Changing Directions

Last Tuesday, I had an almost legitimate conversation in Fulfulde with a child. Last Tuesday, for the first time ever, I made it through the full two hours with my 2nde class without once being asked if it is “l’heur” yet. Last Tuesday, I ate ice pops with a four-year-old while he wiggled his shoulders along with the music. I walked across town and not one person called me “nasaara” and a number of people even called me by name. I participated in a conversation with my coworkers about corporal punishment in the school system and they listened to my opinion (even if they heartily disagreed with it). I was able to get some of my 5eme students so enthusiastic about their homework that they actually approached me with questions after class, something that has never happened before (unless they were approaching me to ask for pens or candy or money, which has happened before, multiple times). 

By all definitions, last Tuesday was a really great day. Unfortunately, last Tuesday was the day after I learned that I would be leaving. 

Around 5:00 on Monday evening, I had just managed to clear the kids out of my compound when I got a call from an unknown number. When I picked up, my country director and his second-in-command were on the line. Never a good sign. It got even worse when they started out with, “I know this isn’t the news you wanted to hear.” From there, it was pretty much all downhill. 

The volunteers in the Mbere division of the Adamaoua are being pulled due to increases in kidnappings, banditry, and other security concerns related to instability around the Cameroon-Central African Republic border. In total, there are five volunteers being affected by the decision. Two of the volunteers left last Thursday; the remaining three of us were picked up yesterday morning. We're all currently living at the case in Ngaoundere, our regional capital. 

I can’t imagine what it’s like for the 4 other volunteers who were removed from their posts (all of whom are taking interrupted service). All of them have been at their posts for a year, one of them even for two. I was only in Lokoti for three months. But it’s devastating. It really is. It is fucking devastating. I put the finishing touches on my house two weeks ago, and it was absolutely perfect. I gave my exams in my 5eme class, and the passing rate nearly doubled from the first exam. And I had plans. I had plans. They were good plans. I wanted to build a library. A library. I wanted to start English classes for adults. I wanted my 5eme students to leave with a really good grasp on the difference between past and present simple and past and present continuous. I wanted to start an English club, and a girls club. I wanted every single wall outside of my house to be covered in the words that the neighbourhood kids asked me to translate into English. I wanted to start a Saturday afternoon study group. I wanted a lot of things.

But, life goes on. It's been a tough week (hard to believe it's just been a week). We said our goodbyes, and packed up our things. My friend Hadija helped me sell some of my things, and she's still helping me to sell the rest. As I post this, I'm at the case in Ngaoundere. I've been told my new post -- I'll be living and working in Dibi, a town some 30-40kms from Ngaoundere. Right now, I'm planning on living at the case until after IST, which is during the first week of December. I don't feel quite comfortable leaving all of my things alone for two to three weeks at my new house in a new town where I won't really know anyone. Fortunately Max (my cat) is making himself very popular with the other volunteers, and several people have offered to feed him if I leave him at the case while I'm gone. I've heard some really great things about Dibi, and I think it'll be a really great town to work in for the rest of my two years of service. 

I want to thank everyone who's sent me messages and checked in, it really means a lot to me. I'm doing all right -- it's been such a whirlwind of a week, and the next few weeks are going to be equally as busy, which helps the denial, ha. I'll keep everyone updated as best as I can in the next few weeks. It's been tough, but it'll be ok. I had a wonderful time in Lokoti, and I anticipate having just as wonderful an experience in Dibi. On est ensemble.

Back to School

Disclaimer: the first half of this post is a crash course on the Cameroonian education system. More specifically, the francophone system in Cameroon. MORE specifically, the secondary school system of the francophone regions of Cameroon. If you're already a pro at the Cameroonian francophone secondary education system, feel free to skip down to the bottom, where I've added a story of sorts for your reading enjoyment.

So, the education system! The Cameroonian system is split into four "schools", similarly to in the States. There's the ecole maternelle, or nursery school; the ecole primaire, the primary school; the ecole secondaire, the secondary school; and the lycée, the high school. My school, the Lycée de Lokoti, encompasses both the lycée and secondary school, so most people here refer to it specifically as the lycée, but generally as the secondary school. Yeah, I know. The school is further divided into grades, as in the States. I've included the grades and their US equivalents, for those of you who don't want to do the math:

Ecole Secondaire:

6eme/6th grade
5eme/7th grade
4eme/8th grade
3eme/9th grade (students take the BEPC exam to continue to high school)

Lycée:

Seconde/10th grade
Premiere/11th grade (students take the probatoire exam to continue to terminale)
Terminale/12th grade (students take the baccalaureate exam to graduate)

Keep in mind that although you can make a rough comparison to the grades in the States, the ages don't necessarily correspond at all -- for example, in my 5eme class, I've got a range of 12 or 13 year olds through 17 or 18 year olds, and my 2nde class is mostly composed of 18-20 year olds (the youngest being 16). This can be due to a number of reasons. Sometimes students start school late, or miss a year (or 3) if their family doesn't have the money to send them to school (secondary school costs 15.000cfa in Lokoti, not including the cost of the uniform, school supplies, and books -- a lot of money, especially if you're sending more than one child to school). Girls in particular are often the first be kept at home if there's not enough money to send everyone. A lot of students have to repeat grades, sometimes more than once -- unlike in the States, it is not expected that everyone in the class will pass at the end of the year. In fact, it's pretty much expected that a significant number will not pass. The size of the classes shrink from year to year, sometimes dramatically. This year, 6eme numbers somewhere in the 100+; 5eme and 4eme number in the 50s and 40s respectively, 3eme probably in the 30s. It shrinks even more after 3eme, since students have to pass the BEPC, the probatoire, and the bacc. 2nde has about 20 students. I'm not certain of the current number of 1ere and Tle students, but I was told that last year, each had about 4 students. As students move up through the grades, they're also more likely to drop out or be pulled out of school by their parents. In 3eme, 1ere, and Tle they have to pass the national exams in addition to their classes, making it that much more difficult to move on. Many students end up repeating their exam years more than once, which can add up. Additionally, education isn't always highly valued, and given the problems Cameroon has with poverty and unemployment (or underemployment), it's hard for students and parents to see why it's worth paying for an education if, regardless, the student is going to end up with a job that doesn't utilise or require it.

I promise, we're slowly getting to that story I promised you.

So teaching here is largely teacher-based. In other words, the teacher stands at the front of the class and talks or writes on the board, and the students listen and copy it down word for word. The concept of a discussion based class is almost literally unheard of (I can hear my college professors crying in the distance). Critical thinking skills aren't really a thing here -- learning is based on repetition and memorisation, and there's very little interaction with the material. This means that any interactive activity I want to do in class requires a LOT of explanation. And re-explanation. And re-explanation. And re-explanation. Sometimes the idea makes it through intact (like playing hangman to practice vocabulary words); most often, there's a lot of on-the-spot adaptation (like adjusting jeopardy to work for a class of 53 students); occasionally, we just have to let it go (like doing a class survey to practice adverbs of frequency).

In my 5eme class, we've been working on the present simple and the present continuous. For those of you who aren't quite on top of your English grammar (it's ok, I wasn't either until I came here), that's the difference between I walk (present simple) and I am walking (present continuous). The plan: to pass out magazines and have the students describe a picture and/or make a story using a mix of present simple and present continuous. So for a picture of a farmer, for example, you might write, the farmer is working on the farm. He works for 8 hours every day. He is wearing a green shirt. Green is his favourite colour. And so on. The challenge: to convey that idea to 50+ teenagers who are quite ready to be done with class. Let's do this.

The students focused pretty quickly as soon as I pulled out the magazines (a mix of NatGeo, NatGeo Kids, a Ranger Rick from the 80s, and a New Hampshire nature and fishing magazine). They focused on the magazines, of course, not on me or what I was saying, but I'll take what I can get. I first explained it slowly in English. "Does everyone understand?" "NO, MA-DAME." Ok, in French this time. "Est-ce que tout a compris? Levez le main comme ce si vous avez compris, comme ce si vous n'avez pas compris." Raise your hand like this (thumbs up) if you understood, like this (thumbs down) if you didn't. I get a handful of thumbs up, a handful of thumbs down. "Ok, encore." This time, at least most of the thumbs are up. Each group gets a magazine, and the kids go nuts. In a good way! They were so excited just to flip through the pages and look at the pictures -- I had to remind them a few times that they still had an assignment. As I wandered around, as per usual, somebody from each group stopped me and told me they didn't understand the assignment (despite having been among those with their thumbs up). Fourth time's the charm. I re-explain it to each individual group. "Aaaahhhh, ok Madame, je comprends." I make my rounds, stopping occasionally to make corrections. No, you're not just writing random sentences -- I know you already know how to say 'I walk to the market'. I want you to write about the picture. No, you're not just copying sentences from the text next to the picture. Yes, I know you're copying because you're writing fragmented sentences and they don't make sense. Also, I am almost positive that if you don't know the word frog, you probably don't know the word amphibious.

I'm called over to explain to a group for the third time. Finally, I point at a picture.
"What is this?"
"Le lion!"
"And how do you say that in English?" Their eyes lit up -- they know this one. "LION!"
"Yes! Good! So what is the lion doing in the picture? Qu'est-ce que il fait?" You could see the comprehension dawning on them.
"Il dort," they chorused.
"And in English?"
"Sleep!" someone said.
"Ah, but in present simple or present continuous?" This one stumped them.
"It is sleep!" "It sleep!" "It sleeping!" "It is sleeping!"
"YES!" I point to the last speaker. "Say it again."
"It! Is! Sleeping!" they all join in.
"Good! Now write it down!" I encourage them. They scramble for their pens. Soon, hands are going up around the room.
"Madame! Qu'est-ce que c'est en anglais?" (What is this in English?)
"Madame, comment dit-on "cultivateur" en anglais?" (How do you say "farmer" in English?)
"Madame! How do you spell crocodile?"

I don't want to give you the wrong idea about how my classes usually go -- this was by FAR my most successful activity so far. A more typical class consists of a lot of me struggling to keep everyone's attention, or struggling to explain concepts using my limited French skills (or, often, both). When I ask for thumbs-up-or-down-if-you-understand, I frequently get more thumbs down than thumbs up. Teaching is a constant challenge -- more than up days or down days, teaching is composed of up minutes and down minutes. I spend my classes trying to keep my students quiet, trying to get them to pay attention, trying to get them to sit down, trying to get them to use critical thinking skills -- every now and again I actually fit some teaching in there.

But, in the end, it's my blog, and I could pretend that every day runs like this if I wanted to, because nobody will be able to contradict me. So there!

Snapshots

I’ve been collecting little posts I call “snapshots” since I got to Cameroon — some of these are from training back in Ebolowa, and some of them are from here at post in Lokoti. They’re just little snippets from my day. It’s impossible to give you all a complete idea of what life is like here (unless you come visit me!! hint hint), but I hope these 10 little snapshots give you more of a complete idea of what life is like here in Cameroon. 

1. It starts to rain. There’s no such thing as a drizzle in Cameroon. It starts as a trickle — a tap, tap, tap on the tin roofs. Les habilles! my host mom cries. She knows what’s coming. It isn’t even as if the trickle slowly progresses to a veritable downpour of rain. It’s more like carrying water in your cupped hands — it’s the water that drips out through your fingers before you release it all at once. It’s a rain that means business, and today its business is soaking through clothes, carving an even deeper trail through the packed dirt paths, and drumming on the roofs until you’re sure they’ll collapse. It comes down harder and harder until you’re all but certain that this time, despite all evidence to the contrary, this time will be the time that the roofs cave in and the water comes crashing down on top of you, but just as it reaches its peak, just as you’re gathering your things for storage in a safelocker, it stops — leaving barely even a trace that it had started. Only a few extra puddles in the road, destined to quickly disappear in the heat. 

2. I discover that a wand translates to “magic bread”, Harry’s lightning scar is an eclair, and he attends Poudlard, where he is taught by Professor Rogue. This is the greatest day of my life. 

3. “So you put it against the table — no, more horizontal than that — yeah, that’s good,” Daniel says. “And you pull down with your right hand, and then you…hit it,” he mimes. I smack my left hand over the top of a Vimto bottle, and the cap pops off. I raise the bottle over my head in celebration. It’s not quite as good as beeing able to pry it off with your teeth, in the true Cameroonian fashion, but it’s a start.

 4. My family is watching soap operas, as per the norm, and on the TV screen, a black man fires a gun into the air. I can’t help but think that in the US, this would be portrayed in a very different light. 

5. The birds here are so wonderfully colourful. Bright reds, yellows, and, my favourite, a bright blue, with little red spots on its cheeks. Everything feels brighter and more vibrant here. The birds, the bright patterns on the pagne wrap skirts (a staple item for every village woman), the blue and yellow paint that seems to be splashed on the walls of at least one room in every home in Cameroon. The deep reds of the dirt paths contrast sharply with the green of the grass and trees. Colours seem more brilliant here, in a way I can’t explain or understand. I absorb it while I can. I’ve been told that come dry season, I should expect only dust, coating everything with a fine layer of brown. 

6. My local bean mamas are at school, and I’ve forgotten my wallet at home. Luckily, I’ve spent the past week trying to build up a rapport with them, and they have no problem giving me beans and beignets with the promise of money to come. “Pas de probleme, ma fille!” she assures me. When I return the plates, she thanks me. “Tu es trés gentille!” she gushes. I don’t know why exactly returning the plates — her plates — qualifies me to be very kind, but I’ll take it. Half an hour later, when I return with the money, I am again proclaimed to be “trés gentille!” Again, I’m not sure why giving her the money she is owed makes me so very kind, but again, I’ll take it. “Ton sac est jolie!” she tells me. “Oh, thank you — I like it too,” I say. “And you have another sac at home, so you will give me that one as a cadeau!” she finishes. Oh. I apologetically tell her that I do not, in fact, have another petite sac like this one, so I cannot give it to her. “Mais peut être tu vas trouver un sac même plus jolie au marché, n’est pas?” She laughs, and we part ways.

7. In Cameroon, the number of texts you receive decreases significantly from what it might have been in the US. At home, you might have your family members, your work colleagues, your school friends, your hometown friends, the friends you text while you’re reading their favourite book or watching that show they’ve been bugging you to watch for months, your doctor’s office, your pharmacy, your bank, that ONE guy (you know the one), the pizza delivery — you are (or at least, I was) overwhelmed with texts every day. Texting in the US is great, don’t get me wrong, but things change when all of a sudden you have exactly 21 numbers in your phone that connect you to the US, and you all met each other three days ago. Then, a text message is your lifeline — your connection to another person who understands exactly what you’re going through, in a way that a Cameroonian friend, or even a non-PCV American friend, can’t really understand. By the time you get to post, you're a little more settled, you’re figuring things out, your contacts list has expanded, but I still jump up when I hear my phone buzz — two short buzzes, pause, repeat. I play a game with myself to guess who it’s from before I look. More often than not, it’s either BBC or the cell phone carrier, so I try not to get my hopes up. But a kind message, an unexpected “hey! how are things going?”, a pun, a fellow PCV's complaint that is so relieving because you thought you were the only one — they make all the difference in the world. 

8. I hear the distinctive “click-kung” of my power converter switching on, and drop everything. It’s a very Pavlovian response. The “click-kung” means it’s time to grab your computer cable, it’s time to grab your hard drive and your internet key. The power is on, but it could be for a minute, it could be 30, it could be two days, but you’re never quite sure, so you don’t want to miss your opportunity. 

9. I love preparing food just before the sun’s gone down. I clutch my little metal bowl as I stand in my doorway to soak up the very last glow of light, unwilling to use my candles or my solar lamps until absolutely necessary. As I hover in the doorway — not quite in the house, but not quite out of it, either — I take in the sounds. There’s not much to look at outside my front door, but I’m treated to a veritable symphony of sounds every evening right around 6:00. I'm surrounded on all sides by a smattering of voices. They extend past just my neighbours’ houses, and one can imagine them stretching on for miles — a gentle hum of chatter, a sprinkle of laughter, spread across a little infinity. There’s a crackle of static as a radio is brought to life, and the announcer’s voice, alternating between French and Fulfulde, blends in with the gentle hum of voices. It’s punctuated by the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of someone preparing manioc, a clatter of pots and pans, a group of children running past my compound. The sound of those little rubber flip flops on the hard dirt path is surprisingly distinct. I cannot explain it to you, other than to say that when you hear it, that there is no mistaking it for anything but what it is. Two compounds away, someone drops a metal cook pot. A baby cries, as is only to be expected. The occasional bleat of a goat. As the light fades, the voices are replaced by crickets and frogs, a chorus of howling dogs. Some nights, you can hear music from the Proviseur’s bar, where the same 10-15 songs are played over and over on repeat at full volume. It usually continue long after I’ve gone to bed. When I'm not serenaded to sleep by the cricket in my living room, then it’s to the sound of one Cameroon’s Top 15. Ca va aller, ca va aller, ca va aller.

10. The stars in Lokoti — when it’s clear enough to see them — are magnificent. There’s no light pollution, so the only thing keeping you from seeing every star in the Cameroonian sky are the roofs and trees (and, of course, the rainclouds). I love looking at them, but don’t recognise hardly any of them. This makes a lot of the sayings about looking at the same sky or being under the same stars seem a little hokey. I mean, sure, if you take a step back we’re all spinning through the same stretch of space in the universe. Ok, whatever. But when I look at the stars here, I don’t see the same constellations I’ve become familiar with at home in the States. It’s isolating and freeing at the same time. But regardless of any deeper meaning, scientific or metaphorical, it’s absolutely breathtaking. 

Got French?

I've been meaning to post this for a while -- towards the end of training, we had a day called Diversity Day where the trainers and trainees shared their talents and culture. A few of our number put together a skit about some of our experiences learning French. If you've never learned a foreign language before, here's an idea of what it's like.

Le Monde According to Paul

Good Housekeeping

I’m here today to discuss everyone’s favourite dinner table topic — the toilet! Yes, here in Cameroon we have several lovely toilet options, for both in- and outdoors. 

First up, we have: 

• The Flush Toilet. Whoa there, Posh Corps. Let’s be real, nobody has a flush toilet in their homes. But be sure to enjoy this amenity when visiting the Peace Corps case in the regional capitol. For additional luxury amenities found in the Ngaoundere case, see: running water; electricity; wifi; refrigerator/freezer; printer; and beds with real sheets. 

Next, we have the ever popular: 

• Bucket Flush Toilet. Found in some of our up-and-coming PCV homes; or, occasionally, in the Ngaoundere case when the power is out. With the bucket flush toilet you have the convenience of having an actual toilet to sit on (as opposed to the latrine — see below); however, you are responsible for procuring your own water to flush with. What, did you think the toilet was just going to flush itself? This may not seem like much, but those 1-2 buckets of water could be a week’s worth of laundry, 2-4 bucket baths, or 2 days of dishwashing water, so choose carefully. This can be tough when the nearest water pump is a half mile away (or, let’s be real, even if it’s 100 meters away); but what are neighbourhood children for if not for fetching water for you? This can add up over time, but if you’re thrifty and don’t mind the smell, flushing once a day is a more than satisfactory way to conserve water, CFA, and/or manual labour. 

And now we arrive at our final option,

• The latrine. By far the easiest to maintain, the latrine doesn’t require any water at all (if you’ve got decent aim) — just don’t think too hard about what happens if it fills up. Start working on your squats now — you’ll appreciate the conditioning then next time you spend some quality time hovering over your latrine hole. Your latrine, whether it’s an indoor or outdoor latrine, is almost guaranteed to have something living in it, so you can make some new friends while you’re taking care of business! If you have an indoor latrine, that something is most likely to be roaches. Whatever you do, do NOT spray Raid down your latrine in an attempt to chase out these persistent free-loaders — it will successfully clear them out of your latrine, but they will take it as an invitation to occupy the rest of your house. If that was not, in fact, your original intent in spraying your latrine, then you’ll spend the rest of your evening chasing down the roaches that are making themselves at home in your kitchen, living room, and bedroom. If you’re not careful, they’ll be helping themselves to a cup of tea, hogging the good spots on the couch, and criticising your decorating. This entire situation is entirely hypothetical, of course, but if you were to hypothetically find yourself overrun by roaches who won’t stop commenting on your dusting, then you might find a small bowl that conveniently stops up your latrine hole, fill it with water to give it some weight, and then spray the doorways with some more Raid just for good measure. Hypothetically. 

I hope this has satisfied the curiosity I know you all had had about your options in terms of relieving yourselves in Cameroon. 

________________________________________________________________

As an update — as you may be able to tell, I’m now officially at post! I’ll be spending the next two years working in Lokoti, in the Adamoua region of Cameroon. I’ve already met some colleagues and other community members, and I’m slowly but surely puling my house together. I’ve been continuing to practice French, but I’m in the process of looking for a Fulfulde tutor, since a significant portion of the population speaks Fulfulde or Baya, the local patois, not French. Lokoti theoretically has electricity, but in the 2 1/2 weeks I’ve been here, I’ve had power for all of one night; so for now, I’ll be stocking up on candles and charging my computer every few weeks in Ngaoundere, or coughing up the 200CFA to charge it up in village via generator. Basically what I’m saying is, I’ll post/email/Skype/Facebook message/other as often as I can, but I can’t make any promises about consistency! And, of course, my address is still posted for those of you who enjoy good old-fashioned snail mail. School begins on September 7th, so coming up soon I’ll have some teaching stories to share with you! Until then — sey yeso! 

Transportation Safety

Good morning, and thank you for traveling with Peace Corps Cameroon. Before we take off, we appreciate you paying attention to the following safety information.

First, if you are travelling by moto: congratulations! Cameroon is one of only two Peace Corps countries that still allows its volunteers to travel by motorbike. But remember to always wear your helmet, or you’ll be sent home immediately with arguably the lamest excuse for getting kicked out of the Peace Corps. Before you get on a moto, make sure you negotiate your destination and the price beforehand; otherwise, plan on spending a solid 5 minutes arguing that it does not, in fact, cost 400CFA to carry two people from the Lycée Bilangue to the training center. Alternatively, they might stop the moto before you get to your destination, and inform you that this is as far as 100CFA will get you. It happens; best not to argue, unless the moto stops because it’s physically broken down. Then you might negotiate. If you’re the only passenger, sit back and relax! You may as well be riding in a limousine. You may be one of 3 people on the moto, or even, theoretically, one of 5 (although we have yet to receive photographic evidence of this). Expect to get up close and personal with other people’s butts. Really up close and personal. You will basically be sitting on other people. Although on a moto you risk falling off, losing personal items, getting into a crash, running over a dog, running into a cow, and in general life and limb, motos are the cheapest, the most convenient, and the most easily accessible method of transportation in Cameroon. Get used to them, because you’ll use them a lot. And over time, you’ll learn to love them. 

If you are travelling by car: well, all right! Travelling by car, or bush taxi, is only the second most uncomfortable way to travel. If you can manage it, try to squeeze into the back seat — believe it or not, it’s more comfortable to fit five people across the back than it is to squish four across the front. Avoid being the petit chauffer, if you can — as much fun as it is to share the driver’s seat, it really isn’t any fun at all. Regardless of where you sit, you’ll get up close and personal with everyone else’s body odours. Please keep all arms, shoulders, and, if you can manage it, heads outside the vehicle, as you’ll be much cooler and you’ll give the other passengers some much needed shoulder room. You can expect your legs to go numb — it’s ok, you won’t need them for a while. Besides, the more numb your butt is, the less you’ll feel the potholes as you drive over them at 100 km/hr! Be prepared to stop and unload if there’s a gendarme who wants to personally greet les blancs. 

If you are travelling by bus: well, it’s better than hitching a ride on a passing peanut truck (though, that can happen). Travelling by bus is the best (read: cheapest) way to make those several-hour trips to your regional capitol, or even across the country. First, make sure you’ve brought a book, or ten. You can expect your 12:00 bus to leave around 1:30 or 2:00, if it hasn’t already left by the time you get there. Once you’re on the bus, pick your seat carefully — if you’re at the window, you have the advantage of fresh air, but with the window open, you’re also the target of all of the derange-y men in the station, and they will ask you if you will date, marry, have sex with, or go back to the United States with them. The middle seat guarantees that you will not be able to feel your butt within the first ten minutes, and you’ll be asked to move every time someone needs to get off the bus to pee, pray, buy food, throw up, or bribe the gendarmes. However, around hour 2 you may be feeling inclined to get up and move about, and don’t worry about not being able to feel your butt; you’re just getting a jump on it, since no matter where you’re sitting, the longer you ride the bus, the more likely it is that you won’t be able to feel any of your extremities by the time you reach your destination. 

If you are travelling by train: congratulations! You’ve hit the jackpot of Cameroonian travel — that is, if you’re willing to pay for it. The train runs from Yaounde, the capitol of Cameroon, to Ngaoundere, the regional capitol of the Adamaoua. Your travel options range from standing room only, to seats, to a compartment complete with bunk beds, air conditioning, and an outlet. It’s an approximately 16 hour train ride, so choose carefully. This is assuming, of course, that the train doesn’t break down or derail, which could up your time to 30-48 hours. This could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on how many movies you have on your computer and how many snacks you brought with you. On the plus side, you can buy food! On the down side, the food will be one of the more expensive meals you’ll buy in Cameroon. Better to load up at the boulangerie beforehand. 

We’d like to thank you again for travelling with Peace Corps Cameroon. Bon voyage! 

A Day in the Life

My folks told me that apparently everyone is interested in my day-to-day life. I’m telling you now, it’s pretty boring. I usually prefer to pick and choose anecdotes, because they’re more fun for you to read and more fun for me to write, but it was requested, and so I’ve delivered! Last chance to back out. If you’re really, really interested in what an average day is like for me in Cameroon, here is a blow-by-blow retelling of Monday, June 22nd. 

My alarm goes off at 6:00am. I’m already awake, but I hit snooze until 6:15 anyway. It’s a mistake, because now I really have to pee, and there’s someone using the bathroom. I postpone and bring my bright green bucket out to the well to puise water for my bucket bath. I’m really fortunate — there’s a well at my house, which isn’t all that common. It means I can get water without having to change my shirt. 

I bring the water into the bathroom, which is now mercifully empty. After bathing, which I’m not going to publicly describe on the internet, I get all of my stuff ready for school. I’ve forgotten to tell my sister that I’m going in early today, so she’s started to make me breakfast. I ask, haltingly, if I can take it to go. My sentence doesn’t make sense, but the end result is still an omelette in a baguette, wrapped in paper for the road. It’s 7:00. 

I meet my teacher, Marie, at the tin-roofed hut that is our classroom. I drop off my bags and fetch chairs from the training center — one for me, and one for my classmate, Abby. She already told me she was going to be late, which I relay to Marie. Not a problem, says Marie. That gives you time to finish your breakfast. 

The sun is rising. It’s misty, or perhaps just smoky. It’s hard to tell. The sun is pretty, I say to Marie. It’s actually beautiful, but in French, pretty is the best I can do. She agrees with me. It’s going to be hot in the East today, she says.

Tutoring begins when Abby arrives. It’s a compounded review, mostly. We play a game where we each think of a celebrity, and the other has to ask questions to guess who it is. I chose Scarlett Johansson; Abby responds with Chris Evans. There’s some confusion, as per the norm. It turns out that Chris Evans is not, in fact, black, as Abby led me to believe. Who’d have thought? 

Sessions start officially at 8:00. We run a little late when I stump Abby with Quvenzhané Wallis. We walk into a session about transportation safety in Cameroon. The trainers put together  skit, from which we discern that on any given bus, we may be pick-pocketed, thrown up on, asked to hold babies, crowded, stopped by the police, stopped so someone can pray and/or pee, sold medicines that can supposedly cure AIDS, and/or generally harassed, among other things. To be honest, the bus systems here don’t seem all that different than the busses in Chile — the main difference being, I’m a lot more comfortable in Spanish than I am in French. (Edit: having now taken a number of buses in Cameroon, I can confirm that almost all of these things actually happened. I wasn't pick-pocketed, and the woman next to me threw up in a bag instead of on me, but other than that...)

There’s a 20 minute break between classes, from 10:00 to 10:20. Today marks the beginning of immersion, where we’re (theoretically) supposed to speak in only French, Pigin, or Fulfulde from 8:00 to 1:00. What it actually means is those of us who speak French do so, and those of us who don’t either stay quiet, or speak quietly in Frenglish. KC and I started a Marvel/stagiaires comparison last night. His French is excellent, and my French is terrible, so he talks to me and I either nod, shake my head, or look at him blankly. I left a sort of Nutella spread at the training center on Saturday — I steal Sprice’s spoon to scrape the rest of it onto a banana. 

Our second session is one of those sessions that feels like it could be finished in 15 minutes, and is dragged out for 2 hours. We’re split into four groups. My group quickly loses focus and subsequently quickly loses track of the lesson. It’s about management, maybe. Or possibly evaluation. We’re supposed to be filling in a worksheet — we fill it in with puns instead. I’ve got a new business! What is it? I’m making submarines. Are you drowning in invoices? Yeah, bro. That’s probably why business is going under. It’s that flood of paperwork. It’s a lot of pressure. Sink or swim kind of life. Yup. But you've gotta keep the business afloat. We fill in the entire page. 

It’s 12:20 — lunch time. Candice and I count down the minutes until 1:00, when we can speak English again. Lunch is rice and beans, as it is every day. Today there’s pineapple, too, which is the best. Sometimes it’s papaya, which is also the best. It’s never mango, which is the other best. Occasionally it’s bananas, which are not the best. But still pretty good. 

It’s 1:30 — time for the third session of the day. Security #6 — bystander intervention. We pay attention. 

Nobody really knows what time the last session of the day starts. Maybe 3:30. Maybe 3:20, or 3:15. The last class of the day today is language — French. People begin to leave in a trickle, with one or two people leaving for class, and end as a flood. In class, we continue with descriptions — Marie tells us to describe an alien. I describe Stitch. Abby describes the aliens from Toy Story. Class discussion wanders from cultural notes (in Cameroon, it’s not polite to talk about one’s ass in public) to a comparison of mental health and homelessness in Cameroon and the US. We have a range of interests. 

Sessions end at 4:30, but today we’ve set up a meeting amongst ourselves, to talk about a variety of concerns. It’s rare that we’re able to get everyone together at the same time and place outside of class. It’s nice — we should do it more often. That is, in fact, a subject of discussion at the meeting, which is fitting. 

It’s 5:30. One of the volunteers is passing out free hugs. A few of us have been trying to start a hug movement — I think it’s starting to succeed. If it were any other day, we’d go to a bar to “juice”, but after the meeting, there’s not much time today. I sit with Gina and Tressa, who are practicing a poem they’ve memorized. It’s beautiful. Tressa offers to lend me her book after site visits -- I accept. 

Curfew is at 7:00 every night. Usually I’m walking in at 6:58, but tonight I’m early, because I need to pack for my site visit in Dir tomorrow. I usually keep my bedroom door open, but tonight it’s closed to keep out Victoire, the baby. She’s sweet, but she likes to come in and mess with my things, and tonight my things will be everywhere, due to a significant lack of surface areas. 

It’s 7:30. The power’s out, but I’m nearly done packing anyway. Dinner is ready — rice and fish with a spicy peanut sauce. I love it; I think my Dad would hate it. I can get through about half of it before I’m full. The power is back on, and so is the TV. In general, the TV is always on. I watch children’s shows and wryly reflect that, for all its simplicity, I understand less of it than the actual children do. 

At 9:00, it’s bedtime. Or rather, it’s go-to-my-room time. I take the next hour or so to do my own thing — finish up homework, write, read, generally relax and unwind. I go to bed before my host siblings do — I tried to outlast them my very first week, but quickly decided it’s not worth it. In the end, we probably go to bed around the same time, I just choose to read or write rather than finish the day in front of the television. Tonight I finalize my bags and set out clothes for tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day, and it’ll be here before I know it. 

Welcome to Cameroon

Bienvenue au Cameroon!

I was going to start this post by telling you how long I’ve actually been in Cameroon, but I realized I’m not actually entirely certain, and I don’t feel like counting backwards, so let’s suffice to say that it feels both as if I arrived yesterday, and as if I’ve been here for months already.

I arrived safe and sound in Yaounde, where we spent a day generally orientating ourselves to life in Cameroon before being shipped to Ebolowa for PST. We got a crash course in Cameroonian culture and ran through medical and security briefings that left us convinced that we were going to get into a motorcycle accident, be robbed, get malaria and also have diarrhea, all at the same time. We’ve since come to the conclusion that Peace Corps training is meant to instill us with a healthy sense of paranoia, so that when we rebound in the opposite direction, we land at an almost reasonable sense of caution.

I moved in with my host family last Saturday. My family consists of 12 people — 9 children, two parents, and who I believe to be an aunt, but my French skills aren’t solid enough for me to actually clarify her relationship. Possibly she’s just some lady who walks in and out when she feels like it. The world may never know. It has been a lot of fun, though. I really enjoy spending time with my (numerous) host siblings. It’s been difficult at times, since I speak barely 5 words of French, but I like to think I’m getting better, and they’ve been very patient. I went from being “la bebe” to being “la blanche,” so I’m going to take what I can get.

Training in Ebolowa has been fun and exhausting. There are 21 stagiaires in the group (down from 22 in Philadelphia). We’ve been covering topics including safety and security, medical, the role of Peace Corps in development, teaching methods, and, of course, French. I was placed in the novice level, the lowest category of language ability. Classes are small, only 2 or 3 students in the class. I’m in a class with Paul, my fellow PC trainee, and we are among the group that has taken to calling ourselves the Remedial Club (the Remedials for short). As a group, we slingshot between being excited about all of the French we’re learning, and panicking because we worry that we aren’t learning it quickly enough. Because what would life in the Peace Corps be if we were capable of settling at a happy medium?

I’ve been trying my hardest to take pictures as often as I can — I’ve made a deal with myself to take at least one picture every day. Most often, that turns into me taking a last minute picture of my room somewhere around 10:00 in the evening, but still, I try.

We do have WiFi at the school, but it’s not stellar, so I don’t use it very often (and besides, I’ve got a lot to study in my free time!). Regardless, I’ll post and email as often as I can while I’ve got semi-regular access to the internet. I was going to leave you with a few pictures, but the WiFi is taking far too long, and I need to get this posted before lunch ends. So you'll just have to wait until next time!

Who'd have thought you could fit two years of stuff onto one bed?

Getting Started

With t-minus 6 days to departure, I figured it was about time to get this blog up and running! Since I've still got some packing to do, I figured I'd keep this first post short and sweet. And when I say short and sweet I mean it's short and sweet for me to write, since my plan is to more or less just copy and paste the letter that the Peace Corps sent me to distribute to family and friends. Well, consider this my distribution! I promise (I hope) the posts will get more interesting as time goes on; but in the meantime, feel free to read up on how to contact me while I'm in Cameroon! 

General Communication Tips
The mail service in Cameroon is not as efficient as the U.S. Postal Service. Thus, it is important to be patient. It can take from three to four weeks for mail coming from Cameroon to arrive in the United States via the Cameroonian mail system. From a Volunteer’s community, mail might take up to one to two months to reach the United States depending upon how far the Volunteer is from the capital city, Yaoundé.
We suggest that in your first letters, you ask your Volunteer to give an estimate of how long it takes for him or her to receive your letters and then try to establish a predictable pattern of how often you will write to each other. Also try numbering your letters so that the Volunteer knows if he or she missed one. Postcards should be sent in envelopes.
Volunteers often enjoy telling their “war” stories when they write home. Letters might describe recent illnesses, lack of good food, isolation, etc. While the subject matter is often good reading material, it can often be misinterpreted on by family and friends. Please do not assume that if your loved one gets sick that he or she has not been attended to. The city of Yaoundé has medical and dental facilities, and there are Peace Corps Medical Officers there as well. Most Volunteers can reach the office in less than one day’s time. Volunteers also have cell phones so that they can call our medical office. In the event of a serious illness the Volunteer is sent to Yaoundé and is cared for by our Medical Unit. If the Volunteer requires medical care that is not available in Cameroon, he/she will be medically evacuated to a location that does. Fortunately, such circumstances are very rare.

Tl;dr: Expect the mail service to be slow and unreliable. Number your letters and indicate when the letter was sent in order to get a rough estimate of how long mail takes to get to me. Don't assume the worst if you don't hear from me, or if you hear terrible stories. No news is good news. 

Telephone calls

The telephone system in Cameroon has fairly reliable service to the United States. In the interior of the country, where most of our Volunteers are located, the network can be less reliable.
When dialing direct to Cameroon from the U.S., dial 011 (the international access code) + 237 (the country code) + the number. Volunteers generally set up phone calls with people in the U.S. in advance, and have the distant party call them, which is less expensive than calling the U.S. from Cameroon. Almost all volunteers purchase cell phones once they arrive in Cameroon, but they may not always have regular reception at their site. You should communicate with your friend/family member to set up a calling schedule.

Tl;dr: Download Skype. 

Sending packages

Parents and Volunteers like to send and receive care packages through the mail. Unfortunately, sending packages can be a frustrating experience for all involved due the high incidence of theft and heavy customs taxes. You may want to send inexpensive items through the mail, but there is no guarantee that these items will arrive. We do not recommend, however, that costly items be sent through the mail. During training (first ten weeks in Cameroon) you may use the following address to send letters and/or packages to your family member:

Becca Wood
Corps de la Paix 
B.P. 215 
Yaoundé 
Cameroon

It is recommended that packages be sent in padded envelopes if possible, as Volunteers are asked to pay taxes on large packages they receive and boxes are taxed more frequently (typically between $2-$8). That being said, many people find the flat rate boxes the most cost efficient to send from the US (a current Volunteer said it costs around $50 per package from the US). Once your Volunteer moves to his or her permanent site, he/she will send you their new address. 

Tl;dr: Don't send expensive things through the mail. Boxed packages cost more money for me to receive, but less money for you to send. Send letters and packages to the address above only for the first ten weeks -- I will post my new address once I know it. Write Bible or Quran quotes or symbols on your letters and packages. 

Traveling to Cameroon

It is becoming more and more common for family members to travel to Cameroon to visit. If you are considering this, please visit the PC/Cameroon website for more information that is directed to you for this purpose. For planning purposes, please make sure that the timing of your visit is convenient for the Volunteer you are visiting; A Volunteer’s primary obligation is to his/her job assignment, so be sure that your visit will not disrupt any work plans. We recommend visits at some point during the second year of the Volunteer’s service, keeping in mind that a Volunteer is not allowed to take vacation during the first six months in country as well as the last three. 

Tl;dr: If you're planning on visiting me, don't do it within the first six months or the last three. Let me know well in advance if you are planning on visiting me, so that I can adjust my schedule and vacation days accordingly. Don't try to surprise me by visiting unless you want to spend a lot of time doing your own thing in Cameroon while I'm at work. 

Other Connections

PC Web Site Family & Friends: http://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/faf/
PC Family & Friends Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/509963132481253/
PC/Cameroon Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cameroon.PeaceCorps
PC/Cameroon Web Site: http://cameroon.peacecorps.gov/ 

Tl;dr: Look, if a list of websites is too long for you to read through, then there's really nothing I can do for you. 

A final note from me: if you would like me to send you letters, send me an email with your address (or post it in the comments, if you're in the mood to get some creepy visitors). If you're not sure if I have your address or not, send it anyway, because I have this horrible tendency to delete information that I later find I need or want. If you need my email, shoot me a text before May 25th, ask my parents, or send me a Facebook message and know it may take me a while to get back to you.