me a letter. Christmas came early this year! I've tried to reply to everyone.

As for me, I'm traveling to the Southwest province for my colleague's wedding. I'm excited to celebrate with her and to see a new city. After the festivities I'll travel to the West province for Christmas and then we're on the train up North. I'm excited to see it again. I had a really nice time with my Mom and hope to see more things. I'm not sure if I'll check email before we go North, so I wish everyone a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Next year this time I'll be at home, suffering through winter. Six months left to go!

Quick update

This post is just to catch everyone up on my comings and goings. I'm in Yaounde for a long weekend and have enjoyed the break. I really needed to get out of Bokito.

Thanksgiving was a success! Ben roasted chickens over a spit. Susanna baked biscuits. Ashely made mashed potatoes. I chopped stuff. It was team effort and it tasted great. I had a good time. Still have no definite plans for Christmas because my counterpart is getting married on December 23, so that throws things off.

I had lots of letters & packages waiting for me in the PC mail room. Thanks to everyone who sent me stuff.

This is a reflective essay I wrote while watching English Club students write letters to their penpals

I During my second year of service as a TEFL Volunteer in Bokito, Cameroon, I participated in the Peace Corps’ World Wise Schools program. Over the summer a college friend contacted me to arrange a correspondence between English Club members at GHS Bokito and her own 7th and 8th graders Texas.

The experience opened my eyes to another facet of Cameroonian psychology and also the incredible cultural gap that I, despite impossible odds, had begun to bridge.

First, the expectations of my Cameroonian students differed so greatly from that of Katherine and her pupils, I was afraid to mail the first batch of letters. As I read the letters from 12 year old American children, I noticed girls who wanted to make a new pen pal friend and boys who inquired about sports and hoped to share with a fellow athlete. They were innocent.

My male Cameroonian students only wanted to write to girls, searching for an Angelina Jolie-type who would bring them to America. My girls were confused as to why all the boys had requested to write to other boys. They refused to believe preteen American boys were afraid of girls’ cooties. (Indeed, almost 100% of them requested another boy as a pen pal, whereas the majority of girls didn’t care.) Cameroonian girls had little interest in talking about shopping malls and sleepovers.

Second, I grimaced when the Americans asked their naïve, childish questions. How many pets do you have? What are their names? The concept of raising and feeding an animal for any purpose besides as a food source (or, in the case of dogs and cats, to guard the home and chase mice) is foreign to Cameroonian villagers. I had difficulty even translating the word “pet” into Central African French. I could only point to my cat and say “My cat Fred is my pet.” Africans don’t have house pets or a favorite book. In an oral culture, books are rare and even more rarely read for pleasure. School textbooks are often the only book a Cameroonian will ever buy in his lifetime.

On the other hand, several of my students asked their new pen pals of their religious beliefs. I corrected the English of inquiries like, “Are you a child of God? Are you giving your life to Lord Jesus Christ?” and “Do you love Jesus? Why?” For us, such a blunt question would be rude and quite unexpected. To a Cameroonian “atheist” or “nonreligious” doesn’t compute. Everyone constantly evokes God in their daily life.

As I approach my COS date, I find myself full of words. I’m struggling to explain, at the least to understand myself, what I’ve learned here and communicate the reality of my life in Bokito to the other reality of my life in the US. You can’t simply translate my experience word for word and expect to make sense of it. The cultural context makes such direct translation impossible. Here I am, immersed in Central African Francophone culture, trying to explain my life to my parents every Sunday afternoon when they call.

There are events I find funny or sad but can’t explain to an American because they don’t understand the culture here. And Cameroonians are, by their very nature, ignorant of their own amusing cultural quirks so I can’t tell them why I laugh when they ask me what “pet” means.

For example, I nearly cried when Dezo misread an African-American girl’s name, ShaTarra, as Dha Yarra because of her handwriting style. I laughed because Dezo is the P.Diddy of GHS Bokito. It’s the gap between “African”-American culture and what gets translated as it comes back across the ocean to the African continent. Africans do not consider black Americans as distant relatives, united with them in a struggle against the oppressive white culture of the Occident. Black PCVs are taunted as “whiteman” and “le blanc” just like their white skinned peers.

I’m standing on thin air between the two sides of a canyon, one labeled US and the other Cameroon. I don’t know if I’m walking forwards, backwards or falling into the empty space below. Where do I fit in? I’m in Cameroon but I can’t forget all I know about America or ignore the way it formed me. When I return to Tennessee in June 2008, I’ll occasionally wear the brightly colored ensembles favored by African women and grieve for the mangoes I used to eat, freshly fallen from the tree in the front yard of my house in Bokito.

I won’t quickly forget the two years here. But it will happen. As soon as I step off the plane, I’ll begin to shed my African identity. The red dirt will wash out of my clothes, the distinct smell well water leaves on the skin will fade, and I’ll forget the taste of ripe pineapple.

November 20

November 20, 2007

I don’t have much time to write this. I’m heading off to the cybercafe of Bokito so if you’re reading this message I was able to use the internet there for the 2nd time. I should make a point of going more often, but the gentleman in charge of the place is rarely there when I’m free and also it’s still not “open to the public”. Ridiculous, I know.

Life has been a bit hectic lately, which is good. I’ve been distracted from how miserable I feel when I have enough time to sit down and think. That’s not entirely true, but I’ve been in a slump (albeit sometimes, briefly, highlighted by good moments).

For example, a few weeks ago, a friend who works for MTN allowed me to use his laptop, connected to the Internet by his cell phone and a USB cable! Even in Bokito, it is possible to drink a beer, watch CRTV and IM your friends back in the States! Life’s little joys.

There are days like Sunday, when my landlord dropped in unexpectedly (he was in town for a funeral) and bought me two beers. We chatted for about three hours. Granted, I should’ve been grading papers but it was a welcome distraction on a Sunday afternoon.

And last week a neighbor gave me a basin full of patates, which are sweet potatoes, and Therese made my favorite dish, sauce d’arachide or peanut sauce, to eat with them. It’s always exciting to see how my mbombo, Jessica la Petite, is growing. She hasn’t started walking yet but can stand up by herself. Her 1st birthday is December 13, 2007. That means I’ve been in Bokito for a really long time.

Of course, it is annoying when my students cheat on tests, disturb in class, or make fun of me as I walk by them. Some 3eme girls (all of them repeating the class) have begun imitating me by clearing their throats in a high-pitched, prissy way. I’m not sure what this has to do with me, but I’ve noticed them doing it. I guess they have to amuse themselves!

I hope everyone reading this is having a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday with friends and family. I’m having a few PCVs over to my house. I was unsuccessful in finding a turkey, so we’ll just roast two chickens and pretend. I hope to get to Yaounde next weekend so that will probably be my next post.

News from the Front

Well, life has gone on. I'm becoming more zen-like in my life. This new state of being was imposed on me by the client or baggage handler at Amigo Voyage (my travel agency to Bafia) who stole my market bag containing: unread mail, new shoes, clothes, lesson plans, my backpack, makeup, food, medicine, etc. I just hope they enjoy all my stuff from America. And the cheese.

The last few weeks since Bodo's death have been difficult, mostly because of school and losing my bag. Fred & I are adjusting to a much quieter house without him. (I think secretly Fred enjoys the extra attention he's getting, but I know he misses his friend.) We buried Bodo in the backyard, underneath the papaya tree. The Cameroonian who dug the hole thinks I'm crazy, but who cares? It was a short, sweet funeral.

We've had several holidays recently. We got a day off for Ramadan. There aren't many Muslims in Bokito, but I ate dinner with a few of them. That day I attended the traditional ritual (see pictures & story in previous posts). Jessica la Petite is recovering from menigitis and seems to be doing well.

I can't decide if school is worse or better this year. A fellow PCV pointed out that it all seems much easier this year because we know we won't ever have to do it again. That makes sense. I won't have to fill in 1st sequence grades for ~600 students by hand again. Only 5 more sequences to go!

I haven't made definite Christmas or Thanksgiving plans yet, but I have some stuffing mix & gravy packets so it'll be a little bit like home. I do miss seeing the seasons change!

Pictures of the ritual (beware: graphic!)

Traditional Ritual

I arrived last for the traditional rite on a hot Saturday morning, late in the rainy season. Several illnesses had menaced my mbombo, namesake, in recent months and her mother’s family decided it was because a required rite had not been performed. Once a woman gives birth to a male and female child, certain rituals must be performed by her family. In order to perform the ritual, her husband’s family is obligated to provide a female goat that has recently given birth, a chicken, a case of beer, a quantity of palm wine and money.

I found a delegation of Therese’s family seated in a semi-circle, facing her, her husband and his mother. Once I sat down, the negotiations began. Her husband begged off a certain sum of money, saying that times were hard because of the baby’s hospitalizations. Each time her family demanded an item, he and his mother disappeared from the circle. Moments later they reappeared with the requested object.

First a goat was produced. Her family rejected it, saying the goat was sick. Her husband insisted the goat was healthy and had bore two kids five days earlier. He claimed he didn’t have enough money because the baby’s medication was so expensive. Her family vowed the ritual could not continue without the specified amount of cash. Her husband left and minutes later, returned with more cash. The case of beer followed a jug of matango, palm wine.

Everyone filed outside for the ritual. Therese’s eldest brother, as chief of the family, conducted the ritual. A gourd filled with water freshly pumped from the well, was cut open. He tossed a lemon into the bowl and pronounced a speech in patois.

A sacred vine was wrapped around Therese’s body and a wreath made for her head. Each of her children also participated. A bracelet of vines was tied to each child’s wrist. The chicken appeared from within a sack, and one of its toes was cut off with a machete. The chief dropped it into the water.

He then plucked feathers from the underside of the chicken and posed them on the heads of Therese and her baby. He held aloft the squawking chicken and a fistful of leaves. Then Therese and her children passed underneath, circling him five times in succession.

Next the goat was dragged in front of the chief. Three strong men held it aloft. Again Therese and her children walked underneath its body, each time brushing the top of their heads against the goat’s back. Spectators observed in silence, and passersby were chased away. Family rituals involving a wife and her children are private.

After they had turned five times around the chief, the goat was sacrificed. The men held its legs still as the chief sawed open its neck with a sharp machete. Blood bubbled into the gourd, overflowing onto the earth. The last stroke had to be delivered by the baby’s mother. Therese boldly grabbed the machete, and brought down one swift stroke on the exposed neck, severing head from body.

The goat’s head was swept across Therese’s forehead, pressed into her belly and back. Each child was presented, in birth order, to receive the same treatment. Her two-year-old twins began to cry and had to be coaxed forward.

Last, the leaves were dipped into the mixture of blood and water and flung onto each person. The chief chewed a lemon and spat the pulp onto each spectator’s bared chest, beginning with the wife’s family and concluding with her husband.

A prepubescent female buried the goat’s head away from the ritual site. The two halves of the lemon were impaled on sticks and posed over the doorway of the couple’s bedroom. The gourd was smashed at the entrance of their house.

After the ritual had been concluded, food and drink were served.

RIP Bodo

After our trip to the vet this morning Bodo stopped breathing. I'm not sure what happened but he died. I'll be taking him back to post this afternoon and will bury him in the yard. He was a very sweet cat and I'll miss him. He is survived by his brother Fred.

Poor Bodo!

Last Sunday I noticed Bodo was limping. His right hind leg appeared to be broken. This week they cut power & water. I was miserable. (I am in a slump, I'm sorry, it happens.)

So I escaped to Yaounde! I have brought Bodo in a market bag from Bokito to the PC office. I went to see the vet today and his leg isn't broken. Apparently the join is dislocated. He got some injections and a massage. I have to bring him back again Sunday and Monday for more treatment. In all, it cost me about the same as a year's tuition for my 5eme students at the lycee.

I do not feel guilty about spending this sum of money on a cat.

Life up to September 23

Lord of the Termites

9/2/2007

Nice to see you, too

Exactly 100% of Bokitoans have pointed out my weight gain since they last saw me. This is not an exaggeration. Each and every person says “Mais, tu as pris les poids » (You’ve put on weight) or « Tu as trop grossis » (You’ve gotten too fat).

And to a Cameroonian, it’s a compliment. It means you have enough money that 1) you’re eating more than necessary and 2) you’re not engaged in physical labor. True. True. I spent my summer vacation traveling and eating restaurant food. I usually shrug off their compliments with a laugh.

At least no one’s suggested I go on a diet.

On the other hand, both cats have lost weight and if it weren’t for their fur you could see their ribcages. I feel neglectful. But since my return they’ve been eating well. They seem to enjoy baked Cheese Nips.

9/23/2007

A PCV’s emotions during service are often described as a roller-coaster. I’m at the bottom of a very steep hill (see last entry) so maybe I should just continue baking chocolate chip cookies in my marmite rather than writing a whiny blog entry.

Some very strange things have been happening in Bokito lately.

If you remember last New Year’s Eve, my water pipe burst and after several days without water I paid off my local SNEC chief and had the break repaired.

Well, it happened again. Suspiciously during the middle of the night the pipe “burst”, seemingly without the help of anyone. Maybe I pissed off the plumber the last time he fixed my faucet. As soon as I sent my neighbor boy to find him, he was already approaching the house. Perhaps his plumber intuition told him a pipe was broken.

He fixed it again for an easy 4000CFA. I think he looks at me and sees dollar signs. After he did the work he told me the chief demanded another 1000CFA. I refused to pay it. (FYI, our previous SNEC chief was sent to another town and the new one arrived last Friday. Perhaps he heard about the American and thought he’d get in on the action.)

Plus, I’ve had a brownout at my house for two weeks. Everyone else has managed to get AES SONEL (the electric company) technicians or local electricians to fix their problem but I always seem to get skipped. Today I am assured an electrician will be here before noon. I wonder how much money I’ll have to shell out for that!

And, to top it all off, I woke up this morning to find hundreds of termite wings strewn about my dining room, living room and porch. The wingless termites? They must’ve all crawled into the ceiling to munch away. Despite the roofer’s repairs, my house leaks every time it rains.

The bright light at the end of the tunnel? An oncoming CamRail train. Lucky for me it will derail just before the station. At least there are a few things one can count on in this country.

La Rentree Scolaire

Since my return to post a few weeks ago, the Cameroonian school year has begun.

I showed up the very first day, alongside a few teachers and even fewer students. My first day of teaching was spent reviewing with a dozen students in an empty classroom. By the time the principal held our first term general assembly at the end of the week, about 1/3 of the teachers and students at the lycee had returned to Bokito.

In the past week I began classes in earnest, although once my timetable was altered without my knowledge and I missed two hours of class. This year I'm teaching my former 6eme students English and IT in 5eme. Now that what had been three 6eme classrooms have merged into only two 5eme classrooms, I have 81 and 85 students in each. And do remember these are, in general, 12 and 13 year olds. Adolescence in Africa is just as awkward as in the US.

I also have two classes of 3eme, mostly made up of students who failed the BEPC exam last year and have to repeat. There are, as of last Thursday, 101 and 95 students in these two classes.

So, here I am in Yaounde. I went to Makak on the train for a provincial meeting. I'll be back in Bokito tonight.

I just hope AES Sonel has repaired the electricity in my quartier. Since last Sunday we've had a brownout (small lightbulbs will shine at half-wattage, no major appliances function). Some houses have full power again but as I left for the weekend mine was still off. I complained at their office in Bafia as I paid my bills. I pay my bills even if I don't have power! I'm their best customer.

In any case, the few weeks at post have been good. Where things use to irritate me I can now shrug and do without. When taxi drivers ask to marry me, I can respond with sarcasm rather than cold stares. I feel much more at home and comfortable this year.

Mbombo

Here's a picture of Jessica la Petite and her family.

For more new pictures, visit my facebook album. http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2098225&l=e3b48&id=20601980

Bridge in Lolodorf (it means town of the pygmies in german)

Here I am in Lolodorf visiting another volunteer.

Bounoungoulouk

After an unsuccessful hike into the mountains, with Mr. Zizie, Carole, Pascaline, the two moto drivers and our guide/vigilance committee member.

I dare you to say Bounoungoulouk three times fast.

Bounoungoulouk 2

Here we are in the jungle, having just crossed the stream to the left by tightrope walking across those two vines. Yeah, Africa's a circus.

Bodo and Fred

Here's the most recent picture of my adorable kitties. I know they look like mirror images of each other but they're not twins. In fact, they're not even related. Fred eats my neighbor's fish and Bodo has been known to steal baton de manioc. And both of them enjoy destroying a flimsy plastic bag and gnawing on my bread. They do eat cockroaches and lizards.

Alive

I am alive. I'm in Yaounde to be poked, prodded and examined by PCMOs for my mid-service. I'm also depositing all sorts of bodily fluids along the way (or carrying them to the lab in discrete brown paper baggies) .

Celebrating the 4th of July in Yaounde will be fun. I had hoped we would be invited for an encore at the Ambassador's residence but that looks unlikely. We'll grill hamburgers at the case.

Mango fly larvae have all been removed; scars are healing nicely.

Mango flies

In case you haven't heard, I had mango flies. Or rather, mango fly larvae.

Mango flies lay eggs in damp laundry. Ideally, you should iron or wait three days for the eggs to day before wearing your clean clothes. If not, the eggs hatch and the larvae burrow into your skin.

After a few days they burrow out again.

Thursday I found three mosquito bite-like bumps which turned into angry, red, scabby sores. Mango fly larvae, yay! The PC doctor removed them today after injecting a mild anesthetic and slicing open my skin.

Yum. Go eat some KFC now, yeah.

Gardening

5/30/2007

I refuse to waste any more money cooking good things for Cameroonians. I spend a bit of money at the market in Yaounde on eggplants, zucchini, cucumbers, apples. After constantly being asked when I’ll cook them a certain dish, my friends stare at it, push it around on the plate, then ask for salt.

I finally told one of them, who said if all whites ate like I do he could never live in Europe, that he was indeed too “villageois” to leave Africa.

Exams

This week students all across Cameroon are composing the Baccalaureat. It is required for graduation from high school. It takes five days, usually comprising 2 subjects per day. There are separate “series”, either math and physics, math and life sciences, or philosophy and languages, in a general high school, so subjects are of different lengths and coefficients (a method of weighting). This morning I supervised a four hour long math section for the life sciences students. Yikes. It reminds me of AP exams.

Next week is the Probatoire, for students in the next to last year of high school. They must pass in order to move to the next class.

Afterwards is the BEPC, for 3eme students. It’s not required to pass to the next grade, and many Cameroonians quit school after receiving their BEPC. In terms of necessity for social mobility and employment, you might compare it to a high school diploma in the US.

Cameroonian cucumbers (or “mer de concombre” versus “sauce pistache”)

Cameroonians cultivate a type of cucumber that is small and round, like a cantaloupe. Instead of eating these cucumbers, they cut them open, dry the seeds, remove the shells, then crush them into a paste.

The paste can then be steamed with dried fish into a tofu-like substance called “mer de concombre” which is eaten with taro or nyams.

The paste can also be dissolved into oil and used as a sauce, with meat or fish, and served with couscous or on rice, depending on consistency. For an unexplainable reason, it is called “sauce pistache” despite the fact that pistachios are not used, cultivated, or even known in Cameroon.

Real cucumbers, the long green ones that you would recognize, are available in Yaoundé. I serve them in vinegar, chilled. Or chopped in a pasta salad, only to have Cameroonians pick them out and ask what the hell these are.

Bamenda carpenters

The Northwest province of Cameroon is Anglophone, and its jungles export a lot of high quality wood. Naturally quite a few of its residents are carpenters. Bamenda is the capital of the NW province so most people think of all Anglophones as Bamendamen. (If you know the Bamilike, you might say the Bamenda are Bamilike who speak Pidgin, and I think the two ethnicities are closely related.)

Everyone knows the Bamenda are dishonest and violent. The Bamenda in Bokito are all carpenters and they are all cheats. I have now worked with three different Bamenda carpenters and they are the same! They take your money and say the bed, armoire, bookcase, etc will be finished in X amount of days. You return in X amount of days to find no work has been done. The carpenter complains of power cuts and rain. He tells you to come back in a week.

A week later he tells you to come back in three days.

Three days later he demands more money for the “machine” to cut wood.

Soon enough two months have passed and you threaten to take him to the gendarmes. “Neighbor, I beg, I’m so busy and I have so many problems. I’ll finish this week.”

Three months after you originally asked for your item, he brings it to your house on a pushcart.

My failed garden

I dug up my back yard two weeks ago to plant the okra seeds my grandparents sent. Each night I watered them as necessary. About four days later, seedlings appeared. I cleaned out weeds and stray grass, waiting for them to grow big and produce all the tasty pods of okra I could fry.

Then the rain drowned them all.

UNESCO Joke (even the UN has a sense of humor)

I heard this same story in three different versions in two days. The source is the same, a UNESCO sponsored training in Bafia that my colleagues attended last week. I’ll relate the funniest.

A gang of bandits arrive at the house of an old man and his family. The bandits have no machetes or weapons of any sort, but they’re armed with a syringe of infected blood.

The chief bandit says “Old man, tell us where you hide all your money or we’ll inject you with this syringe full of AIDS.”

All his children tell their father, “Give them whatever they ask for! Oh, a syringe full of AIDS is terrible! As soon as they inject you you’re as good as dead.”

The old man says, “Okay, okay, I’ll get the money. It’s in my bedroom. Just wait here.” The old man goes into his bedroom. He emerges a few minutes later. “There’s no money here. Inject me.”

The bandits are baffled. “Old man, didn’t you hear us? Don’t you understand? This is a syringe of infected AIDS blood.”

“Inject me.”

“Old man, you’re crazy. You’ll be dead of AIDS.”

“I said, inject me. I’m not giving you any money. Inject me! I’m not afraid of your syringe. I put on a condom!”

Hahahaha.

Summer Break!

23/4/07

I’m sorry, dear readers, for taking so long to write a new entry. I didn’t have my laptop with me on our travels and I won’t get to Yaoundé again for awhile. Perhaps I’ll upload this another time. I hope to get to the West sometime soon. We have a lot of work to do for the end of the year, but once the school year is finished (officially the 1st of June) I’ll be bored out of my mind, unless I find some secondary project to work on. And by secondary project I mean repairing/painting my house and working in the garden I keep saying I’ll start. Maybe I’ll finally start experimenting with fermentation like my stage mate Ben, who makes all sorts of weird things in his spare bedroom (for example, pineapple wine/vinegar depending on the sugar content, yogurt, etc).

We had our third trimester staff meeting today. Staff meetings happen three times per year and are usually a recap of the last trimester and the opportunity for people to yell at each other. The discipline master reads off all sorts of embarrassing statistics, like the number of hours of absence teachers have, plus the names of female students who got kicked out for being pregnant. Or, as he said, “les filles en gestation” which means exactly what it looks like—girls who are in gestation. I’ll admit I have a respectable 6 hours of absence (cutting out early for long weekends). My counterpart has 40.

After meetings like this, the school buys everyone a beer. So I got “Castel-ised.” Castel is my Cameroonian beer of choice, and lucky for me its available everywhere you go. It’s the Cameroonian Budweiser.

Bodo has worms. Disgusting how I know this, indeed. If you’ve ever had worms you know why. If you haven’t, you can imagine.

So this past week was the worst in memory. Everyone around me seemed to be dropping dead of mysterious, or well-known but well-advanced, maladies. One of my students died of “poisoning”. A friend’s older sister, and the mother of a 6eme student, died of typhoid fever. Our wonderful neighbor back home passed away after a long illness.

I heard about another friend’s cousin, who played basketball in the States, collapsed on the court and died shortly after. So I’ll be attending several funerals in the coming weeks.

04/5/07

African Funerals

I have attended two funerals in as many weeks. Typically funerals are held on Friday and Saturday. Friday morning the family goes to the morgue for the “levée du corps.” They take the coffin to their home and lay the body out in state. Friday evening friends and family gather for the wake-keeping. This can include all manner of food, beer and palm wine along with much dancing and singing. The idea is to celebrate the person’s life and to never leave the body alone. Saturday morning the body is taken au village (if not already there) for the burial.

First, a witness recounts the deceased’s illness or cause of death. This can take over an hour. Before the body can be buried, both families (that is, the mother and father’s side if it’s a child or the spouse’s family if the deceased was married) must be satisfied with the explanation. In laws have been known to argue and accuse for hours. Typically, if the deceased died before his time, witchcraft or poisoning is suspected.

For example, the deceased student was poisoned by an older brother. I’m told he was beaten with sticks at the funeral.

And the basketball player’s mother’s family were unsatisfied with the father’s family’s account of his death and held up proceedings for at least two hours. The argument was conducted in patois, so I didn’t understand the particulars.

After everyone is convinced no foul play occurred, a church service is conducted and the animation begins. I had no idea what this meant, but apparently “une animation” is code for all the women folk to begin wailing in agony, crawling on the ground, and crying profusely. This display of grief was quite unsettling. Men are expected to restrain their wives and daughters; it appears almost choreographed. Men and close female friends drag the crying women on the ground or carry them if necessary. The women are taken away to cry and scream inside the house as the men gather around the gravesite and bury the body.

It is bad luck for women to witness a burial.

One Year Anniversary

June 18, 2007 marks an entire year of life in Cameroon. That is a very long time. I think I could survive the two years without going home except lately I’ve been dreaming of air conditioned movie theatres. And also a haircut at Trim (plus a pedicure/manicure at a fancy Brentwood spa). And the frozen food section at Krogers.

11/5/07

The school year is nearly over. Classes have effectively ended. Non-exam classes take their final exams next week. Exam classes have been composing the “white exams” which are practice tests written by their teachers. The Baccalaureate begins on May 29. The last exam, the BEPC, ends June 15.

Life is winding down. I’m facing extreme boredom.

Post-Mom Blues

I watched my mom go through passport control last night so she is somewhere over the Mediterranean or maybe waiting at CDG. We had a long, hot, exhausting trip up North but it was a lot of fun. The train wasn't bad. The landscape is very different from southern Cameroon. The people are mostly Muslim and far more traditional. Western-style clothes are rare and the pace of life is much slower. I enjoyed the excellent beef and yogurt (though fruit isn't as good and is more expensive up there).

I got to see lots of stagemates and friends I hadn't seen since December. I had a great time catching up with them. We went to Waza National Park and saw elephants, giraffes, warthogs, ostriches, antelope, deer, monkeys and lots of beautiful birds. It was quite amazing, especially watching the different species gather at a watering hole. We went to Rumsiki, took a hike, toured the village. I had my fortune told by the crab sorcerer. Apparently I will own my own business in the US. And live happily ever after. Of course.

We arrived back in Yaounde on Saturday and she flew out yesterday. I'll go back to post tomorrow most likely, where stacks of English tests are waiting to be graded. I have so much work before the sequence ends next week! I'm told that school is effectively over after Easter break for all students except exam classes, so we'll see what that's like.

I wish I could post pictures but I don't have my USB cable to download pictures from the camera. Next time, I promise! And Mom took more pictures on her camera than I did.

I'm sad she's gone but I hope she had a good time, despite everything.

Travel

Mom arrived safely and we went back to my post, where we suffered without power or water for 4 days. It came back Monday night so before she left we were able to enjoy a cold beer. We will take the train up North and then meet up with my stagemates to go to Waza.

Update

I got a call from the States this afternoon that my mom was leaving for the airport! In a short 24 hours (3 flights) she will be landing in Cameroon! I'm so excited to see her.

And for those of you who may have heard about my recent amoeba-related issues, stop worrying! I've almost finished the treatment and am already feeling better. And I lost all that extra weight. Although I have now decided that amoeba-diets are just not worth it!

Oh, and something almost exciting as having my mom come is the water is back! Yay! I filled all the buckets in the house before leaving because on ne sait jamais.

L'eau, c'est la vie! (Life Without Water Sucks)

24/3/07

Apparently I am 23 years old because I was born in 1984 and it’s now 2007, despite the fact that my birthday is in July. Okay.

Last weekend we went on an “excursion” to a nearby village, Goiffet (pronounced “gee-fay”) to see a German colonial site. After hiking over an hour in the bush we arrived at the summit of a mountain to see…walls. Barely-standing, waist-high ruins. We sat on top of the mountain for awhile, appreciated the view, and then went back to the village for lunch. A local farmer and the village chief served as our guides.

That night the water shut off. Even now, there is no water. I am desperate. The problem should be alleviated when the rains come. We’ve had a few small rain showers but the real “rainy season” is a week late. Global warming affects underdeveloped countries as much as the countries that produce the pollution.

Today I went au village to Omende with a colleague. It’s her mother’s village so we went to visit her family and get cheap produce (which we didn’t find). I took both my water jugs and filled up at the village pump. If only Bokito had such things, there’d be no problem when SNEC cuts the water.

Two examples present the different aspects of development:

First, we visited the hospital, or rather, what would be the hospital if it functioned. On one side of the road is a huge, half-finished building. Directly opposite is a small, brand new and beautiful building. The unfinished structure was paid for by the village, but they ran out of money. The government finished its project, but the building sits empty because they’ve never sent anyone to work there.

Second, we saw at least three hand-cranked pumps. Simple, easy to maintain pumps that draw plentiful, clean water even in dry season. The first was built by the village after a collection of 200F (40 ¢) per person. That was 15 years ago.

I’ve begun to understand why the (former, we just got a new one) CD was so opposed to building – as – development projects. The development community (including the Cameroonian government) has a tendency to enter the area, tell the inhabitants what they need, and spend a lot of foreign currency building some unwieldy structure that will sit empty. Whereas if you develop the human capacities rather than physical ones you create a lasting change. If a few of my students grow up to be English or computer science teachers, then I’ll have contributed to the education of the next generation of students even though I’ll be in the US enjoying a/c and constantly running water. And not even my students, but the other teachers that I hope to train in computers—they’ll be in a position to share their knowledge with more students.

Obviously the PC development model in Cameroon needs some work—we’re still teaching English, math, and sciences 45 years after arriving in this country. I’m told the next stage arriving in June will include TEFL and IT teachers. The PC evacuated the volunteers in Guinea a month ago.

When the new stage arrives in June I’ll be at my mid-service conference. It involves medical exams of every possible system in the body (lots of stool samples are required, such fun!). The PCVs who helped at our training are preparing to leave the country. That means I’ve been here nearly a year, and in another year I’ll be done. It’s both exciting and depressing. I’ve been in a slump for a few weeks now. Not having water (combined with my recent intestinal “issues”) makes for an end of trimester funk. In any case, I suppose this is expected as my stage approaches the mid-service hump.

My mom arrives in less than a week! I’m so excited to show her Bokito. I just hope we’ll have water by then!

Big new update!

14/2/07

Much to my consternation, I realized that Cameroonians celebrate Valentine’s Day. Yuck. It has been my least favorite holiday since my parents embarrassed me in middle school by sending balloons. We had a review day in English class so the kids learned how to say “I love you” and “sweetheart.” For some reason they thought this was just grand, clapping and cheering. Kids are weird sometimes.

Fête de la Jeunesse (Youth Day)

This past week the annual Youth Day celebrations were held. I’m glad the US doesn’t celebrate such a day, because it’s an excuse for teenagers to get drunk and dance in clubs until morning, plus they get almost a week off from school to “prepare” for the festivities. It’s actually a national holiday (no school on Monday, officially). The week before Youth Day (February 11) students at all the schools practice marching. They put on cultural soirées in the evening. The majorettes dance. Women sell lots of sugar cane. It’s a grand party.

From Wednesday afternoon until the next Tuesday we had no class so the students could practice. I’m sure the few students who participated could’ve practiced after school but I’m not complaining since I enjoyed the days off. Each secondary school in Bokito put on a soirée, though I only attended two. The lycée had theirs on Saturday. The student chorus performed, students lip-synched (a popular act here), acted in skits, performed traditional dances and produced a news program. I enjoyed myself, and was even forced to participate in the Yambassa (one of the tribes in this area) dance. Luckily, there’s only one picture and it’s blurry.

On Sunday, we sat in the grandstands to watch the primary and secondary schools of this area march. Each school had a sign and the students passed in neat rows, dressed in their matching uniforms, singing songs like “Today is youth day. We are students at ---------- Primary School. Welcome M. le Sous-Prefet.” I enjoyed myself. Unfortunately, someone borrowed my camera for the soirée the night before so I have no pictures of the march. Next year!

La Saison Sèche (Dry Season)

The most exciting event this past weekend (for me, at least) was the rain! It rained for the first time since mid-November! And not just a brief minutes-long shower, but a real downpour that lasted for several hours, complete with thunder, lightning and high winds. Too bad it was during the soirée! It meant we lost power and everyone got wet. The wind blew rain sideways through the open windows. I enjoyed the freshness and didn’t even mind the mud because the air had been so dry. Another negative side effect manifested itself days later, as the insects re-emerged to harass the locals.

Dry season in the Center province lasts from approximately mid-November to late March (so I’m told). The general effects of dry season are: limited water, limited food choices, high prices and empty wallets. Farmers aren’t harvesting much, food costs more because less is produced and some things are hard (or impossible) to find. Everyone is strapped for cash after Christmas so the economy slows. I’ve noticed prices on everything have gone up slightly.

Obviously I’m not affected like my students, since I get the same stipend from the Peace Corps every month. The same quantity of food costs more at the market, and okra is difficult to find (most unfortunate since I recently acquired corn flour & began frying okra, eggplants, etc).

On a side note, I just finished Jason Carter’s book Power Lines about his Peace Corps experience in South Africa from 1998-2000. Not only is he a good writer, but he frequently mentions his grandfather (the former president and my personal hero, Jimmy) and many of his experiences are similar to my own. I recommend it to anyone interested in Africa, development or the PC. The book is an easy read; I finished it in 3 days.

For anyone interested, it is the 25^th book I have read since arriving in June. That’s not including the countless Newsweek, Washington Monthly, Nation, National Geographic, New Yorker and Economist issues I’ve been sent. I’m more well-read than ever before, though I’ll admit I’m reading an issue from November 2006.

I’ve cannibalized the National Geographic for teaching materials. If you have any simple posters I can use to teach vocabulary (that’s relevant to Cameroon, obviously these kids don’t need to learn the words for space travel or strawberries) I would appreciate them. The construction paper was particularly useful when learning colors.

25/2/07

For the first time in a very, very long time I stayed out late. This morning I got home around 5am after a night of eating, drinking, and dancing. The teachers’ association held a reception for a former colleague (who is now the principal at a secondary school nearby) and his school’s teachers’ group. After a day of sporting activities, we didn’t start eating until nearly 11pm. I am very tired. People find it strange that I want to sleep, and continue to stand at my bedroom window and ask questions. I eventually told one her girl that I’d beat her if she didn’t leave me alone.

I was allowed to play soccer, mostly, I think, because people find it amusing when white people do anything (like dance, walk by, eat, speak French, etc). I and a female colleague were put in as forwards. After all, women are incapable of keeping up with men, so it’s best if they put us out of the way. Then the “coach” took us out after only 10 minutes, saying “now the real game begins.” The lycée lost 4-2, so it serves him right for being a chauvinist pig.

It rained yesterday. Now we have no power or water. WHY?!

P.S. I saw on the news that Jimmy Carter came to Cameroon!

09/3/07

Sorry, loyal readers, it’s been a very long time. The internet café in Bokito is still not “officially” open and even though I’ve spent an entire month here, I haven’t had time to track the guy down.

Not much has been happening here lately, except I’ve graded lots of papers and filled in report cards.

Journée Internationale de la Femme (International Women’s Day)

March 8 is Women’s Day. Everyone has a new dress made out of the official fabric (my kaba is in fuschia) and then parades around. And after the parade, all the ladies go to bars and get drunk and party. Sounds like a good time!

Much like Youth Day, Women’s Day involves a grand ceremony at the Place des Fetes with dignitiaries, speeches, prizes, dancing and singing. I got invited to the Sous-Prefet’s house for a reception. In the evening I went out for awhile, but bars in the center of town are full of crazy, drunk people who just like to annoy la blanche. I took the day off, I drank my beer, I celebrated womanhood.

The cats chased, killed and then devoured a huge lizard. Yum!

Please send new movies! I haven’t seen anything in a theater since June 2006! I’m waiting for a recording of the Oscars but I haven’t seen any of the nominees!

Superbowl Early Monday Morning

I didn't even realize the Superbowl was this weekend until our Country Director called to say the US Ambassador had invited us to his Superbowl party. Did we want to go?!

The festivities started around midnight when we showed up at his house. When I say house, I should say giant compound including swimming pool, tennis court, sunken garden, etc. The place is enormous. His big screen TV seemed tiny in the massive living room. We ate chili (with cheese and fritos!!) and chips. It was great. I slept through the second half of the game...who can blame me, it was like 3am.

We watched the game on the Armed Services Network, so we didn't see any of the commercials. Just Pentagon-produced PSAs for the troops, reminding them that sexual assault and going AWOL are punishable under the CMJ; smoking is bad for you; if you want to marry an HCN you need special visas; and that taking war trophies must be approved by your CO.

Obviously Peace Corps needs its own tv channel, or at least a reality TV series.

New Pictures

I uploaded a few pictures from Bilingualism Day and also of my namesake, Jessica la Petite.

http://arkansas.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2069600&l=78732&id=20601980

Le Rat, It's What for Dinner

28/1/07

Le Rat, It’s What’s For Dinner

I happened to be at a friend’s house for dinner a few weeks ago, when I was informed that we’d be eating rat.

Rat, when well prepared, is sweet and tender. It tastes like chicken. I enjoyed the meal: rat and tomato sauce with cocoyams. I ate the rib cage (the breast?). It was nighttime, so I couldn’t actually see what I was eating. Cameroonians are entertained when I tell them “J’ai mangé le rat.” I ate rat.

I went back one afternoon this week and was given another plate of rat, a leg this time. Rat looks like chicken. Fortunately, my friend’s husband brought a freshly killed rat so I witnessed the preparations. Rats here are the size of a cat and have scary, yellow teeth and long tails. And yes, the tail is edible.

Her son grabbed it by the tail and chased the younger kids. That is, until someone put the carcass in the kitchen and we told him it had run away. He took off into the bush with a stick to catch the escaping rat. When he finally found the body, he told everyone he’d killed it on the hunt.

So the next time your loved one traps a rat, here’s how to prepare the meat.

To prepare rat:

1. Build a fire, grill the rat until the skin is burnt
2. Scrape off burnt fur with a knife
3. Cut off ears, nose, teeth, feet
4. Remove intestines, set aside
5. Chop into pieces (legs, breast, head, tail)
6. Wash thoroughly
7. Cook as desired, in sauce of your choice, and enjoy your favorite rodent

La Journee du Bilinguisme or Bilingualism Day

Cameroon, as many drunk people have told me, is a bilingual country. That means that everyone speaks two languages! Or rather, the majority of the country speaks patois and French, and a small but vocal minority speaks pidgin and refers to English as “grammar.” For some reason, we must celebrate this bilingualism with a national holiday.

At the Lycee de Bokito, we will celebrate by switching languages. The principal has forbidden me to speak English on that day, whereas everyone else must only speak English. I’m sure with everyone speaking their 2^nd (or 3^rd or 4^th) language there won’t be any misunderstanding or confusion.

English Club is responsible for promoting the use of English on Bilingualism Day, so we’ve prepared a conference and other activities, including the singing of the National Anthem in English, poems, sketches, a news bulletin, and popular songs by groups like Westlife (or rather, “le Westlife,” haha) and Destiny’s Child. The only problem is that we’re celebrating on Friday, it’s Sunday, and nothing is ready. We’ll see how things come together in the next few days.

03/02/2007

Bilingualism Day Wrap-Up

Well, at least we can say it’s over. Phew!

Thursday evening the English Club hosted a conference on the importance of English in schools and society. The Francophone professors had a tendency to complain about the emphasis on English but since Bilingualism Day in Cameroon is to celebrate the two official languages, French and English, it seems only natural to promote English in the Francophone zone.

Friday started off with a terrible rendition of the National Anthem in English, and only got worse afterwards. The sound guy the club president hired went to Bafia and when we called him he told us he’d be there until late in the afternoon. Huh, okay. After much yelling and accusations between club members and the president, we hired someone from the center of town. In the meantime the proviseur and his wife yelled at me, complaining they had many funerals to go to and accusing me of wasting their precious time.

Finally, two and a half hours later, the celebrations began. We sang the National Anthem (again, and better). Students recited poems, acted in a few skits, danced a few times and answered trivia questions for prizes. It wasn’t great. It wasn’t terrible. It lasted far, far too long (yet somehow we didn’t have time for the bilingual news).

Afterwards, the English Club invaded my kitchen, where the girls prepared hamburgers and French fries (I made mac & cheese). The boys sat in the living room and complained of hunger. Typical!

I want to thank everyone who has sent me school supplies (pencil sharpeners, pens, pencils, erasers, markers, post-its). We gave them out as prizes. The leftovers were divided among club members, who fought over the Bendy Pencils. Another hot item was a heart shaped pack of post-it notes. And the William Clinton Presidential Center pencil (because Bokitoans would be Democrats if they could vote, yeah).

I’ll admit I’ve been lax about writing my blog lately. I just don’t feel particularly eloquent.

The biggest, most important event was the arrival of six computers at the lycee. I’ve been kept out of the loop lately so I’m not very happy with the administration right now. We’ll see how things work out. I’ve only been able to hold practicals with one class because the electricity was cut for about 24 hours. Computers aren’t much good without it. It was total chaos in the computer lab because I was trying to evaluate the students and there are just too many of them.

I’ve been busy with school. We started back on the 8th of January and I haven’t had much free time since then. Friday was the end of a grading sequence. I have piles of papers to correct before I can calculate grades and fill in report cards. So much work! Next Saturday we’ve planned an excursion to the mountains. It will be a welcome break from the tedium of Bokito.

Bonne annee

Here I am, back in Yaounde after a very long month at post. Much, much too long. I'll take the time to write a proper message later this weekend.

It's hot. Hot during the day and cold at night. It's annoying, but I appreciate the fresh air in the evenings.

I'm using the internet in Bokito! Hell is frozen over!

28/12/06

Well, I’m back at home for at least awhile. I’m tired of traveling. It’s hard, in this country, to get excited about going anywhere by bush taxi, you and your nine friends squeezed into a 15 year old Toyota Corolla. I plan to rest and recover for a few days. I told my host family I’d go visit them again in Mbalmayo (I went for a few hours one afternoon before Christmas) but I’d like to just sit. Of course, after a few days here with nothing to do, I might get bored.

I actually have a lot of things to do. I have a long list of tasks, especially around the house, that need to get fixed or cleaned or arranged. Lessons need to be planned, the cats have to be vaccinated, etc.

02/01/06

Bonne annee! Thanks to Sarah for informing me that young children wishing you a happy New Year expect candy. They bring you a leaf or a flower and you give them 50FCFA. As my fellow PCV texted me “What an odd people of beggars. How much am I supposed to give them?” It’s a little weird, but oh well. I’m still here. I’m always reflective around New Year’s and this year it passed quietly. For the most part, at least. See the story below.

I’ve been back in village for about 5 days now. Somehow, all this time has passed. I have no idea what I’ve been doing, but apparently it took a lot of time. I’ve done a lot of laundry, cleaned, cooked, visited, read, wrote letters and watched DVDs. I supervised the washing of my floors; I paid the girls in Jolly Ranchers. I’ve held a lot of babies. Just about everyone I know has given birth in the past month. It makes for a lot of diapers on the clothesline and more public breastfeeding than I’m comfortable with. I shelled peanuts. I went to market. The internet café is never open, so I rode my bike or sat on my front porch. I have managed to do only one work-related task (a report for PC) though I have yet to plan a single lesson. I’m glad I haven’t lost my procrastination skills.

I cannot fathom how boring the summer will be.

Your Pipe Is Broken

On New Year’s Eve someone busted the water pipe that branches off to my house. I had been at a neighbor’s house but came home after President Biya’s address to the nation. All of a sudden, it sounded like rain. In the middle of the dry season, what is going on? Oh, indeed, there was a downpour in my front yard, which quickly created a small river flowing down the street. I just wanted to go to bed and wait out the hangover, but instead I got crowds of neighborhood kids playing in my sprinkler system. Little did I know, I should’ve charged them admission to the water park. Everyone in the neighborhood came to inspect the problem. Since the break was ahead of my meter, I wasn’t paying for all the water now soaking into my front yard, but I no longer had water in the house. Nothing could be done, it was late.

The next day the kids told me “le chef de SNEC” (the state water company) had come and seen the problem. Surely he would show up. The guys at SNEC work on Sundays, surely New Year’s Day wouldn’t keep them from fixing their pipe. After all, everyone agreed, it’s their water being lost. Apparently he was hung over too, because no one came. Today my neighborhood went to their office to see what was what. SNEC wanted to see me. Apparently they’d been waiting for me to show up (despite the fact that I live a block from their office and they know good and well it’s my house). I was informed I would be responsible for the water lost (calculated by SNEC), the materials and the manpower to fix the pipe. Are you kidding me?

I pointed out I hadn’t busted my pipe, I didn’t know if anyone had busted my pipe, perhaps it broke because the pipe is exposed and they use cheap plastic.
Oh, well, you must protect the pipe yourself. You are responsible for your branch.
Sir, it’s not my pipe. It’s your pipe. It’s your water. I’m not paying for the water lost. You didn’t fix it.
Here’s the form you must fill out. We’ll have to send it away. Then we wait for them to calculate your bill. You pay the bill, then we fix your pipe.
Why do I have to pay for your water?!
Well, it’s clearly a case of vandalism and you don’t know who did it, do you?
No, but it’s not my fault!
You are responsible. Or you can pay for the materials and the labor now and we will come fix it today.
Today? How much?

I doubt the matter was solved “officially” and I’m guessing that no one else in SNEC is aware that anything happened. Who cares, I’ve got water. I paid $10 (unfortunately, ¼ of all the money I have) for one guy to work five minutes to replace a cheap plastic pipe in my front yard. The only satisfaction I got came when his work sprayed a bystander who was being particularly patronizing. You shouldn’t let any children play around here. It weakens the pipe. You see the soil has eroded from the rains. You must tell the proviseur and have students cover it with earth.

Gee, thanks, man. I’ll go ahead and put up that barbed wire fence I’ve been planning around my yard. How exactly do I stop my yard from being a crossroads? Trust me, I’ve considered this problem every time someone walks past my bedroom window at 4am.

As I was leaving the office, the director showed me his broken moto handle. Apparently he’d broken it when he came to my house around 11pm on Dec 31 to inspect the damage. Ashia. Next time just stay at the party.