The Three Month Mark

It is 8:30am in Beka-Hosséré as I sit and write to you while sipping some coffee (using my beautiful new mug that was given to me by one of my best friends I have met here). The electricity has been working a lot better here with only a few blackouts a week. I feel very lucky. But then I wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have electricity like most of the other volunteers in Cameroon. I wouldn’t be able to watch a movie and curl up with hot tea while I’m sick. I would probably go to bed or try to read a book. I would have to say though that Peace Corps volunteers in Cameroon probably read more books than students in college. In the United States, I would read every night before going to bed, but like everyone else in the US, I would complain about being too busy to read; when really I was just always distracted. Here in Cameroon, there are not many distractions and a good book can save your life. I have done more reading here than I did in college, and I was an English major. Anyway, this life takes some getting used to. I am reaching my three month mark and I’m not sure if I feel any more at home than when I first got here. The call to prayer still surprises me in the morning and the kids yelling to each other in Fulfulde still confuses me until I remember where I am. Until I step outside to feed my chickens, this life doesn’t seem real.  My new kitten does bring some normality to the picture. She acts like any other kitten especially when she is tearing up my couch. This house is probably the best place to raise a kitten because I don’t care what she tears up since everything in this place has been passed down from volunteer to volunteer and is so old it doesn’t matter what is shredded.

The way I received this kitten is totally a page out of the Cameroonian book. My birthday was full of surprises including one of the bean mammas bringing her daughter over to my house to bake me a cake. She had told me the week before that her daughter was going to bake me a cake (which I was thrilled about) but I did not understand that in the Cameroonian way of thinking that she actually meant: she and her daughter will come to my house in the morning of my birthday and use the ingredients that I bought to bake the cake in my kitchen. Thank goodness I had most of the ingredients anyway and gave her some money to go buy the rest in village. She ended up making two brilliant cakes and they stayed to party with us which was amazing.

One of our Bean Mamas and her daughter baking my cakes

Some of my friends made an apple pie, lemon squares, and carrot cake! One thing I am learning here is that volunteers find ways to make food that I would have thought impossible here. And when a volunteer finds a U.S. baking ingredient in the “secret store” in Ngaoundéré, it is a reason for celebration and the news is spread from volunteer to volunteer as if someone had invented a new way to go to space. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday in my little village. All my friends, including volunteers and Cameroonians, came to my house to celebrate. One of my Cameroonian friends from my village entered my house with a grain sack and handed it to me saying Happy Birthday. I open it and there is a little kitten at the bottom. As soon as I pull her out, she is a spitting image of one of the cats going crazy from the cartoon, “Aristocats”. I quickly shoved her back in the bag and walked away with only a few scratches. It took her two days to come out of the sack and about a week and a half before she would stand to let me touch her. She still hisses and spits if I sneak up on her, but at night she now sleeps on my stomach. Most cats and dogs are not treated like pets here in Cameroon because they are only allowed to live with a family if they serve a purpose. Cuddling was not in my cat’s vocabulary when she arrived at my home. But thankfully with my postmate, Carl’s encouragement, I stayed patient and now my kitten is a great companion. Her name is Annie, short for Anniversaire (birthday in French).

Birthday Party!

 

Me & Annie

I had met another Cameroonian in Ngaoundéré who had worked with volunteers in the past and he heard about my birthday celebration and decided he was going to stop by. Of course he came very late when most of my other Cameroonian friends had left and it was just me and the other volunteers eating cake and watching a movie. We ended up taking a walk outside to wake up and he asked me “is this a part of the American tradition for celebrating birthdays?” I told him that really the only tradition is sometimes a cake and singing Happy Birthday. That really we just do what we want or feel like doing on our birthday. Right now I just feel like taking a walk outside and having an adventure with my friends. He was so surprised and later wrote me a text message that said thank you for including him in my party and that he loved seeing us Americans having so much fun together. Sometimes it blows my mind to think about how I perceive Cameroonian celebrations with their strict cultural traditions and then compare it to how Cameroonians might see Americans celebrate. Just the regular food for thought that goes on in my mind while living here.

Getting Henna Tattoos for the Wedding

 

Don't worry, its temporary, Mom

Another event in village was a Muslim wedding. This was a first for me and my postmates. Jasmine and I had both gotten henna tattoos and I had gotten a new dress made for this occasion. We had no idea what to expect, but it was apparent that all of the villagers were so happy that we had at least gotten the tattoos. We were told to meet at a friend’s house to go to the wedding together. Of course no one could give us a real time for this wedding to start because time isn’t really essential here. We were told to follow them with no real explanation. I find that this happens a lot here. I usually have no idea what is going on until after we get there. We are led to an area where there is music playing (a man on drums and another playing an instrument that sounds like bagpipes) and then we are told to go in this house. Of course I regretted wearing my nice shoes that take some effort to take off since we always have to take off shoes every time we enter a house. We sit down on the floor in the house. I try to sit in a sort of Indian style and immediately the Cameroonian woman with us moves my legs so they are lying straight out in front of me. She then sits Indian style next to me. Some things I just don’t understand. Minutes later we are told to walk in a small parade and I find out we are leading the groom to the Chief’s house. We all enter the Chief’s house (take off our shoes again) and sit for about a 3 minute prayer. Then we go outside to another house and pray again. Mind you, we haven’t seen the bride yet. After this we are told that the men are going to the Mosque to pray and that we can come back a little later for the dancing. Carl and I decide it is a good time to go eat and have a beer. We get back around 10pm and we can hear the party still going on outside the Chief’s house. There is music on the loud speakers with the typical high pitched whining sound every few seconds that you sometimes get if the microphone is too close to the speakers. As soon as we join the party, there is a couch moved to one side of the area for us to sit down. It can be an honor to feel like a King and Queen at a party but it is awkward when you have done nothing to deserve it except being born in America. The dancing kind of reminded me of my high school dances except nobody is touching each other and you all dance in a circle. Sometimes people would throw money inside the circle for the groom. I never really saw the bride and not sure why. Carl and I danced a few songs with everyone and they were all ecstatic when we joined in the fun. I really enjoyed it but we were tired by midnight. Sometimes the work here is just always being aware of what you look like and how you act because everyone is always watching. When we left at midnight, the party was still going and half the children were curled up asleep next to the couch. Needless to say, the village was very quiet the next day.

Wedding Parade to the Chief's House

 

Wedding Parade

 

Wedding Prayer (That is why I'm holding my hands in front of me)

 

The Dance Party

 

Most of these kids were sleeping by midnight

 

Me & Carl sitting on the couch they set up for us to watch the dancing

 

Beka-Hossere volunteers ready for our first Muslim wedding

I also got to experience Youth Day in Cameroon.  We started our morning by going to Gogo Inna’s house (she is pretty much the leader of all the women in the village). Of course as soon as we sat down they gave us food (rice with a beef sauce) and I was very glad I had only eaten a small breakfast. Then we watched as they filled little plastic bags with popcorn, candy, and little chips. These were to be given to all the children who were currently outside all dressed in their best. One of the women wanted us to meet a baby that was just born. I wasn’t really sure why but we didn’t argue and went to another house where there was very loud music playing. Gogo Inna came out with a very very tiny baby and told me to take some pictures. Thank goodness she told someone to turn down the music because the baby could possibly be only a few days old. I took a few pictures and then Gogo Inna gave the baby back to the mom. We left and I really had no idea what that was really about. Maybe a Muslim baptizing ceremony where people see the baby and it is given a name? Usually the naming ceremony happens a week after the baby is born which would explain why it was so young.

Gogo Inna and the newborn baby

 

The children dressed in their best

After seeing the baby, Carl and I went to Ngaoundéré to watch the Youth Day parade. Roads were blocked off as hundreds of people filled the streets leading up to the Place de Fete which is a large stadium-like area with a grand stand on one side for the important people to sit. Walking in it felt like I was back home attending a Countryfest concert. There was a long line of food venders (including one of our bean mamas) and hundreds of people standing facing the grand stand so they could watch the parade. Each school has a different colored uniform and the students would sing and march (picture the marching to be similar to the military in other countries with legs and arms swinging out in front of them as they walked) as they passed in front of the grand stand. The line of school, church, and sporting groups was so long that we had a difficult time finding the school group from our village. The parade was supposed to start at 8am, we got there at 10am and by the time we left there was still many groups in the line waiting to march. Plus who knows if they started on time. As much as I dislike waiting in line to march in the parades in my small town in upstate NY, I will always appreciate them from now on when I think of all the children standing in the hot sun for hours upon hours in Ngaoundéré.  The Youth Day parade was still a brilliant sight to see with all its colors and people coming together to celebrate children.

Youth Day Parade in Ngaoundere

Other than the many fetes (celebrations, holidays) going here, I have done some work with the soy project and prepared my needs assessment for the upcoming conference in Bemenda. I have had a very difficult time getting people to attend the soy project meetings but we finally chose out new participants and had our first meeting with them. The leaders of the soy project want to keep the project going, but the fact is they are not paid to do this work. While volunteering might be a norm in the US, here it is not a known word. It is very discouraging when I call people to schedule a meeting and then they either show up two hours late or not at all. I know that what I am doing is not normal for a new volunteer. Usually because of language barriers and being new to the culture, new volunteers do not start projects until after a few months. I took over this project from a previous volunteer but many of the participants are expecting me to know what to do like he did. It has taken a few meetings and some brilliant help from another Peace Corps volunteer who has been here for years, to finally get everyone on the same page. When I get back from my conference we will have a training session for the participants on growing soy and hopefully participation will get better.

 

We saw a Chameleon!

I will leave this week for the Peace Corps IST Conference in Bemenda which volunteers always have after 3 months of service where we will learn about applying for grants, submitting reports to Peace Corps, and other topics that will help us with our projects. Our counterparts also attend the conference for a few days so they can have a better understanding of how they can help us. I can’t believe that even after three months, this place still feels as strange to me as when I first got here. But I find that my French has gotten so much better and now I take things for granted that was difficult for me a few months ago, like catching a mototaxi or ordering food. I need to be grateful that I have a safe home, amazing friends here, work to do including a soy project that most new volunteers don’t have, and some trips to look forward to including a trip home in May and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. And now I have three chickens and a cat. I may have times (usually around 2pm) when it is too hot to walk outside and I feel the need to hop on a magic carpet and go home, but I remember that the rain will come next month and maybe it will wash away the dust and show me a new side of Cameroon where the fields will grow again and the river will be more than just small puddles for people to wash their clothes in. Maybe, just maybe I will start to understand this place.