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.   

Thoughts 2

When I arrived in Philadelphia after an unremarkable flight from Detroit I started to meet the group that would be everyone I knew (or so I thought at the time) for the rest of my PeaceCorps experience. Kelly from U of M was the first, and Mary from Northern Michigan the second. They where easy to spot in the airport, overloaded with baggage, confused, and without a clue, just like me. Eventually after a few phone calls, and asking just about everyone wearing a uniform we figured out how to get to the hotel where the pre-training was happening. After arriving at the hotel and meeting with all the people that where already there I went with a group to get some breakfast and see the liberty bell which was only a few blocks away. Everyone seemed nice enough, and we all made the polite little chit chat that one engages in when meeting for the first time.

The whole experience in the hotel conference room was a little strange. It seemed like the introduction to some cult or something. Everyone sat at round tables wearing name tags in our business casual, filling out forms and doing “ice-breakers” while listening to the overly peppy and ever smiling speaker prattle on about our “mission.” We spent a lot of time talking about coping mechanisms and what to do if you ever think about quitting the PeaceCorps. I guess the whole point is to just get everyone together in the same room in order to meet for the first time, and you might as well talk about something, so not quitting the PeaceCorps is as good a subject as any. Not to mention, I'm sure they designed the whole thing so that if you loose your nerve at the last minute, its in Philadelphia instead of in the middle of a very expensive plane ride half way around the world.

After the day of meetings I ended up skipping on going to the bars on my last night in America. I know I missed out on some socializing but first off I was really tired after the night before, and second I hadn’t seen anyone smoking so I figured all the other volunteers where squares anyways (this was odd because as it turned out more people in the group smoke that don't). The next day in JFK during a rain delay I was pleasantly surprised by everyone’s enthusiasm to waste every dime of our per diam in the airport bars (a sign of things to come). At some point just before we landed in Brussels we where informed that we would not be able to make the connecting flight and would be spending the night in Brussels, courtesy of the PeaceCorps.

In Brussels, serendipity visited me, as it often does when it comes to drinking beer. As I left my room in the hotel to check my e-mail in the lobby I ran into a group that was ready to head out into the center of town. The group included my roommate, Carlos, not only a fellow Michigander, but a fellow Spartan, Martin from South Carolina, and Joe from San Francisco. Granted, according to some of the other volunteers we where not supposed to leave the hotel, but hell, I have never been one to follow arbitrary rules. When I was invited out it didn't matter that I was completely unprepared for a night on the town, there was no way I was getting left behind to hear the stories the morning after. We missed a connection with someone that Martin knew from studying abroad, but ended up in the middle of some medieval castle drinking incredible beer which wasn't so bad. We didn't have much of a plan but luckily we ran into a nice Lebanese guy named Nicholas who guided us to a bar with over 150 beers on tap, and ended the night three bars later with some sort of flaming absinth shots and having to drag Carlos away from a Belgian girl he had only just met but was in the middle of professing his undying love for. Nicholas gave us a ride back to the hotel, the five of us packed into his tiny hatchback, speeding down the empty streets of Brussels and screaming out the lyrics to “Where is my Mind?” by the Pixies. It was a good thing we got a ride because we only had 5 hours before we where supposed to be at the airport again, and the trains had stopped running hours ago.

I woke up to Mark and Martin, (Martin from the night before) banging on the door of Carlos and my hotel room and then bursting in and yelling at us like drill sergeants until we had packed everything and where out the door. Apparently we where already 45 minutes late getting up, and had to get directly on a shuttle to the airport without breakfast. It was a great start to a day that would end with my stepping foot in Africa for the first time.   

La Fête de Femme

International Woman’s Day (La Fête de Femme) is every March 8^th. I have to admit I was completely unaware of this fact until I moved to Cameroon, but it is kind of a big deal here. Think mothers day, only its for all women, and there is a parade, and lots of drinking, so really not like mothers day, or at least not mothers day at my house. Basically women aren't expected to do any work that day, and they all dress up in special woman's day pange and march through the center of town. After that everyone gets drunk. It would be nice to see more women doing something that was a little more productive given the venue, but mostly they just use it as an excuse to go to the bar. Not to say that its a bad thing, the men are busy doing the same thing the other 364 days a year and “respectable” women aren’t supposed to be hanging around in bars so I guess its deserved.

Afterwards, some women from Bibondi at the bar.

I didn't notice it when I took the picture, but this is a little bit scary.

Florence, the wife of my community host, is the woman in glasses.

The aftermath, every bar in Lolodorf was full.

Fortunately for me I got to help out a woman's group that my post mate Amanda works with so I felt productive. She does a lot of work with the preparation of soy as a supplement to the traditional diet, and generally healthy food in the form of soy milk, soy yogurt, and tofu. The day before the Fête Madame Bobo, the president of the group, got everyone together to prepare the milk, yogurt, and tofu and teach all the women the recipe's. Unfortunately the power was out that day so all of the soy had to be ground by hand which took the better part of two hours, and wasn’t exactly easy with the tiny little hand cranked machines. Once the actual cooking started we left, because the kitchen was small, hot, and cramped, and we where taking space from people who where there to learn.

The women washing the soy before grinding it

Grinding

Greg (Amanda's boyfriend) taking a turn at grinding

The day of the Fête we set up at the end of the parade route to sell the products in order to raise money for the woman’s group, and to teach people about soy. I mostly talked to people about soy cultivation, and got a list of people that put in orders for a few kilo's, and told them I would be able to come out to their farms to help them plant. There was a lot of interest which was great, and it was great to be able to just kind of tag along and help with a project that was already set up, so that I didn't have to do all the legwork myself.

Setting up

Like I said there was a lot of interest.

This will probably be my last update for a while, because I will be heading up to Ngaoundéré for “In Service Training” in less than a week. After IST, which lasts a week, some other volunteers and I plan on doing some traveling to visit other volunteers posts around the Grand North for a while, so I will be gone for a good 3 weeks. Hopefully my next post will have pictures of me riding a hippo (no joke).   

En Bruse

 This post is going to be mainly photos, which I hope you guys enjoy because it takes me like 10 minutes to upload each one. All of the pictures where taken during random trips into the bush. August, my community host is the president of the community forest of Bikoka/Bibondi so he goes out into the bush a lot. Sometimes I go out with him to help scout for tree's, see the work that is being done clearing the roads and trails, and of course tramping around in the rainforest is a lot of fun anyways so even if I'm not helping much I enjoy it.

The idea of a community forest is a really good one. Basically a community is put in charge of managing a tract of forest so they can sell the wood and non-timber forest products and the proceeds go towards the community instead of the pockets of government officials. The forest in Bikoka/Bibondi is separated into 100 sectors, and they take wood from only one of the sectors at a time so the trees have time to grow back. They don't clear cut the wood either, they harvest only the mature tree's, and process them on site then carry out the wood on trails to one main road instead of putting roads throughout the whole forest. All in all the way the community forest is managed here is pretty environmentally sound, and a lot of the money seems to come back to the community. Unfortunately a lot of the community forests here aren't really managed that well, and all of the wood gets clear cut by the Chinese, and the community doesn’t see a dime of it. It's all really part and parcel of the corruption that is endemic here. If you put a community in charge of a forest, chances are some one who is a little less than honest is going to make sure they are in charge, and then steal and embezzle as much as possible.  

In any case, here are some pictures.

This is the root of a vine that is over a foot thick, and reaches about 250 feet into the air.

This group was cutting a border around the 2011 sector to make identifying and transporting tree's easier.

This is how palm wine is made.  This palm was cut about 15k from the road, and is pretty much just for the people working on the community forest.  A tree will give about 10 liters a day for 3 weeks. 

Bibondi river right after the trail crosses it

August, and a really big tree.  It is hard to get a picture that really gives a sense of how big these tree's are, but this one is probably over 200 feet tall

Some mist rolling over the mountains

Some guys taking a palm wine break from clearing the road.  These two cleared a kilometer straight through the Jungle with just machetes, also in case you didn't notice this is August's "en bruse" outfit

A really pissed of Chameleon.  According to August seeing one of these en bruse is good luck

Comice

So I have been kind of busy/lazy/not had the internet for a while, but here is the update from the Comice that I was supposed to post like a month ago.

Ebolowa, the regional capital of the South has been preparing for the Comice for a few years now, so the whole city looked pretty nice. Coming into town there where banners all over the place, all the building where new or freshly painted, and some one had obviously came through and picked up most of the trash that tends to be everywhere in cities. They had built a new hotel for all the elites who would be showing up, and a new park dedicated to Paul Biya in the center of town (which was of course locked, and not open to the public). Coming into the village just outside of Ebolowa where they had set everything up for the show I was struck by how nice it all looked. It reminded me more of a music festival than anything else. All of the stands where in brand new tents, the entrance was huge and well made, and there was a gigantic stage with a huge sound system and lights. Also Castel had a beer tent set up, which was awesome.

The main entrance, with the obligatory giant picture of Paul Biya

On the first day we where not able to actually get inside to set up our booth, so we set up outside the main entrance. We probably got to talk to a lot more people seeing as most of them had the same problem as us. The security was ridiculous because the president was there giving a speech to open the fair. It really only makes sense in Cameroon to have a Argo-Pastoral dedicated to the hard working farmers of Cameroon, and then not let any of them in.

At lest we didn't miss the parade! (I hate parades)

The table right after we set up.

A group of random Americans is known to draw a crowd pretty quickly.

On the second day we finally got in and set up the booth which I thought ended up looking pretty nice. There where a bunch of volunteers there, and we where all supposed to be talking about different things depending on where at the table we where standing. There was a section on AIDS education and family planning, some stuff on soy cultivation, and then an area for medicinal plants. All of the volunteers where also supposed to talk about what it is exactly that the Peace Corps does. Unfortunately for me my French wasn’t quite good enough to be doing any of that with proficiency, and I had been a Volunteer for about a month at that point, so I didn't really know myself what it is Peace Corps does in the country. In spite of that, I had to do a lot of talking, because the booth stayed busy pretty much all day for the whole six days, how much I was understood I don't really know, but at least I tried.  All in all I would have to say it was a good experience, but it was a little bit frustrating.

The inside of the booth.

The Front

There was some faux cultural stuff set up that was pretty cool, but I would have to say this painting was about the most awesome thing there. I also bought some masks, and probably over paid, but I liked them a lot so I don't mind.

Clay dome Houses from the North.

I think this is from the North too.

This is supposedly what the inside of a house in the South looks like, but I can tell you its not exactly accurate.

That would be Paul and Chantel Biya picking pineapples with The Obama's

Mask 1

Mask 2

The highlight of the whole thing was meeting Paul, and Chantel Biya, and shaking their hands. I can now say that I have met a dictator. The ambassador and his wife also came by, but I had already met him before so it wasn't quite as exiting.

The ambassador and his wife checking out the booth.

Paul and Chantel, Paul is much shorter in person that I thought he would be.

A couple other random pictures:

There was a small, rather sickly looking lion that didn't seem to happy about being on display.

This is called a cane rat, and people have begun to breed them for meat here.

African elephant snails.  I hope to start a snail raising project with someone from my village, so I talked to the guy who raised these quite a bit.

I have a bunch of pictures from trekking around the rain forest, and some from my post mate Amanda's Women’s Day soy project that I helped out on that I will try and get posted soon.   

Thoughts

 When I arrived in Africa it happened to be the first time that I had ever been out of the country. I was a citizen of America, which is in case you did not know what you call the United States of America, that is if you don't know two shits about the rest of the world. Sure I had been to Canada before, but I lived in Michigan so I was already half Canadian anyways, but at this point I think a Canadian is about as different from a Michigander as a Michigander is from a Texan anyways. Yeah you can bring up all the things that are better about Canada like socialized health care and such, but I'm talking about culture here. In Michigan we have the whole hockey thing, and we know how to deal with snow, so according to me that is half Canadian. If anyone would like to defend an independent Canadian culture, you have my ear.

The point is I went into this experience almost completely untraveled. Most of the people I was in training with knew to some extent what the hell they were getting into but I was completely clueless. I landed in Douala airport completely unprepared for what awaited me. I remember looking out the airplane window during the descent into Cameroon and thinking that this was it. I had actually escaped my life as it was and ran away to join the Peace Corps. I turned to the person sitting next to me, but at that point after only a few days of knowing one another, it wasn’t the connection I was longing for. It wasn’t the confirmation of what was actually happening. It was not the affirmation of the fear, the apprehension, and the excitement I was feeling. I said, “I guess we actually did it.” Perhaps it was the fatigue after the marathon of traveling that was the trip to Africa, perhaps it was simply that whoever it was didn't really understand what I was trying to say, but they didn't respond.

The last night that I spent at home seemed like a “best of” as far as everyone I knew went. Not to say that it actually was, but everyone that I really loved, and was able to make it there was there. Hell even my grandma made it out for the beginning of the night. I stayed out entirely too late to get on a plane early the next day, but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep in any case. I remember the feeling the coolness in the beginning of a Michigan autumn I would never get to see as I was saying my goodbyes after dark. I hugged everyone and gave a nonchalant “see you in a few years” to everyone and got a ride home because I knew beforehand I would have a few too many.

After just a few hours of sleep I got a ride to the airport from my parents. Both of them where obviously more than little apprehensive to see me go. They prepared coffee and warmed up the car in earnest. As we traveled the route away from my childhood home the roads became less and less familiar, as I became more and more aware of the fact that I wouldn’t see them again for years.

At the airport, my father found a parking spot and we entered the terminal, all of us solemnly and silently awaiting the dreaded moment that we would part. I was no seasoned traveler, and my nervousness had no less to do with the fact that I was getting on an airplane than it was that I was saying goodbye to Michigan, to my parents, and to everything I had known for 24 years for the last time. I will never forget the sight of my parents standing there side by side as I snaked back and forth through the line for security anxiously awaiting the moment I would wave goodbye as I took off my shoes to go through the metal detector. Before I left my father hugged me and said “we are proud of you,” I don't know if its just mid-western thing, but I had never heard him say that before. Throughout my Peace Corps experience I will always try to live up to that esteem.

Before the Comice, but after the Holidays

Its been quite a while since I last updated so I guess I am going to split this into two parts. After I got back from the Holidays, and before I left for the Comice I had a few more PACA meetings that went pretty well, but mostly more of the same. I don't know how excited I am about having to go through 10 more of them at this point, but I guess its necessary. Meetings here always seem to drag on forever, and before you can even start anyone who is “important” has to be paid respect to, which can take a while. At least there is always singing at some point, and some how everyone in my village has a pretty good voice which is a plus.

I was also able to start in on some actual work which was exciting. My first little mini-project was starting a compost pile in order to have some good soil for the tree nursery I will begin work on soon. It ended up being really great because a couple of people who saw what I was doing came over and started asking questions, and it ended up being a little hands on lesson in short term composting. They seemed to be pretty aware of what composting was, but they really had no idea how to do it in a controlled way so hopefully they took something out of it.

The sticks don't just make your compost pile look cool, they make it go faster.

I also started in on the school garden for the elementary school that is close to my house. The teachers and head master of the school helped out but most of the work was actually done by the students. This seemed really strange to me at first as the oldest kids in the school are still the equivalent of 5^th or 6^th graders in the United States, but let me tell you having a whole army of child laborers has its benefits, like the fact that the whole area was cleared in only two days (and without any injuries thankfully).

Pictured: Child Labor

Pictured: The benefits of child labor

Don't worry I helped too

It was really weird when I first got there and the teacher was yelling at all the kids who forgot to bring their machetes to class that day, seemed kind of backwards to me for some reason. The whole thing was coming along really great, and I drew up some plans to grow corn, soy, peppers, banana, and Manioc in a rotation, and use nitrogen fixing trees, and contour farming and all of these great agro-forestry techniques which I guess I am still going to do, only when I got back from the Comice they had burned all of the brush to make turning the soil easier (after several people specifically guaranteed me they would not do this).

Yay for traditional practices/laziness!

For those that don't know the whole slash and burn thing should really be avoided not just because it causes deforestation, but also because good soil should have all sorts of micro organisms in it, and burning it pretty much kills the soil and makes sure that the land will be infertile after only a few years of cultivation because everything that would put nutrients back into the soil is dead.

Life in village on the whole is something I am really starting to get used to. I was invited to a funeral one Saturday which was to say the least a little bit different than an American funeral.

The woman was catholic so they did a full catholic service

The traditional musicians

Each of the family members gave a speech

This particular funeral was well attended.

All of the members of the family did kind of a dancing line around the coffin and then did some sort of traditional dance in front of the drummers

I bet you can't pick me out of the crowd! Its like Wheres Waldo only not hard at all

The whole thing ended up being kind of a party and it seemed at least to me that it was as much about the food alcohol and dancing as as anything else. This became really obvious after the actual ceremony was over and the two kegs (where the hell do you find a keg in this country anyways?) and bottles of whiskey came out. I guess that a funeral is really more of a celebration for everyone that isn’t in the immediate family, but after a period of a few years in which they are supposed to mourn there is a kind of second funeral where they are allowed to celebrate, and there is of course more food, more alcohol, and more dancing. It was really cool to see the way that people here mix catholic traditions in with African culture.

As far as the rest of the country goes though, I am starting to have my doubts. Every time I get out of my village where people don't know me I get constantly bothered. Everyone assumes that I am either a tourist or a businessman, and in either situation I should have a lot of money to spend (and or steal). Small things like constantly being referred to as “le blanc,” getting quoted ridiculous prices for things, and constantly being stared at get really grating after a while. Really integrating into the culture here seems like it would be completely impossible for the sole fact that you are so obviously different, so obviously from some place else. You are always treated differently everywhere you go, and even when its something that seems like its positive, like being called to the front of the line at the bank, being given the best seat on the bus, or getting a little extra attention from females, (I need to buy a wedding ring and start telling people I am married because its getting ridiculous) the fact that you know its not because of merit, its not because of who you actually are, its just because you happen to be white ends up just making the whole situation feel embarrassing. All in all I guess I am just really happy to be back in my village (except for the moot moots), and I don't plan on leaving again until its absolutely necessary.  

Moot Moots are tiny biting flies, and this is what they will do to your hand

Once I get some more time and motivation I will write up something about the Comice and post all the pictures I took.