Taking the Good with the Bad

It was another busy week of training with lots of both exciting and not-so-pleasant experiences. On the subject of training, our days are structured as follows: on days when we are in Bokito, classes start at 8 am, and the day is divided into four sections: section one from 8-10:15 ish, a short break from 10:15 to 10:30, session two from 10:30-12:30, lunch break from 12:30-1:30, session 3 from 1:30-3, short break from 3-3:15, and then the final session from 3:15-4:30. On days when we go to Bafia to be with the other PCTs, we have to be at the training session in Bokito by 7 am to make the 25 minute drive from Bokito to Bafia, and the days are structured in the same way. As far as the training events/sessions go, it really depends on the day. Generally, days spent in Bafia are filled usually with sessions on any number of topics, including: safety and security; transportation and security; nutrition; food security; sexual awareness and assault; health; malaria, etc. Language sessions are often peppered in between the other sessions, although some days we have the whole day of language – all six hours in French. We also have ‘tech’ sessions thrown in, although the tech sessions are held in Bokito exclusively, meaning that these sessions deal with strictly health issues that pertain to health volunteers. Some examples of these tech sessions are: the history of public health; differences between international and global health; the role of health volunteers in Cameroon; malaria; HIV/AIDS, etc. Tech sessions are hands-down my favorites, as they directly relate to what I’ll encounter in my position at post. Not to say that the other sessions aren’t good – they’re actually very valuable – but tech is by far more interesting.

Last Saturday, we did a really cool group of sessions called “French Immersion – Open Door.” There were several different stands set up, and after choosing a scenario, the volunteer would act out the scenario at the stand: for example, there was a moto stand, and my scenario was that the moto driver did not know the way to my destination, and I had to give him directions in French. Other stands included: the police station, different aspects of the market, a restaurant, a conversation with host families regarding food preparation, the hospital, etc. All in all, a really cool way to practice French once I got over my initial nervousness. After we finished the sessions, several of us walked to the market (“it is hot” was the common sentiment of the day), about a 4-mile walk in the glaring heat, the entirety of which was spent dodging motos that seemed to make it their mission to hit the white people. We walked around for a bit at the market – a very different experience from the Monday Bokito market. We explored food stands (interesting finds: ginseng, gigantic avocados, Laughing Cow cheese, and several bakeries), clothing stands, and just looked around. Post-market visit, we headed to another PCT, Joe’s house where his host mother (who also owns a restaurant) made us “American” food – a delectable treat with sweet potato fries, fruit salad, avocado salad, chicken, bundt cake, and even ‘cheeseburgers,’ complete with Laughing Cow cheese and two meatball size pieces of meat – never had something tasted better. Afterwards, we headed back to Bokito to spend the rest of the weekend with family. My family decided to hold their Pentecostal church service in our living room (all three hours of the gloriously not-in-tune, clashing harmonies, and extended readings in French). Despite the experience not being a favorite of mine, I could still appreciate the music and everyone’s dedication to, and enthusiasm for their worship. On the subject of spirituality/religion, my last-surviving and dearest grandpa was admitted to the ER on Sunday, and I would ask everyone to keep him in their thoughts/prayers – he means a lot to me, and although I can’t really do anything to help the situation (either being here, or even if I was there), the experience of not knowing and helplessness is not fun in any sense.

            On Monday, we switched language instructors, and I’m still figuring Jacqueline out. She’s a 40-year-old, never-married woman from the North, and by god, she is a force to be reckoned with. I learned this firsthand in several ways. The first was a debacle with the Anglophone tailor in Bokito, Blessings (if you ask me, the name ‘Blessings’ is a complete juxtaposition to this horrid woman’s demeanor). I had gone to her after a fellow PCT had such good luck with her making various clothing items. After telling me my things would be done on Saturday, and after ensuring that she understood my wishes for the clothing (we were communicating in English, for goodness sakes), I returned Monday with high hopes. Not only were my things not anywhere near completion, but she had not lined things (she explicitly promised she would), admitted she had ‘forgotten’ to put a zipper on my dress (how the hell am I supposed to try on a dress that I can’t even nudge over my lower thigh?!), a dress that she decided should be in two pieces instead of one (because that makes perfect sense, right?), and genie pants that turned out looking like I had a dinosaur tail….ooof. Jacqueline fought with the lady, saying that I was not happy, and that I would not be paying the full amount for shoddy craftsmanship that was late and incomplete. To make her point, she even made up a story about how I had a dance party on Saturday that I was counting on wearing the dress to, and since I couldn’t, I had to purchase another dress. When Blessings started snidely talking in Pidgin to her colleague, Jacqueline calmly turned to her and said that she knows Pidgin, and didn’t appreciate the lady’s snide remarks. Blessings’ expression belied someone that wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. Score of the verbal sparring: Jacqueline: 2, Blessings: nil. After four separate visits, and a headache later, I picked up my stuff and paid her much less. Upon my return home, I related the story of the experience to my family, who was sympathetic, although not sympathetic enough to not point out that the workmanship was awful and that I still overpaid – greeeaaat. After promises to take me to their personal tailor next weekend, my hurt pride/headache had abated. Additionally, the experience was not helped by the fact that the harassment from men in the market reached a new high – I was called ‘my queen, my queen, queen of my heart,’ ‘mon cherie,’ ‘aaaayy, baybee,’ etc. When I told my family about it, we all were able to laugh about it together, and I practiced my death stare for future use.

            Another not-so-hot experience of the day was the placement interviews. I went in and asked Sylvie and Maureen where they thought that my skill set/experiences would be most useful (I had unfortunately done the thing that I had promised myself I wouldn’t: I’d become attached to the Pitoa site in the North). Sylvie said that she had been thinking about this site for me, and that with my experience, I was the perfect candidate for the position, an ideal post for me, except for a few key details: she said that it was a post for a second- or third-year PCV, they weren’t interested in posting a new stagiare there, and that in order to succeed, one would need to be of advanced fluency in French, be able to write reports to UNICEF HQ in French, and master Fulfulde, the most prevalent local language in the Grand North regions. Had it not been for that, she told me I would have been posted there. Huge bummer. But worse was the fact that the other stagiares who were interested in Pitoa were told something completely different, two of the same level in French (and public health experience) having totally different experiences: one being told that her French proficiency wasn’t good enough, while the other being told that UNICEF was anxious to have another volunteer soon. WHAT. Needless to say, I’m baffled and more than a little upset. Although I know they’ll place me in the site where I’ll be best, the bidding process has been a frustrating experience. Ah, well, no sense in getting upset over it now, and in a week, I’ll know my post – yay!

            Despite this week probably being the toughest yet, I’m still enjoying it, appreciating those things that are going well, and taking the good with the bad. I’m grateful for a great host family that’s made me feel like a true part of their family, reassuring/supportive conversations with family and friends, and the fact that there’s still much to do/experience. I’ll be in Nkongsamba, the regional capital of the Littoral region, in the next four days, and will be staying with a health volunteer – I’m very excited!

Bushmeat, Brownies, and Site Descriptions

While I still have internet, I thought I’d do another post highlighting a few more amusing and serious experiences. The first amusing incident happened today during our session on sexual harassment, where the language instructors/other Cameroonian staff, and the stagiares were divided into men and women, American and Cameroonian, to talk about gender expectations surrounding intimacy and sex. According to the Cameroonian women, the social cues that they look for to determine if Cameroonian men are interested are: gifts of bushmeat (in the villages) and chocolate (in the city) and phone credit, and palm scratching (this happened to me at a bar the other day – it gave me the willies – handshaking is a BIG deal here, with every human greeting punctuated by shaking the hand of everyone in the room, and when I was out for a soda (not a euphemism for beer, I was actually having a soda), a man was chatting with his friends and after commenting on the fact that I was clearly a Peace Corps volunteer, he shook my hand, and he used two fingers (while doing the handshake) to scratch my palm/wrist, which is the symbol for wanting to have sex with someone). According to the American men, they know a woman is interested when she bakes brownies and puts on romantic music, and a solo date movie night. Thought the cross-cultural translation was interesting.

            On a more serious note, the hardest part of my service (other than language) has been picking up on emotions, and it doesn’t help that I don’t have the French knowledge to pick up on context clues. I can easily decipher when my family is angry (thankfully never at me yet), because the voice volume raises exponentially, and they speak really rapidly. Likewise, happiness is also easy to determine because of our mutual smiling and laughing (thankfully I’ve been increasingly more able to share in the jokes/smiles instead of them laughing at me). However, joking and being upset is not easy to tell. I know this may sound strange, but so far, my experience with Cameroonians is that they are very passive. For example, when my host sisters and I went to the market to buy cloth, on the way home, my host sister asked to see my cloth and said “oh, it’s beautiful. I wanted this.” Gaah, what does this mean?! Did she mean she wanted to buy the fabric herself; wanted me to buy it for her; she was complimenting me on my good taste; or wanted me to split it with her? Who knows? Another instance was when I went to the bar after class with my fellow stagiares. I dropped off my books at home, greeted my family, and told them I was going to meet with some friends, but would be home before our curfew. My oldest host sister looked at me funny and then said, “ooohh, okay. But then when will you eat?” I responded “oh, when I get home, there is no need to wait for me if you all want to eat.” She seemed dissatisfied with this answer, and I still have yet to figure out if she minded that I was going, or what the deal was. When I got home, there was no mention of, or semblance of the awkwardness of our earlier conversation. Other little instances have happened, but it seems that until I acquire the French and cross-cultural skills necessary to understand context and cultural clues, I’ll have to be content with the fact that if they were truly upset about something, I would know. But on the plus side, this weekend, my family finally let me help them with house chores and cooking after my repeated attempts to help – yay! Apart from cleaning and cooking several fish, I made an omelet, shelled peanuts and cooked them, and made a fire.

Another amusing instance happened when I had a serious conversation in mostly French with my host brothers and his friends about American women and dating.

My host brother’s friend opened the discussion with the statement “all Cameroonian women are ugly; all the American Peace Corps volunteers that come here are beautiful” (keep in mind that he’s saying this on the veranda where I am sitting in a small puddle of my own sweat, hair frizzing out in all directions, zero makeup, and quite sure that the smell assailing my nose is not from the fermenting cocoa beans, but rather from me... also, he’s saying this in front of my 14 year-old host sister)

Me: “*audible snort* Are you joking? I think that Cameroonian women are beautiful. Also, I think it is one’s personality that makes them attractive (my thoughts: ha, let’s see how you respond to that one!)

Him: Oh no, American women are so beautiful.

My host sister: Every creature that God made is beautiful.

Me: (not wanting to turn this into a discussion about religion, I nod and smile)

Him: Do all American women have fiancés?

Me (huge inner sigh) No, they don’t.

Him: (grinning ear to ear) Oh really?? Can you call [all the female stagiares in the village] and ask if they have fiancés for me?

Me: HA (another audible snort). No, I will not do that for you.

Him: (a stricken look on his face) Why not?!

Me: Because if you are interested, you need to talk to them yourselves. And I’m not wasting my phone credit. And no, I will not give you their phone numbers. (winning smile to smooth over the blow)

Him: Okay, well I will talk to all of them, and we will date very, very soon (polygamy is highly accepted in Cameroonian culture – but not polygyny).

Me: thinking how to explain the meaning of ‘dream on’ in French, I simply smile and say ‘okay’

            We also have our site descriptions! As previously explained, we’re doing the bidding system, where we have a list of sites, and choose our top and bottom three. A little snippet from my top four are (in no particular order):

-       Integrated Health Clinic in Kembong, in the Southwest region: replacement site, semi-rural, Anglophone region, having other PCVs nearby, working closely with enthusiastic health center staff, semi-reliable running water and electricity, and variety of projects: nutrition, malaria, HIV/AIDS.

-       Integrated Health Center in Djalingo, in the Southwest (they said this is in the SW, but I’m pretty sure it’s actually in the North): replacement site, rural, but near to bigger city, variety of projects – capacity building, malaria, nutrition, HIV/AIDS, motivated partners.

-       Integrated Health Center in Bapi, in the West region: replacement site, availability of a variety of food, water and electricity, reliable counterpart, varied health activities, francophone region.

-       District Hospital in Pitoa, in the North: ability to work on the UNICEF SASDE project; basically an ideal fit for what I studied at Emory, but I’m a little leery that it’s in the North and advanced conversational skills in French are required, and otherwise it’d be perfect.

We chat with the health program directors next week before we head off to a site visit, where we stay with a current PCV. The Wednesday of the following week, I’ll know the direction of my next two years, and I couldn’t be more anxiously awaiting that day!

Hips Don't Lie, My Heart Will Go On, and the Emotional Rollercoaster

This week was yet another busy week of training. Monday started with lots of language and technical training for health, focusing on our roles as health volunteers, and knowledge of public health. I also had my first experience with Bokito’s Monday market. Cedric and I went as part of French class, and the experience was fun, albeit a bit overwhelming, due in no small part to the hoards of people that seem to have come from nowhere and everywhere, and the fact that the rains had made the muddy unpaved roads nearly impassable, even by foot. After bartering for fabric, Cedric went with me to the tailor where I was again surprised at how much I was able to communicate and understand of our French conversation. My tailor, Michele, is a smiling man with laughing eyes who was incredibly patient with me as I bumbled my way through explaining the billowing genie/MC Hammer pants that I wanted. The rest of the week passed in an enjoyable, albeit long routine.

            The next big event was our santé group’s visit to the integrated public health center in the neighboring village of Kiki. The health center was Spartan in the extreme, with no running water, and unreliable electricity, and was staffed by one male nurse and his nurse assistant. We were introduced to the smiling nurse while he explained that the 15 people waiting to be seen could wait while he gave us a tour of the facility. Before I start explaining some of the more poignant experiences of our time at the health center, I want to mention that I’m saying these things purely out of observation – I can’t claim to be objective, but I’d like to paint a picture of the place – not to evoke pity, but as a way of telling what I saw and felt. The sinks and drains were caked with the remnants of disuse over god knows how long; the in-operational morgue stood near the back of the property compound, a wasp’s nest and a used condom the only signs of life; the bags of old plastic wrappers from mosquito nets being held in a non-existent radiology room, waiting for the government officials to show up and collect them (they’d be waiting for over a year); no malaria medication (it’s supposed to be free) for over a year, leaving the nurse to resort to buying his supplies (with the small funds he has) for his patients from the medication vendors in the marketplace – I don’t need to mention that this is highly unreliable, and potentially dangerous; several different blood spatter patterns on the walls of the delivery room that was made private by the use of several cut up feed bags carefully fashioned to be blinds over the open windows; the fancy, inoperable latrine that sat nearly completed, but was abandoned shortly before completion by the French aid organization by which the project had been started; and the people, oh the people, with a look in their eyes that spoke of resignation, but an indomitable spirit. One would think that I would have felt pity, and while I can’t deny that there was a good deal of that in my emotional rollercoaster, my main emotion was shame – shame that white privilege was alive and well, and manifested in subtle, and not so subtle ways in a rural African village health center: the latrines were there, but non-operational, remnants of people in developed places and their misguided attempts to help the poor, defenseless Africans (note: I’m not saying that aid to Africa is futile, indeed, far from it, but if not done well and with the involvement of the people, no fruit will come of the efforts, like the locked latrines that lay vacant because the aid organization was in progress of transferring ownership of the project to the people (it had been over 2 years in progress). We had a tour while the patients, the children softly crying because of their pain, were waiting for care. If there were anyone to pity in this situation, it would be us, the stagiares, for happily contributing to these people’s problems while we went on our tour and merry way, and they waited in pain. Again, not saying that it wasn’t important for us to see/experience the health center, but I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame that accompanied my newly broadened perspective. I’m still wrestling with the feelings, and other than let these feelings be reflected in my future actions at my post, I’m not sure there’s much else I can do. 

            On a happier note, on Friday, I went to my host sister’s secondary school (Charlene is 14) and spoke to her English class about life in the Peace Corps; American culture; the importance of studying English (as per the teacher’s request); my life in Tanzania; my favorite parts of Cameroon, etc and to test the students’ English comprehension. All in all, it was an awesome experience – it was very interesting for me to see the morning routine of the students and the classroom life, but also (happily) the students were engaged in my presentation, and had lots of insightful questions. I spoke with the teacher today, and he said that the students were still talking about it, and wanted to have me in again so they could ask more questions. This was the same day that we went to the health center, so I had both my highest high, and lowest low of the week all in one day – after one of our talks this week about the progression of emotions of the length of service, I get the feeling that the emotional rollercoaster is going to be pretty typical. 

            We were on ‘standby’ this weekend due to the elections on Monday, meaning that we were told to keep a low profile. So naturally, my family decided that this was the time for us to do everything! My host sisters took me to the market, helping me barter down fabric from 16,000 CFA to 6,000; showed me how to grind peanuts on a hand grinder for the peanut sauce (I left feeling like my arms would fall off and with a newfound respect for the strength of African women); shucked corn directly from the cob (also not nearly as easy as it sounds, particularly with the accompanying bruises on my fingers); prepared a fish from market to table (de-scaling it with a knife the size of my forearm; ripping out the inner gills, de-gutting it, washing it, and then frying it); being taken to a neighbor’s house and left to fend for myself in French (I helped a lady in Franglais to decifer the dosage for the anti-parasitic medicine she’d picked up at the market); helping dry the cacao beans (a huge cash crop here, but a smelly one at that – the fermenting bean smell permeates everything, but also covers up some body odor smells, too, so…); a dance party (think lots of Shakira, lots and lots of Shakira – they were disappointed that I did not have any Celine Dion – what kind of American am I that I don’t love and adore Celine Dion?!?); going to my family’s farm (when I ask the distance, my family always says ‘1 kilometer’….10 kilometers later and when we had walked past the election building and out of the Bokito county line (all while walking next to a huge highway where the moto drives make it a game to try and hit the white people, or at least get as close as possible - everything a huge no, no), we arrived at the farm, where we cut down plantains and fertilized my family’s maize crop; shelling peanuts on the veranda; and having a discussion with my host brother and his friends about how no, I won’t be marrying you, and no, I will not call my female friends to ask if they have fiancés, and no, you saying ‘it’s not a problems’ in English to me saying that we’re not allowed to date (a bold-faced lie to protect other female volunteers), doesn’t really do much to encourage me to introduce you to them. All in all, another eventful week!  

From Dinner with the Ambassador to Cleaning a Chicken

The past few weeks of training have been both intense sometimes six days a week (sometimes the days lasting from 7 am - 5 pm some days). We have a 7 pm curfew to ensure that we are with our host families before dark truly sets in. On that note, it was a full moon the other night and the night sky was absolutely incredible and ablaze with the lights of millions of stars – really put things in perspective/hit me that this is my reality.

            Picking up where I left off with the last post: the next few days in Yaoundé were spent doing various interviews, including one for those in the health sector with the program coordinators with questions encompassing: what are your strengths and weaknesses; in which regions would you like to be placed in the country; what are your ideas about the type of projects you’d want; would you mind colonizing a site (being the first PCV there ever), or taking over an existing post; and what are your fears. PC Cameroon has adopted a successful program that PC Uganda uses where they have a ‘bidding system’ meaning that we rank our top three preferences as far as regions to be in (there are 10 regions in the country), and our bottom three preferences, and we are pretty much guaranteed to be placed in one of our top three. At this moment, my preferences are for the West, Northwest, and Adamoua (pronounced “add-a-mow-uh”) or Southwest regions, and my bottom three are: the South, East, and Central and/or Littoral regions. Each region has their own unique flair: the West is typically cooler, and the NW and SW regions are Anglophone, whereas the rest are Francophone. If I went to the NW or SW, I’d also be learning WAPE (West African Pidgin English), which would be cool. Some in the group are dead set on going to Francophone regions, but language isn’t my main criteria for wanting to be in a place – it’s more about the type of projects on which I’d work. Health projects are focused on maternal and child health (MCH) – however, this statement is very deceiving in the fact that MCH encompasses infinite project opportunities. For example, the health (santé) program focuses on malaria, HIV/AIDs, training peer educators, nutrition, and so much more. So basically, although you may have an idea of what your primary project might be, you could theoretically do anything even remotely related to health (wide-scale tofu making projects, for example – something that’s definitely possible and on the list of things we’ll learn in PST). On a side note, we had to learn new hand motions: if you raise your open hand in the American hand signal for ‘stop’, but thrust your fingers forward, it’s a huge insult (aka, saying that your mother’s lady parts are huge). I have a feeling that these little cultural faux pas/lost in translation moments will become a regular occurrence. Hence, my open to anything perspective.

            On Monday, we had dinner at our country director’s house with several important stakeholders who have been important in the country, or with Peace Corps. I met with the CDC director, a wonderfully accomplished lady that offered great insights into Cameroonian culture and what was needed as far as health concerns in the country, and sat right next to the American Ambassador. We chatted about the Foreign Service, life in Cameroon, the merits of being a PCV (he stated that he couldn’t do it, since he likes to have the cushy amenities), his extreme dislike of posed pictures, etc. And then we posed for a group picture…when our eyes caught after the picture, he winked and me as we both of us shared a knowing smile.

            Fast forward to last Wednesday, the day that we moved in with our host families! My main criteria for my host family was that they be patient with someone just learning French, and I frankly couldn’t have gotten luckier. After dropping the YD and agfo volunteers off in Bafia, the santé kids headed to Bokito, our nerves/anxiety growing by the kilometer. Bafia is indeed a semi-urban area, whereas Bokito is very much a rural village, complete with no paved roads and no semblance of internet (either in internet café form or otherwise). Our town map was a hand-drawn affair, which is eerily on point for navigating the few roads. Meeting my host mother, Mama Pauline quickly put many of my fears to rest, as she greeted me with a huge smile and an enveloping hug. We then went back to hear house where I met the rest of my family: sisters Mireille, Charlene, and Natalie, and host brothers Daniel and Joseph, along with Mireille’s 9-month-old son, Abdel (yay, finally an African child who doesn’t wail, run, and/or hide at the site of a pale, blonde-haired white girl!). Everyone was so incredibly welcoming and very, very patient. We ate dinner (a mound of rice with canned green beans and carrots added in), and then attempted conversation in Franglais (French + English) before I helped with the dishes and passed out, exhausted but grateful. The next morning, I was awoken with roosters and the sound of banging around in the indoor part of the kitchen (the outdoor part is a mud-brick building where three cement blocks have been set up to put the gigantic pots over the firewood for cooking). My family feeds me enough food for three people, and I had to explain early on that I am not that hungry/cannot eat that much, deciding to say that I am like a little bird with eating, to which my family replied that I am a little bird with my size. We've had a mixture of foods so far: fried and fresh bananas, fried/boiled plantains, chicken, lots of fish (you get the whole, staring-at-you fish), rice, avocados, tomatoes, grapefruit, oranges, mandarin oranges, guava, cooked beef, fried tofu on a stick, onions, etc. My family is Pentecostal, and every morning and evening (they have never done it directly in front of me), my family chants their prayers and the whole house seems to hum with their rhythm. As I have quickly learned, Cameroonian culture is very boisterous and lively – at all hours of the day! One of the nights that the power went out, my family and I crowded in the living room that was shadowly lit with kerosine lamps (think circa 1800s style) and my headlamp, and I played my ukulele while my family and I sang songs. The highlight was a four-part harmony to Amazing Grace, which my family recorded on their phone. I'm very lucky - my host family has a flushing toilet that works most of the time (complete with a toilet seat!), and a semi-working shower - I'm one of the lucky ones; some of the others have pit latrines in the same room as the area in which they bucket shower. The next day, after a quick breakfast (something that wasn’t the bread and bread that we ate at the hotel – yay!), I headed with the other santé PCTs to Bafia for the day. As I said before, training is thoroughly exhausting, but I leave each day with so much new information and feeling excited to learn more – definitely a sign I’m in the right place. It’s been a surreal transition going from being a pretty high-functioning adult (very debatable at some times) to effectively a child, unable to express many of even my basic wants and needs to my family – an odd position to be in, but not entirely unexpected.

            The next week was filled with training: safety and security, lots and lots of language (around 15-20 hours per week for the next eight or odd week); health talks – which had absolutely everyone itching phantom bug bites/skin infections, which as we’ve been informed, we’ll no doubt experience, but don’t worry guys, finding 10-inch worms in your stool is totally treatable!; cross-cultural and history sessions. Since I’m the only novice low in the santé group, I have one-on-one language sessions with my language/cross-cultural teacher, Cedric, an awesome person, teacher, and friend at this point. Quite frankly, I’ve been amazed at my progress so far in the language – five+ minute conversations with my family have become a daily occurrence and I couldn’t be more pleased about that.

            In addition to practicing French at school and with my family, I’ve had many other unique experiences with them. Over the weekend, I did my laundry by hand, cleaned a freshly killed chicken, got my hair braided by one of my host sisters, went to a three-hour Pentecostal church service (lots of singing and dancing, despite the apparent government ordinance that several corrupt Pentecostal churches need to be shut down - not sure exactly how that impacts our open-air, cement church out in the bush), and took my host sisters out for beer and sodas (the beer is slightly colder than shade temperature – hooray!). All in all, it was a great weekend. PC has given our families a list of things that we should accomplish over the next 8 odd weeks; simple things like killing, plucking and cooking a chicken and other food; hauling water from the well; and cleaning – should be interesting! Having new experiences consistently every day has been both very challenging, but even more rewarding.

Week 1: First Glimpses and the Longest 10 Minutes of My Life

Firstly, apologies for not posting sooner – the combination of the craziness of the first few weeks, plus not having internet or a converter made posting difficult. This post is dedicated to the first week of my Peace Corps adventure. After spending the day in Philly, my group departed bright and early with enough luggage to make the airline workers cringe and attempt to hide when they saw us coming. The drive and flight from NYC to Brussels was uneventful, except for the fact that the thought of not having cold beer or good chocolate (or non-bacteria ice, strong coffee, non-mystery meat…you get the picture) for a long while made everyone spring into action and desperately look for said items like famished heathens in the Brussels and JFK airports. Fast forward to our long layover in Brussels, where we happened to come across a PCV returning from vacation in Europe. He quickly became like the Gandhi of the group, and no matter when, he was surrounded by members of my group asking questions and listening in with rapt attention – he was our first real entrée into Cameroonian culture, and by god, we were going to milk the connection for all it was worth. Another flight, and then voila, the pilot was telling us that we were in Cameroon! We got in to Yaoundé (pronounced /ya-oon-day/ around 11 pm local time on Friday night. Hungry and exhausted, we gained a renewed sense of energy when our country director, Jackie, and our travel coordinator, Salle, met us at the airport and saved us the hassle of going through customs by ourselves. We gathered all of our things and then headed to the Hotel Felydac (tagline: “clean, comfortable, discrete”). We lugged our bags upstairs (5 flights, no elevator – aww yeah) and then went downstairs to eat dinner (at 1 am). We immediately got several introductory speeches, along with our malaria medication, and ravenously dug into our first taste of Cameroonian food (i.e. lots of starch). By this time, we were all on our second wind and so incredibly happy to have the first hump of our journey behind us. My first real glimpse of the capital was standing on my balcony at the hotel, the air smelling of frankincense, ginger and a mix of smells only Africa can provide, Cameroonian drumming and music in the distance, and the cool 64-degree-air a sweet relief to the sweat of traveling: the combination was almost intoxicating (which may have been in large part due to the fact that it was 3 am Cameroonian time…) The next day, our current PCV trainers (one from each sector) got us started with lots of paperwork: home-stay questionnaire, official resident paperwork, etc.

Then came the first real test (literally) of my time in Cameroon: the language proficiency interview (LPI). One of the trainers mentioned that if you told the interviewer that you didn’t know French, that they would gladly let you off and put you in the lowest level, an ideal plan for someone such as myself who realized that all the ‘coulda, woulda, shoulda’s’ to studying French over the past few months had added up to not really knowing much of the language. With my game plan in place, I set out to the LPI. Never had the best laid plans/intentions gone so wrong. I entered the LPI room with a big smile on my face, thinking that the misery would be over in less than 2 minutes. False. After saying ‘bonjour, I know no French,’ the interviewer gave me an ‘hmmm, we’ll see about that’ look, and then continued the interview. In French. When I shrugged and put my hands up in the universal sign of ‘I have no idea what you just said, please let me die now’ body language, my interviewer would repeat the questions more loudly, slowly, and still in French. Gaaah! Shockingly, I was actually able to understand the majority of the questions (cheers to multiple years studying a Romance language). However, when he asked about my family composition, I had not clue one to tell him that my dad is dead, so again with the hand motions, I slid my hand along my throat, miming what I thought might be a universal sign for ‘dead.’ Apparently not. My interviewer gave me another quizzical, and slightly concerned look, and dropped the subject. My answers were minimal at best (a depiction of our conversation below – all which occurred in French):

“What does your family eat?”

“Well, uhm, they eat rice”

 “Just rice?”

(Me desperately trying to think of another food that I know of in French, and failing)

“Oui, rice only”

“Ask me a question.”

“Uhm, but I don’t know French.”

“Ask me a question.”

“Ah, are you well?”

“Yes, I am doing very well.”

(Me with a satisfied head nod thinking ‘oh thank God, I’m done!’)

“You must ask me two more questions.”

“What??!”

“Yes.”

(Awkward silence and drawn out pause)

“Do you eat?”

(Another of those judge-y, quizzical glances that have become so familiar to me over the past 10 minutes)

“Yes, of course I eat.”

(My last question, and the realization that any last ditch attempt to show him that I am not the idiot I seem to be in French would be futile at this point)

“Do you like Paris?”

(This earned me both a snort from the hotel lady working in the interview room, and a startled chuckle from my instructor)

“Ah, yes, I think I like Paris, but I’ve never been there.”

And then hallelujah, sweet relief! The interview is over and I leave with absolutely no doubts that my stellar performance has earned me a spot in the “novice low” language category, aka exactly where I need to be.

The next few days were a blur of presentations, paperwork, introductions, and hanging out with the other members of my stag (pronounced like ‘staj’). We also attended a cultural event where we saw traditional Cameroonian dancing and drumming, and participated in a very active performance – everyone left sweaty and happy. The first week of training was a blur of immunizations (we are getting every vaccine/immunization humanly possible over the next 10 weeks), interviews, and presentations. I can already see why many PCVs say that the days are long, but the weeks go by fast. It already seems like months ago that I was in the US, when it’s only been two weeks. Everyone here, especially the trainers and other PCTs have been absolutely incredible so far, as has the whole experience in general. The next post will be little amusing tidbits, the time entertained the American ambassador to Cameroon and the director of the CDC in Cameroon over dinner, moving in with my exclusively French-speaking host family in a rural African village with no paved roads (my LPI experience should offer some insight into how anxious/worried I was for this experience), and how I’ve been having one of the best (and most uniquely challenging) times of my life. It’s been one amazing experience thus far!

To Staging and Beyond!

So this will probably be my last post for a bit, as I'm taking off early tomorrow morning for Brussels and Cameroon with the 54 other people in my 'stage' or cohort, but I wanted to update everyone on my progress so far. With my staging event today in Philly, I officially transitioned from being a Peace Corps Invitee, to a Peace Corps Trainee. Now I know that that sounds trivial and simply a minor word change, but to someone who has been awaiting this moment, and the adventure to come, that seemingly meager word change meant a lot. It means that I'm here - I've made it this far, I'm making my dream happen, and that in and of itself is an incredibly empowering and exhilarating feeling.

Here's a bit of background information that I found interesting about the Peace Corps, and Peace Corps Cameroon. The Peace Corps was started in 1961 by President JFK, and volunteers have been going to Cameroon pretty much since its inception (51 years). In total, PC volunteers are in 139 countries (they recently added Kosovo as a new country). Currently, PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) are serving in 76 countries around the world. Since its inception, there have been 210,000 PCVs, and counting, with 8,095 currently serving (add 55 in November for my group!). There are 165 PCVs currently serving in Cameroon. The average age of PCVs is 28, and the majority (43%) of these volunteers are in the Education sector; Health is the second largest sector comprising 21%. Currently, there are youth development, health, environment/agroforestry, education, and community economic development volunteers in Cameroon. My group is pretty evenly split between the three sectors of health, youth development, and agroforestry. My group's composition is roughly 2/3rds female and 1/3 male - not too much different from the ratio I encountered in my public health studies. Former famous RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) include: Lillian Carter (President Jimmy Carter's mother, who started her service when she was around 60 years old - it's never too late to pursue your passion), former WI Governor Jim Doyle, Bob Bila ("This Old House" anyone?), and author Paul Theroux. 

Our staging started with overviews on the Peace Corps (we delved into the three Peace Corps goals and mission); what we expect as volunteers; what's next; what is expected of us; and a closing activity cementing us as a family. All in all, it was a great introduction to this adventure which will become my reality in roughly over 48 hours. We did a variety of activities and skits (my hand is still dyed pink and green from the colorful hand puppet drawn for a skit that my group did to illustrate a real-world Peace Corps scenario regarding flexibility and tempering expectations) - needless to say, everyone seems incredibly friendly and really invested in this experience. I'm looking forward to sharing experiences and tapping into the talents of my new Peace Corps family. We all depart tomorrow morning for Brussels, and arrive in Cameroon late Friday evening. 

As always, I hope you guys found this interesting, and not just me rambling ad nauseum about my experiences. And please send me letters/emails if you'd like to hear about anything in particular, or just to say hi! 

Making Moves and Preparations

Since I last posted, lots of things have happened. For starters, I graduated with my MPH in early August and directly after, moved back to Wisconsin. After being home for a couple days, I had the pleasure of spending an amazing week in New York City with Caleb and his family - a fitting bon voyage in the self-proclaimed 'capital of the world' for two Peace Corps volunteers about to depart for Africa! In my last few weeks in Atlanta, and through this past week or so spent with family and friends, my impending departure has somehow gotten more real - "I'll see you later's" (I don't like the finality of the word 'goodbye') have gotten more sweetly poignant, while the thrilling sense of a new adventure is building. I'm also feeling significantly more appreciative and grateful for everyone and everything.

Also, and more relevant to my Peace Corps experience, was a conference call that occurred with my fellow volunteers, country staff, and other Peace Corps staff. In total, it seems as if our group will have roughly 60 volunteers, all from three different sectors: the environment (agroforestry, or agfo for short), community youth and development (a relatively new sector, as this is only the third cohort of volunteers to go to Cameroon), and health. Although I'm not sure about agfo and health, there are 18 community youth and development volunteers (a random fact mentioned on the call). Other nuggets of information included: details on the first couple days; more information on the type of projects that we'll be doing; dress code (NO shorts - shorts cannot be worn to training, in the capital, at one's site, or basically just anywhere, except if one is very clearly exercising); expectations of volunteers, etc.

Here's a breakdown of my upcoming last few days in the US and first days of in-country orientation:
Wednesday, September 11: Fly from Minneapolis to Philadelphia with everything I think I'll need for the next 27 months stowed in two checked bags, and two carry-on bags. Meet at hotel in Philadelphia where we have staging from noon to 7 pm that day.
Thursday and Friday, September 12 and 13th: Take bus to NYC and fly out to Brussels. Have ridiculously long layover in Brussels, but may be able to leave the airport and explore a bit. Take flight from Brussels and arrive later Friday evening at Nsimalen Airport in Yaounde. We'll go through immigration with our government passport and WHO yellow fever cards in hand, then meet some country staff and head to a hotel for dinner and sleep.
Saturday, September 14: Language proficiency tests. Programming interviews. Medical intake interviews.
Sunday, September 15: Personal safety orientation. Dinner at Country Director's residence.
Monday, September 16: Welcome to Pre-service Training (I'll refer to it as PST from here on out). Orientation to food and water safety. Vaccinations/shots. Homestay orientation.
Tuesday, September 17: Processing immigration papers. More vaccinations/shots. Logistics and departure to training site. Move in with homestay families (most likely, our families will not speak any English, yet another facet in this whole experience!)
Wednesday, September 18: We begin PST in earnest, which will be a 9-5, five days a week experience focusing on language, culture, technical, and cross-cultural communication to prepare us for service. PST will last 10 weeks, and if all goes well, we will be sworn is as official Peace Corps volunteers on November 13, 2013 (the start of my two years of service). During this 10-week period, we will find out our site and have an idea of the projects on which we'll work, especially when we each go and stay at our sites for several days. After swearing in, I'll head to my site, which could either be in the Anglophone or Francophone parts of the country - so basically, I could be anywhere.

My training site will be Bokito, but the other agfo and youth development volunteers will train in a different place, called Bafia. Bokito is 22 kilometers west of Bafia (which itself is an hour and a half drive north of Yaounde). Bafia is a mid-sized town near a large river called the Sananga. The area is a mix of forest, savannah, and farmland. The climate is warm and humid. Although most of the inhabitants will be French speakers, many will speak local tribal languages. Our host families will be locals. Not much is mentioned about Bokito itself, except that it has "almost the same landscape." We'll be arriving in the rainy season, so the climate will be warm during the day and cooler at night, with "amazing cloudbursts every other day or so" according to our welcome book.  

They also mentioned on the call that the majority of the health projects in the country focus on maternal and child health, and related HIV/AIDS and nutrition. With this in mind, they also said that there were some assignments/sites that involved working in a more hospital/clinic setting. Needless to say, this information was helpful, but didn't tell me any more about what I might actually be doing. Ah, well, c'est le vie! Additionally, although we as foreigners will operate slightly outside of the expected Cameroonian cultural norms, there will still be expectations of us; we will be considered professionals with valid opinions at our sites, and as such (and as Americans), will be expected to hold ourselves to different standards and realize that we will constantly be 'on' - 24/7 representations of our culture/background.

Hope this wasn't information overload, but wanted to make a totally foreign process a little more familiar for everyone reading. Au revoir for now, Valerie