Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Monkey Island


A little early for a blog post, but I just had to share my adventure to Monkey Island! It was amazing! Thanks to my two friends who are married and Peace Corps volunteers, I got to tag along with them and a visiting relative to a place in the southwest of Cameroon where rescued chimpanzees are kept safe. Hunting and eating monkeys is a big problem in Cameroon. My postmate has even witnessed children hunting monkeys near our village.

It took a few hours traveling on a dusty dirt road to arrive at this sanctuary. Our driver goes there a lot, taking people such as Peace Corps volunteers to this remote place by the water. Monkey Island is just a name we gave this place but it is not known throughout Cameroon. The only way people visit is by finding out through word of mouth. The people who run it like it better that way. The money we pay to see the chimpanzees enables them to provide for these animals and the low-advertising allows them to take care of the monkeys the way they want to, which I think is very well.

View of the camp
 
The younger ones (up to 3 years old) are kept at the camp and sleep in an old cabin. We played with these ones first. Banana was the most entertaining and loved to cause trouble. He reminded me of a young child, always full of energy and never tiring even though he certainly wore us out. He would even bite a little, like a puppy, although never breaking skin. He reminded me why chimpanzees are dangerous and how I would not want to encounter a bigger and older one. But we had fun with the little ones. One of them loved untying and tying our shoes. She even figured out how to unzip the zipper on my boot. And lastly, my favorite, the youngest: Chance. Less than a year old, his mother had been killed by pygmies (Cameroonians that are hunter/gathers in the jungle) and they had kept Chance so that they could eat him when he got older. Someone found out about Chance and called our driver. He immediately went to pick him up and probably had to pay a lot of money to buy Chance from the pygmies. Chance has become very attached to the main guy at the camp. He played with us but only would let our driver and this other guy hold him. At the end I was finally able to share an apple with him by biting a piece off, feeding it to him and then taking a bite for myself. Five minutes of heaven right there.

Me and Banana
 
 
Sharing an apple with Chance
 
The older monkeys are kept on two islands next to the camp. We took a boat out to see them, anchoring a short distance away. We threw fruit to them as they clambered out to see us. I could tell that they enjoyed their life: they were safe, untouched, and free to enjoy their piece of land with no fences. But I could also tell they were dangerous. I doubt anyone goes on those islands. There were up to 8 on each island, the teenagers were a bit rambunctious but the oldest were quite calm. One of them even had a baby on her back. It was brilliant to see them up close and I knew the money we paid was being put to good use. Mostly all these monkeys (most are chimpanzees but not sure on the rest) are rescued orphans and this island is probably the safest place for them in Cameroon.

 

So I guess this is one wild adventure where I actually got to see and touch the wildlife!

 
P.S. Our train got derailed on our way to Yaoundé. Thank goodness it was just the two luggage cars that went off the track but that meant a few hours wait for the train to get going again. Naturally when it derailed, most people got off and stood staring at the problem with their hands on their hips. Oh Cameroon. But we were lucky, some intelligent person decided to detach the engine car from the luggage cars, move it and move the rest of the train and then reattach them. Of course as we pulled away, we left all the luggage cars. Not sure how people would get their luggage back but it is normal to lose luggage in Cameroon and for trains to derail. Thankfully we had our luggage in our car! This is the wild life.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

The Wildlife


This month brought two similar events; my birthday and the birth of a new baby. As far as turning 28, I can now say that I am not in my post-college years, I am not in my 30s, but somewhere in the middle. “Somewhere” being that ability to have some experience, some education, and still creating adventure. In the US, we might have legal ages such as 18 and 21 but it is becoming normal to be married at 40 or 20 and have that awesome job by 25 or you can find it at 60. Everyone has their own path. In Cameroon, people do not know my age. If they did, they would wonder why I am not married and why I don’t have any children. Sometimes I just say my husband is back in the U.S. so I can avoid the conversation. Most of the children guessed my age to be 30-40 on my birthday. Mmm…do I look that old? At least by seeming older, I receive a little more respect here.
Birthday fun

My neighbors just welcomed a tiny little girl into the world the day before my birthday. It is custom that Muslims wait a week before giving the baby a name. Of course when I asked last Saturday for her name, I got a mix of Oumaheidi, Oumahaley, so it’s something like that. This baby is the mother’s 8th child and 6th girl. Also she has given birth to all of her children in her house even though there is a health center in my village. Most women here choose to give birth at home instead of choosing the safer route of going to a hospital. Well it’s supposed to be safer at the hospital. I have heard stories of doctors using forceps to get the baby out and sitting on the mother’s stomach while she is pushing. According to most men here, the stronger the wife, the less noise she makes while giving birth and they always tell me that it could not be that painful. And how would they know!? Her oldest daughter is 15 (and should be married soon) so I’m guessing the mother has a baby every chance she gets. Birth control is hardly used here. But good news is that the mother and baby are safe and healthy. Another child to add to what I like to call my “Cameroon family”. As much as I disagree with some of their decisions, they are the friends I go to for help, company, and whom I have grown to love in this small, dusty community.
Mamma with her new baby and daughter, Guyia

Recently another volunteer and I have taken up traditional archery here. We visited a small archery practice the other day where a group of men (mostly older) get together a few times a week to shoot their arrows at targets a good 80 meters away. They use the traditional bows and arrows made out of wood with no feathers on the bows. People use to and still today hunt animals with bows. It is a bit different from what we are used to in the U.S. No high tech bow that is easy to pull back and they don’t take their time aiming. Just a small pause to get sight of the target, then they pull and release the arrow in one stroke, even flinging themselves a little forward to give the arrow momentum. We bought arrows and a couple bows from them. I even got a small quiver made of cow hide for my arrows. I felt like a regular Robin Hood. Yet my technique was lacking. It took me a while to learn how to shoot the arrow with this tight-stringed bow. But the men are very welcoming and love to teach us. It reminds me of the groups in the U.S. that reenact battles and the picture of a uniformed soldier showing his teenage son how to load a Civil War rifle.
Archery practice
 
Kind of like Robin Hood?

My father gave me this idea of writing down some “Wildlife” descriptions. Since most of the actual wildlife in Cameroon is in the North, where we are currently not permitted to go with the Boko Haram activity, I actually don’t get to see a lot of the animals that you might connect with Africa. Mostly it’s been a few monkeys and then the domestic sheep, horses, goats, chickens, ducks, dogs, birds, and cats. So I will give you some of the “Wildlife” situations and experiences that always make me feel like: yes I am totally in Africa.

First example is transportation (it is difficult to take pictures here without people staring so I borrowed some of these pictures, but all the pictures are examples of what I have seen here):

While there is one train that goes from the capital of Yaoundé to the Adamawa city of Ngaoundéré, mostly everywhere else people use buses, taxis, and motorcycle taxis to travel. The train can be alright if you pay more and sleep in the small bed for the entire night ride which goes from 7pm to technically 9am. Although most of the time the train breaks down in the middle of the night and you can arrive sometimes as late as 2pm; always over 12 hours on a train. If you take the cheaper choice of 1st or 2nd class, you will have to sit in a less-comfortable airplane like seat and where they do not turn off the lights or music. To add more distress, there are always guys selling anything from tissues and candy to bibles and books, walking up and down the aisle shouting throughout the night. Compared to buses and cars, the train is still the most comfortable means of travel here. And thankfully I live in the Adamawa so I take the train more often than buses.
Train in Ngaoundere

Motorcycle taxis are everywhere here. I pay 200 CFA (less than 50 cents) to get from my village to the city. During dry season, the roads are dusty but not too bad to drive on. Rainy season however can create rivers in the middle of the dirt roads and many times have we tumbled because the motorcycle wheels slip on the mud. But the most interesting fact about these moto-taxis is that you can fit everything on them. This includes mattresses (that is how I transported my mattress to my house in the darkness of night; tightly holding the folded bed between me and the driver, my abs having a great workout as I tried not to fall off the back), large piles of sticks, a goat or two, large pieces of plywood or metal balanced precariously but stretching a few feet into the air, chairs (my postmate sat on his chairs which were on the moto-taxi to transport them to his house), and of course there can be up to 5 people crammed on the motorcycle, maybe more sometimes. It is always funny to see a little kid sitting in front of the driver, his hands resting on the handles. Reminds me of riding in front of my dad on a draft horse, but I think I was the safer kid.
Motorcycle in Cameroon

The same “we can fit that” attitude is with the taxis and buses. It is not unusual to see beds and luggage sticking out of a car trunk with the door strapped a quarter of the way down by large pieces of black rubber. I saw a guy sitting on a bunch of mattresses that were strapped to the top of a car as it went down the road; part of me wanted to try it. And if they can fit luggage, they can fit people. The record for me is when my postmate and I got into a two-door taxi with 4 of us in the front and 5 people in the back with two children. It was a long, cramped ride. Buses are the same. You are lucky if you can take a Touristique bus which resembles the large tourist buses but a lot older and beat up. In those, you have your own seat, even if you are a little squished. Otherwise you might be stuffed into a large van like vehicle that reminds me of how my basketball team and I traveled to games except we didn’t have to fit 5 people in a seat for 4. And if its dry season, no one wants to open windows because of all the dust. Sometimes we see these buses go by and swear we see them tip to one side as they turn a corner because there is so much stuff packed on top. You can even see a few goats tied to the top of a bus usually. And why does Cameroon have this outrageously dangerous and uncomfortable way of travel? Because the only way to keep prices cheap and still make money is to have as many paying passengers as possible. For me, I will stick with the train and moto-taxis as much as possible.
Typical "van" bus
 
Packed taxi (roads are not always this nice in Cameroon)

So while the wild animals are not seen as much in my area, there is still the ability to live the wild life through Cameroon transportation…if you can handle it.

                Read about some other wildlife experiences in my next blog post.


I’m sure some of you have read on my Facebook page that my cat, Annie died a few weeks ago. Instead of writing the sad story here, I have made a special page for her on this blog. So if you feel like shedding some tears and feeling your heart melt a little, just read “Annie” page.

On a happier note, we gave the money that you all kindly donated to Sister Carine for the orphans. They were all so happy and excited to receive the funds and we will keep you updated on how it goes getting them better mattresses and such.


Sister Carine and Doctor Max with the orphans

Life and work in Cameroon have been passing by with every bit of dust that gets into my eye when I forget to put down my helmet visor on the moto-taxi. We are looking for participants for the 2016 Soy Project and handing out flyers everywhere in the area. Those participants will be chosen hopefully by the end of February. Thanks to everyone at home for words of comfort and support after Annie passed away. I even got some birthday packages to brighten my day. I watched the movie Gremlins the other night and around midnight I woke up depressed and with a migraine. After trying to get back to sleep, I heard a rustle and thump in my living room. All I could think was that there were gremlins in my house. Then my neighbor’s cat, Crosby jumped into my bed, scaring the crap out of me. I hadn’t closed the cat door in my window. But somehow Crosby has figured out when I most lonely and in need of a friend. It is amazing that even in a country where people treat animals with such disdain, a cat can be there when she is most needed. And the next morning, I let the children come color in my house because the next best therapy for sadness other than cat snuggles, is hearing children laugh.