It was two o’clock in the morning when I was suddenly roused from my sleep by Beamer’s “there’s-a-stranger-in-the-compound” barking. After the initial “you’ve just woke up from a deep sleep and now your heart is beating a million miles a minute” phase wore off I laid in my bed straining to hear whatever it was that had startled him. Nothing. And then all of a sudden right outside of my window I heard sticks and buckets being knocked over, then some pots and pans crashing off the back porch.
Now not to scare anybody but every once in a while our local neighborhood foo (crazy person) jumps the fence and makes off with cloths left on the line or buckets, or whatever he can get his hands on. For the most part he’s pretty harmless and luckily for me deathly afraid of Beamer. Normally all it takes is some one in the compound yelling out the window for him to go away or threatening to let the dog lose on him, and he’ll high-tail it out of there.
I waited a few minutes, and even yelled out the window myself but the banging around just kept on, and the more that I listened, the more it began to sound like there was more then one person out there. In fact I sounded like there was a whole gang of them out there. This started to make me nervous so I slid out from under my mosquito net, grabbed my Mag-light and crept into the kitchen with Beamer at my heals.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was gonna do, but I figured when I turned on my back light and whoever was out there saw me, the dog, and the back end of my Mag-light raised over my head ready to bludgeon someone it would scare them away. I assumed the position, flipped on the light, and much to my surprise instead of a gang of burglars in the backyard stood 4 fat pigs all staring at me like I was the crazy foo. Nothing like a few four legged friends to keep life exciting!
Friday, March 25, 2011
Girls Just Want To Have Fun
Here are some of the highlights from International Women’s Day 2011:
I was on the panel for the round table discussion where we talked about equality for women. It wasn’t as much a round table as it was a “I like to hear myself talk into a microphone hour (more like 4 hours) but I was in charge of publicity and we had a great turnout so I was pleased ☺
At the food expose one group made "real" American pizza... and it was actually good! Not so good was this traditional dish from the west called “quie” that I politely tried and failed to eat. It wasn’t so much the taste that was hard to get past it was more the fact that it was the same consistency as slime... and I like a good snot-sauce (a.k.a anything with okra in it a.k.a. everything you eat in the Adamaoua) as much as the next person but this was on a whole new level ;) I felt like was trying to eat Flubber… every time I thought I had a hold on it, it would split into five different pieces and slip though my fingers. My friend who was trying to coach with a few tips made it look so easy. She was swinging it around and bouncing it in her palm like a yoyo, but my attempt was just a big, sticky, mess. As much fun as it was for everyone to watch me attempt to take on the quie, I don’t think I’ll be trying that again anytime soon ;)
This years sports day included not only your standard football, handball, and cross country race, but also tug of war, a speed walking competition, and an arm wrestling tournament, which my very conservative Muslim neighbor won... GO Hadjira! You should have seen her, cover from head to toe she sauntered up to the table, rolled up her sleeve, and assumed the position. All I can say is that I’m glad it wasn’t me going up against her and her right bicep… she was doing some serious damage on the other contenders ;)
Lastly and by my terms most importantly, yours truly came in 4th in the cross-country race through town (and in the young women's bracket for that matter). Now this might not seem like a big deal but last year I came in second to last and for approximately one year on a pretty much weekly basis I had to endure listening to people recount the time "Kate came in second to last at women's day." BUT NO LONGER MY FRIENDS... NO LONGER!!! Nothing has made me happier this past month then moving through town and hearing people recount the time "Kate almost came in 3rd place". I'm movin' up in the world people :)
Me and Mama Josephine, who came in first place in the cross country race in which she ran barefoot!
I was on the panel for the round table discussion where we talked about equality for women. It wasn’t as much a round table as it was a “I like to hear myself talk into a microphone hour (more like 4 hours) but I was in charge of publicity and we had a great turnout so I was pleased ☺
At the food expose one group made "real" American pizza... and it was actually good! Not so good was this traditional dish from the west called “quie” that I politely tried and failed to eat. It wasn’t so much the taste that was hard to get past it was more the fact that it was the same consistency as slime... and I like a good snot-sauce (a.k.a anything with okra in it a.k.a. everything you eat in the Adamaoua) as much as the next person but this was on a whole new level ;) I felt like was trying to eat Flubber… every time I thought I had a hold on it, it would split into five different pieces and slip though my fingers. My friend who was trying to coach with a few tips made it look so easy. She was swinging it around and bouncing it in her palm like a yoyo, but my attempt was just a big, sticky, mess. As much fun as it was for everyone to watch me attempt to take on the quie, I don’t think I’ll be trying that again anytime soon ;)
This years sports day included not only your standard football, handball, and cross country race, but also tug of war, a speed walking competition, and an arm wrestling tournament, which my very conservative Muslim neighbor won... GO Hadjira! You should have seen her, cover from head to toe she sauntered up to the table, rolled up her sleeve, and assumed the position. All I can say is that I’m glad it wasn’t me going up against her and her right bicep… she was doing some serious damage on the other contenders ;)
Lastly and by my terms most importantly, yours truly came in 4th in the cross-country race through town (and in the young women's bracket for that matter). Now this might not seem like a big deal but last year I came in second to last and for approximately one year on a pretty much weekly basis I had to endure listening to people recount the time "Kate came in second to last at women's day." BUT NO LONGER MY FRIENDS... NO LONGER!!! Nothing has made me happier this past month then moving through town and hearing people recount the time "Kate almost came in 3rd place". I'm movin' up in the world people :)
Me and Mama Josephine, who came in first place in the cross country race in which she ran barefoot!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Good Grief
Written March 3, 2011
Death tends to hit us like a ton of bricks, or at least it hits me that way. Since I’ve been here it’s been a constant part of my routine (which I suspect is because for the people in my village death plays such an important role in life) but until yesterday I’ve always been able to push it to the back of my mind. I mean almost everyday someone comes to tell me that someone in their family died or that so and so lost a child or that they would be gone for the weekend to travel back to their village for a funeral… and I’m not exaggerating pretty much everyday this comes up in conversations at the hospital or with friends in the market or neighbors in the quarter (any peace corps volunteer in Cameroon should be able to vouch for me on this account). But in spite of all this I’ve always felt a bit removed from it all. Even when people die at the health center and I’m there it’s sad and I feel for the nurses who were involved and the family, but I’ve never let myself dwell on it for too long. Maybe it’s a coping strategy, or maybe I just don’t want to think about it because that’s too sad, but whatever the reason for the past 18 months I haven’t let myself dive too deep into on the issue.
All of that changed yesterday. I should back track a bit… last week I was making the rounds in the market, and when I went to visit Little Abdoulie at his shop I found it all closed up. I thought this was a bit odd considering he keeps pretty strict hours everyday of the week so I hopped on the back of a moto and went to visit him at his house. When I got there I learned that he was in bed sick with malaria. I ended up saying a quick hello, tried to encourage him to go to the hospital for treatment, and wished him a bon garrison. On my way back home I decided to stop and say hello to Abdoulie’s neighbors Alahji Yaya and his first wife Dija, both of whom are good friends of my and regular members a community group I meet with weekly. The meetings form the last weekend had been cancelled and so it had been a while since I had been able to see either of them. When I got to the house no one was home except for a few kids who told me everyone was at the hospital. For reasons mostly revolving around the fact that the little kids don’t speak French and I don’t really speak Fulfulde I wasn’t able to figure out exactly what was going on, but I wasn’t really worried yet because like I said before, people are always visiting one another in the hospital. I just figured if it was someone they knew, it was probably someone I knew, and I didn’t have anything else on my plate so why not just pop down there to see what was going on.
Upon my arrival I immediately ran into to B and after a few moments of greetings she told me what room “my friend” was in. It turned out it was a friend (a friend named Dzoulika whose 3 year old son was admitted with Tyfoid) but it wasn’t the friend I was looking for. So I kept walking down the general patients ward and then made my way to the maternity ward (forgot to mention Dija was pregnant but still had about a month and a half or so to go). Sure enough I found her there in the second room. She had been admitted that morning with malaria and then diagnosed with a Burili ulcer (flesh eating skin disease that’s pretty prevalent in my part of Cameroon), and was hooked up to an IV drip.
Now, despite the fact that I’m a community health worker partnered with a health center, I still don’t particularly enjoy visiting sick people who are in the hospital. That’s not to say I don’t visit them, I do, but I just always feel a bit awkward, and out of place, and like people are looking at me to do something when there’s honestly not much I can do (I have no doubt that by the end of my service I will have spent an entire two years trying to convince people that I’m not a doctor or a nurse). This was no exception, and after about 10 minutes of sitting on a chair watching this poor women with her huge belly sitting on the bed looking absolutely miserable, and again feeling like everyone in the room was waiting for me to do something, I was ready to head out. So I told her and her husband to please call me if there was anything I could do to help and quickly left.
This was on Thursday afternoon, and by Friday morning I had received a phone call telling me Dija had gone into early labor during the night and was stable now but her baby had not made it. This was sad, but it wasn’t the first time a friend had lost a child and I knew that I was expected to go to the hospital and pay my respects to the family. So I got dressed and went down. When I got there what I saw just broke my heart. I found Dija lying on the bed looking like she had lost the will to live surrounded by half a dozen other women all looking somber. I stayed in the room for about a half an hour, reiterated my offer to help with anything and then headed home thinking about how it must feel to lose a child.
The next day Little Abdoulie told me that Dija had been sent to a bigger hospital about 4 hours up the road, and that things weren’t looking good. The day after that I got the phone call that she had started bleeding again, and they couldn’t stop it so she bled out. I got this phone call while I was eating lunch in my friend’s restaurant in town and I was shocked… i just couldn’t help but start crying. Now, anybody who knows me knows that crying is my go to emotion… infuriation, sadness, happiness… it all comes with me and a side of weeping blubbering mess. However, that is NOT how Cameroonians do things and I’ve found in my experience here that when I do have one of my cries it’s best to do it from the comfort of my home and not in public.
When I got the news about Dija I had no warning and nowhere to go and more importantly no sunglasses to hide the tears that were welling up, so in other words I was a little S.O.L. I can remember sitting at the table staring at my plate of fou-fou and njama-njama in shock. My friend Ibrahim came over to ask me what had happened and as soon as the words left my mouth I started to cry and when I looked up at him all he could say was, “I’m so sorry, but now you have to stop crying. Stop crying before you go outside. You can’t let anyone see you crying. Don’t cry.” Not exactly the soothing words I was hoping for but I don’t think he knew what else to say or do.
That evening I ended up going to visit Aislynn and after some American comfort food and a nice hot bucket bath I was feeling much better. The next day I went back home to Bankim and trekked out to visit Dija’s family. I was expecting to visit with the other co-wives and maybe a sister or neighbor, but when I got there I was shocked to see well over 50 women (which might not seem like a lot, but considering women don’t really ever leave their homes, it was quite a site to behold). There were some that I knew, some that had clearly traveled in from the bush, young girls, and old mamas, and everyone was there to mourn the loss of our friend. I sat down next to a friend and looked around taking in the gathering of women and began to cry again, but this time there was no one telling me to stop, no one looking at me as if I was acting strange, I just felt a simple hand reach out and touch me on the back. We were grieving together. Some days we’re worlds apart, but in that moment we were together… and even amongst all the sadness of the events that had pasted, it felt good.
Dija
?- March 2011
Death tends to hit us like a ton of bricks, or at least it hits me that way. Since I’ve been here it’s been a constant part of my routine (which I suspect is because for the people in my village death plays such an important role in life) but until yesterday I’ve always been able to push it to the back of my mind. I mean almost everyday someone comes to tell me that someone in their family died or that so and so lost a child or that they would be gone for the weekend to travel back to their village for a funeral… and I’m not exaggerating pretty much everyday this comes up in conversations at the hospital or with friends in the market or neighbors in the quarter (any peace corps volunteer in Cameroon should be able to vouch for me on this account). But in spite of all this I’ve always felt a bit removed from it all. Even when people die at the health center and I’m there it’s sad and I feel for the nurses who were involved and the family, but I’ve never let myself dwell on it for too long. Maybe it’s a coping strategy, or maybe I just don’t want to think about it because that’s too sad, but whatever the reason for the past 18 months I haven’t let myself dive too deep into on the issue.
All of that changed yesterday. I should back track a bit… last week I was making the rounds in the market, and when I went to visit Little Abdoulie at his shop I found it all closed up. I thought this was a bit odd considering he keeps pretty strict hours everyday of the week so I hopped on the back of a moto and went to visit him at his house. When I got there I learned that he was in bed sick with malaria. I ended up saying a quick hello, tried to encourage him to go to the hospital for treatment, and wished him a bon garrison. On my way back home I decided to stop and say hello to Abdoulie’s neighbors Alahji Yaya and his first wife Dija, both of whom are good friends of my and regular members a community group I meet with weekly. The meetings form the last weekend had been cancelled and so it had been a while since I had been able to see either of them. When I got to the house no one was home except for a few kids who told me everyone was at the hospital. For reasons mostly revolving around the fact that the little kids don’t speak French and I don’t really speak Fulfulde I wasn’t able to figure out exactly what was going on, but I wasn’t really worried yet because like I said before, people are always visiting one another in the hospital. I just figured if it was someone they knew, it was probably someone I knew, and I didn’t have anything else on my plate so why not just pop down there to see what was going on.
Upon my arrival I immediately ran into to B and after a few moments of greetings she told me what room “my friend” was in. It turned out it was a friend (a friend named Dzoulika whose 3 year old son was admitted with Tyfoid) but it wasn’t the friend I was looking for. So I kept walking down the general patients ward and then made my way to the maternity ward (forgot to mention Dija was pregnant but still had about a month and a half or so to go). Sure enough I found her there in the second room. She had been admitted that morning with malaria and then diagnosed with a Burili ulcer (flesh eating skin disease that’s pretty prevalent in my part of Cameroon), and was hooked up to an IV drip.
Now, despite the fact that I’m a community health worker partnered with a health center, I still don’t particularly enjoy visiting sick people who are in the hospital. That’s not to say I don’t visit them, I do, but I just always feel a bit awkward, and out of place, and like people are looking at me to do something when there’s honestly not much I can do (I have no doubt that by the end of my service I will have spent an entire two years trying to convince people that I’m not a doctor or a nurse). This was no exception, and after about 10 minutes of sitting on a chair watching this poor women with her huge belly sitting on the bed looking absolutely miserable, and again feeling like everyone in the room was waiting for me to do something, I was ready to head out. So I told her and her husband to please call me if there was anything I could do to help and quickly left.
This was on Thursday afternoon, and by Friday morning I had received a phone call telling me Dija had gone into early labor during the night and was stable now but her baby had not made it. This was sad, but it wasn’t the first time a friend had lost a child and I knew that I was expected to go to the hospital and pay my respects to the family. So I got dressed and went down. When I got there what I saw just broke my heart. I found Dija lying on the bed looking like she had lost the will to live surrounded by half a dozen other women all looking somber. I stayed in the room for about a half an hour, reiterated my offer to help with anything and then headed home thinking about how it must feel to lose a child.
The next day Little Abdoulie told me that Dija had been sent to a bigger hospital about 4 hours up the road, and that things weren’t looking good. The day after that I got the phone call that she had started bleeding again, and they couldn’t stop it so she bled out. I got this phone call while I was eating lunch in my friend’s restaurant in town and I was shocked… i just couldn’t help but start crying. Now, anybody who knows me knows that crying is my go to emotion… infuriation, sadness, happiness… it all comes with me and a side of weeping blubbering mess. However, that is NOT how Cameroonians do things and I’ve found in my experience here that when I do have one of my cries it’s best to do it from the comfort of my home and not in public.
When I got the news about Dija I had no warning and nowhere to go and more importantly no sunglasses to hide the tears that were welling up, so in other words I was a little S.O.L. I can remember sitting at the table staring at my plate of fou-fou and njama-njama in shock. My friend Ibrahim came over to ask me what had happened and as soon as the words left my mouth I started to cry and when I looked up at him all he could say was, “I’m so sorry, but now you have to stop crying. Stop crying before you go outside. You can’t let anyone see you crying. Don’t cry.” Not exactly the soothing words I was hoping for but I don’t think he knew what else to say or do.
That evening I ended up going to visit Aislynn and after some American comfort food and a nice hot bucket bath I was feeling much better. The next day I went back home to Bankim and trekked out to visit Dija’s family. I was expecting to visit with the other co-wives and maybe a sister or neighbor, but when I got there I was shocked to see well over 50 women (which might not seem like a lot, but considering women don’t really ever leave their homes, it was quite a site to behold). There were some that I knew, some that had clearly traveled in from the bush, young girls, and old mamas, and everyone was there to mourn the loss of our friend. I sat down next to a friend and looked around taking in the gathering of women and began to cry again, but this time there was no one telling me to stop, no one looking at me as if I was acting strange, I just felt a simple hand reach out and touch me on the back. We were grieving together. Some days we’re worlds apart, but in that moment we were together… and even amongst all the sadness of the events that had pasted, it felt good.
Dija
?- March 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
9 out of 10 Dentists Agree
February 6th
I know it’s been a few weeks, but I’m officially back from my blogging hiatus. I do apologize for the lack of updates, but fear not, I have endured punishment enough in the form of a nagging mother via phone, text, and Facebook (love you mom, pestering from the other side of the world?… a whole wheel of cheese?... I’m not even mad… I’m impressed ;)
All jokes aside I guess the real reason I haven’t posted is because I’ve been in a bit of a funk for the past couple of weeks. After New Year’s I went to Yaoundé for my mid-service medical checkup (I’m good to go, in case you were wondering), and then made a quick trip to Ngoundare with a group of friends. Minus the fact that in order to get medically cleared I had to trek across the capital city in a taxi cab with 6 other people in rush hour traffic in the heat of the day with….. wait for it… wait for it… a fresh stool sample (not a particularly high point in my Peace Corps career), I did have a lot of fun getting to spend time with a bunch of my American friends. The only drawback to so much “quality whiteman time” is that at the end of it all, when your back in village and you’re by yourself again it’s like you’ve got to push yourself through the mental readjustments all over again. It’s kind of hard to explain and I don’t know how this is coming across. I’m not lonely or depressed or anything, I’m just struggling to get back into my groove. Here’s to hoping me and the groove get together real soon ☺
However, in spite of my case of the Bankim blues I have been able to get a little bit of work done and I have a great story to tell you, so get pumped! I have this women’s group that I meet with on Saturday afternoons, and for awhile now they’ve been expressing interest in doing some kind of small income generating project. Thanks to the awesome work of some volunteers in the west I got a copy of this book full of great income generating ideas (woot woot Christina shout-out). After perusing the pages I made the executive call that we should probably start small and work our way up to some of the bigger things. With that being said we decided to go with toothpaste. This worked out great, the plan was to make the toothpaste, divide it up, and then end with a quick health lesson highlighting the importance of brushing your teeth and getting your kids to do the same. Here’s how it went down…
Step one: follow the instructions and mix a little baking powder, a little salt, a little water, and a little of this and that together in a big bowl.
Step two: Not getting the right consistency, opt to let the ladies incorporate what I though might be some local knowledge on toothpaste making and so we add more baking powder.
Step three: still not quite right , before I can stop it even more Baking powder is added.
Step 4: “Just a smidge more Baking powder should do the trick… ooops, that was way more than a smidge.”
Step 5: “Well ladies, I think this is as good as it’s gonna get. Let’s divide it up.”
Step 6: Disregard that part where it specifically says store paste in a plastic container and divide it up in small plastic bags.
After everything was doled out and the baggies tied shut we closed in on the final phase. My lesson was going great, I had just finished demonstrating the proper tooth brushing technique, which was basically me trying to convince them that in fact simply chewing on your toothbrush for a hour while walking around the house doing other chores will not actually do anything at all. Then like a little kid with a roll of bubble wrap: POP POP POP POPPOPOPOPOP… all of the plastic bags suddenly exploded splattering everything in their vicinity with a nice layer of toothpaste. Ooops. ☺
Moral of the story; 9 out of 10 dentists agree following the directions is kind of clutch.
P.S. In the time between writing this and posting it online I’ve been pretty busy and I can say that for the time being the groove and I are like this (I’m crossing my pointer and middle finger fyi). All it took was a good old fashioned Cameroonian fete, a nice solid week of work, and a West Adamaoua cluster meeting to get me back in the swing of things ☺
I know it’s been a few weeks, but I’m officially back from my blogging hiatus. I do apologize for the lack of updates, but fear not, I have endured punishment enough in the form of a nagging mother via phone, text, and Facebook (love you mom, pestering from the other side of the world?… a whole wheel of cheese?... I’m not even mad… I’m impressed ;)
All jokes aside I guess the real reason I haven’t posted is because I’ve been in a bit of a funk for the past couple of weeks. After New Year’s I went to Yaoundé for my mid-service medical checkup (I’m good to go, in case you were wondering), and then made a quick trip to Ngoundare with a group of friends. Minus the fact that in order to get medically cleared I had to trek across the capital city in a taxi cab with 6 other people in rush hour traffic in the heat of the day with….. wait for it… wait for it… a fresh stool sample (not a particularly high point in my Peace Corps career), I did have a lot of fun getting to spend time with a bunch of my American friends. The only drawback to so much “quality whiteman time” is that at the end of it all, when your back in village and you’re by yourself again it’s like you’ve got to push yourself through the mental readjustments all over again. It’s kind of hard to explain and I don’t know how this is coming across. I’m not lonely or depressed or anything, I’m just struggling to get back into my groove. Here’s to hoping me and the groove get together real soon ☺
However, in spite of my case of the Bankim blues I have been able to get a little bit of work done and I have a great story to tell you, so get pumped! I have this women’s group that I meet with on Saturday afternoons, and for awhile now they’ve been expressing interest in doing some kind of small income generating project. Thanks to the awesome work of some volunteers in the west I got a copy of this book full of great income generating ideas (woot woot Christina shout-out). After perusing the pages I made the executive call that we should probably start small and work our way up to some of the bigger things. With that being said we decided to go with toothpaste. This worked out great, the plan was to make the toothpaste, divide it up, and then end with a quick health lesson highlighting the importance of brushing your teeth and getting your kids to do the same. Here’s how it went down…
Step one: follow the instructions and mix a little baking powder, a little salt, a little water, and a little of this and that together in a big bowl.
Step two: Not getting the right consistency, opt to let the ladies incorporate what I though might be some local knowledge on toothpaste making and so we add more baking powder.
Step three: still not quite right , before I can stop it even more Baking powder is added.
Step 4: “Just a smidge more Baking powder should do the trick… ooops, that was way more than a smidge.”
Step 5: “Well ladies, I think this is as good as it’s gonna get. Let’s divide it up.”
Step 6: Disregard that part where it specifically says store paste in a plastic container and divide it up in small plastic bags.
After everything was doled out and the baggies tied shut we closed in on the final phase. My lesson was going great, I had just finished demonstrating the proper tooth brushing technique, which was basically me trying to convince them that in fact simply chewing on your toothbrush for a hour while walking around the house doing other chores will not actually do anything at all. Then like a little kid with a roll of bubble wrap: POP POP POP POPPOPOPOPOP… all of the plastic bags suddenly exploded splattering everything in their vicinity with a nice layer of toothpaste. Ooops. ☺
Moral of the story; 9 out of 10 dentists agree following the directions is kind of clutch.
P.S. In the time between writing this and posting it online I’ve been pretty busy and I can say that for the time being the groove and I are like this (I’m crossing my pointer and middle finger fyi). All it took was a good old fashioned Cameroonian fete, a nice solid week of work, and a West Adamaoua cluster meeting to get me back in the swing of things ☺
Monday, January 10, 2011
The Never Ending Update
First things first, I want to wish all of you that read this a happy new year and I hope that everyone had a wonderful Christmas. I always get a little bit homesick right around this time of year but luckily I live near some wonderful people and I think I speak for us all when I say we had a very nice holiday… but more on that later.
Before I get into Christmas and New Years stuff I want to take care of this list of things I’ve been meaning to mention on here and just keep forgetting about. I always have this little notebook stashed in my purse and I keep a list of all the blog worthy moments that happen to me so I don’t forget about them later on. However, getting them from the little notebook, into a post, and then on to the Internet is harder then is sounds. So here it goes…the never ending update:
1. Beginning of December was Fête de Mutton (The Feast of the Ram). I had a new party dress made at my tailor’s and made the tour of all my Muslim friends. I even got the watch my neighbors sacrifice their ram. Contrary to how that looks in writing it was actually really cool. The only not cool part was that after the ram was dead and they started cleaning it, in an attempt to be nice and neighborly they started chucking all the unwanted parts over the fence for Beamer to eat. There I was standing in my kitchen when all of a sudden I hear what sounded like a loud belly flop and when I went outside to investigate I found my dog chowing down on a set of bloody, raw sheep lungs and an assortment of other bits and pieces… YUCK. To top it all off the dog ended up burying everything he couldn’t eat before sunset and my back yard smelled like something terrible for a week or two
2. I was invited by some of my Bamoun friends in village to participate in their big cultural festival. Apparently it’s a bit of a big deal because they only hold it once every two years and people come from all over the country and all over the world to watch the celebration. I felt particularly cool because I not only got to watch, I got to be in it. I put on my most “traditional” looking cloths, they handed me a spear, and we all began the march to war. If you want to get the real feel just try and imagine thousands of people dressed to the T, covered in war paint, and yelling and chanting Braveheart style in the streets, and that would be kind of what it was like. It was a once and a life time experience and I’m so glad I got to see it ☺
3. World AIDS Day 2010 was a huge success. Over 3 and ½ days the Mbororo men’s group I work with and myself got a chance to talk to and do HIV education with over 162 people in the market AND combined with everyone who signed the online petition we had almost 300 signatures. Now this might not sound like a lot but I finally feel like the idea I’ve been pushing on the men all year, that if you take the time to talk to people they’ll listen, finally got through ☺ (which is a enormous accomplishment for a group of people who in general feel unheard by the larger population). Thank you for taking the time to singing the online version!
4. Aislynn and I had the chance to meet a very interesting German couple traveling through Cameroon last month. When we met up with them they had just traveled two days non stop from Ngoundere (Regional capital of the Adamaoua) to Bankim and were on their way to Foumban (another 4 hours down the road) Oh and I forgot to mention they were probably in their mid-sixties. I was astonished, I know 20 somethings that moan and groan about taking that road (myself included) and here were these two people, grandparent age, backpacking and using public transport around Cameroon. It blew my mind! After talking to them for a bit we learned that that every year they take a holiday to a new country and from the sounds of it they’ve been all over the world and back again (and not just the cushy parts ::cough cough:: the United States, :: cough cough:: Western Europe). They also told us that the secret to their happy marriage was that they never stopped going on adventures together ☺
5. I had to go into the local jail to talk to a gendarme about something the other day (breath mother I’m not in trouble with the law or anything) and what was blasting from an old boom box? None other then Handel’s Messiah Hallelujah Chorus. I’m not exactly sure what this means, but I found it to be quite comical. On one side of the room was a guy standing in a jail cell and on the other side of the room a very intimidating solider, in uniform, happily humming along to one of the world’s most famous pieces of classical music… only in Cameroon.
6. I am now Hawoua’s official frog catcher. She’s not afraid of bats, rats, spiders, or roaches, (all of which I’ve had to call her over to kill for me and she’s never let me live it down) but something about things that go rib-it scare the living bejeezes out of her. Let me elaborate… a few weeks ago I was in the house and I heard her let out a blood curdling scream (like “there’s and axe-murder in the house” type scream) so I ran to see what was happening and I find her on her tippy toes, bouncing around, and pointing at a tiny little tree frog on her kitchen window. Then yesterday there was a pretty big toad under her last step. It was croaking and she was afraid it was going to come out and bite Rashid (her two year old son). Grant it, it was a pretty big frog, but in any case I tried to convince her that frogs don’t have teeth, that these ones didn’t look in the least bit poisonous and that they’re actually good to have around because they eat mosquitoes. I might as well have been talking to a wall cause she didn’t want to hear it and finally I wound up reaching under the step, pulling out the frog, and flinging it over the fence.
7. Beamer is quite possibly the worst guard dog in the world! The other day pigs were added to the ever-growing list of things he is afraid of (incase you were wondering that list also includes cows, goats, sheep, cats, jingle bells, and rubber rain boots). We were taking our usual afternoon walk through one of the quarters and I saw a pig crossing the road a head of us. Just to clarify this was no cute adorable Charlotte’s Web Wilbur type pig, this was a mean mother sow standing about the same height as my belly button and easily around 200 lbs. In my attempt to steer clear of Miss Piggy I unfortunately neglected to notice that Beamer and I were heading straight for her 3 little piglets. No sooner had Beamer lunged at the piglets, mama pig was coming strait for us. There was lots of angry squealing, and snorting involved, so suffice to say my heart was racing a million miles a minute. I was hoping/expecting the dog to scare it away or at the very least start barking, but no he immediately ran behind me creating a human shield thus leaving me to fend off the angry livestock. Luckily there was a big stick on the ground next to me so I picked it up and with a combination of yelling, stick waving, and very fast backtracking Beamer and I managed to escape unharmed.
8. On the mushroom front I have good news and bad news. The good news is that they started to bloom. The bad news is that only 1 out of 4 bags produced anything and they took a month longer then we were expecting them too (I think the climate is too hot in Bankim). I don’t think this is the best income generating project option for the money it would cost to start up versus the amount we can get to produce here in village, but it was a fun little experiment. Back to square one :/
9. Ok, so Peace Corps has three main goals for all it’s programs in all the countries it works in. Goal 1: sustainable development of the host country. Goal 2: share host country culture with Americans. Goal 3: share American culture with the host country. The following is by far the best goal three quote of all time: (while watching Toy Story with another volunteer and a bunch of kids from the neighborhood)
7 year old Cameroonian child “What’s a cowboy?”
Peace Corps volunteer: “Well it’s sort of like if you could mix a berger (cattle herder) and gendarme (solider)”
I realize this might not actually be funny to everyone but it gave me a good laugh so I thought I’d share ☺
10. Christmas was a bit of a whirlwind between Bankim and traveling to Banyo to celebrate with the other volunteers in the area( but a fun whirlwind none the less!). Some of the highlights included a very successful Christmas party for the neighbors hosted by yours truly, the most awesome frip find gift exchange ever (ask Hunter about his t-shirt and tie), a visit to the Banyo missionaries for what felt like a big family Christmas dinner back at home (not my home mind you… no one was teasing me incessantly and calling me a tree hugging hippie), a Christmas movie marathon (Elf, Charlie Brown Christmas, Love Actually and the Holiday) and a visit from the Raymond family to wrap up the weekend. Now all this was fun but the real highlight, and what I’m sure you’re all wondering about if you read my last post was the Christmas chicken. I’m happy to report that Chicken Little survived the journey from Bankim to Banyo first strapped to the back of a motorcycle and then to the back of a small hatchback Toyota and tasted all the better for it. When it came time to do the deed one of the boys slit the neck, but I pulled feathers out and it’s safe to say I’m a feather plucking pro now ;)
11. Last but not least New Year’s 2011… the start of which marks my 15th month living in Cameroon!!! New years eve was pretty low key. I had a movie night at my house for some of the kids and made them all pizza and popcorn. At midnight my doorbell started ringing nonstop so I got dressed and went outside to see what was up. I knew it was gonna be good when I started smelling burning rubber and sure enough my neighbors were all gathered in the street dancing and singing around a burning tire. Hawoua came out at the same time I did (they were ringing her doorbell over and over again too) but she was being a major party pooper… she wasn’t really feelin’ all the hub-bub. Finally I grabbed her hand and said, “Hawoua! It’s the New Year you can’t start off 2011 by yelling at people, come out and watch all the kids dancing!” She reluctantly can with me and I think (even though she’ll never admit it) that she had a good time ☺
New Years Day was a lot more eventful with visits to friends’ houses and lots of people visiting me at my house. At one point I had in my living room; 2 Mbororo girls, 3 Tikar wives, 2 Bamoum women, Hawoua, and Roses’ 23 year old Anglophone daughter Vera. All of them were pretty young (none were over 25) and being so, acted like a group of catty women (two of the women I think are pretty much mortal enemies and everyone has had to pick sides… I don’t even know what the epic fight was about but I ended up on Hawoua’s side by default… I live with her). I could have cut through the judging vibes with a knife, but thankfully every one enjoyed their cake, popcorn, and juice without starting any catfights. It was a little uncomfortable when it was happening, but after the fact it made me feel not so far away from home ;)
So that’s pretty much everything of interest that I did in December
Before I get into Christmas and New Years stuff I want to take care of this list of things I’ve been meaning to mention on here and just keep forgetting about. I always have this little notebook stashed in my purse and I keep a list of all the blog worthy moments that happen to me so I don’t forget about them later on. However, getting them from the little notebook, into a post, and then on to the Internet is harder then is sounds. So here it goes…the never ending update:
1. Beginning of December was Fête de Mutton (The Feast of the Ram). I had a new party dress made at my tailor’s and made the tour of all my Muslim friends. I even got the watch my neighbors sacrifice their ram. Contrary to how that looks in writing it was actually really cool. The only not cool part was that after the ram was dead and they started cleaning it, in an attempt to be nice and neighborly they started chucking all the unwanted parts over the fence for Beamer to eat. There I was standing in my kitchen when all of a sudden I hear what sounded like a loud belly flop and when I went outside to investigate I found my dog chowing down on a set of bloody, raw sheep lungs and an assortment of other bits and pieces… YUCK. To top it all off the dog ended up burying everything he couldn’t eat before sunset and my back yard smelled like something terrible for a week or two
2. I was invited by some of my Bamoun friends in village to participate in their big cultural festival. Apparently it’s a bit of a big deal because they only hold it once every two years and people come from all over the country and all over the world to watch the celebration. I felt particularly cool because I not only got to watch, I got to be in it. I put on my most “traditional” looking cloths, they handed me a spear, and we all began the march to war. If you want to get the real feel just try and imagine thousands of people dressed to the T, covered in war paint, and yelling and chanting Braveheart style in the streets, and that would be kind of what it was like. It was a once and a life time experience and I’m so glad I got to see it ☺
3. World AIDS Day 2010 was a huge success. Over 3 and ½ days the Mbororo men’s group I work with and myself got a chance to talk to and do HIV education with over 162 people in the market AND combined with everyone who signed the online petition we had almost 300 signatures. Now this might not sound like a lot but I finally feel like the idea I’ve been pushing on the men all year, that if you take the time to talk to people they’ll listen, finally got through ☺ (which is a enormous accomplishment for a group of people who in general feel unheard by the larger population). Thank you for taking the time to singing the online version!
4. Aislynn and I had the chance to meet a very interesting German couple traveling through Cameroon last month. When we met up with them they had just traveled two days non stop from Ngoundere (Regional capital of the Adamaoua) to Bankim and were on their way to Foumban (another 4 hours down the road) Oh and I forgot to mention they were probably in their mid-sixties. I was astonished, I know 20 somethings that moan and groan about taking that road (myself included) and here were these two people, grandparent age, backpacking and using public transport around Cameroon. It blew my mind! After talking to them for a bit we learned that that every year they take a holiday to a new country and from the sounds of it they’ve been all over the world and back again (and not just the cushy parts ::cough cough:: the United States, :: cough cough:: Western Europe). They also told us that the secret to their happy marriage was that they never stopped going on adventures together ☺
5. I had to go into the local jail to talk to a gendarme about something the other day (breath mother I’m not in trouble with the law or anything) and what was blasting from an old boom box? None other then Handel’s Messiah Hallelujah Chorus. I’m not exactly sure what this means, but I found it to be quite comical. On one side of the room was a guy standing in a jail cell and on the other side of the room a very intimidating solider, in uniform, happily humming along to one of the world’s most famous pieces of classical music… only in Cameroon.
6. I am now Hawoua’s official frog catcher. She’s not afraid of bats, rats, spiders, or roaches, (all of which I’ve had to call her over to kill for me and she’s never let me live it down) but something about things that go rib-it scare the living bejeezes out of her. Let me elaborate… a few weeks ago I was in the house and I heard her let out a blood curdling scream (like “there’s and axe-murder in the house” type scream) so I ran to see what was happening and I find her on her tippy toes, bouncing around, and pointing at a tiny little tree frog on her kitchen window. Then yesterday there was a pretty big toad under her last step. It was croaking and she was afraid it was going to come out and bite Rashid (her two year old son). Grant it, it was a pretty big frog, but in any case I tried to convince her that frogs don’t have teeth, that these ones didn’t look in the least bit poisonous and that they’re actually good to have around because they eat mosquitoes. I might as well have been talking to a wall cause she didn’t want to hear it and finally I wound up reaching under the step, pulling out the frog, and flinging it over the fence.
7. Beamer is quite possibly the worst guard dog in the world! The other day pigs were added to the ever-growing list of things he is afraid of (incase you were wondering that list also includes cows, goats, sheep, cats, jingle bells, and rubber rain boots). We were taking our usual afternoon walk through one of the quarters and I saw a pig crossing the road a head of us. Just to clarify this was no cute adorable Charlotte’s Web Wilbur type pig, this was a mean mother sow standing about the same height as my belly button and easily around 200 lbs. In my attempt to steer clear of Miss Piggy I unfortunately neglected to notice that Beamer and I were heading straight for her 3 little piglets. No sooner had Beamer lunged at the piglets, mama pig was coming strait for us. There was lots of angry squealing, and snorting involved, so suffice to say my heart was racing a million miles a minute. I was hoping/expecting the dog to scare it away or at the very least start barking, but no he immediately ran behind me creating a human shield thus leaving me to fend off the angry livestock. Luckily there was a big stick on the ground next to me so I picked it up and with a combination of yelling, stick waving, and very fast backtracking Beamer and I managed to escape unharmed.
8. On the mushroom front I have good news and bad news. The good news is that they started to bloom. The bad news is that only 1 out of 4 bags produced anything and they took a month longer then we were expecting them too (I think the climate is too hot in Bankim). I don’t think this is the best income generating project option for the money it would cost to start up versus the amount we can get to produce here in village, but it was a fun little experiment. Back to square one :/
9. Ok, so Peace Corps has three main goals for all it’s programs in all the countries it works in. Goal 1: sustainable development of the host country. Goal 2: share host country culture with Americans. Goal 3: share American culture with the host country. The following is by far the best goal three quote of all time: (while watching Toy Story with another volunteer and a bunch of kids from the neighborhood)
7 year old Cameroonian child “What’s a cowboy?”
Peace Corps volunteer: “Well it’s sort of like if you could mix a berger (cattle herder) and gendarme (solider)”
I realize this might not actually be funny to everyone but it gave me a good laugh so I thought I’d share ☺
10. Christmas was a bit of a whirlwind between Bankim and traveling to Banyo to celebrate with the other volunteers in the area( but a fun whirlwind none the less!). Some of the highlights included a very successful Christmas party for the neighbors hosted by yours truly, the most awesome frip find gift exchange ever (ask Hunter about his t-shirt and tie), a visit to the Banyo missionaries for what felt like a big family Christmas dinner back at home (not my home mind you… no one was teasing me incessantly and calling me a tree hugging hippie), a Christmas movie marathon (Elf, Charlie Brown Christmas, Love Actually and the Holiday) and a visit from the Raymond family to wrap up the weekend. Now all this was fun but the real highlight, and what I’m sure you’re all wondering about if you read my last post was the Christmas chicken. I’m happy to report that Chicken Little survived the journey from Bankim to Banyo first strapped to the back of a motorcycle and then to the back of a small hatchback Toyota and tasted all the better for it. When it came time to do the deed one of the boys slit the neck, but I pulled feathers out and it’s safe to say I’m a feather plucking pro now ;)
11. Last but not least New Year’s 2011… the start of which marks my 15th month living in Cameroon!!! New years eve was pretty low key. I had a movie night at my house for some of the kids and made them all pizza and popcorn. At midnight my doorbell started ringing nonstop so I got dressed and went outside to see what was up. I knew it was gonna be good when I started smelling burning rubber and sure enough my neighbors were all gathered in the street dancing and singing around a burning tire. Hawoua came out at the same time I did (they were ringing her doorbell over and over again too) but she was being a major party pooper… she wasn’t really feelin’ all the hub-bub. Finally I grabbed her hand and said, “Hawoua! It’s the New Year you can’t start off 2011 by yelling at people, come out and watch all the kids dancing!” She reluctantly can with me and I think (even though she’ll never admit it) that she had a good time ☺
New Years Day was a lot more eventful with visits to friends’ houses and lots of people visiting me at my house. At one point I had in my living room; 2 Mbororo girls, 3 Tikar wives, 2 Bamoum women, Hawoua, and Roses’ 23 year old Anglophone daughter Vera. All of them were pretty young (none were over 25) and being so, acted like a group of catty women (two of the women I think are pretty much mortal enemies and everyone has had to pick sides… I don’t even know what the epic fight was about but I ended up on Hawoua’s side by default… I live with her). I could have cut through the judging vibes with a knife, but thankfully every one enjoyed their cake, popcorn, and juice without starting any catfights. It was a little uncomfortable when it was happening, but after the fact it made me feel not so far away from home ;)
So that’s pretty much everything of interest that I did in December
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Christmas Chicken
Ok before I begin this story let me just say that I will never EVER take the meat section at my local grocery store for granted ever again.
Right after thanksgiving my neighbor Rose started to prepare for the Christmas Fete. Now back home if I said this I’d be referring to the Christmas lights, holiday music, and (for all you day-after-thanksgiving-tree-putter-uppers) a decorated tree. However, here getting ready for the fete referred to the arrival of a new roster, who is currently being fattened up and is residing in the compound. I think I’ve mentioned some of my prior run-ins with these winged devils and but to recap, currently my record with them is 2 and 0. The first one claimed my front porch for his territory and didn’t much like me “all up in his space” (I’m referring to the charging, squawking, and puffed out chest that me trying to stand on my front porch incited) and the second one crowed all day right underneath my bedroom window (only my window mind you) starting at 4:30 am (on the dot… everyday… all day). Needless to say I don’t care much for them, but of course the silver lining is that they are mighty tasty ;)
So Rose got this chicken and I started thinking it over and I decided that I would get a chicken for my Christmas too (after all it’s Christmas…. I thought I deserved a little treat). It just so happened that the week I had be contemplating this I was also scheduled to go out and do some work en brousse, which as it turns out is the best place to find the big chickens. When we set out in the morning I told the nurse, Mbokas, that if we passed a place to buy a chicken he should stop. He quickly told me that he wanted to do the same thing, and agreed to help me pick out a good one and get a fair price for it.
We drove around visiting villages for vaccinations most of the morning and at the last place we stopped I met the chicken guy. Well, he wasn’t exactly a chicken guy, but he told us of this friend of his who has some chickens for sale and gave us directions on how to get to his place. I’ll sum up the directions for ya:
- leave the village heading that way (points in a direction the road doesn’t go)
- go until you pass the really big tree
- go past the bush fire (you may have to drive through it (and we did))
- and then you’ll see the guy’s place on the left
By what I can only call a miracle Mbokas managed to navigate the way and about an hour later I found myself haggling over the price of a chicken. The place we were at was a single-family compound (one father, four wives, and a bunch of kids) with a half dozen or so mud brick huts situated in this round clearing. I know this because after the money changed hands the father smiled at me, pointed at the chicken and said, “ok now lets catch him.” To which we spent the next 30 minutes chasing my bird around the place in circles.
In hindsight, I think what happened was that Mbokas bought his chicken first and caught it easily because he had the element of surprise. However, once my guy saw what was going on he went on the defensive and read me like a book when I started coming at him. In the end it took Mbokas, the Father, the 4 wives, and me to finally corner the chicken under what was the kitchen hut. There was one of us on each side and as we slowly started to close in the chicken got panicky and started darting every which way. He was getting desperate and I could tell he was gonna make a run for it soon and try and break through our line. It was at this point that I started praying “Oh dear God, please please, please don’t let it make a break towards me please, please, please, please, PLEASE! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do if it comes at me. Please let it go towards someone else.” But alas I was the weakest link and in a final attempt to free itself the chicken came at me full force. Now, I know were only talking about a chicken here but, not gonna lie, it was kind of terrifying. He flew off the ground with his wings flapping all over the place and his large talons aimed at my face, making some god-awful clucking/crowing/desperate screaming sound. Naturally my reaction was to close my eyes, cover my face, and then emit my own desperate screaming sound. Thankfully, the wife standing to my left foresaw my cowardice and leaped out to grab the bird while it was in mid-air. I think the combination of my hysterical screaming and the chicken’s hysterical screaming could have been the most amusing thing to happen in the family’s home in a long time cause after I’d calmed down enough to open my eyes I looked around and saw that everyone else was rolling with laughter at the scene we had made. After the adrenaline stopped pumping I joined them and began laughing myself… after all it was pretty funny (it was like slow-motion T.V. funny, or funniest home movies funny)
So that’s the story of the chicken. After we captured him I rode back to Bankim on the back of a moto with a chicken under each arm and the cooler of vaccines slung over my shoulder. Now the chicken is living behind the house in the outdoor kitchen, it still crows at the butt crack of dawn and it still flaps it’s wings and makes a fuss anytime I get near it but it’ll all be worth it in about a week! I’ll be sure to let you know how the killing/plucking/cooking phase goes ;)
Right after thanksgiving my neighbor Rose started to prepare for the Christmas Fete. Now back home if I said this I’d be referring to the Christmas lights, holiday music, and (for all you day-after-thanksgiving-tree-putter-uppers) a decorated tree. However, here getting ready for the fete referred to the arrival of a new roster, who is currently being fattened up and is residing in the compound. I think I’ve mentioned some of my prior run-ins with these winged devils and but to recap, currently my record with them is 2 and 0. The first one claimed my front porch for his territory and didn’t much like me “all up in his space” (I’m referring to the charging, squawking, and puffed out chest that me trying to stand on my front porch incited) and the second one crowed all day right underneath my bedroom window (only my window mind you) starting at 4:30 am (on the dot… everyday… all day). Needless to say I don’t care much for them, but of course the silver lining is that they are mighty tasty ;)
So Rose got this chicken and I started thinking it over and I decided that I would get a chicken for my Christmas too (after all it’s Christmas…. I thought I deserved a little treat). It just so happened that the week I had be contemplating this I was also scheduled to go out and do some work en brousse, which as it turns out is the best place to find the big chickens. When we set out in the morning I told the nurse, Mbokas, that if we passed a place to buy a chicken he should stop. He quickly told me that he wanted to do the same thing, and agreed to help me pick out a good one and get a fair price for it.
We drove around visiting villages for vaccinations most of the morning and at the last place we stopped I met the chicken guy. Well, he wasn’t exactly a chicken guy, but he told us of this friend of his who has some chickens for sale and gave us directions on how to get to his place. I’ll sum up the directions for ya:
- leave the village heading that way (points in a direction the road doesn’t go)
- go until you pass the really big tree
- go past the bush fire (you may have to drive through it (and we did))
- and then you’ll see the guy’s place on the left
By what I can only call a miracle Mbokas managed to navigate the way and about an hour later I found myself haggling over the price of a chicken. The place we were at was a single-family compound (one father, four wives, and a bunch of kids) with a half dozen or so mud brick huts situated in this round clearing. I know this because after the money changed hands the father smiled at me, pointed at the chicken and said, “ok now lets catch him.” To which we spent the next 30 minutes chasing my bird around the place in circles.
In hindsight, I think what happened was that Mbokas bought his chicken first and caught it easily because he had the element of surprise. However, once my guy saw what was going on he went on the defensive and read me like a book when I started coming at him. In the end it took Mbokas, the Father, the 4 wives, and me to finally corner the chicken under what was the kitchen hut. There was one of us on each side and as we slowly started to close in the chicken got panicky and started darting every which way. He was getting desperate and I could tell he was gonna make a run for it soon and try and break through our line. It was at this point that I started praying “Oh dear God, please please, please don’t let it make a break towards me please, please, please, please, PLEASE! I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do if it comes at me. Please let it go towards someone else.” But alas I was the weakest link and in a final attempt to free itself the chicken came at me full force. Now, I know were only talking about a chicken here but, not gonna lie, it was kind of terrifying. He flew off the ground with his wings flapping all over the place and his large talons aimed at my face, making some god-awful clucking/crowing/desperate screaming sound. Naturally my reaction was to close my eyes, cover my face, and then emit my own desperate screaming sound. Thankfully, the wife standing to my left foresaw my cowardice and leaped out to grab the bird while it was in mid-air. I think the combination of my hysterical screaming and the chicken’s hysterical screaming could have been the most amusing thing to happen in the family’s home in a long time cause after I’d calmed down enough to open my eyes I looked around and saw that everyone else was rolling with laughter at the scene we had made. After the adrenaline stopped pumping I joined them and began laughing myself… after all it was pretty funny (it was like slow-motion T.V. funny, or funniest home movies funny)
So that’s the story of the chicken. After we captured him I rode back to Bankim on the back of a moto with a chicken under each arm and the cooler of vaccines slung over my shoulder. Now the chicken is living behind the house in the outdoor kitchen, it still crows at the butt crack of dawn and it still flaps it’s wings and makes a fuss anytime I get near it but it’ll all be worth it in about a week! I’ll be sure to let you know how the killing/plucking/cooking phase goes ;)
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