IST

IST (In Service Training) was scheduled at about the worst time possible for me, but there are only a few Agro volunteers in the South, and if they had put it off it would have been much more inconvenient for the volunteers who are posted in the Grand North. That being said, I had to leave Bibondi the day after the rain started, which is when everyone does planting, and there was no shortage of work to be doing. In any case I was determined to enjoy myself, and looking forward to seeing all the other 48 some odd volunteers I hadn't seen since the first of December.

My poor unplanted experimental plot before I left.

Although IST is supposed to be really “serious business” the whole thing quickly turned into a shit show. Upon arriving in Yaoundé a few days early I met up with a bunch of other volunteers from the Grand South who also arrived early and where waiting for the train. The partying started then, and didn't stop for another few weeks. The train ride up was a lot of fun, the train doesn’t leave until the evening, and it travels through the night. The Peace Corps sprung for all of the volunteers to stay in sleepers, and everyone was in the same car, so of course we where all up talking and drinking through the night, and late into the morning.

Once we got to Ngaoundére tired, bleary eyed, and hung over IST started. I quickly realized how much like PST (Pre-Service Training) the whole thing was going to be. A week of long boring sessions all day followed by nights out. Sure this time we where not stuck in Bafia (not one of the greatest places in Cameroon to say the least), or staying with a Cameroonian family, and we had a lot more freedom, but the atmosphere was definitely familiar. Unfortunately with this greater degree of freedom, more than a few volunteers went a bit overboard (myself included on a few occasions). I actually had to excuse myself on quite of few of the adventurous nights out. I don't know what it is, maybe its just that I don't like being out in a group of 30 Americans being loud and drawing too much attention, maybe I was just tired, maybe I am actually getting over the whole party phase of my life, or most likely I was just a bit shell shocked to be around so much Americaness after spending three and a half months pretty much alone in a small African village.

A few guys that climbed up Mt. Ngaoundere

Ngaoundere from the mountain

After a week in Ngaoundére IST was officially over, and the vacation started. The first stop was lake Lagdo, which is absolutely beautiful. It is a huge reservoir created in the middle of the Sahel that is surrounded by mountains of piled up boulders. There are hippos in the lake which is kind of scary, but the swimming is nice anyways, the water is warm, and its a good way to cool off when the temperature is over a hundred degrees. The creation of the reservoir left a small island in the middle that we chartered a boat to get out to. There is a small village of extremely conservative Muslims on the island, and when Joe and I walked through to check the place out more than a few women and children screamed at the sight of us and ran to the safety of their houses and compounds. As we passed the village and scrambled up the rock pile on the other side to get a better view of the island we realized two small boys with sling shots had apparently been dispatched to follow us and make sure we didn't go do some weird sorcery or anything. I can say this wasn't completely unwarranted as Joe looked a bit odd carrying a 10 foot fishing pole, and wearing a cowboy hat.

Watching out for hippos at Lagdo

After Lagdo we headed to Maroua which is a really nice city as far as Cameroon goes. The whole place is lined with huge Neem tree's planted to provide shade, the streets are clean, and the whole city has the look of something that was planned, whereas most everything here looks haphazardly thrown together. We spent a few days there and helped send off Steven Finney, a volunteer who was being medically separated against his will, and really wanted to stay. He was a great guy and it was sad to see him leave. After a few days bumming around the city doing nothing in particular a group of people decided it was a good idea to head out to Roumsiki.

Roumsiki was definitely worth seeing, and that is saying a lot because the way out involved more than a few near death experiences. We arrived in Mokolo on a bus late in the afternoon, and decided to try to get out to Roumsiki the same day. The idea was that we would make it before dark if we left right away, but that's not exactly how it worked out. Jules and I shared a moto, that is three people including the driver, an odd site perhaps in the United States, but its standard practice here. The reason we had to make it before dark was that the road out to Roumsiki is more of the idea of a road than something most people would recognize as passable by motorcycle, or car. Of course it got dark long before we arrived, and lucky Jules and me, we had possibly the worst moto driver in Cameroon. His headlight was pointed at a 45 degree angle into the sky instead of towards the road, he could never start the moto on the first try after repeatedly stalling out, and seemed drawn to every pothole and rut like a magnet. I stopped counting the number of times I was convinced we would crash at ten, but that was before it even got dark. We did arrive in one piece though, well after dark, and happy to be alive. The next day we hiked down into the valley with a guide, the pictures I took don't do it justice, and I don't think my attempt at explaining it would be any better, but it really was gorgeous. After the hike we went into the village of Roumsiki, and a few people in the group went to the crab sorcerer to have their fortunes told for 1000 CFA. I abstained, a decision that was equal parts thinking fortune telling is silly, and me just being cheap. We returned to Maroua after that, thankfully in a Land Rover instead of on motos for the first leg of the journey.

It was a bit hazy, and none of my photos turned out too well.

After a few more days in the city everyone gradually broke up and started their voyages back to post. Mine was pretty par for the course for travel in Cameroon. Long, hot, and cramped bus rides, longer delays, and a few days in Ngaoundére waiting to get a train ticket. When I finally made it back to post it was a huge relief, and I was pretty happy to be back in Bibondi.