According to itunes, the episode of Gossip Girl, which I am currently trying to download, will be completed in roughly 1,095 minutes. Following my calculations, if I visit the internet café twice a week, for one hour each time, I will have one episode of this rather salacious teen drama in approximately 2 months. Suffice to say, times are tough in the revolutionary age of technology (read: I’m really sorry that I haven’t been putting up more blog entries, but if I can’t even download an episode of the latest teen drama, then is there really any sense in using the internet at all?).
These past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind tour of PC policies, digestive mishaps, and general shenanigans. But first, a recap of my day yesterday. So despite the fact that in two years of service I’ll be making roughly less than what a small Chinese sweatshop worker makes, there are some perks: a brand new bike. Yesterday, I received my very own Trek mountain bike. After a full day of bike maintenance, PC required that all trainees demonstrate their newly learned skills. This meant that all 22 agro volunteers and 2 PC cars toured through good ole Bangangté just to make sure that we were properly demonstrating our skills. Integration at its best.
I came home sweaty and tired to the usual bustle of the fam. My four younger siblings were out on the porch up to no good per usual. I glanced outside and found them giggling. They were, of course, standing up, stripping down their clothes and showing each other their private parts. Now they’re young enough for this to be hilarious and not at all incestual (which I’ll get to later…). As they delighted in their nudity, I couldn’t help but fondly remember my younger days of nakedness. Indeed, the naked body is universal. So my siblings (three of them, one of was injured so he could not take part in part B of their plan) decided to strip off all their clothes and do wind sprints around the compound. This, of course, is not culturally acceptable and caused my older siblings to chase after the naked siblings. Constant entertainment I tell you.
In the evening, I went out with my older siblings to my cousin’s house, a rather young, attractive doctor. The night was full of general merriment (read: they spoke in French and I was confused), and at one point in time my two older siblings left the room leaving my cousin and me alone. It was clear that they were trying to set me up. Not ready to partake in Host Country Nationals (the PC’s formal term for locals), I decided to see what they were up to outside. Indeed they were nuzzled against each other, and I’m pretty sure that they were kissing, which leads me to believe that my sister is not in fact my sister. I think. I hope.
So as the night progressed, we all walked home at which point my family announces to me that it’s moving time (it’s about 10 PM). Clearly a logical act to be carried out a night, I inquired who was moving and to where. One of my older sisters (the one who I presume is not actually my sister due to said necking) has decided to live on her own in town. Night, clearly, is a logical time to move your things so that others do not see what you have. This prompts a caravan of sorts—sibling after sibling carrying various furniture and clothing through town at night. As they were getting ready to move, I deemed it a perfect opportunity to go to bed.
If that’s one day, can you imagine the excitement that goes on in a couple of weeks? I bet you can’t because nothing really happens. A misunderstanding of sorts the previous weekend, involved the suspension of all PC privileges, so not a lot happens in the Bang. We are not actually allowed to leave our houses after 6 PM, and on the weekends only two trainees can leave Bangangté (out of the group of 42). It’s an excellent thing that they trust us as mature adults, and these regulations have helped us get a feel for Cameroon and its culture. You may now wipe the sarcasm that is oozing off your screen. I won’t say that I didn’t have a hand in these new restrictions (read: it’s pretty much my fault that the entire group is not allowed to do anything), but I still object!
We, of course, have still found ways to have fun and get together. Wednesday nights are family dinner nights, and all the trainees gather for some good old-fashioned American food and fun. This has somehow translated into me cooking dinner for 42 people (maybe something was lost in translation?). I am not a chef, but it’s been really wonderful learning how to cook at others’ expense. For example, last week I made chili and although it was delightful, Thursday mornin’ ain’t never been so smelly. I’m trying to stay away from beans this week. Wednesday is Halloween (and the birthday of Lindsey Jones and Mary Ting!), which will certainly be hilarious. My current plan is to be a plantain—I assure you that it’s the new slutty nurse costume. How I’m going to explain to my family why I’m dressed in leaves will be a blog entry in and of its, I’m sure.
Until the next time, I hope your fall leaves are changing, your lanterns glowing bright, and your cable knit sweaters ready for a crisp beautiful day.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Goat Who Laughs
There’s a goat whose sole purpose, I’ve decided, is to laugh at me. Occasionally she leaves her post—right outside my language classroom (read: tin roof that hovers every so carefully over a wood platform)—and goes to find guava leaves. It just so happens that I too love guavas, so she makes sure to come back with an occasional leaf or two in her mouth. What a taunting little minx...
Jokes on her, though, because ironically enough, I finish French classes in a week or so. Perhaps I should say jokes on me. The PC has decided that now I know enough French to teach my farmers the supposed skills that I have acquired. This has, so far, proven to be a fruitless task as I spent a painstaking fifteen minutes the other night trying to explain to my family what I did last summer—sadly we never made it past that word because despite mad gesticulations of sun, and a rather impressive display of swimming on our dirt floor, the word was lost on them.
French classes will soon be replaced by my Fulfulde lessons—a local dialect which the town (yet to be named) may or may not speak. My lessons, however, are progressing rather slowly. I saw my teacher today and thought I’d catch her off guard with a little “jabbama” (that’s hello) action, but she asked me why I was speaking to her in Spanish. Petit à petit…
Technical classes are, however, going rather well. When you start with nothing, it’s amazing how fast it becomes something. I’ve had sessions on apiculture, vegetative propagation, alley cropping, and proper dendrology identification. For those of you that don’t know what those things are….mwahaha, I do. Kind of…
Our one technical homework assignment is to build a nursery at home. This is a hilarious feat to achieve in a house that has 15 children (I got three new siblings last week…don’t ask). I came home one day, unlocked my door, and my kids, as usual, came rushing into my room behind me. This time, however, they left rather quickly. I knew that they were up to something as they did not hide under my bed and wait for me to kick them out (I’ve gone to bed multiple times with children under my bed). I found the little suckers outside by my nursery with my seed bags, but ironically no seeds. It turns out that they decided to hide the seeds, and eat the rest. Awesome. So I made them dig up the remaining seeds so that I could replant them. I later discovered that they’re smarter than I thought, as my seeds, which are just beginning to sprout, are ironically coming up all clustered together in the same corner of the nursery. Good times with the fam…
After several days of chasing my kids around the house with my machete, no really, I decided that I needed a break from the fam and just the PC in general. A couple friends and I went to Bafoussam, the provincial capital of the West. It was a fantastic trip that included, but was not limited to by any means: cheese, and general fun at the “white-man” grocery store, warm croissants, lots of olives, some touring around (read: drinking beer), and hot water. Essentially it was an orgasm of a city.
There’s so much more to tell, but it’s hard to really convey what’s happening here. I have these moments—like when I’m at my brother’s dance show which is just really his two friends and him dancing in a club where I have to pay a dollar to watch them move—when I’m like, wow, Africa. 2 years. Hmmm. And then there are these times, when I’m on a run (which has happened about two times, I’m becoming a master of the walking in running clothes), and I look at the rolling green hills, gorgeous mountains, and I’m like wow…Africa. Yeah, I can do this. A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B?
Jokes on her, though, because ironically enough, I finish French classes in a week or so. Perhaps I should say jokes on me. The PC has decided that now I know enough French to teach my farmers the supposed skills that I have acquired. This has, so far, proven to be a fruitless task as I spent a painstaking fifteen minutes the other night trying to explain to my family what I did last summer—sadly we never made it past that word because despite mad gesticulations of sun, and a rather impressive display of swimming on our dirt floor, the word was lost on them.
French classes will soon be replaced by my Fulfulde lessons—a local dialect which the town (yet to be named) may or may not speak. My lessons, however, are progressing rather slowly. I saw my teacher today and thought I’d catch her off guard with a little “jabbama” (that’s hello) action, but she asked me why I was speaking to her in Spanish. Petit à petit…
Technical classes are, however, going rather well. When you start with nothing, it’s amazing how fast it becomes something. I’ve had sessions on apiculture, vegetative propagation, alley cropping, and proper dendrology identification. For those of you that don’t know what those things are….mwahaha, I do. Kind of…
Our one technical homework assignment is to build a nursery at home. This is a hilarious feat to achieve in a house that has 15 children (I got three new siblings last week…don’t ask). I came home one day, unlocked my door, and my kids, as usual, came rushing into my room behind me. This time, however, they left rather quickly. I knew that they were up to something as they did not hide under my bed and wait for me to kick them out (I’ve gone to bed multiple times with children under my bed). I found the little suckers outside by my nursery with my seed bags, but ironically no seeds. It turns out that they decided to hide the seeds, and eat the rest. Awesome. So I made them dig up the remaining seeds so that I could replant them. I later discovered that they’re smarter than I thought, as my seeds, which are just beginning to sprout, are ironically coming up all clustered together in the same corner of the nursery. Good times with the fam…
After several days of chasing my kids around the house with my machete, no really, I decided that I needed a break from the fam and just the PC in general. A couple friends and I went to Bafoussam, the provincial capital of the West. It was a fantastic trip that included, but was not limited to by any means: cheese, and general fun at the “white-man” grocery store, warm croissants, lots of olives, some touring around (read: drinking beer), and hot water. Essentially it was an orgasm of a city.
There’s so much more to tell, but it’s hard to really convey what’s happening here. I have these moments—like when I’m at my brother’s dance show which is just really his two friends and him dancing in a club where I have to pay a dollar to watch them move—when I’m like, wow, Africa. 2 years. Hmmm. And then there are these times, when I’m on a run (which has happened about two times, I’m becoming a master of the walking in running clothes), and I look at the rolling green hills, gorgeous mountains, and I’m like wow…Africa. Yeah, I can do this. A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B?
Monday, October 8, 2007
Festivities and Funerals
Church turned out to be a rather exciting experience, and by exciting I mean all four of the little kids fell asleep on me during the service. Just when I thought that all was dull, my friend Kate approached me and smiled. No…it couldn’t be, I thought to myself. But no, no, it was. She had bling on her teeth. She and her host mom had matching rhinestones on their teeth. The afternoon just kept getting better as I saw white girl after white girl with corn-rows. It seems like Sunday was Peace Corps Barbie Day.
The week was a blur of training sessions and language classes. Most of the time I have no clue what’s going on, and feel utterly useless and defeated. But I try and remind myself that this is the training period, and that eventually it will all just get better.
Friday was National Teachers’ Day, and since both of my parents are teachers…well, let’s just say there was a party all day. My brother picked me up from “school” (I got to miss language classes in the afternoon!), and I went and met my mother in town. The next six hours were a blur of palm wine, boxed wine, and bottles of huge beers. National Teachers’ Day was like national let’s drink a lot day. One of teachers whispered to me that Castel, my preferred beer, stands for “come and see teachers enjoy life.” Joking aside, Cameroon’s educational situation is fascinating to me. Prior to the economic crisis of the 80’s, Cameroon was one of two countries in the world (Costa Rica’s the other) that allocated more money for education than the military. That, sadly, is no longer true. But it doesn’t seem to stop the teachers from celebrating.
Drinks were followed, rather illogically, by a funeral. After lunch we all piled into a car to drive to the neighboring town of Bamena. I couldn’t understand why we were going there, but then as we were ushered out of the car into a barn, it became apparent that it was not for a joyous occasion. There were about thirty people in this old, airy barn. We sat in silence for a while, and then a man began to speak. He explained that his child, only two weeks old, died from lack of oxygen. It was his second child to die this year. A few whimpers passed through the crowd, and then my host father broke out in song. I couldn’t exactly understand what he was saying, but sadness and remorse are universal languages.
As the song took a more joyful note, my father paused and introduced me to the man. He told him that I was an extension agent for the Peace Corps. The man asked me what the importance of the Peace Corps was. I explained to him, in rather broken French, the lofty goals of the PC—and about the PC’s various sectors. His eyes light up when I told him about the Health sector. I explained that I didn’t know much because I was in agro-forestry. He paused, and asked me what if I could have saved his child if I was in the Health sector. In truth, I said nothing in return. I didn’t know what to say.
So much of this is a learning process—full of lots of mistakes along the way. I make cultural faux-pas all the time, but that happens to me in the U.S. too. I try and use what I’ve learned in other countries here, but it doesn’t always work out. I didn’t want to set a precedent for a lot of eating (I made this mistake at a home-stay in Fiji and had to eat a village’s worth of food every night), but now my family thinks that I don’t like food. I ate all the cough drops in my med kit for dinner tonight. Coupled with the fact that I no longer find boiled plantains appealing, I think that I might die of starvation soon.
Each week becomes a notch on my belt—week two done—and I’m hoping that I’ll still be in the game for a while. Now on to week three. Can’t wait to see what that brings…
The week was a blur of training sessions and language classes. Most of the time I have no clue what’s going on, and feel utterly useless and defeated. But I try and remind myself that this is the training period, and that eventually it will all just get better.
Friday was National Teachers’ Day, and since both of my parents are teachers…well, let’s just say there was a party all day. My brother picked me up from “school” (I got to miss language classes in the afternoon!), and I went and met my mother in town. The next six hours were a blur of palm wine, boxed wine, and bottles of huge beers. National Teachers’ Day was like national let’s drink a lot day. One of teachers whispered to me that Castel, my preferred beer, stands for “come and see teachers enjoy life.” Joking aside, Cameroon’s educational situation is fascinating to me. Prior to the economic crisis of the 80’s, Cameroon was one of two countries in the world (Costa Rica’s the other) that allocated more money for education than the military. That, sadly, is no longer true. But it doesn’t seem to stop the teachers from celebrating.
Drinks were followed, rather illogically, by a funeral. After lunch we all piled into a car to drive to the neighboring town of Bamena. I couldn’t understand why we were going there, but then as we were ushered out of the car into a barn, it became apparent that it was not for a joyous occasion. There were about thirty people in this old, airy barn. We sat in silence for a while, and then a man began to speak. He explained that his child, only two weeks old, died from lack of oxygen. It was his second child to die this year. A few whimpers passed through the crowd, and then my host father broke out in song. I couldn’t exactly understand what he was saying, but sadness and remorse are universal languages.
As the song took a more joyful note, my father paused and introduced me to the man. He told him that I was an extension agent for the Peace Corps. The man asked me what the importance of the Peace Corps was. I explained to him, in rather broken French, the lofty goals of the PC—and about the PC’s various sectors. His eyes light up when I told him about the Health sector. I explained that I didn’t know much because I was in agro-forestry. He paused, and asked me what if I could have saved his child if I was in the Health sector. In truth, I said nothing in return. I didn’t know what to say.
So much of this is a learning process—full of lots of mistakes along the way. I make cultural faux-pas all the time, but that happens to me in the U.S. too. I try and use what I’ve learned in other countries here, but it doesn’t always work out. I didn’t want to set a precedent for a lot of eating (I made this mistake at a home-stay in Fiji and had to eat a village’s worth of food every night), but now my family thinks that I don’t like food. I ate all the cough drops in my med kit for dinner tonight. Coupled with the fact that I no longer find boiled plantains appealing, I think that I might die of starvation soon.
Each week becomes a notch on my belt—week two done—and I’m hoping that I’ll still be in the game for a while. Now on to week three. Can’t wait to see what that brings…
Monday, October 1, 2007
Roman Coke
Let's just say that I spent tonight having my hair picked out into a pseudo-white girl afro by my host sisters whilst I looked for the good kernels of corn amongst a sea of worms. Village life has been, shall we say, different? I'm writing right now from my new village, Bangante, located about three hours north of the capital, Yaounde. Bangante is unlike any place I've really been. I live at the top of town in what I think is a rather luxurious house by Bangante standards—in fact my bed here is bigger than my bed at home! My host family is absolutely hilarious—all 11ish of them. I have somewhere between 9 and 15 siblings, though that seems to change on a daily basis depending on which kid I ask.
It's weird to think that this will be my home for the next three months. It's the rainy season right now, which essentially means that in addition to the three hours or so that it rains everyday, the village is covered in a thick layer of mud that oozes EVERYWHERE, and there are power outages pretty much all day. Ironically, there was no water in the tap this morning…My five-year-old host brother, perfectly named Boris, told me that tomorrow the rainy season is supposed to stop, but then I asked my mom and she said that it should end some time around November.
We spend the majority of time in class—technical training for Agro-Forestry (AF) and French class. I somehow tested into the highest level of French, so I only have to take it for a couple more weeks and then I get to start a local language! AF classes are absolutely hilarious, namely because they are administered by Dr. Njiti—a man who has a most wonderful similarity to Rafiki from the Lion King (I swear they have the same laugh!). We get our machetes on Monday, so I'm pretty excited for the whacking on Tuesday to begin.
Food has been a rather interesting experience. Yesterday I ate monkey for the first, and last time. Apparently they "harvest" the monkeys by spraying a whole bunch of pesticides in the forest and then checking to see what's leftover about a week later. Needless to say, I was pretty excited to learn that info an hour or so AFTER eating. I'm currently on the, how do you say, diarrhea diet? But it seems that we all are right now—two people have already shat their pants. Fun times, my friends!
Last night at dinner we had guests over because I think that some man wanted to announce his engagement—though it never became clear to me who in fact this man was and if he was actually getting married. It was a lovely affair complete with beer, and the celebratory rum. A man at the table had been drinking beer for a while, and then decided to switch to rum. For some reason (which is still not apparent to me), I decided that this would be a good time to impart some good ole college wisdom: Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you're in the clear. As I tried to translate this to French, I think I somehow implied that the man was going to fall ill that night. This, of course, caused a huge debacle, and I had to assure him that his stomach would be fine, and it was just a saying. I'm not sure he believed me because he left shortly after finishing his first and only glass of rum. Oops?
Tomorrow is Sunday, which means that we'll be heading to church. I'm pretty excited, and I'm sure I'll have some good stories. Though there's so much to tell, I must retire to my mosquito net—it's only 9:00, but this is equatorial time. This morning there was a loose goose in the house (no really…), and the chasing of the goose coupled with all 50ish children playing circa 6:15 means that I'm uber tired. Until the next time, hope you all are well, and that your gooses are well behaved (unlike mine).
It's weird to think that this will be my home for the next three months. It's the rainy season right now, which essentially means that in addition to the three hours or so that it rains everyday, the village is covered in a thick layer of mud that oozes EVERYWHERE, and there are power outages pretty much all day. Ironically, there was no water in the tap this morning…My five-year-old host brother, perfectly named Boris, told me that tomorrow the rainy season is supposed to stop, but then I asked my mom and she said that it should end some time around November.
We spend the majority of time in class—technical training for Agro-Forestry (AF) and French class. I somehow tested into the highest level of French, so I only have to take it for a couple more weeks and then I get to start a local language! AF classes are absolutely hilarious, namely because they are administered by Dr. Njiti—a man who has a most wonderful similarity to Rafiki from the Lion King (I swear they have the same laugh!). We get our machetes on Monday, so I'm pretty excited for the whacking on Tuesday to begin.
Food has been a rather interesting experience. Yesterday I ate monkey for the first, and last time. Apparently they "harvest" the monkeys by spraying a whole bunch of pesticides in the forest and then checking to see what's leftover about a week later. Needless to say, I was pretty excited to learn that info an hour or so AFTER eating. I'm currently on the, how do you say, diarrhea diet? But it seems that we all are right now—two people have already shat their pants. Fun times, my friends!
Last night at dinner we had guests over because I think that some man wanted to announce his engagement—though it never became clear to me who in fact this man was and if he was actually getting married. It was a lovely affair complete with beer, and the celebratory rum. A man at the table had been drinking beer for a while, and then decided to switch to rum. For some reason (which is still not apparent to me), I decided that this would be a good time to impart some good ole college wisdom: Beer before liquor, never been sicker; liquor before beer, you're in the clear. As I tried to translate this to French, I think I somehow implied that the man was going to fall ill that night. This, of course, caused a huge debacle, and I had to assure him that his stomach would be fine, and it was just a saying. I'm not sure he believed me because he left shortly after finishing his first and only glass of rum. Oops?
Tomorrow is Sunday, which means that we'll be heading to church. I'm pretty excited, and I'm sure I'll have some good stories. Though there's so much to tell, I must retire to my mosquito net—it's only 9:00, but this is equatorial time. This morning there was a loose goose in the house (no really…), and the chasing of the goose coupled with all 50ish children playing circa 6:15 means that I'm uber tired. Until the next time, hope you all are well, and that your gooses are well behaved (unlike mine).
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