Happy, Healthy, and (un)Hygienic

Disclaimer: this post is not for the weak of heart or stomach. This is also not for the obsessively hygienic or the picky eaters of the world. You’ve been warned. 

For those of you wondering how one maintains standards in the Peace Corps, I’ll give you a hint: 

One does not.  

Last weekend, I found myself fortunate enough to be eating a pear in Ngaoundere. A real pear! Pears aren’t easy to find, and they’re expensive to boot. My friend and fellow stagemate Katy was visiting, and she had been generous enough to buy a pear, not just for herself, but also for Candice and I. I scooped out the inedibly bruised bits with a spoon (ok, so we have SOME standards) and commenced to eat what was possibly one of the best pears of my life. Candice watched me carefully, and after a moment said, 

“….you know that you’re eating that pear out of the garbage, right?”

“…yyyyyeeeees.”

“Ok. I just wanted to be sure that hadn’t been lost on you.” 

It had not, in fact, been lost on me that somebody, probably noticing the inedibly bruised bits and not the deliciously edible bits around them, had thrown my beautiful pear into the garbage. And it had not been lost on me that I then, with fewer reservations than I really should have had, ate that pear out of the trash. 

In my defence, the pear had been resting neatly on top of a cereal box and was not so much IN the trash as ON the trash. But in my defence…there really is no defence of my actions. Over the course of the last 7 months, my standards have dropped dramatically, to the extent that I am unashamedly posting on my blog about how I ate a pear out of the trash bin. I brought two suitcases to Cameroon with me, and pride didn’t fit in my carry-on.

To be honest, I’m rather looking forward to seeing how much I can disgust my friends and family when I get back to the States. Is that weird? Living in Cameroon has become a big game of “will or won’t this probably kill me?” Is there three inches of mold on that bread, or can most of the mold be scraped off? If it’s the latter, it’s probably fine. Are the bugs in your popcorn big enough to be picked out? Go ahead and pick ‘em out — besides, you already poured oil on those kernels, and olive oil is expensive. Can you delude yourself into thinking that your concrete floor is adequately cold enough to replace a refrigerator? Then you’re probably fine eating that yogurt.

Please let it be known that I don’t necessarily endorse this style of living. There’s probably a reason that I’ve already had two types of worms in country. There’s probably a reason why the most commonly repeated word in this post is probably. But I will say that nothing will ever go to waste (and no matter how much you try, you will STILL throw away more food than your neighbours). 

Personal hygiene is a whole other can of beans. I’ve successfully gotten my hair-washing schedule down to once a week, and I could easily get it down to every other week if I really wanted to try. Whenever Candice and I get together, we’ve got a really great game called “Dirt or Tan?” I highly recommend you try it at home — good, unclean family fun. I’ll give you a friendly hint: it’s dirt. I’ve given up on washing my clothing after a single wear, and instead wash it only if it is visibly dirty or if I can smell it before I put it on. Am I making my sheets dirty, or are they making me dirty? Who can really know for sure?

Please don’t take my poor cleanliness habits as a reflection of Cameroonians. While styles of dress and in particular conceptions of clashing do not always align, you can count on Cameroonians to be quite fastidious with their clothing and personal hygiene. While at home, Cameroonian mamas will wear the same clothes every day until they fall apart, if they are going out even just across town, they dress to the nines. When it comes to care of their shoes, Cameroonians defy logic. No matter the season, their shoes will be spotless. It’s as if their shoes magically repel mud in the rainy season and dust in the dry season. I’m jealous of their sharp sense of style and their impeccable shoes — but I also watch my neighbours scrub their shoes every morning before they leave for school, and quite honestly, the work isn’t worth it to me. My secret? Find a pair of shoes in up-for-grabs that almost exactly matches the colour of the dust, and them wear them until they fall apart. 

Depending on your point of view, Peace Corps will either do wonders or will do a number on your self-esteem. First of all, no matter what you look like or what you’re wearing, people will still notice you, whether or not you want them to. I hadn’t washed my hair in a week and I probably hadn’t bathed in two days, and someone told me I looked beautiful. Unless you change your nationality and the colour of your skin, it honestly does not matter what you look like, because you’ll still get marriage proposals. Take that as you will. 

No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be as clean as you would be in the States. You’ll get pimples in places you didn’t know you could get pimples. Dirt will settle into the cracks of your heels and you will never, ever, ever be able to scrub it off. You’ll wash your hands only to find five minutes later that dirt has yet again settled under your nails (I recommend nail polish). You’ll stop wearing deodorant and not realise it for a week. What was an unacceptable level of oiliness in the States will now become your hair’s new normal. But on the flip side? Nobody will care, or even particularly notice. I mean, if you are actually obviously filthy, sure. Nobody’s going to miss the fact that there are tracks of dirt on your feet that more or less exactly follow the outline of your sandals. But the hair, the clothes, the pimples, the feeling of never being really truly clean? Just embrace it. This is the reality of your next two years, so cover your mirror and embrace it in all of its grimy, smelly, sweaty glory. 

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!