The Pygmies

I had expressed some interest in seeing the Pygmies (or more technically “Pygmoids” because the average height of the Gyele people is slightly above 150 cm) to Florence. I was really hoping to be able to go out into the forest and view an intact hunter gatherer society. This had more to do with my own curiosity as an amateur anthropologist than with anything related to my Peace Corps work. I was given a date that we would go to Florence's “village natal” in order to make this happen. There is a band of Pygmies that lives close to said village, and Florence knows how to speak the padtwa so I was pretty excited about the whole thing even though the date ended up falling on my return from a rather strenuous trip. I got back to village in the early afternoon and took a long nap before the hour long moto ride. The nap turned out to be quite a good idea.

After the ride out to Ngonvoyan I realized the whole “Pygmy experience” would not be exactly what I had anticipated. It happened that the reason that everyone was gathering together was for a funeral. As I have mentioned before funerals in Cameroon are several years after the burial (deuil), and are more of a celebration than a mourning. This was the funeral for Florence's father, who had been quite close with the Pygmy bands that live near the village (the reason Florence knows the padtwa I suppose), and because of that the Chief of the Pygmies , and many others came to the celebration in order to do a traditional dance. This all lead to the rather awkward scene of Auguste introducing me to several Chiefs and Notables, all of them dressed in their finest, and me fitted out for a hike out en bruse. Even if I was horribly under dressed I of course enjoyed the food, palm wine, and merrymaking that is a Cameroonian funeral.  Unfortunately the Chief took one look at me and started demanding that I pay money before they would dance.  After Florence explained that I wasn't a tourist, and I was working and living in a village close by he decided I didn't have to pay, although I think that Florence might have given him a little money.  

Far too late in the evening for my liking (1 or 2 in the morning) the Pygmies started singing. Eight women lined up on a long piece of wood they used as a drum and played some sort or crazy rhythm that I couldn't quite ever understand, all the while singing songs with weird dissonant sounding harmonies. While they played the men danced, and as the night went on the women and the dancers became more and more inebriated the and signing and dancing became increasingly boisterous. At some point the singing and dancing stopped, and after a few minutes a single dancer appeared costumed in leaves that covered his face and hands, and the singing and dancing continued, louder and more uninhibited than ever. At some point not long before dawn I decided it was time to sleep. I got one or two hours or sleep listening to the raucous singing and drumming that continued after dawn and well into the morning. After a breakfast of papaya I rode back to the village in the morning and slept most of the day, and while it was not at all what I expected I was glad I went, and I am hoping to actually make it out to their village at some point soon.

These are the women that played and sang.  There are also some other bigger drums that some of the men played when they where not dancing.

It was really hard to get a picture of this guy because the shutter speed was so low that all the pictures I took ended up being just a blur.  This was one of the few moments he was actually standing still.

After IST

When I returned from IST the amount of work to be done unfortunately dropped off precipitously. Most of the farmers had already planted, already burned their fields, already done everything the way they have been doing it for centuries, and here I was back in village after almost a month gone and more than a little bit late to say anything, let alone convince anyone to change. At this point there was no longer introductory meetings to take up my time; I had already met everyone, and the work was supposed to commence yet somehow it didn't. Even if there was little else to do I had my experimental plot to work on, really just a little garden behind my house. It had become completely overgrown with weeds and still needed to be planted, so as I solitarily lamented taking too long to get back to village at least I had something to keep my hands busy.

I did however have hope that I would be able to get some soy in the ground before it was too late. I had talked to my Program Manager during IST (3 weeks prior to getting back) about getting soy seeds to my village as soon as possible because the rain had already started. While it took almost a week after I had been back in village, he finally came through. It wasn’t too big a deal actually, because in the South you can plant soy through mid April, but it was a little frustrating waiting to be able to start what small amount of work I did have. I got a lot of soy planted myself, and got a lot of seed to people who wanted it in time to be planted. I hope to do some demonstrations on cooking with soy come the time to harvest, and I already have some one lined up that will come help with presenting to the woman’s group that planted a lot of the soy. I guess I can count that as a small victory, but I do have to admit that the health volunteer Amanda, who has been here for a year already, has done so much soy sensitization that convincing people to grow it was relatively easy.

Planting some Soy

At some point in the week or so after I got back there was a celebration at Auguste's place. A first communion for a kid on Easter Sunday. Of course the reception was at Auguste's, being the nicest house in the immediate vicinity it hosts more than its fair share of parties. Because it was at Auguste's I was invited to attend. It was nice to see some people I knew from around the community, and feel like I was doing an alright job integrating, even if I wasn't getting too much Agro work done.

The party was because the little girl in white had her first communion.  August took this picture, and he is not a fan of holding the camera still.

In the first week or two after IST I was having a rather rough time of it to be completely honest. I was missing home, missing all my friends, and feeling the awful absence of anticipation for a summer that I knew in Michigan was just about to slowly come to life. For me summer had never ended. I was as close as makes no difference to the equator, and still wishing for one night I might have to cover up with a blanket instead of sweating and suffering the incessant heat and humidity. All the while I knew everyone back home was able to if not appreciate, at least experience the start to starkly different and optimistically new season after season. Maybe that is why so many people have described Africa as “timeless,” time just doesn’t ever seem to pass here. The rain comes and goes, and people don't work one day in seven, but you never have the feeling that anything really changes.

All that melancholy had no doubt a lot to do with the fact that I found myself a dog. It wasn’t too hard, I just decided one morning to ask about getting a puppy (chiot en Fraçais), and while I sat there drinking coffee on Auguste's porch one was delivered to me. I named her “Peanut,” a name that made a lot of sense to me given my brother's use of it as a nick name for any cute little kid, and the fact that they grow a lot of peanuts in Bibondi, although the call them “arachides”, or “ground nuts” here. I have never been too much of a dog person, but I have to say Peanut is growing on me. This is probably in no small part because I have easily cleaned concrete floors in my house, but at least taking care of a puppy gives me something else to fill the hours.

Peanut likes to hide under my coffee table when she isn't busy peeing on my floor.

Next time will be a more exciting post I think, Pygmies, the pépinière, and Le Fête du Travaille.

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.