So Long Dschang!
16 Septembre 2008 I found myself thinking about the zoo again today because I was having a lot of difficulty justifying the treatment of those animals in my head, but I came to an important conclusion. During my entire life, I’ve had the privilege of visiting a city zoo, which cares deeply about the condition of animals by putting money toward attentive zookeepers, researchers of endangered species, and educators of the public. But all of those things are the luxury of money. When a city can provide adequate food, housing, and clothing for its inhabitants, it has the luxury of devoting extra funds to the comfort of animals as well. However, like in Yaoundé, where a large percentage of the people live in mismatched homes, and spend over half of their total income on food for their family, the allowance of any money toward animal care is simply unavailable. While I cannot accept the treatment of these animals as adequate or appropriate, I can understand the rationale, and the lack of response from the people of Cameroon. To them, the ability to enjoy monkey or crocodile meat is the true luxury – eating – rather than the privileged housing of animals in the zoo. This is being picky – but Cameroonians chew with their mouth open, and it’s rather de-appetizing. However, its cultural differences that I must comprehend, like it being rude to cross your legs or accept things with your left hand. I couldn’t stomach dinner again today – but I suppose with 2 good reasons. One being my worry of getting sick, yet again. But perhaps more importantly the fact that it was basically a piece of the chicken’s leg cut off at the thigh and boiled in a pot. It was the chewiest piece of, mostly all skin, I have ever eaten – and I had to politely say that, “J’ai faire attention a ma ventre.” Basically – I have to be careful of my stomach, and I was trying to explain that we don’t really eat the skin in America, which they found shocking. But, what can I say, I’m spoiled in that my wonderful real mother, buys and prepares, boneless, skinless chicken. I could really go for a good piece right now. Actually – I really just want a bowl of cereal in real milk. We drink powdered milk here, and their idea of coffee is hot chocolate. It’s amusing to me, and don’t get me wrong - I really like hot chocolate, but they offer me le café, and then I get a cup of hot chocolate. I understood most of a French soap opera today! Actually, a very popular Mexican soap opera dubbed in French, but still… I was very excited! “La Belle-Mere,” my new favorite series to watch. No, it’s not “The Office,” but I have to follow something. Got the results from the blood smear – not malaria, just anemia. No surprise there since I’m afraid to touch, with a 10-foot pole, any piece of meat within 5 feet of me. It also accounts for my ridiculous fatigue. We’re starting to get a lot more work at school – we have some major projects coming up, and my time is getting crunched, all in preparation for the ISP research month on our own, which is only 7 short/long weeks away. We move to Dschang on Saturday, which is a more rural location of Cameroon – about a 7-hour bus ride from Yaoundé, with very limited internet access, except in cyber cafes. The city is known for it’s local arts and crafts, and I would like to be able to retrieve some art from there. 17 Septembre 2008 So, I had a wave of confidence come over me today, and honestly, a true moment of enjoyment. I find myself becoming actually assimilated into the culture, and realizing that I am capable of maintaining life here. Yes, a lot of what I do sounds very difficult, and I certainly am not comfortable, but it’s all part of an amazing overall reconstruction of myself. “Without conquering death, we do not live.” And I wouldn’t change a thing about what I’ve been doing – I’m an adamant believer in challenges. So last night for dinner, I had another tantalizing meal of cow tail. Yes friends – this may just the crème de la crème of unique meals for me. It’s pretty much what it sounds like so I won’t go into it since most of my encounters with food are less than savory, but realize that I am envious of every piece of food you put in your mouth. 19 Septembre 2008 Today is my last day in Yaoundé before I leave for Dschang, and Arnaud didn’t seem to be aware that I was leaving, which caused for a few problems. He has been crying for 2 hours straight, and seems to think I’m never coming back – even though I promised I would return in 2 weeks. I’m not sure if he is upset about me leaving or the Nintendo, but either way, I was crushed he kept saying that his “grand-soeur” wouldn’t be here. I’m anxious to have a new family, but I love my family here… and it does break my heart to have to leave him so sad. On a brighter note, I amusingly, for myself and other taxi passengers, convinced a taxi driver that I was 30 years-old, married, and had a daughter in the United States, so I was unavailable to marry him. I removed my braids today, and like 500 pounds of hair fell out. That was re-assuring. I get an enormous amount of comments about my “accent.” Yes, my accent… not my “American” accent, but my Cleveland accent. Apparently it is very severe, and it makes my French sound like I’m a native Italian. I wouldn’t comment on it, but I get like 5 new inquiries about my origin a day. So, finding an ATM in Yaoundé is like “Where’s Waldo?” When you think you’ve finally found him, he’s really someone else like Wendy, or Euros, or Money Transfer… oh, wait… 20 Septembre 2008 So this morning I finally leave for Dschang, and it’s amazing to me that 3 weeks have already flown by. It turns out Arnaud really was upset that I was leaving as opposed to the Nintendo and cried for another 2 hours after I left. My host mother also cried upon saying goodbye to me, and I was sad, even though I’d see them again, since I have grown so attached to the fam. The bus ride to Dschang was about 7 hours long, and I honestly felt like the epitome of tourist since we took a rickety bus, and I may as well have had safari garb on as they loaded my wooden crates stamped Africa (my luggage) onto the roof. It was hot, bumpy, and the bus seats were crammed with all of our luggage. Plus, en route, we witnessed someone stealing a truck from a construction site, and driving it backwards for at least a mile into on-coming traffic to get away, and was shockingly not stopped by the homemade spike strip of nails in a piece of 2x4 controlled by someone holding a rope. The “Cops” producers would have killed for this footage, and I was meters in front of it happening. Dschang is much more rural and traditional than Yaoundé, and is known for it’s Bamileke population – a large, traditional African tribe. Polygamy is also very prevalent, but luckily not in my new host family. I arrive at my new home at about 6:30 p.m. Apparently 13 people live here, but I have only seen 3. My host father, who was home tonight, is an egg farmer, and my host-mother whom I haven’t met, is a police officer (which thoroughly frightens me). My siblings do everything for my host father including turning down the volume on the T.V… so this could be interesting. We did have a very interesting conversation about farming subsidies though, so it might not be *so* horrible. However, there are mice everywhere in this house. They run from one end of the room to the other almost constantly. My host father, Christophe, said that it was because they are immune to the poison, and then something about shooting them with a gun… not sure if that was a joke or not. However, every time I see one run by, I try to bite my tongue. His French is VERY fast – but I was keeping up pretty well. I wasn’t going to sleep in my mosquito net because it is so cold here – cold, cold – but when I saw a mouse scurry through my room, I figured it might be the best choice. We also have to two dogs – not that I’ve seen – since apparently they are vicious guard dogs, and not cuddly, fluffy pet ones, which I have heard barking now a few times. They are kept locked up in the daytime, and to be honest, I don’t think I want to meet these ones. I also haven’t eaten all day, and my host family tried to feed me some rice, but it was the spiciest fire in my mouth known to man – so I didn’t exactly finish it. I may starve in this house. It’s a large, state-of-the-art cement block home (around here if it’s not a lean-two like Eeyore’s house, you’re living in Martha’s Vineyard), but that doesn’t mean a lot. My bedroom is impressive… but the bugs and mice really creep me out. This house is going to be a challenge. I can feel it. 21 Septembre 2008 Mice kept me awake all night: mice running on the floor, burrowing in my suitcase – and the attack dogs flipped out about every hour for something. I really need Chuckles (my precious kittie cat from home) here right now… to stay with me and eat all the scary mice. Plus it’s Sunday – and I have 12 hours until I can go to bed again… I have no idea what I’m going to do. Also found out that school is a 45 minute walk from home, twice a day, up hill both ways, with no shoes, and when I haven’t eaten in days. Well… maybe not all those things, but certainly enough of them are true to really put a damper on things. So as if the mice and rabid dogs couldn’t make things bad enough – today started off horribly, with me having absolutely nothing to do. I was literally starving and could find nothing to eat, and I finally had to delve into my host-stay gifts to find a fruit roll-up before I lost consciousness from lack of electrolytes. My one sibling (Nanu) was doing all the chores, and I was left famished, lounging about doing nothing. I really thought I was at my lowest point today, and couldn’t imagine possibly staying here for two weeks, when at 4:30, I decided to take a nap since there was nothing else to do. My host father was gone somewhere, and my host mother, who I hadn’t even met, was at a party. So I was really feeling upset – until, I hear a tiny knock on my door at 5:30. I assume it’s my host father calling me for dinner, and it’s nearly dusk so I can barely see, so I quickly get up and go to the door, and to my surprise, open it to find 5 pairs of bright, white eyes like saucers staring at me. All at once, they rush into my room and begin looking around… then, curiously enough, they all leave the room giggling. Now, at this point I’m very confused, but in about 2 minutes time the children return with pieces of caramel for me… of course I’m ecstatic since I haven’t eaten all day, and I love candy, and I’m realizing that there is at least civilization outside this house… so I say merci, merci… assuming these are some neighbors or cousins. Then they leave again, and this time return with candied peanuts… now, in case I’ve left this out, peanuts have been my sole source of protein since I’ve been here, since they are delicious and are sold for about $2 on the street in whiskey bottles. So… I’ve really learned to love them. So finally, the children are just staring at me, and then ask my name… and of course I tell them (but as a side note, everyone in Cameroon thinks my name is Olive, no matter how I pronounce Hollie, they insist on calling me Olive – it’s kind of cute I guess, like a nickname), and then I come to find out these are all my little brothers and sisters! Apparently there are 8 in all, and honestly, instantaneously I become Maria with the Von Trapp children, except they are the Tschungong children – Kiki (a boy) who is 18 – who is very socially awkward, Nanu (a girl) who is 16 – and does mostly all the cooking and is the surrogate mother of the children since my host mother is always gone at soirees, Manuel (a boy) who is 14 – and is somewhat timid, but extremely obedient, Some other boy about 14 (God Bless Kurt), Inesse (a girl) who is 10 – and the tom-boy and ringleader of the group, Juno (a boy) who is 8 – he is very kind and explains things to me in French first and then in English, and loves girl toys, Serena (a girl) who is the cutest 5 year-old born to mankind, with the widest eyes, who loves giving kisses and hugs, and Glory (a girl) who is 2 – who might be a neighbor (you never can tell for sure here.) So once I am introduced, we become instant friends, and play games and sing songs for the rest of the evening… I taught them “Hanky Panky,” and they taught me the equivalent French version – which, yes, I will show you all at Christmas – and we played coiffure with the mirror and brush set I gave them. We played ball, and airplane, and pretend – and it was absolutely enchanting. These children are wonderful, and they are determined to make me fat they said, with they gifts they were going to give me. “Juste attends! Juste attends pour tous les cadeaux!” I will certainly have to get them being themselves on video. 23 Septembre 2008 Top 5 material things I miss from home: 1. Food. Obviously. 2. Hot showers. 3. Chuckles my cat. 4. Toilets & Toilet Paper 5. Hugs (Really, I know it’s not material, but my lack of human contact here aside from my children hanging on legs or skirt, is demoralizing sometimes) Top 5 material things I brought that I wouldn’t exist without: 1. My trusty flashlight 2. Hand Sanitizer/Wet Wipes 3. Raincoat 4. Mosquito Net 5. Band-Aids Dschang has been quite an experience, and I’m finding fewer and fewer opportunities to write because of all the activity I’m constantly doing. Aside from my family, who causes me mixed feelings, I am consumed with many other activities and encounters throughout the day. Today, I went to a dressmaker to be fitted for a dress, and then I had to go into the market to find fabric. It was a chaotic, rain-stormed, mix-match of tin-roofed shanties piled full of fabric – each trying to out deal the other. The experience was extraordinary, and huddling under a piece of plywood, practically laying on a pile of fabric, bargaining with a vendor is always something marvelously movie-esque. It was difficult to find, in all the mess, exactly what I wanted, but I believe I came out with something beautiful. I’m also very fond of Disney Channel here. Although it’s in French, it reminds me of home, and at this point I don’t have to listen so intently to follow the story. I watched Camp Rock tonight in French, and “Les Sorciers de Waverly Place.” I couldn’t help but think of Tessa as I watched that one – especially since I believe it was an episode we had seen together – in English – not long before I left. If I haven’t pointed it out yet – a cultural point of curiosity is the fact that everyone… and I mean everyone – friends, family, strangers, vendors… have to say “Bon Appetit” or “Appetit” if they see you eating something – anything. Even if you’re simply walking down the street with a piece of bread – at least 5 people will say it to you. Mainly because the ability to put anything in your mouth is a privilege and you should enjoy and be grateful for what it is. It’s a wonderful lesson to be reminded of, when I have forever taken for granted constantly eating when and what I love. I’ve really learned my lesson here since I’ve been surviving on less than 1000 calories a day, and most of those being chocolate bread. We’ve been studying this week at the University of Dschang – a very sad place to call a university, with no lack of intellectual stimulation, only lacking the means to host it. However, we’ve been talking a lot about developing nations, and I have been moved by the conflict facing the developing world. Every home here has a television and radio constantly blaring, and I mean blaring, simultaneously with the ringing of cell phones in the house, but at the same time, there often isn’t a toilet, refrigerator, or sink… The conflict between rapid globalization, and the need for developing countries to feel apart of it, whether or not they are prepared to move in that direction, is a huge problem. When you live only in America, it is so difficult to understand what challenges are facing the third world. They aren’t a charity case like everyone makes them out to be – they are, in fact, fighting hard to gain some ground in the race toward modernization… but unfortunately, it’s a sad, very slippery slope for them. It’s definitely something I’ll be looking further into. Abbie and I like to joke that our families are practicing Botulists because they make food for lunch, and then put the pot on the floor when they’re finished, and then heat it up on the stove again for dinner. We’re partially convinced this isn’t healthy – but only partially - because food is food, right? Our class has been learning traditional African dance and tam-tam drumming. It’s extremely fascinating, and we’re allowed to continue at our teacher’s studio after the class is finished. I’m sure I will, it’s a wonderful investment, and I love to dance. Mon Français améliore chaque jour. Je peux parler dans une conversation avec un camerounais natif plus facile et je comprends beaucoup des mots nouveaux. Je ne connais pas si je serai fluente a la fin du programme, mais je suis très heureuse avec mon progrès et l’aide d’immersion. 25 Septembre 2008 I find it utterly amazing what I’ve gotten used to in a month’s time. It certainly doesn’t mean I like it, but I accept almost anything as being okay. For instance – this morning when I had my warm, powdered milk for breakfast – the box of sugar was infested with ants, but I just casually picked up sugar cubes around them and put them in my glass. Would I have ever done that in the United States ? Probably not. Also, as I was in the kitchen this afternoon, a mouse squeezed it’s way through the burner on the stove – like coming out of the oven through the burner into the kitchen. I didn’t even care it was happening, and Serena took care of it anyway by going up to it and yelling at it. My English is starting to deteriorate. That must mean my French is getting better. Living with 8 African siblings means a lot of germs (les microbes) too… like the fact that I brought home a bottle of “Nectar du Raisin” (grape juice) today, and those were the stickiest, lickiest hands, cups, and bottles I have ever encountered… and of course, in thanks for the grape juice, they were all over me. I forgot what it was like to have little-little sibs. And also this morning, I found the grape juice carton on the middle of the living room floor, and the top had been chewed off by the children trying to get at the last drop. Reflecting upon being here for a month has really been interesting for me. For one thing, it is still very difficult, and after speaking with some Cameroonians about it, ones who have ventured to the United States, it seems that a stranger is always a stranger, and Africa will always be uncomfortable and different for me. Maybe at the last minute I will experience some level of comfort, but after 20 years in America, Africa is certainly no picnic. However, while sometimes I can’t take another minute – there are sometimes when I wouldn’t be happier anywhere else. I suppose that’s the concept of home and “where one feels they belong” seeping in. I may be able to adjust here, but it’s certainly not my sense of security and rest of home. I was also pressed to think about, whether or not, if Africa or International Relations was really still feasible for me to be studying after enduring Africa so far, and honestly, I don’t think I could be more content doing anything else. Oddly, or maybe understandably, once you realize what it takes of you to be at the bottom and to understand the bottom, I’d feel guilty trying to live above that. So much of me is tested everyday, and I’m being forced to learn things about myself and others, that I would have no desire or avenue to learn otherwise. How after this point in my life, could I ignore what I was forced acquire? And more importantly, how, after seeing what else exists, could I turn a blind eye to the increasing challenges of the third world. Sometimes I really wish that I was in Paris – sipping on wine and traversing the Champs Elysee, but I have no doubt that I will get there. And if there is one thing I am convinced, it is once you have lived in Africa, you can live anywhere, and that could not be more compelling to me – I think my next adventure is Isreal. I was finally able to pawn my food off on the children! A very popular pepper here called piémont is used in many dishes – and like the rice I had – makes things scorching hot. Fortunately, my still no-named brother, “Kurt,” looked starving and was drooling over mine. So, I told him he could have it “Est-ce que tu veux ce poisson et ce sauce, ce soir?” just this once, and I just ate the couscous. I have a cold. Tell me how that happens in Africa. Actually, it’s no surprise since my siblings have been sniveling and laying all over me for days… They are very conscious of the time of day here. If you forget to say “Bon Soir” when it is evening or “Bonne Journée” in the daytime or “Bonjour” in the morning or “Bonne Nuit” at night, there will be Hell to pay – or you’ll just be publicly scrutinized and then corrected. 26 Septembre 2008 I twisted my knee somehow, and now it is extremely difficult to walk. And this is on top of the cold that my siblings gave me – let’s say my immune system is really giving it the ole’ college try. Plus, I went to bed early, but the mouse and the cockroach fighting over the bag of garbage on my nightstand made is nearly impossible to sleep. However, on a positive, we narrowed our research project topics for ISP month, starting in mid-November, and I proposed doing a diplomacy project, which means… I might get to intern at the U.S. Embassy here! I could not think of better ending to this trip than working at the embassy. Pray that this unfolds for me. Although, somewhat amusingly, Abbie bought bread and chocolate from a local stand today, and painfully came to the realization that the chocolate had been “watered-down,” not with water, of course, we know by now that in Cameroon, terms are not really what they say, but with kerosene. It’s not uncommon for chocolate buckets to be re-used here, or for local vendors to try and extend the life of the chocolate by diluting it. Christiane, our academic director, tried the bread, and confirmed that it was kerosene, promptly afterwards, forcing herself to throw-up. Abbie had to drink an entire bottle of WHOLE milk to base-out the kerosene. Bon appetit! Also concerning food, it should be known that it recently dawned on me that with all of the power-outages and purposely cut power, most products that are chilled or frozen, are thawed, and then re-chilled or frozen when the power comes back on. And I have been eating the yogurt. Voting: Everyone is ALL ABOUT OBAMA here. Which isn’t surprising. But even if you aren’t voting for him… it’s more than necessary to say that you are, for personal safety reasons – since most kids here are allowed to use machetes. ☺ 28 Septembre 2008 The local news channel here is Channel 2 CRTV (Cameroun television), and much like American news channels, in between shows, they will give little excerpts for the upcoming news hour. However, “The Death March” from Star Wars is the background music… I’m not sure what to make of that. Yesterday, I visited an exquisite waterfall. It was beautiful, and I got within about 100 feet of the base, where the sound was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think – it was a long hike, and I was soaking wet from the mist, but it was absolutely breath taking. It’s so interesting how they view safety here. I was following a tour guide traversing through the rainforest, literally, stepping over gigantic millipedes, on a very steep slope – and it didn’t seem to faze anyone. They certainly live life to live life here – and don’t care to anticipate fully the risks involved. Live your life all the way up – as if there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t think of a better way to do it actually. As you’re reading this blog, wherever or whoever you are – remember, for yourself, that life is quick and beautiful. Don’t allow for things like jealousy, grudges, schedules, histories, or control, especially control, get in the way of what you’re planning to do. It’s funny, but I realize here, that you don’t need big plans to experience life. You don’t have to go to Africa to experience life. Life is what is around you. It’s the time you think about your favorite things right before you fall asleep. It’s the daydream you have when you should be listening to a lecture. Most of these people in Cameroon will happily live in their home villages for 50-60 years and then die, without any monumental, Earth-shattering plans. Let the circumstances you land in move you – instead of you trying to move the circumstances for where you land. 29 Septembre 2008 Happy Birthday Emily! I finally got to speak with my best friend on the phone – and it really improved my day/life. I’m always surprised by where Cameroonians think I am from. The most common response to my whiteness is to call me Madame Sarcozy, since they think most white women here are French. Usually we just go along with it because, I mean, come on, I’m pretty flattered they think I’m the wife of the president of France. However, if this call doesn’t work, they’ll keep on trying others. For instance, on my way home today I was beckoned with, “Buenos Aires me señorita.” No one can complain about cutting the grass ever again – aka Dad – because they definitely hack down 2 inch blades, by hand, with machetes here. Food tastes better when you’re not dehydrated – no matter what it is. I allowed my 16 year-old sister to take my ipod to school today, and she kindly suggested that if I wanted to leave it in Dschang, she would be more than happy to take it off my hands. My siblings are always crying. Always, mostly over the most ridiculous things. And I haven’t seen my host father in 4 days – not sure what happened to him on the farm… Cameroonians speak very softly. It’s almost impossible to hear them most of the time. So sometimes we just nod and act like we hear them. I had a class in pigeon English today because we are traveling to Bamenda – the Anglophone section of Cameroon – on Friday. It is the most interesting excuse for a language I’ve ever encountered, but since most people there speak it, it was necessary to know some survival terms. Here is a basic conversation: Good’ Mornin’ How no? (How are you?) -I be fine. (I’m good) Weti be yo name? (What is your name?) -I be Hollie. Wuside you done comet? (Where are you from?) -I comet from America. Weti you do here? (what are you doing here?) -I be school pikin. (I’m studying) Weti you gone go go tomorrow? (What are you doing tomorrow?) -I go walka chop house and chop plenty. (I’m walking to a restaurant to eat a lot) Come good. (Welcome to Cameroon) Weird, right? I’m not even really sure what to make of it, but I’ll be speaking it on Friday, so I’m sure I will comment on how I manage. 30 Septembre 2008 I’m noticing that there are some very handsome men in Cameroon, regardless of if they have no respect for the women most of the time, they are certainly built well. Perhaps it’s that I have the foreign bug – hoping someone will force me to live somewhere outside of the U.S. one day. Today was very exciting for me because I was able to visit le chefferie or a traditional chiefdom. Of course as with everything here, this was an adventure, but certainly of a different caliber since we ventured into the unchartered territory of a village about an hour and a half from school. However, getting there is only the beginning of the battle. We took a bus through the streets of town to reach the village, but you must know that the roads were paved one and only time by the Germans in the early 1900s, so the potholes are more like craters, and driving around them causes for more trouble than it is worth. And because we are often stopped by police officers asking for our passports, traveling anywhere is quite a task. Today’s mission was to get around a car accident, which obviously means crossing over the cement median in a bus, and heading into oncoming traffic if the lane is blocked. I would have sat through far fewer traffic jams in the United States if this was the case. So here, we simply plow through oncoming cars and motos around impassable lakes to get anywhere. Upon arriving to the Chefferie, we were greeted by one of the chief’s 27 wives and escorted into his throne room. You can imagine that this was extremely nerve-wracking since we’re about to meet a very powerful chief who has 27 wives and over 200 biological children living in his compound. We have a translator with us who is also a historian of Bamileke chiefdoms, and is able to conduct business appropriately with the chief. However, when he comes into the room, we all stand, and feel inferior from the way he holds himself alone. He sits down, and our translator begins a slapping of his hands, and then rambles off an exchange with the chief meaning our thanks and honor for him welcoming us into the compound. After such, the chief begins to speak, and he is authoritative buy very kind, and is happy to have us come to his chefferie. We are escorted out of the throne room into the main courtyard where a tribal music group greets us, of course following behind the chief, who prompts us to dance. We are told to place some money on the drums as they are pounding them to signify our acknowledgement of their welcome, and we must dance too. So after, we continue to take a tour of the compound in tow of the chief. All the doorways are extremely small so that one must bow when entering them. So if an enemy tribe were to visit the compound, they would be physically forced to bow to the power of this chief. This is so “Legends of the Hidden Temple” style. Also, there are many totems, mainly because most of the traditional chiefdoms are animist, and spirits inside the woodcarvings guard each door. After a short while, the chief would like us to drink with him, so he offers us pestis with menthe and water, a bitter drink, similar to getting smacked with a piece of licorice, but we drink it and were very honored he has invited us to drink. Afterwards, it was time for the 4 course lunch as he sits as the head of a long table, Madeline style, only to be utilized by himself and women. No men are permitted to sit with us, and must sit at another small end table – much like the kids table at Thanksgiving. I assumed it was because he was so used to eating with his 27 wives around him. We were served palm wine, bread, salad, plantains, rice, yams, beans, and goat. It was a wonderful meal, and I felt as if I was eating with a king. After lunch, he lead us to the sacred forest, apparently each chefferie has a sacred forest where the spirits of the chiefdom live to protect the compound. It was very serene, and a rushing river ran through it irrigating the passion fruit trees, completing the beauty of the entire visit. My family made something I actually might like! We had spicy rice yesterday, which yes – I’m beginning to like spicy things now – and we not only had spicy rice, but we put it in these cubular little loaves of bread, which they refer to as gateau, but really they are a slightly sweetened, bleach white bread. I sort of observed the children for a minute, as I was eating my rice with a fork, and realized that it was proper to eat the inside of the bread cube, and then fill it up with rice to eat the rest, Needless to say after all of this, it was delicious, and it’s quite possibly the only thing I have a craving for in Cameroon. Unfortunately, my botulist family didn’t put it on the floor, so we didn’t have it 2 nights in a row. You should know that I’m lovingly typing this to candlelight since there is currently no power to my house. It’s very “African,” and with how cold it is here in Dschang, I’m actually reaping the benefits of the heat from this solitary candle. I taught my siblings how to play card games tonight because they were begging me to give them American things to do. I taught them “Go Fish” and “Spit,” which they seem to like very much. It’s one thing to speak French – but giving directions to a card game is whole other story – people can’t even do that in English. 1 Octobre 2008 For one thing, il faisait chaud aujourd’hui – it was hot today! I believe that it’s safe to say I got a case of equatorial sunburn walking home. And I had a lot to carry from the market, and I wished that I could carry the bags on my head like all the other women. I absolutely cannot understand how they arrange the things in their bags so that they balance perfectly on top of their head. So you can marvel at the extremity of what I’m talking about, I saw one woman today with a bag full of live chickens on her head, and another woman carrying a bundle of approximately 20 full-length sugar canes. Maybe I should stop someone and ask how it is done. However, this meant that taking an ice bath when I got home was delightful, for once. Last night after I had bolted myself in my room for the evening, I heard a faint little whisper at my door. “Oh-lie?! Oh-lie? Tu as dormi?” “No, No, I’m awake. Qui est la?” “C’est Inesse. Come outside.” So needless to say, I leave my room and follow Inesse out to a shed in our backyard/kitchen storeroom. It’s extremely dark, but I can see a faint glowing coming from the shed’s doorway. Inesse is leading me, and says something like, “Do you know fried eggs?” I wasn’t exactly sure what she was getting at, but I responded saying that I did very much like scrambled eggs in the United States. “Well,” she said, “we had to finish the eggs before they were rotten, so Deitang (aka Kurt – yes I discovered his name) is frying them!” So we arrive at the shed, and Deitang is bent over a frying pan, which is sitting on top of a what looks to be an iron grate over a hubcap rim, and he is furiously fanning the embers of one burning log to fry this egg. I’m sure you can guess that the frying of this egg took nearly 20 minutes, but when it was finished it was the most loved, salty, oily, delicious omelet/goodness I have ever eaten. There is something so satisfying about eating an omelet that took 20 minutes to fry and by the arduous work of little hands and glowing embers. I felt privileged to be sharing this one omelet with 8 other hungry children, and I couldn’t think of a better bedtime snack – you know that ice cream just doesn’t compare to a homemade omelet… don’t kid yourself. Point of Interest for the day: I’m always very thirsty in Africa. Why, you ask? Because most people do not drink as much as we do, and hardly ever drink with meals. It’s simply not normal. Most beverages are consumed in social situations that don’t accompany eating. How strange. Also: Dschang is extremely interested is social awareness, probably because of it’s status as a university town, so each set of crossroads has a “Don’t Sleep Together” road sign – as if that is working. So our travels take us to Bamenda on Friday, which is the Anglophone section of Cameroon. It was colonized by Britain rather than France, and their relationship with their colonizers is much more amicable. It’s amazing how tied they still are here to their colonizers, as there is a strong sentiment among Anglophone Cameroonians to secede from Cameroon. Mainly because the mono-party system in Cameroon, the CPDM (Cameroun People’s Democratic Movement), whose president is Paul Biya, and is currently the forever running president of the “Democratic” Republic of Cameroon is Francophone, and very poorly represents the Anglophones. Probably because the president and his party embezzle almost HALF of the countries funds and foreign aid – so not a whole lot of change is taking place. Biya came into power on the platform that he was for a change in Cameroon to pure democracy, but after he had to suppress a coup for his murder, he switched into dictatorial mode. They are currently over 70 political parties in Cameroon, but the CPDM is the only one nationally recognized. The other major opposition party in the Anglophone region, the SDF (Social Democratic Front), chaired by Dr. Fru Ndi, has been violently attacked on numerous occasions, and even has been bribed to stop efforts. In the last major presidential election, Fru Ndi refused to run because he was convinced the election would be rigged. Biya has been in power for about 40 years, and there is no telling when the next election will take place. We will be meeting with Fru Ndi in person on Saturday morning. A little political history of Cameroon for you… I know you were all dying to know all that. 2 Octobre 2008 So today marks an epic day in my African life because not only am I married to a Cameroonian man now, I am also a Cameroonian baker, and a diplomat. Today started off normally, but because we had a day off of school, Nora and I needed to complete a survey for our Integrated Development Issues project at the University of Dschang. While there, I somehow magically found Ignatius. Now let’s begin by saying that Ignatius started the conversation by asking when I would be returning to the United States. After I told him, he said he could definitely be ready to leave by December since he already had his passport. I then, jokingly, asked when I should call him about final airfare arrangements, and he said 2 weeks ahead should be fine. However, he prompted that I would need to pay 50% of his way – since I was American and obviously rich. So this was an exchange with a Cameroonian like any other seeking a VISA, and I as usual, got a robust laugh out of it and went on my way. However, I conicidentally got to see Ignatius later in the afternoon as I was walking through town. At this point he asked if I could be his international wife, and I unfortunately said that I was married. He then said there was no problem, since he would be my international husband, which is certainly very different. I responded that I needed to be in love with the person I marry, and I wasn’t in love with him. And he got very offended that I said that, since we had barely known each other, and there was no way for me to know if I loved him or not. I agreed, that I may have been to hasty in this decision, and offered that if we were equal partners, and he did the cooking, I could certainly find some way to love him. He seemed satisfied at that, promised he would cook for me, and that he was soon going to buy a moto (another key selling point for a wife), and took my email address and phone number. When I had a few minutes to check my email, I had received quite a few messages from him – and a few pictures of himself labeled, The real 50 Cent. (I know you’ll want to see these when I get home). Not only this, but I look up from my computer, but who is on the computer across from me at that very internet café… well Ignatius, of course, sending me these emails… so yes, I have an international husband and he cooks for me and we ride motos to get American Visas. Be jealous. Not only am I married, but I’m also a baker! Abbie’s host mother taught us how to make beignets today! Which is thrilling, and you will all die when you taste them… maybe because they’re cooked in a straight up old fashioned caldron of oil. BUT they are basically Cameroonian style hush puppies and can be made either savory or sweet (take a guess which I prefer), but it was so fun in a tight little kitchen, with flour and oil flying, children running in and out, stirring and kneading, sweating and salivating over these delicious little beignets. mmmmhmm… And to our surprise, the head of the university returned to Dschang today, and invited us along with other important university and government officials to his home for a soirée. We actually wined and dined in its truest sense. Apparently this man had been invited to the United States in March for the International Leaders Convention and had a smashing time, and therefore felt compelled to host the Americans in Cameroon. The food was delightful, and I actually enjoyed a meal here – and a few glasses of wine. We also had to go around the table, stand, and introduce ourselves to the party go-ers, and each introduction was followed by applause. It was unlike any American soiree I have attended, and it was absolutely charming. However – at that same soirée, I tried to re-create the spice rice in gateaux that I had had at home since there was rice and piemont in the buffet line… that was a mistake. I basically took a tablespoon of rice and added it to a tablespoon of piemont. I took one bite, and within about 30 seconds my ears were ringing from the heat. This rice is now understandable named “Satan’s Rice.” Because only Satan would eat rice that hot. 4 Octobre 2008 Bamenda! Sort of. Our arrival to Bamenda started out very nicely, our event coordinator took us for tea – which, as you can see again is a carry over from colonization since the British colonized Bamenda – and banana bread. Apparently the Queen of England only drinks Cameroonian tea, but I don’t know if I believe that. Anyway, it was delicious, and comforting to get a small break from staying with another family. Then we went into town, which was very similar in looks to Yaoundé, but full of much more beautiful things. For one thing Bamenda is known for its loaves of square bread. They are sliced – which you cannot find in Francophone Cameroon – and come in either milk or honey flavored. The consistency is a lot like Wonder bread, which is why it is such a novelty, considering most bread here is like a crusty baguette. Also – they have beautiful clothing – and I really would have loved to get some, but couldn’t because of “The Day of Doom” So this morning, we woke up for a “fantastic” breakfast (side note: our itinerary was filled with adjectives like Fantastic breakfast, and splendid night, and magnificent dinner, because I think she was trying to impress us with her English) like any other morning, but we were heading to see Dr. Fru Ndi, the chairman of the SDF. The plan was to meet with Fru Ndi until noon and then have free time in the city. Well – since we’re in Cameroon, we assumed this wouldn’t happen, but went along with the schedule, we arrived at Fru Ndi’s compound, and he was very cool and famous. His little minions were everywhere around him, and anything he said got done in a few seconds. But even with all this power, his 3 year old granddaughter was next to him, and she kept interrupting him, and getting him dirty with her shoes, and he would just stop and laugh, and tell her that all the other grand-children (meaning us) weren’t interrupting him. It was very touching, but he was only able to stay with us for a half hour because he had been invited to Ndawa Tea Plantation in the north for a tour and a festival of the Fons. BUT – of course he had to invite us because we were American and his distinguished guests. So – plans aside we head up to the Tea Estate. We got in the ricketiest, smallest, smelliest, astro-van sized bus with 20 people, for a 1 hour bus ride up Mount Kilimanjaro – okay not really, but any mountain steeper than a 20% incline might as well be. So our little rickety school bus, which also looks like the interior has been torched in a student rally, is traversing up and around and around this mountain, oxcart wagon style, and it starts to overheat – not completely surprisingly since it’s a stick shift, and it’s groaning in 3rd gear going at about 15 mph. Soon, the engine starts to smoke, and the van is getting extremely hot, Christiane and Dorothy (our coordinator here) jump out of the car and trying to open the sliding door to get us out – which of course doesn’t slide because it’s rusted shut – and kind of looking at us with a panicked face since the hood is smoking and diesel fuel is pouring onto the ground. Needless to say we start panicking, and start to jump out the windows of the bus… finally, everyone is off the bus, and we’re just sitting on the side of the road, with a flare strip made from tree branches, waiting for God knows what. And then Christiane tells us to start walking. We’re not really sure where we’re walking to, but we begin to hike Mt., Kilimanjaro – and I may have left out that we were supposed to wear our nicest clothes to see Fru Ndi – so people have heels on… no problem though, definitely Cameroonian. So we’re hiking up Mount Everest, and we ask Valerie how long it will to get to the Tea Plantation since at this point it is already 12:30, and the meeting we had with Fru Ndi was at 11:00. She, of course, responded that we could never walk to the plantation – that would be impossible. So – we continued to walk for no apparent reason. Finally, the bus caught up with us and we reluctantly got back in to head further up – this time with the windows completely open in case of emergency. So about 45 minutes later, it’s break again – and this time we really have to walk because not only is the bus broken, but it’s stuck conveniently in the mud. So 5 of us start going at about mach 8 up the side of this hill thinking that after 2.5 hours of driving we can’t be very far, considering the journey was supposed to take an hour. Well, where would we be if we were right, and the fact that every Cameroonian we passed told us that we were close, which really means we’re about 6 hours away. So an hour of walking up vertically, at a really high elevation, which is beautiful, but difficult to see the beauty at this moment, a monsoon is coming, and we haven’t seen half our group is over an hour. But then – Dorothy passes us on a little moto going up the hill. Now, I have a lot of patience, but at this point we’re just a little angsty and it’s going to typhoon on us, and we continue to walk for about another hour – and no, we’re not there yet. And, if matters weren’t bad enough – my elbow gets picked off by a moto going by because most drivers like to see how close to us they can get without actually hitting us – unless it’s a case where they do hit us, like this one. Then we see Dorothy coming back down the hill in a car – and we are just angry, but luckily she is coming to pick us up – 20 people in 3 1982 Toyota Camrys – not that we’re complaining. So now, the icing on the cake is that it is monsooning, and the other group who wasn’t moving at mach 8 had to push the bus, through the mud, up the hill, for about a mile. Oh, and then we get to the tea plantation… Now – redeeming factor- is that this tea plantation is really awesome. It stretches for miles, and we get to take a tour with Fru Ndi of the number one tea factory in Cameroon where they make the tea packets. It smells delicious in there, like a combination of warm earth and honey, and the media is following us following Fru Ndi through the factory. Plus, we got to meet the former prime minister. And were given boxes and boxes of tea to take back to the U.S. However – it’s not over yet, and it’s already 4:00 p.m. So then Fru Ndi wants us to accompany him to the festival of Fons at the royal palace further up the hill. We arrive, and over 150 Fons (chiefs) of the Northwest province are there, wearing their traditional garb, for horse racing, traditional dance, music, and entertainment. I got a lot of this whole experience on video, and I will try to post it – but it was actually very cool, one of these chiefs even gave a speech in pigeon. However, at 6, we decided we should leave since we had the same bus to go back down the – now mudslide - hill to Bamenda. Well nothing is over until it’s over, and the bus makes it for about an hour before breaking down… except this time, it’s dark, and we really are the Von Trapp family singers, crossing the Alps, in the dark, trying the bypass the gendarmes, which want to see our passports at every crossroads – and understandably interrogate us as to why a group of Americans is walking up the side of a mountain in Cameroon at night. Plus Bobo and Valerie are discussing how dangerous it is that we’re hitching on this hill at night. But eventually the bus starts back up, and we slip and slide down the mountain back to Bamenda. It is now 8:30 p.m., and we were supposed to meet with a Women’s Association at 3… who, guess what, is still waiting for us! So on our arrival to the monastery, we hear from a really wonderful women’s association who provides micro-finance to women with AIDS, widows, and orphans… but we’re beyond tired to really be listening. But it is sincerely nice that they waited for us. And then a lion jumped out of a bush and ate 5 students – no it didn’t – but it probably could have and we wouldn’t have thought anything of it. My laugh for the day was definitely that fact that on Cameroonian roads they have these triangular red and blue signs with an exclamation point in the center and then underneath it reads, “Ici, 6 deaths.” (“Here, 6 deaths”)… which is beyond reassuring really – because it’s almost like if you didn’t have enough doubt in your mind already… 5 Octobre 2008 So we made it, about 8 hours later from Bamenda, we return home to Yaoundé… to my wonderful family, and my wonderful food poisoning, and my wonderful toilet hole, and my wonderful bucket shower, and my wonderful hot chocolate coffee, and my wonderful Tartina… and with the welcome I received coming home, I couldn’t be happier to be here.
