Christmas Day, 3:00PM- Finishing a quick meeting with my counterpart at my house I get a call from the parents stateside. Its always wonderful to hear from family, especially during this time of year. I wrap up my call, see my counterpart to the door and get a bag ready to leave my village Xmas for a more American one in Maroua.
3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.
4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.
5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.
5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.
5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.
6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.
7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.
8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.
9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.
9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.
11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.
So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.
12.27.2009
Un Noel Villageois, Premiere Partie
Christmas Eve, 3:00PM- Getting back to Bogo after a long absence, I took the day to soak in the sights and sounds of the Thursday market. After all the travelling my level of exhaustion has hit levels I never thought possible. I retreat to my living room back at home and sink into a magazine, falling asleep after reading the table of contents.
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
On the road again
I just spent the last three weeks travelling in the West of the country around Bafoussam and doing some mid-service medical exams in Yaounde. I don’t think I will ever piss and moan again when travelling in the U.S. I can’t think of anything in the states that can compare to the mayhem of travelling by bus or train in Cameroon.
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
10.28.2009
So You Want to Visit Cameroon???
Many of you have expressed an interest in visiting me during my time here in Africa. Personally I think that is fantastic, and I would welcome with open arms any and all of you hearty travelers out there in search of a good adventure. Yet a trip to Cameroon could quickly turn into a logistics nightmare for someone not fully prepared. Fear not as I, for one, am an extremely capable host. Furthermore, I have described below what a voyage to Cameroon to visit yours truly would entail and I could personally guarantee that you would have the experience of a lifetime.
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
Une Soirée Camerounaise
As many of you already know my local neighborhood team, Auxerre Marouaré FC, won the recent Coupe de Bogo (or Coupe des Vacances as they call it here). Now that the month of Ramadan has come and gone, the official Coupe des Vacances shin-dig was held this past Saturday evening. Held at the large event hall at the town Sous-Prefecture (think middle school auditorium), the entire Auxerre Marouaré squad plus the captains of all other participating teams are invited by the tournament organizers to celebrate for the evening. I’ve considered numerous ways of how to recreate this highly anticipated event for you, and I think the only way to do it justice would be to run you through a mental log I was compiling as the evening progressed.
Party Log- 11:30AM Saturday
At this point I am out in the bush working with a few project farmers discussing their current activities and possible well building projects in the future. That’s right, its not all soccer here. I also do work.
Biking about 12km back into town, I immediately run into two fellow teammates lazing out under a Neem tree by the soccer field. They seem incredulous that I have been working this morning and not at my house. Another teammate has been banging on my door frantically all morning because he has my printed invitation to this evening’s fete. Apparently this is the hot event of the weekend on the Bogo nightlife scene.
Noon Saturday
Returning to my home and a hungry dog, I go to my water tank to fill a bucket. I need to cook this raving lunatic of a dog some rice before he eats his tail, and I severely need a cold bucket bath. Uh oh, water tank empty. I go around the block to ask a kid to bring me water. Getting back to my house I learn that my frantic teammate was again banging on my door after hearing I was back in town. From what I understand the party is not until 8PM this evening so I plan to hit him up after taking a delightful bucket bath.
1:00PM
Bucket bath completed. Decreased internal temperature achieved. Dog fed and happy. It looks like my to-do list for the day is pretty much checked off. I look at my phone after getting dressed; 5 missed calls from frantic teammate. I appreciate his diligence but surely he is overreacting seeing as we have 7 hours before the festivities begin. I call frantic teammate. He sounds winded. He’s coming over “toute de suite!” he tells me. I’ve never heard anyone in Bogo so worked up.
1:45PM
Frantic teammate arrives chez moi, not quite ‘toute de suite,’ for probably the eightieth time today. This time I’m here. He comes in and produces 2 invitations for the party. That in and of itself is odd, but my suspicions are aroused further when he tells me the second invitation can only be given to a girl. Nice try, pal. I’ll add that to the growing list of ways people try to set me up with one of their cousins. I don’t know how to translate ‘going stag’ into French so I tell him I’ll check my rolodex and see what I can do. I think that has gotten me off the hook for now. Frantic teammate leaves less frantic.
2:20PM
No work this afternoon so I settle into the latest Economist that I picked up from Maroua. I think it’s an issue from late August so I’m a bit behind in the news.
4:00PM
After eating some leftover spaghetti I head down the road to Bogo stadium. Preceding the party this evening there is a friendly match between our squad and Siratare. I’m merely a spectator for this match. The game kicks off about 1 hour late, and I begin to wish I had laced up this evening as the game for once seems surprising amicable. I didn’t see anyone try to rip an opponent to shreds with his cleats the entire game.
6:00PM
On account of darkness and the evening call to prayer, the game gets called after only 60 minutes played. Auxerre Marouaré wins 2-0. I head back to my house with a teammate/neighbor. He is genuinely surprised when he learns that I don’t have a suit for the evening. I assure him that I’ll be dressed appropriately. I’m also told that I must be there at 8PM sharp. Cameroonians, especially in village, aren’t too concerned with punctuality. Perhaps this is such an anticipated party that it actually starts on time, I think to myself.
8:00 PM
Nope, I’m not yet at the party. I’m in the process of putting on my finest white shirt and gray slacks. I think I look quite dapper, but if you saw my finest white shirt and grey slacks you would know it doesn’t say much about the rest of my wardrobe here. I’ve decided to stroll over to the hall at around 8:30. I’ve never been to or organized a single event or meeting in this town that started on time so I presume I’ll show up just as the others arrive.
8:36PM
Approaching the hall I hear thumping rap music at high volume. That’s a good sign, I think. It sounds something like Akon, maybe Nelly, or whichever other marginally talented knucklehead the kids are listening to these days in Cameroon. Regardless, my plan has worked and surely the nassarra is not the first to show up!
8:37PM
The nassarra is yet again the first one to show up. I picture all my teammates snickering behind the bushes. “Haha, that moron showed up 30 minutes late. How does he not yet know that we show up to things 2 hours late?? Hahaha.”
I take a seat next to my buddy who is the DJ for the evening. Nelly is pumping through the speakers saying something deep and thoughtful like, “Yeah, Oh…uh uh. Oh, yeah!!” I tell him I have some Tribe Called Quest on my iPod back at my house if he’s interested. He doesn’t look interested. We shoot the breeze for a while. I ask when the people are coming. He shrugs as he continues thumbing through a stack of CDs. I truly fear what is next on his party mix. He tosses a disc in and “Barbie Girl” belts through the speakers.
8:45PM
Down the road a ways out of earshot I take a seat at the local watering hole and crack open a frosty 33’ Export. Cut me a break. That music played at such a volume has the ability to disintegrate eardrums. I settle in with a few of the regulars who are watching a match on the TV. It just started and it looks to be one hell of a game. I promise myself I’ll go back to the party in 30 minutes.
9:45PM
So much for 30 minutes. But atleast I got to see the whole first half. I begin to worry that everyone has already arrived and I’m past being just fashionably late. That turns out to be a silly thought as I arrive once again and there are at maximum about 15 people. Ok, I know that nobody wants to be the first one to the party, but this is getting to be ridiculous! I’m welcomed in and the inevitable questions from my teammates begin. “Où est ta femme, Daniel?” They assure me its no problem. “Many many girls are coming!”
10:30PM
Most of the guests have arrived. Some of the ladies would look more at home at a high school prom. Most of the gentlemen look very put together as well. There are a few 50 Cent wannabes in attendance, but for the most part a nice pressed shirt and slacks seems to be the norm.
10:35PM
I was quite comfortable at the table where I was sitting, but now I’m being escorted across the hall to another empty table. A few minutes later the same teammate brings some other guests over to join me at the table. We all greet each other (I don’t know a single one of them), and my teammate sits one of the ladies next to me as he shoots me a goofy grin. I strongly doubt that I could be any more uncomfortable right now.
11:00PM
After trying to make friendly conversation with my fellow revelers at table 3, the entire group has fallen silent for about 15 minutes. They also look extremely unhappy. I take back my previous statement made at 10:35PM. This is more uncomfortable.
11:25PM
I am beginning to wonder if my team is playing a very large and elaborate joke on me. Table 3 is still silent. Nothing that resembles a party atmosphere has taken place in about 30 minutes, with the exception of the thumping music. I look around and all other tables are at about the same stage of apathy.
11:30PM
I have to be honest. I’m starting to lose faith in this party. At this point the organizers need a small miracle to bring this thing back to life. I look at my friend at the DJ table. His expression tells me that he is also highly confused. I take comfort in this. It tells me that this is not how they typically put a party together. I say this is comforting for someone like me because I imagine that I’ll be attending similar events in the future. Someone obviously dropped the ball this evening.
11:33PM
I stand corrected. Just in time, a number of bodies begin hauling in cases of beverages followed closely by ladies with plates of all sorts of tasty looking treats. The beer, orange fanta and cokes get doled out while ladies begin setting plates of cookies, peanuts, fries, popcorn and grilled meat at all the tables.
11:35PM
That was a hail mary if I ever saw one. Whoever engineered the last minute appearance of beverages and grub averted a possible riot. I try to eat as much as possible; particularly the grilled meat and cookies while trying not to look like a pig. I doubt it’s working. The party seems to be in full swing.
11:50PM
It looks like everyone has had their fill. Despite the music at about 100 decibels, I feel incredibly content and relaxed. My belly is full and I’m nursing a cold bottle of orange fanta. Sadly I’ve given up on my fellow partygoers at table 3. I guess they’re the silent types. I begin to check my watch. I was hoping to stay for some dancing, but it’s almost midnight and I’ve got some tree planting to do at sunrise.
11:54PM
“Attention ladies and gentlemen…” My DJ friend announces that pictures of the team will be taken with the trophy, and that dancing will commence shortly. After the pictures I expect people to take to the floor. However, my friend begins picking ladies and men from the audience and pairing them together in the middle of the floor. This does not look good. When I heard there would be dancing my mental picture was jumping around and gyrating to some chaotic African pop or something. This sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion song. The couples on the floor slow dance for about 15 seconds and the music stops. Once again, I retract my statement from 11:00PM. This is more uncomfortable.
Another round of couples are chosen and dance for no more than 15 seconds to the same song. They all look as though they want to run off the floor in a panic. No need for chaperons with rulers here, as these young lovebirds look like they don’t want a thing to do with each other.
11:54PM and 30 seconds
Either that meat was of questionable quality or I’m seriously nervous right now, because the sweat is beading on my forehead and my tummy is grumbling. I look over to my friend with the microphone. He looks as if he’s up to something. I don’t say anything to him as he’s across the room, but I think my glare and subtle shaking of the head effectively indicates to him that I will take that microphone and beat him over the head with it if I am selected in the next round of awkward slow dancing.
Midnight
It’s been quite a journey over the last 12 hours. In short, my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin so it’s about time I hit the dusty trail. I’ve got some trees to plant at sunrise tomorrow and the mix of Nelly and Celine Dion is beginning to make my ears bleed.
Party Log- 11:30AM Saturday
At this point I am out in the bush working with a few project farmers discussing their current activities and possible well building projects in the future. That’s right, its not all soccer here. I also do work.
Biking about 12km back into town, I immediately run into two fellow teammates lazing out under a Neem tree by the soccer field. They seem incredulous that I have been working this morning and not at my house. Another teammate has been banging on my door frantically all morning because he has my printed invitation to this evening’s fete. Apparently this is the hot event of the weekend on the Bogo nightlife scene.
Noon Saturday
Returning to my home and a hungry dog, I go to my water tank to fill a bucket. I need to cook this raving lunatic of a dog some rice before he eats his tail, and I severely need a cold bucket bath. Uh oh, water tank empty. I go around the block to ask a kid to bring me water. Getting back to my house I learn that my frantic teammate was again banging on my door after hearing I was back in town. From what I understand the party is not until 8PM this evening so I plan to hit him up after taking a delightful bucket bath.
1:00PM
Bucket bath completed. Decreased internal temperature achieved. Dog fed and happy. It looks like my to-do list for the day is pretty much checked off. I look at my phone after getting dressed; 5 missed calls from frantic teammate. I appreciate his diligence but surely he is overreacting seeing as we have 7 hours before the festivities begin. I call frantic teammate. He sounds winded. He’s coming over “toute de suite!” he tells me. I’ve never heard anyone in Bogo so worked up.
1:45PM
Frantic teammate arrives chez moi, not quite ‘toute de suite,’ for probably the eightieth time today. This time I’m here. He comes in and produces 2 invitations for the party. That in and of itself is odd, but my suspicions are aroused further when he tells me the second invitation can only be given to a girl. Nice try, pal. I’ll add that to the growing list of ways people try to set me up with one of their cousins. I don’t know how to translate ‘going stag’ into French so I tell him I’ll check my rolodex and see what I can do. I think that has gotten me off the hook for now. Frantic teammate leaves less frantic.
2:20PM
No work this afternoon so I settle into the latest Economist that I picked up from Maroua. I think it’s an issue from late August so I’m a bit behind in the news.
4:00PM
After eating some leftover spaghetti I head down the road to Bogo stadium. Preceding the party this evening there is a friendly match between our squad and Siratare. I’m merely a spectator for this match. The game kicks off about 1 hour late, and I begin to wish I had laced up this evening as the game for once seems surprising amicable. I didn’t see anyone try to rip an opponent to shreds with his cleats the entire game.
6:00PM
On account of darkness and the evening call to prayer, the game gets called after only 60 minutes played. Auxerre Marouaré wins 2-0. I head back to my house with a teammate/neighbor. He is genuinely surprised when he learns that I don’t have a suit for the evening. I assure him that I’ll be dressed appropriately. I’m also told that I must be there at 8PM sharp. Cameroonians, especially in village, aren’t too concerned with punctuality. Perhaps this is such an anticipated party that it actually starts on time, I think to myself.
8:00 PM
Nope, I’m not yet at the party. I’m in the process of putting on my finest white shirt and gray slacks. I think I look quite dapper, but if you saw my finest white shirt and grey slacks you would know it doesn’t say much about the rest of my wardrobe here. I’ve decided to stroll over to the hall at around 8:30. I’ve never been to or organized a single event or meeting in this town that started on time so I presume I’ll show up just as the others arrive.
8:36PM
Approaching the hall I hear thumping rap music at high volume. That’s a good sign, I think. It sounds something like Akon, maybe Nelly, or whichever other marginally talented knucklehead the kids are listening to these days in Cameroon. Regardless, my plan has worked and surely the nassarra is not the first to show up!
8:37PM
The nassarra is yet again the first one to show up. I picture all my teammates snickering behind the bushes. “Haha, that moron showed up 30 minutes late. How does he not yet know that we show up to things 2 hours late?? Hahaha.”
I take a seat next to my buddy who is the DJ for the evening. Nelly is pumping through the speakers saying something deep and thoughtful like, “Yeah, Oh…uh uh. Oh, yeah!!” I tell him I have some Tribe Called Quest on my iPod back at my house if he’s interested. He doesn’t look interested. We shoot the breeze for a while. I ask when the people are coming. He shrugs as he continues thumbing through a stack of CDs. I truly fear what is next on his party mix. He tosses a disc in and “Barbie Girl” belts through the speakers.
8:45PM
Down the road a ways out of earshot I take a seat at the local watering hole and crack open a frosty 33’ Export. Cut me a break. That music played at such a volume has the ability to disintegrate eardrums. I settle in with a few of the regulars who are watching a match on the TV. It just started and it looks to be one hell of a game. I promise myself I’ll go back to the party in 30 minutes.
9:45PM
So much for 30 minutes. But atleast I got to see the whole first half. I begin to worry that everyone has already arrived and I’m past being just fashionably late. That turns out to be a silly thought as I arrive once again and there are at maximum about 15 people. Ok, I know that nobody wants to be the first one to the party, but this is getting to be ridiculous! I’m welcomed in and the inevitable questions from my teammates begin. “Où est ta femme, Daniel?” They assure me its no problem. “Many many girls are coming!”
10:30PM
Most of the guests have arrived. Some of the ladies would look more at home at a high school prom. Most of the gentlemen look very put together as well. There are a few 50 Cent wannabes in attendance, but for the most part a nice pressed shirt and slacks seems to be the norm.
10:35PM
I was quite comfortable at the table where I was sitting, but now I’m being escorted across the hall to another empty table. A few minutes later the same teammate brings some other guests over to join me at the table. We all greet each other (I don’t know a single one of them), and my teammate sits one of the ladies next to me as he shoots me a goofy grin. I strongly doubt that I could be any more uncomfortable right now.
11:00PM
After trying to make friendly conversation with my fellow revelers at table 3, the entire group has fallen silent for about 15 minutes. They also look extremely unhappy. I take back my previous statement made at 10:35PM. This is more uncomfortable.
11:25PM
I am beginning to wonder if my team is playing a very large and elaborate joke on me. Table 3 is still silent. Nothing that resembles a party atmosphere has taken place in about 30 minutes, with the exception of the thumping music. I look around and all other tables are at about the same stage of apathy.
11:30PM
I have to be honest. I’m starting to lose faith in this party. At this point the organizers need a small miracle to bring this thing back to life. I look at my friend at the DJ table. His expression tells me that he is also highly confused. I take comfort in this. It tells me that this is not how they typically put a party together. I say this is comforting for someone like me because I imagine that I’ll be attending similar events in the future. Someone obviously dropped the ball this evening.
11:33PM
I stand corrected. Just in time, a number of bodies begin hauling in cases of beverages followed closely by ladies with plates of all sorts of tasty looking treats. The beer, orange fanta and cokes get doled out while ladies begin setting plates of cookies, peanuts, fries, popcorn and grilled meat at all the tables.
11:35PM
That was a hail mary if I ever saw one. Whoever engineered the last minute appearance of beverages and grub averted a possible riot. I try to eat as much as possible; particularly the grilled meat and cookies while trying not to look like a pig. I doubt it’s working. The party seems to be in full swing.
11:50PM
It looks like everyone has had their fill. Despite the music at about 100 decibels, I feel incredibly content and relaxed. My belly is full and I’m nursing a cold bottle of orange fanta. Sadly I’ve given up on my fellow partygoers at table 3. I guess they’re the silent types. I begin to check my watch. I was hoping to stay for some dancing, but it’s almost midnight and I’ve got some tree planting to do at sunrise.
11:54PM
“Attention ladies and gentlemen…” My DJ friend announces that pictures of the team will be taken with the trophy, and that dancing will commence shortly. After the pictures I expect people to take to the floor. However, my friend begins picking ladies and men from the audience and pairing them together in the middle of the floor. This does not look good. When I heard there would be dancing my mental picture was jumping around and gyrating to some chaotic African pop or something. This sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion song. The couples on the floor slow dance for about 15 seconds and the music stops. Once again, I retract my statement from 11:00PM. This is more uncomfortable.
Another round of couples are chosen and dance for no more than 15 seconds to the same song. They all look as though they want to run off the floor in a panic. No need for chaperons with rulers here, as these young lovebirds look like they don’t want a thing to do with each other.
11:54PM and 30 seconds
Either that meat was of questionable quality or I’m seriously nervous right now, because the sweat is beading on my forehead and my tummy is grumbling. I look over to my friend with the microphone. He looks as if he’s up to something. I don’t say anything to him as he’s across the room, but I think my glare and subtle shaking of the head effectively indicates to him that I will take that microphone and beat him over the head with it if I am selected in the next round of awkward slow dancing.
Midnight
It’s been quite a journey over the last 12 hours. In short, my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin so it’s about time I hit the dusty trail. I’ve got some trees to plant at sunrise tomorrow and the mix of Nelly and Celine Dion is beginning to make my ears bleed.
Extra, Extra
First of all let me apologize for being such a poor blogger. No posts in two months?? Yes I am in the bush, but I have to say that is just inexcusable! So while I am diligently working on several new posts that should be up later today and possibly next weekend, here are some interesting articles I've come across that have to do with Cameroon. So forget the local newspaper when you wake up this morning, and take a look at whats going on in our neck of the woods.
It Takes Courage: Honoring Cameroonian Journalist Agnes Taile (FindingDulcinea)
http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/international/2009/Oct/It-Takes-Courage--Honoring-Cameroonian-Journalist-Agnes-Taile.html
Chad Expels Cameroonian Journalist After Nobel Story (CPJ)
http://cpj.org/2009/10/chad-expels-cameroonian-journalist-after-nobel-sto.php
18 Die In Cameroonian Boat Accident (AP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iTR75hfQtopGsGDvhRNIo8UmnomA
Cameroon Military Repels Pirate Attack, Kills 4 (Reuters)
http://www.reuters.com/article/latestCrisis/idUSLF20942
Cameroon's Security Forces Dismantle Armed Bandits (Trading Markets)
http://www.tradingmarkets.com/.site/news/Stock%20News/2578689/
World Bank to Invest $215 to Boost Internet in Africa (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-10-06-voa43.cfm
Humanitarian Crisis Looms Around Shrinking Lake Chad (Reuters)
http://www.alertnet.org/db/an_art/59567/2009/09/15-102623-1.htm
Efforts to Save Lake Chad Intensify (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2009-10-12-voa19.cfm
Cholera Kills At Least 51 in North (IRIN)
http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=86608
Cameroon Defends Biya Hotel Bills (BBC)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8236962.stm
N'Guemo Aiming to Emulate Milla (ESPN)
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=687694&cc=3888
Cameroon Beats Togo 3-0 (USA Today)
http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/2009-10-10-2543409791_x.htm
Le Guen's Lions Ready to Roar
http://www.fifa.com/worldfootball/ranking/news/newsid=1121833.html
It Takes Courage: Honoring Cameroonian Journalist Agnes Taile (FindingDulcinea)
http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/international/2009/Oct/It-Takes-Courage--Honoring-Cameroonian-Journalist-Agnes-Taile.html
Chad Expels Cameroonian Journalist After Nobel Story (CPJ)
http://cpj.org/2009/10/chad-expels-cameroonian-journalist-after-nobel-sto.php
18 Die In Cameroonian Boat Accident (AP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iTR75hfQtopGsGDvhRNIo8UmnomA
Cameroon Military Repels Pirate Attack, Kills 4 (Reuters)
http://www.reuters.com/article/latestCrisis/idUSLF20942
Cameroon's Security Forces Dismantle Armed Bandits (Trading Markets)
http://www.tradingmarkets.com/.site/news/Stock%20News/2578689/
World Bank to Invest $215 to Boost Internet in Africa (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-10-06-voa43.cfm
Humanitarian Crisis Looms Around Shrinking Lake Chad (Reuters)
http://www.alertnet.org/db/an_art/59567/2009/09/15-102623-1.htm
Efforts to Save Lake Chad Intensify (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2009-10-12-voa19.cfm
Cholera Kills At Least 51 in North (IRIN)
http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=86608
Cameroon Defends Biya Hotel Bills (BBC)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8236962.stm
N'Guemo Aiming to Emulate Milla (ESPN)
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=687694&cc=3888
Cameroon Beats Togo 3-0 (USA Today)
http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/2009-10-10-2543409791_x.htm
Le Guen's Lions Ready to Roar
http://www.fifa.com/worldfootball/ranking/news/newsid=1121833.html
8.31.2009
Pictures!!!! And other ramblings from a nasarra...
I don’t have too much time in Maroua today. I’m just here talking to some folks about building wells in Bogo and treating an insect problem in our local orchards, but I will add some thoughts/happenings from the past few weeks (And my blog entry on the work in Bogo will be forthcoming, I promise!):
-The rain arrived in Bogo mid-August with greater regularity. The mayo is full, the corn and millet crops are now above my head, and the place looks less and less like a desert every day.
Mayo Doumou, Bogo
En brusse near Bogo…if you build it they will come
Mmmm, goat horn
And he loves his new dog Frisbee, thanks mom for spoiling my half-wild dog :)
Coupe de Bogo, Carlos (Red/White) vs. Clando (Yellow)
Grilled Pig on July 4th. Happy birthday ‘Merica!
Storm approaching Bogo
Anyone feel like chicken tonight? (Picturing fellow volunteers Brian Humphrey of Tibati village on left & Josh Bylotas of Magdame village on right)
Yes, that is literally a chicken jumping and running around with its head cut off…my apologies to all vegetarians and PETA but sometimes you just want to eat some chicken!
-The rain arrived in Bogo mid-August with greater regularity. The mayo is full, the corn and millet crops are now above my head, and the place looks less and less like a desert every day.
Mayo Doumou, BogoEn brusse near Bogo…if you build it they will comeThe street outside the Maroua PC house during rainy season. We call that pristine body of water 'the soup'
-I was involved in my first traffic jam since leaving the DC area last year, and I must say despite my disdain for sitting in traffic a wave of nostalgia swept over me. Leaving Bogo after a busy market day, the rain came with a quickness and force that could rival some hurricanes I’ve experienced. Our overloaded Toyota minivan had just reached Balaza, the halfway point between Maroua and Bogo, when we came to an abrupt halt. The van’s windshield wipers did not work (big surprise) so I could not see what had caused us to stop. Using my fledgling Fufulde skills to listen to the conversations around me I came to understand that the problem we had encountered was the road ahead was a shallow lake for about 5 km. The road is always busy for market day in Bogo, and this day I found myself sitting in a cramped minivan during a downpour with what was probably close to one hundred minivans, bush taxis and market trucks lined up and down the road. Gradually the rain tapered off and, taking full advantage of the stranded travelers, the locals of Balaza showed us their entrepreneurial spirit and began hawking everything from cookies to soccer jerseys to barack obama baseball hats. Some of the local kids had more excitement than they could handle when a white man exited one of the minivans. Everything I did, whether it was checking my watch, scratching my head or even just taking a seat next to a tree seemed to them as the most interesting thing that they had seen all day. It’s very flattering to be found so interesting, but after three hours of being stared and giggled at our car was finally ready to move on. So the caravan of stranded vehicles moved on through what was now only about a foot of water and pulled into the station in Maroua (also flooded) in no less than 5 hours total for a trip that under ideal circumstances is usually 1 hour. The Bogo road on market day still doesn’t hold a candle to I-395 South on a Friday afternoon, but it was nice to see some good-ol' gridlock again.
-Ramadan, the month long fasting period observed by Islam, began about 1 week ago. So everyday from about 5AM to 6:30PM the faithful who are physically able to do so are fasting. Commerce around town has gone down, not to mention everyone’s blood sugar. You may be asking if I am observing this holiday season with my muslim brethren in Bogo. The answer to that is no. I don’t walk down the street munching on a steaming plate of goat or anything, but the nasarra that I am needs water throughout the day and a little nibble at lunch time. And after the evening prayers, my good pals who grill meat down at the market fire up their operation and the slices of hot and spicy beef, overly sugary tea and greasy beignets that I have grown to love are free flowing once again. Yes you heard me correctly, I have found my niche in the world of Cameroonian food. Meat, tea and fried bread!
-Speaking of food, vegetables have begun to appear again in the Bogo market. For about two months I saw nothing but onions. We now have potatoes, tomatoes, hot peppers, citron and even guavas making a return. Onions and tomato paste on macaroni and plain omelettes were getting a little old.
-I granted Timshel (aka the Cameroonian dingo) his freedom the other day. My concession in Bogo is very small so I felt bad about having him stuck in there all day. The perfect opportunity presented itself when about 15 children gathered outside my door. I told them I had a surprise for them at which point I opened the door and whistled for Timshel. Tongue flapping and tail wagging he took off full speed out to the street as the neighborhood children dived into nearby doorways, scampered up trees or just ran off down the street screaming bloody murder. Some may call me cruel but watching these kids run for their lives from an 8 month old puppy really brings a smile to my face:) To his credit he is very good about returning to the house and I believe he still considers my yard as his home turf. After a few hours of exploring he returned with an impressive sized goat horn. I just hope he found it on the ground and not on a live goat. The last thing I need is having to reimburse the neighbors for murdered livestock. So Timshel has himself a fine new chew toy, and the neighborhood of Garre have themselves a new friend, or perhaps a new problem depending on how he behaves.
Mmmm, goat hornAnd he loves his new dog Frisbee, thanks mom for spoiling my half-wild dog :)And here are a few more pics from the last few months:
Coupe de Bogo, Carlos (Red/White) vs. Clando (Yellow)Grilled Pig on July 4th. Happy birthday ‘Merica!Storm approaching BogoAnyone feel like chicken tonight? (Picturing fellow volunteers Brian Humphrey of Tibati village on left & Josh Bylotas of Magdame village on right)Yes, that is literally a chicken jumping and running around with its head cut off…my apologies to all vegetarians and PETA but sometimes you just want to eat some chicken! 8.14.2009
La Coupe de Bogo; Part II
**Note: Unfortunately yours truly was unable to take part in the final three matches of the Bogo Cup. After a basketball game with some Cameroonians in Maroua I was relegated to the disabled list with a sprained ankle. Regardless of the injury I was on hand to report all the tournament’s happenings and witness Auxerre’s glorious run to the final.
Group Match 5
Auxerre 0 Diables Rouges 0
Nothing too exciting to report about this match. Although the signature Bogo halftime show was on display and was by far the most interesting part of the game. Basically 7-8 children line up at one end of the field on the backs of donkeys during the halftime break. Yes, you heard me correctly; the halftime show is a donkey race. Someone says ‘go’ and some more children behind the donkeys and their jockeys get them started with a few cracks to the behind with tree branches. Off they go from one end of the field to the other, the jockeys hanging on for dear life, while the hundreds of other children who have wandered onto the field frantically dive out of the way of the oncoming stampede. The finish line is the other end of the field but I don’t think the donkeys are told this as there are always a few competitors who continue at full speed down the road and out of sight. As for the match, the 0-0 draw was enough to ensure Auxerre finished the group phase as the top seed and truly a force to be reckoned with!
Semifinal Round
Auxerre 0 Siratare 0 (Penalty Shootout: Auxerre 6 Siratare 5)
Everyone seemed pretty nervous for this game, and I honestly can’t remember anything of importance happening in the 90 minutes of regulation time. Both teams had a goal disallowed due to offsides in the 30 minutes of overtime, and the match went to penalties to decide a winner. Auxerre’s keeper came up big on two occasions to save penalties, but Siratare’s man between the sticks was equal to the challenge by denying the Auxerre penalty takers twice as well. Finally, in the eighth round (penalty shootouts are sudden death after the 5th round) the Siratare penalty taker missed the target completely and the next Auxerre player stepped up to finish them off.
Final Round
Auxerre 1 Carlos 0
The final was, much to my surprise, a very amicable affair. A number of the Carlos players train with the Auxerre team, so while the competition was fierce it never boiled over as in some of the tournament’s past matches. The Bogo Mayor and Sous-prefet were also on hand to see the final. Auxerre’s striker and the tournament’s leading scorer opened up the scoring about twenty minutes into the first half. Despite constant pressure from in the second half, Auxerre maintained the 1-0 advantage to hoist the trophy!
And in other news, Auxerre’s 27 year old captain and central defender was spotted by CotonSport de Garoua, arguably the top professional team in Cameroon (and one of Africa’s best for that matter). While the Auxerre squad traveled to Maroua for a provincial tournament, their captain was being given a tryout and possibly a chance to play professionally.
Group Match 5
Auxerre 0 Diables Rouges 0
Nothing too exciting to report about this match. Although the signature Bogo halftime show was on display and was by far the most interesting part of the game. Basically 7-8 children line up at one end of the field on the backs of donkeys during the halftime break. Yes, you heard me correctly; the halftime show is a donkey race. Someone says ‘go’ and some more children behind the donkeys and their jockeys get them started with a few cracks to the behind with tree branches. Off they go from one end of the field to the other, the jockeys hanging on for dear life, while the hundreds of other children who have wandered onto the field frantically dive out of the way of the oncoming stampede. The finish line is the other end of the field but I don’t think the donkeys are told this as there are always a few competitors who continue at full speed down the road and out of sight. As for the match, the 0-0 draw was enough to ensure Auxerre finished the group phase as the top seed and truly a force to be reckoned with!
Semifinal Round
Auxerre 0 Siratare 0 (Penalty Shootout: Auxerre 6 Siratare 5)
Everyone seemed pretty nervous for this game, and I honestly can’t remember anything of importance happening in the 90 minutes of regulation time. Both teams had a goal disallowed due to offsides in the 30 minutes of overtime, and the match went to penalties to decide a winner. Auxerre’s keeper came up big on two occasions to save penalties, but Siratare’s man between the sticks was equal to the challenge by denying the Auxerre penalty takers twice as well. Finally, in the eighth round (penalty shootouts are sudden death after the 5th round) the Siratare penalty taker missed the target completely and the next Auxerre player stepped up to finish them off.
Final Round
Auxerre 1 Carlos 0
The final was, much to my surprise, a very amicable affair. A number of the Carlos players train with the Auxerre team, so while the competition was fierce it never boiled over as in some of the tournament’s past matches. The Bogo Mayor and Sous-prefet were also on hand to see the final. Auxerre’s striker and the tournament’s leading scorer opened up the scoring about twenty minutes into the first half. Despite constant pressure from in the second half, Auxerre maintained the 1-0 advantage to hoist the trophy!
And in other news, Auxerre’s 27 year old captain and central defender was spotted by CotonSport de Garoua, arguably the top professional team in Cameroon (and one of Africa’s best for that matter). While the Auxerre squad traveled to Maroua for a provincial tournament, their captain was being given a tryout and possibly a chance to play professionally.
7.19.2009
La Coupe de Bogo
Every year during the rainy season when the kids are on vacation from school and the crops are being planted in the fields, the town of Bogo hosts a men’s soccer tournament for local teams. I don’t know if it’s actually called the Bogo Cup but it would make sense, so that’s what I’m calling it. The tournament, which has been highly anticipated and talked about by many people around town, began this month as the rains (and cooler weather) started to reappear.
So 10 local teams have converged on the Stade de Bogo for what will no doubt prove to be one of the great sporting events of 2009. The teams are split into two groups of five teams, each team playing their group opponents once. During group play teams receive 3 points for a win, 1 for a tie, and 0 for a loss. At the end of the group stage the top two teams from each group advance to the highly anticipated Semi final round. I’ve been training with my local neighborhood squad, “Auxerre,” in the hopes of not making a complete fool of myself in front of thousands of people, and while I don’t want to jinx our chances we are looking like one of the teams to beat!
Group Match 1-
Auxerre 1 Magoumai 1
A cagey match in which neither team really got going at full speed. Magoumai took advantage of an early goalkeeping error to take the lead, but Auxerre battled back valiantly in the second half to salvage a draw. Fans were quite amazed to see some random white guy out on the field for the 1st half, and much to their amazement he didn’t get completely manhandled!
Group Match 2-
Auxerre 6 Clandestine 0
While Clandestine (the local moto-taxi driver team) put in a valiant effort, unfortunately this match was over shortly before it started with Auxerre’s lightning quick strikers bagging three goals in the first 15 minutes. Frustration was evident as two Clandestine players were shown red cards in the dying minutes for a couple of overly aggressive challenges. Early afternoon rain showers brought the temperatures down to a lovely 75 degrees in time for kickoff and continuing cloud cover helped to ensure that Auxerre’s new American midfielder didn’t die of heat exhaustion.
Group Match 3
Auxerre 1 Sarare 0
In the third match of the group stage, the so far impressive Auxerre squad faced off against the defending champions, Sarare. This “match” could be better described as a street brawl, and was one of those games that you check to make sure all appendages are still attached after the final whistle. Between the late tackles, elbows to the ribs and copious yellow cards served out by the referee, Auxerre managed to find the back of the net just before halftime. Sarare didn’t help their cause after the break by having two men sent off for tackles that looked more intended to break someone’s leg than actually take the ball. Not the prettiest of games to watch, but the Auxerre squad will be happy to escape with the 3 points (not to mention all of our toes).
And with that, there is just one more first round game to go and the lads from Auxerre find themselves at the top of their group with 7 points from the first 3 matches. That’s all for now, but keep an eye out for the latest scores as the Coupe de Bogo progresses into the later rounds.
So 10 local teams have converged on the Stade de Bogo for what will no doubt prove to be one of the great sporting events of 2009. The teams are split into two groups of five teams, each team playing their group opponents once. During group play teams receive 3 points for a win, 1 for a tie, and 0 for a loss. At the end of the group stage the top two teams from each group advance to the highly anticipated Semi final round. I’ve been training with my local neighborhood squad, “Auxerre,” in the hopes of not making a complete fool of myself in front of thousands of people, and while I don’t want to jinx our chances we are looking like one of the teams to beat!
Group Match 1-
Auxerre 1 Magoumai 1
A cagey match in which neither team really got going at full speed. Magoumai took advantage of an early goalkeeping error to take the lead, but Auxerre battled back valiantly in the second half to salvage a draw. Fans were quite amazed to see some random white guy out on the field for the 1st half, and much to their amazement he didn’t get completely manhandled!
Group Match 2-
Auxerre 6 Clandestine 0
While Clandestine (the local moto-taxi driver team) put in a valiant effort, unfortunately this match was over shortly before it started with Auxerre’s lightning quick strikers bagging three goals in the first 15 minutes. Frustration was evident as two Clandestine players were shown red cards in the dying minutes for a couple of overly aggressive challenges. Early afternoon rain showers brought the temperatures down to a lovely 75 degrees in time for kickoff and continuing cloud cover helped to ensure that Auxerre’s new American midfielder didn’t die of heat exhaustion.
Group Match 3
Auxerre 1 Sarare 0
In the third match of the group stage, the so far impressive Auxerre squad faced off against the defending champions, Sarare. This “match” could be better described as a street brawl, and was one of those games that you check to make sure all appendages are still attached after the final whistle. Between the late tackles, elbows to the ribs and copious yellow cards served out by the referee, Auxerre managed to find the back of the net just before halftime. Sarare didn’t help their cause after the break by having two men sent off for tackles that looked more intended to break someone’s leg than actually take the ball. Not the prettiest of games to watch, but the Auxerre squad will be happy to escape with the 3 points (not to mention all of our toes).
And with that, there is just one more first round game to go and the lads from Auxerre find themselves at the top of their group with 7 points from the first 3 matches. That’s all for now, but keep an eye out for the latest scores as the Coupe de Bogo progresses into the later rounds.
It's Mailbag Time!
Many thanks to you all who submitted questions. They were all excellent and I thoroughly enjoyed responding to them. Furthermore I have still not opened War & Peace, so thank you very much for helping to preserve my sanity. And please keep submitting all those burning questions you may have and I will be more than happy to answer them periodically.
Question 1- What do Peace Corps Volunteers do with their pets when they finish their service? What is the plan for Timshel?
First let me give you some background on the Peace Corps pet policy. Volunteers in Cameroon are permitted to keep dogs and/or cats as pets while serving in Cameroon, provided the animal is given a rabies vaccination. The policy further states that volunteers are strictly prohibited from keeping any type of reptile or primate as a household pet. I found this both amusing and disappointing. Amusing in the sense that we volunteers need to be explicitly told not to keep vipers and monkeys as pets, but disappointing in the sense that I think Timshel would get along really well with a pet monkey.
Typically when a volunteer with a dog finishes their two years of service, the pet is going to be left behind in Cameroon. Most often he/she is adopted by another volunteer still serving in the country. One can only hope that cycle continues during the animal’s entire lifespan, but the reality is that dogs here have it a little rougher than their American counterparts. Keeping a dog enclosed or restrained in this country, at least in the villages, is a foreign concept. As a result pets are vulnerable to all sorts of dangers. Vehicles, less than friendly villagers, other stray animals, and of course the microbes and parasites that love a good host all play their part in the short life expectancy of a Cameroonian dog. As far as physical health and vitality, I believe Timshel is in a league of his own compared to the other canines of Bogo. Intelligence-wise however, his tendency to chase motorcycles down the street and all over the neighborhood is a little worrying.
In very rare occasions, a volunteer may bring their dog back to the United States after their service is up. I don’t have all the details on how this is done, but I’m sure that information is available through the U.S. Customs or State Department websites. In addition to all the red tape one must navigate, I would imagine it is also very expensive. While I’ve grown quite fond of Timshel and I think he would thrive in America, I don’t know that the U.S. is ready for such an animal. At the least, he would have to kick a few bad habits before I consider him as my second piece of checked luggage upon my return, namely:
Question 1- What do Peace Corps Volunteers do with their pets when they finish their service? What is the plan for Timshel?
First let me give you some background on the Peace Corps pet policy. Volunteers in Cameroon are permitted to keep dogs and/or cats as pets while serving in Cameroon, provided the animal is given a rabies vaccination. The policy further states that volunteers are strictly prohibited from keeping any type of reptile or primate as a household pet. I found this both amusing and disappointing. Amusing in the sense that we volunteers need to be explicitly told not to keep vipers and monkeys as pets, but disappointing in the sense that I think Timshel would get along really well with a pet monkey.
Typically when a volunteer with a dog finishes their two years of service, the pet is going to be left behind in Cameroon. Most often he/she is adopted by another volunteer still serving in the country. One can only hope that cycle continues during the animal’s entire lifespan, but the reality is that dogs here have it a little rougher than their American counterparts. Keeping a dog enclosed or restrained in this country, at least in the villages, is a foreign concept. As a result pets are vulnerable to all sorts of dangers. Vehicles, less than friendly villagers, other stray animals, and of course the microbes and parasites that love a good host all play their part in the short life expectancy of a Cameroonian dog. As far as physical health and vitality, I believe Timshel is in a league of his own compared to the other canines of Bogo. Intelligence-wise however, his tendency to chase motorcycles down the street and all over the neighborhood is a little worrying.
In very rare occasions, a volunteer may bring their dog back to the United States after their service is up. I don’t have all the details on how this is done, but I’m sure that information is available through the U.S. Customs or State Department websites. In addition to all the red tape one must navigate, I would imagine it is also very expensive. While I’ve grown quite fond of Timshel and I think he would thrive in America, I don’t know that the U.S. is ready for such an animal. At the least, he would have to kick a few bad habits before I consider him as my second piece of checked luggage upon my return, namely:
1) Trying to eat my hand before I can even put his food dish on the ground
2) Eating my soap and toilet paper
3) Humping everything that moves
4) Eating cow and goat droppings
5) Urinating on my porch
6) Scaring the life out of the village children
Actually, that last one is pretty funny and I encourage it on a regular basis. Watching a puppy of no more than 10 pounds chase full speed after 20 frantically screaming children is about as entertaining as my day gets here au village.
Question 2- Any embarrassing stories? If so, DO TELL!
I feel as though I’ve done a good job thus far in not making a complete ass of myself. Nevertheless, there are always embarrassing moments when adjusting to a new culture. Below I’ve described a few of the more awkward ones:
1) During our training in the village of Nassarao, I was walking from our training center to my family’s home. While walking home I kept hearing giggling behind me. This had become quite normal so I didn’t think much of it at first, until someone gave a slight tug on my wrist. I turned around to find a small boy of about 5 or 6 years old with what I will assume was his older siblings about 20 yards back down the road still giggling and chattering away. The little boy proceeded to ask me if I wanted to marry his older sister (who was probably about 15), which everyone in the neighborhood within ear shot found to be hilarious. Luckily this was early in training, and claiming ignorance with the language while slowly backing away is an excellent defense mechanism when people are offering their relatives as brides. Nowadays I’m a little savvier when it comes to deflecting marriage proposals. When many people come to my home for the first time the inevitable first question is “Ou est ta femme?” meaning ‘where is my wife?’ I tried telling someone that I keep her locked in the kitchen, but I don't think they picked up on my poor attempt at humor and they may have actually taken me seriously. When telling them that I don’t have a wife, their excitement is often poorly concealed since they inevitably have an available female relative. For a villager in Bogo, seeing a man of twenty five living alone is an oddity, so I don’t get too bent out of shape when it happens. I hate to be rude so at the least I humor them and inquire as to their asking price, but I think word has finally started to spread around that I am not in the market for a wife.
2) About a month back I was in the middle of my routine at the Bogo market picking up some produce and other provisions. I enjoy going to the market as it is truly a great place to not only stock up on household needs, but also to converse with locals and get to know people a lot better. Normally the market excursions are pleasant but altogether uneventful. However, recently a certain person who frequents the Bogo market has begun to take an interest in me. In the United States we might refer to a person such as this gentleman as “special.” Yet the term most often used here is fou, or crazy person. I do not know his name so I typically just refer to him as crazy market man. Crazy market man usually spends his time wandering around the market in an intensely funny conversation with himself, laughing hysterically every few minutes or so. He tends to pop out of the woodwork at random times, and I believe he possesses either super human speed or the ability to teleport, as you can watch him walk by one minute and a few seconds later he appears again coming from a completely different direction.
As I was finishing my shopping at the market one day I turned to leave the inner section which is a courtyard with narrow walkways around numerous stalls of veggies, fish, grains, spices, etc. It was a bit crowded at that time and navigating the aisles can be difficult with all the people moving about. At just about that moment my eyes met with none other than crazy market man on the other side of the courtyard. I was heading for one of the exiting corridors and soon realized that he was moving towards my point of exit with his eyes fixated on me. It was very hot outside this day (imagine that) and I didn’t have much energy in reserve for any sort of interaction with crazy market man, so I subtly turned around to head out in another direction. Unfortunately the path from whence I came had been blocked. I was trapped! I turned back to find crazy market man finishing up another hysterical conversation with himself as he approached me. Immediately upon reaching me he stood at full attention and began saluting and bowing with the entire market looking on in amusement. Once I calmed my new friend down a bit I politely explained that I was leaving. However, crazy market man was not finished with me, and saw it as his duty to see that the Nasarra had a clear path to exit the market. He dodged past in a frenzied loyalty to his new found friend and began pushing people, bicycles, chickens, etc. out of the way exclaiming that he was helping the Nasarra leave the market. At this point everyone witnessing this event was either close to tears in laughter or frantically dodging to get out of crazy market man’s way. I can only imagine how red my face was as I ashamedly shook my head in disbelief. As crazy market man continued on his path of destruction down the aisle I took the opportunity to slip out a side corridor to safety. Hopefully the ‘you break it you buy it’ principle doesn’t exist here seeing as crazy market man has sadly been absent for some time, and the last thing I want is the bill for his loyal yet altogether overzealous actions.
Question 3- I want to see the market and the soccer dirt.
Thank you for that thoughtful submission. Below I’ve attached a few pictures of the main “stade” in Bogo where I train with the local guys every evening. It’s a pretty good field despite the difficulties I have with playing on loose sand, and behind one of the goals is a large garbage pile so one must always be wary of the occasional rusty or sharp object.
As for the market, I have yet to take any decent photos, but it is at the top of my to-do list. However, I have attached a photo of a recent wedding that I attended in a village just outside of Bogo to give you another glimpse into the daily happenings around here. I’m so well integrated I bet you can’t even find me in the photo!
Question 4- Do you have to treat the water you bring into your home? How receptive have the locals been?
The water I use in my home for drinking, cooking, bathing and cleaning comes from a water pump just down the road. It comes from deep in the ground and to the naked eye looks relatively clean. However, drinking or even coming in contact with untreated water here can lead to all sorts of diseases and infections such as dysentery, giardia, amoebas, hepatitis, typhoid, cholera, schistosomiasis and an array of other nasty little bugs. When arriving in Cameroon I was given a water filtration system that I will use for the entirety of my service. Basically it looks like two plastic buckets stacked on top of each other. All I have to do is pour water into the top bucket which contains something that resembles a pool filter. The water goes through the filter and then into another filter in the bottom which I believe cleans the water with charcoal or carbon particles. Wait a few minutes, open the tap at the bottom and voila!, clean and potable water. This is the water I use for drinking and cooking. The water filter is not fail-safe however, so its always a good idea to treat the water by boiling or with chlorine solution before filtering. Since my water comes from a deep underground source I don’t believe its necessary to treat my bathwater, but a few drops of chlorine solution in my bucket bath beforehand is never a bad idea.
When I’m out and about, having clean water available is always a challenge. I drink a great deal to avoid dehydration, and every once in a while I find myself in a village or out in the bush without my own clean water. Villagers are always very kind and will offer a drink of water without hesitation, and while one does not want to be rude and turn down their generosity it is always a risk to drink water from unknown sources. The Peace Corps provides us with Aquatabs and Iodine treatment in case we are in a bind, but these are not methods that can be used day in and day out. And if I’m in desperate need of liquid there is always soda or beer! Not to mention the local millet beer concoction they call bil-bil. Mmmmm.
As for the receptiveness of locals, I think I can safely say that I am welcome in Bogo. Without a doubt my appearance, accent and mannerisms are extremely strange to them. Walking through a section of the market or down any of the streets can draw blank and confused stares or the occasional “Nasarra!” The crowds of children can be very annoying when yelling “bonjour” or “comment ca va?” 800 times in quick succession regardless of how many times I respond. I’ve found that chasing them yelling bonjour!bonjour!bonjour! is an excellent way to disperse the crowd, and their parents usually find it to be hilarious. When first arriving in Bogo 7 months ago I was called Nasarra by everyone in village. Nowadays I am called Daniel more and more every week, often by people I’ve never even seen before, so that’s got to be an indicator of some progress. While I hope my work here in Bogo will ultimately be what they remember me for, playing soccer with my neighborhood team has done wonders. Some of the bigger matches can draw huge crowds, and I don’t exactly blend in. In many of my dealings around the community I’ve gone from just plain old Nasarra (white man) to Boppa Nasarra (uncle white man), but this may just be a result of the beard I grow from time to time rather than their increasing respect.
2) Eating my soap and toilet paper
3) Humping everything that moves
4) Eating cow and goat droppings
5) Urinating on my porch
6) Scaring the life out of the village children
Actually, that last one is pretty funny and I encourage it on a regular basis. Watching a puppy of no more than 10 pounds chase full speed after 20 frantically screaming children is about as entertaining as my day gets here au village.
Question 2- Any embarrassing stories? If so, DO TELL!
I feel as though I’ve done a good job thus far in not making a complete ass of myself. Nevertheless, there are always embarrassing moments when adjusting to a new culture. Below I’ve described a few of the more awkward ones:
1) During our training in the village of Nassarao, I was walking from our training center to my family’s home. While walking home I kept hearing giggling behind me. This had become quite normal so I didn’t think much of it at first, until someone gave a slight tug on my wrist. I turned around to find a small boy of about 5 or 6 years old with what I will assume was his older siblings about 20 yards back down the road still giggling and chattering away. The little boy proceeded to ask me if I wanted to marry his older sister (who was probably about 15), which everyone in the neighborhood within ear shot found to be hilarious. Luckily this was early in training, and claiming ignorance with the language while slowly backing away is an excellent defense mechanism when people are offering their relatives as brides. Nowadays I’m a little savvier when it comes to deflecting marriage proposals. When many people come to my home for the first time the inevitable first question is “Ou est ta femme?” meaning ‘where is my wife?’ I tried telling someone that I keep her locked in the kitchen, but I don't think they picked up on my poor attempt at humor and they may have actually taken me seriously. When telling them that I don’t have a wife, their excitement is often poorly concealed since they inevitably have an available female relative. For a villager in Bogo, seeing a man of twenty five living alone is an oddity, so I don’t get too bent out of shape when it happens. I hate to be rude so at the least I humor them and inquire as to their asking price, but I think word has finally started to spread around that I am not in the market for a wife.
2) About a month back I was in the middle of my routine at the Bogo market picking up some produce and other provisions. I enjoy going to the market as it is truly a great place to not only stock up on household needs, but also to converse with locals and get to know people a lot better. Normally the market excursions are pleasant but altogether uneventful. However, recently a certain person who frequents the Bogo market has begun to take an interest in me. In the United States we might refer to a person such as this gentleman as “special.” Yet the term most often used here is fou, or crazy person. I do not know his name so I typically just refer to him as crazy market man. Crazy market man usually spends his time wandering around the market in an intensely funny conversation with himself, laughing hysterically every few minutes or so. He tends to pop out of the woodwork at random times, and I believe he possesses either super human speed or the ability to teleport, as you can watch him walk by one minute and a few seconds later he appears again coming from a completely different direction.
As I was finishing my shopping at the market one day I turned to leave the inner section which is a courtyard with narrow walkways around numerous stalls of veggies, fish, grains, spices, etc. It was a bit crowded at that time and navigating the aisles can be difficult with all the people moving about. At just about that moment my eyes met with none other than crazy market man on the other side of the courtyard. I was heading for one of the exiting corridors and soon realized that he was moving towards my point of exit with his eyes fixated on me. It was very hot outside this day (imagine that) and I didn’t have much energy in reserve for any sort of interaction with crazy market man, so I subtly turned around to head out in another direction. Unfortunately the path from whence I came had been blocked. I was trapped! I turned back to find crazy market man finishing up another hysterical conversation with himself as he approached me. Immediately upon reaching me he stood at full attention and began saluting and bowing with the entire market looking on in amusement. Once I calmed my new friend down a bit I politely explained that I was leaving. However, crazy market man was not finished with me, and saw it as his duty to see that the Nasarra had a clear path to exit the market. He dodged past in a frenzied loyalty to his new found friend and began pushing people, bicycles, chickens, etc. out of the way exclaiming that he was helping the Nasarra leave the market. At this point everyone witnessing this event was either close to tears in laughter or frantically dodging to get out of crazy market man’s way. I can only imagine how red my face was as I ashamedly shook my head in disbelief. As crazy market man continued on his path of destruction down the aisle I took the opportunity to slip out a side corridor to safety. Hopefully the ‘you break it you buy it’ principle doesn’t exist here seeing as crazy market man has sadly been absent for some time, and the last thing I want is the bill for his loyal yet altogether overzealous actions.
Question 3- I want to see the market and the soccer dirt.
Thank you for that thoughtful submission. Below I’ve attached a few pictures of the main “stade” in Bogo where I train with the local guys every evening. It’s a pretty good field despite the difficulties I have with playing on loose sand, and behind one of the goals is a large garbage pile so one must always be wary of the occasional rusty or sharp object.
As for the market, I have yet to take any decent photos, but it is at the top of my to-do list. However, I have attached a photo of a recent wedding that I attended in a village just outside of Bogo to give you another glimpse into the daily happenings around here. I’m so well integrated I bet you can’t even find me in the photo!
Question 4- Do you have to treat the water you bring into your home? How receptive have the locals been?
The water I use in my home for drinking, cooking, bathing and cleaning comes from a water pump just down the road. It comes from deep in the ground and to the naked eye looks relatively clean. However, drinking or even coming in contact with untreated water here can lead to all sorts of diseases and infections such as dysentery, giardia, amoebas, hepatitis, typhoid, cholera, schistosomiasis and an array of other nasty little bugs. When arriving in Cameroon I was given a water filtration system that I will use for the entirety of my service. Basically it looks like two plastic buckets stacked on top of each other. All I have to do is pour water into the top bucket which contains something that resembles a pool filter. The water goes through the filter and then into another filter in the bottom which I believe cleans the water with charcoal or carbon particles. Wait a few minutes, open the tap at the bottom and voila!, clean and potable water. This is the water I use for drinking and cooking. The water filter is not fail-safe however, so its always a good idea to treat the water by boiling or with chlorine solution before filtering. Since my water comes from a deep underground source I don’t believe its necessary to treat my bathwater, but a few drops of chlorine solution in my bucket bath beforehand is never a bad idea.
When I’m out and about, having clean water available is always a challenge. I drink a great deal to avoid dehydration, and every once in a while I find myself in a village or out in the bush without my own clean water. Villagers are always very kind and will offer a drink of water without hesitation, and while one does not want to be rude and turn down their generosity it is always a risk to drink water from unknown sources. The Peace Corps provides us with Aquatabs and Iodine treatment in case we are in a bind, but these are not methods that can be used day in and day out. And if I’m in desperate need of liquid there is always soda or beer! Not to mention the local millet beer concoction they call bil-bil. Mmmmm.
As for the receptiveness of locals, I think I can safely say that I am welcome in Bogo. Without a doubt my appearance, accent and mannerisms are extremely strange to them. Walking through a section of the market or down any of the streets can draw blank and confused stares or the occasional “Nasarra!” The crowds of children can be very annoying when yelling “bonjour” or “comment ca va?” 800 times in quick succession regardless of how many times I respond. I’ve found that chasing them yelling bonjour!bonjour!bonjour! is an excellent way to disperse the crowd, and their parents usually find it to be hilarious. When first arriving in Bogo 7 months ago I was called Nasarra by everyone in village. Nowadays I am called Daniel more and more every week, often by people I’ve never even seen before, so that’s got to be an indicator of some progress. While I hope my work here in Bogo will ultimately be what they remember me for, playing soccer with my neighborhood team has done wonders. Some of the bigger matches can draw huge crowds, and I don’t exactly blend in. In many of my dealings around the community I’ve gone from just plain old Nasarra (white man) to Boppa Nasarra (uncle white man), but this may just be a result of the beard I grow from time to time rather than their increasing respect.
5.24.2009
New feature on the blog!
Before you start on the two new posts below, I have an announcement to make. While I'm very glad to hear that most feedback on my blog is positive, I was thinking that there may be many things about Cameroon you would like to know that I'm not addressing. So, I was sweating myself to sleep the other night, and the idea came to me. I think I'm going to call it the 'Bogo Mailbag.' What is the Bogo Mailbag you ask? Well, I'll tell you. You send me (in the form of a comment on my most recent posts) any burning questions you may have about anything at all. Preferably, those questions should be related in some way to Bogo, Cameroon or my experiences in general. And then every month or so when the stars align and I have internet connection for more than 10 minutes at a time, I will respond to your questions in an honest and insightful manner. As I see it, the Bogo Mailbag will give you the reader a more interactive role on this blog just as it will give me the author, something constructive to do with my free time other than throwing a tshirt over my puppys head and watching him run around in panic. You think I'm joking, but I think even the indefatigable Timshel was worn out the other day after 45 minutes of the tshirt game. And just recently while in Maroua I was choosing my future reading material from the bookshelf in the Peace Corps house and I ended up with an Unabridged History of Scotland in one hand, and War and Peace in the other. Please don't allow me to read the Unabridged History of Scotland or War and Peace, and don't let Timshel be a victim to my sad and twisted games any longer. Send lots of questions!
Bogo Virtual Tour, Part Un!
I feel as though I'm strumming the same chord with that last entry about the hot season, seeing as how complaining about the climate is a common theme in all my posts. So in an effort to change the pace I'd like to invite you to join me on a virtual tour of my town, Bogo. Today we are going to hit some of the high points of the community, but first one has to get there! Normally I would ride the bus from maroua to Bogo since it is 700 francs as opposed to 2500 francs for a motorcycle. However, seeing as I have you along for the voyage I'd hate for you to endure riding with 35 people and assorted animals in a bus made for about 20. Also these buses, which were quite possibly public transportation vehicles in France circa 1950, are decorated with elaborately painted names such as "bonne chance" (good luck) and "merci, Dieu" (thank you, god). In my mind those are names that don't instill confidence in arriving at one's destination fully intact. So without further delay, start the video below for a glimpse of your average moto ride to Bogo. And I warn anyone who gets carsick that it isn't the easiest video to watch.
**Unfortunately the videos wouldn't load this time around. Perhaps I'll have better luck next time.
And now we enter the town of Bogo...
And yes, I too was a bit dismayed when arriving at the 'Bogo Ville' sign for the first time. I began to think that the Peace Corps has just assigned me to someplace that looks like a mix between the Serengeti and a Mad max film for 2 years. Much to my relief about 2km down the road, and literally over the river and through the woods, we come to the true center of the Bogo. Not too far into town on the main road you will find my house...
That strange pastel painted building with the tin roof and gray door is home sweet home. Its a bit of a fixer upper, has electricity, but does not have running water. Despite the lack of indoor plunbing there is a cable TV hookup, which was enough to get me to sign the lease. Not having a modern toilet, sink or shower really isn't all that bad when you can still watch the game! Perhaps on your next tour you can see the inside of my humble abode, but I'd like to show you as much of Bogo as possible with the precious few photos I can get posted online. That, and I haven't had the opportunity to clean this week.
Moving on down the street we have the Lamido's house, the traditional leader of the community and a highly respected man amongst all the villagers. My apologies for the poor quality of the shot, but I wasn't sure how friendly his entourage (some equipped with horses and spears) would be with some crazy white man on a bike snapping photos.
Just one more block down the road we come to the Central Mosque, built sometime in the 1950s. While there are smaller one room mosques spread throughout the city's different neighborhoods to making the daily prayers a bit easier, the Grand Mosque is one of the centers of Bogo life.
Bogo is populated mostly by muslims, but farther afoot on the south side of town you will find the Catholic Mission. In the picture below the white building in the back and to the left is where mass is held. I attend Sunday mass here most weeks and it is a very interesting mix of Catholicism and traditional culture. The service is given in both French and Fufulde, and the normal trappings of a western Catholic service blend with traditional African song backed up by thumping drums and old ladies screaming at the top of their lungs. While everyone except me knows the words to the songs, most of the music seems highly improvised. It was a shock when I went to my first Sunday mass here. Attending a Catholic service that makes me want to dance is something I never thought possible.
There are many other sights to see around town, mainly the Thursday market. However I believe the market here deserves its own tour, and with every photo I post on this decrepit computer I feel as though I'm pushing my luck. Not to mention that pulling out a shiny digital camera in the middle of a busy marketplace could be the last thing I ever do, or atleast the last thing I ever do with that camera. I'll have to work on my hidden camera skills and get back to you with the market tour. In the meantime we will end this first tour with a few photos from around town, just to give you an idea of some of the average Bogo city streets. I believe these were taken during call to prayer, which would explain why the streets are deserted. And that big mud wall in the first photo is actually the backside of the Lamido's residence. It might not look like much in the photo but the residence is really quite massive and I feel as though the walls are extremely tall when walking by. Sort of like the Vatican of Bogo, I guess.
Thats all for the moment, and hopefully you enjoyed the first of possibly many tours around Northern Cameroon.
Work Update:
I know many of you may be wondering what it is I actually do here, or will do here in the future. That is a valid question. Unfortunately, I don't have a valid answer at this time. Due to a number of factors my work has yet to get moving at full speed. Firstly I was absent from Bogo most of March for a trip to the US of A (worth every second). The stifling heat of the past months hasn't help much and I understand more each day why people just sit under trees most of the time. Finally, going to the hospital in Maroua numerous times to figure out what's been residing in my tummy has shaved away some time as well, not to mention 30 pounds. Drinking well water and contracting amoebic dysentery isn't a diet plan I would recommend.
As for my work, I will say that it involves climbing trees, biking into the woods and getting to play in the dirt. It's like being ten years old again only now I have to report these activities to the powers that be at Peace Corps, and I have to wash my own clothes after I come home all dirty. In the not too distant future I plan to look back upon the first six months of my service in Cameroon in an effort to review my progress and form my expectations for the future. I do this mainly to justify my presence here to Peace Corps. Yet I'd also like to give you faithful blog readers a proper, in depth description of how me wandering aimlessly through the african bush and scaring villagers half to death stimulates small scale development in this corner of the world.
Heat & Mangoes
When arriving in Cameroon this past September I began hearing tales of the hot season in the north of the country that comes from March until sometime in May or June when the rains start again. Many volunteers would speak of temperatures in the 110-120 range, with night time temps cooling off to the mid 90s. In fact, as I right this post at about 7:30 in the morning I just noticed the thermometer topping 100 already. Should be a wonderful day!
I've been looking forward to this time of year with a mix of curiosity and dread, but surely the hot season couldn't be that unbearable, right? That was my logic until about 2 weeks ago when at about 2AM on a Thursday morning I found myself lying awake on my bed covered in a towel soaked with cool water and trying to ignore the heat rash that felt as if hundreds of tiny needles were pricking my skin. I suppose it was one of those moments in a PCV's life when the realization that you are indeed out of your element becomes painfully obvious. Even my poor dog is struggling. I don't let him in the house because he has a tendency to steal things within reach, so he spends most of his days in a shady spot of my concession digging holes in the sand in search of cooler earth to sleep on. While Timshel is busy destroying my yard in search of some cooler terrain, my favorite activity has been filling up a few buckets of water at noon everyday and slowly dumping them over my head. It's all about the simple pleasures in life, folks. Timshel doesn't trust me around water anymore, mainly because his bath time consists of me picking him up, dropping him in a bucket and then laughing maniacally as I scrub the little furball into a rage of puppy anger. He emerges looking like a drowned rat, thoroughly annoyed with me (I'm still laughing at this point), and proceeds to roll around in the sand in defiance. So as much as I'd like to help him out with the heat too, he wants nothing to do with me these days if water is involved. Yet in spite of the stifling heat day in and day out there are temporary moments of reprieve. When in Maroua a few weeks back a very rare rain and thunderstorm inundated the city for about an hour, bringing with it a heavenly breeze of cool air. It felt cooler than it had in months and I even contemplated throwing on long sleeves. Before doing so I checked the thermometer out of curiosity. This 'cool' temperature that almost prompted me to bundle up turned out to be 88. Obviously my body's definition of hot and cold has been altered, and the long sleeves will be staying tucked away for the time being. And while this may not interest anyone other than me, I have been wondering to myself "How do I know I have a fever when it is 115 degrees outside?" Certainly it must be impossible to tell, yes? Could this be my sick and demented way of finding positive things about the hot season here? Unfortunately I found out the other week that, yes, even when it is 115 degrees outside, a fever of 103 does not go unnoticed. Somebody get me Bill Nye the Science Guy's email. I want to know why, with a fever of 103, I don't just feel slightly cooler than my surrounding 115 degree environment.
If there is one redeeming quality of hot season here, it is that it also happens to be mango season. For a few months every year mango supply far outweighs demand, and a large mango goes for as little as 50cfa (less than 25 cents). I'm pretty sure I ate six to seven today alone, although I lost count in my mango-induced stupor. On average I'd say five mangoes a day is the norm, and I must tell you it is glorious. Mango juice, mango smoothies (I have a blender!), mango salsa, mango salad, mango preserves, mangoes in yogurt....and the list goes on. Hell, I would start taking my bucket baths with fresh squeezed mangoes if it weren't for all the flies. Once mango season comes to a close I certainly hope dried mangoes are still on the menu to help with the withdrawal.
I've been looking forward to this time of year with a mix of curiosity and dread, but surely the hot season couldn't be that unbearable, right? That was my logic until about 2 weeks ago when at about 2AM on a Thursday morning I found myself lying awake on my bed covered in a towel soaked with cool water and trying to ignore the heat rash that felt as if hundreds of tiny needles were pricking my skin. I suppose it was one of those moments in a PCV's life when the realization that you are indeed out of your element becomes painfully obvious. Even my poor dog is struggling. I don't let him in the house because he has a tendency to steal things within reach, so he spends most of his days in a shady spot of my concession digging holes in the sand in search of cooler earth to sleep on. While Timshel is busy destroying my yard in search of some cooler terrain, my favorite activity has been filling up a few buckets of water at noon everyday and slowly dumping them over my head. It's all about the simple pleasures in life, folks. Timshel doesn't trust me around water anymore, mainly because his bath time consists of me picking him up, dropping him in a bucket and then laughing maniacally as I scrub the little furball into a rage of puppy anger. He emerges looking like a drowned rat, thoroughly annoyed with me (I'm still laughing at this point), and proceeds to roll around in the sand in defiance. So as much as I'd like to help him out with the heat too, he wants nothing to do with me these days if water is involved. Yet in spite of the stifling heat day in and day out there are temporary moments of reprieve. When in Maroua a few weeks back a very rare rain and thunderstorm inundated the city for about an hour, bringing with it a heavenly breeze of cool air. It felt cooler than it had in months and I even contemplated throwing on long sleeves. Before doing so I checked the thermometer out of curiosity. This 'cool' temperature that almost prompted me to bundle up turned out to be 88. Obviously my body's definition of hot and cold has been altered, and the long sleeves will be staying tucked away for the time being. And while this may not interest anyone other than me, I have been wondering to myself "How do I know I have a fever when it is 115 degrees outside?" Certainly it must be impossible to tell, yes? Could this be my sick and demented way of finding positive things about the hot season here? Unfortunately I found out the other week that, yes, even when it is 115 degrees outside, a fever of 103 does not go unnoticed. Somebody get me Bill Nye the Science Guy's email. I want to know why, with a fever of 103, I don't just feel slightly cooler than my surrounding 115 degree environment.
If there is one redeeming quality of hot season here, it is that it also happens to be mango season. For a few months every year mango supply far outweighs demand, and a large mango goes for as little as 50cfa (less than 25 cents). I'm pretty sure I ate six to seven today alone, although I lost count in my mango-induced stupor. On average I'd say five mangoes a day is the norm, and I must tell you it is glorious. Mango juice, mango smoothies (I have a blender!), mango salsa, mango salad, mango preserves, mangoes in yogurt....and the list goes on. Hell, I would start taking my bucket baths with fresh squeezed mangoes if it weren't for all the flies. Once mango season comes to a close I certainly hope dried mangoes are still on the menu to help with the withdrawal.
3.31.2009
Dan's Excellent American Adventure (And other deep thoughts)
As many of you know I recently made a short trip to the United States for my sister’s wedding. For those of you whom I saw, it was a real pleasure and 10 days at home was not nearly enough to do it justice. And if at any point during the trip I was too entranced by whatever plate of food happened to be in front of me to visit and chat my sincere apologies. While I failed in my mission to gain 10 pounds in 10 days, I think the 5 that I gained in that short time is still a respectable showing. I am writing this entry in late March back in the north of Cameroon, but this entry actually covers events beginning back in early March when I began this most excellent of adventures back to my homeland.
So how does one go from a village in northern Cameroon to the United States? Well firstly, a little financial backing from the parents doesn’t hurt J I think I owe you guys some frequent flyer miles in the future. Or as my mother would say, “Just you remember this when picking my nursing home!” But to get to my flight in the capital, Yaounde, I had arguably the most interesting and exciting journey to date. As you’ll soon read that isn’t necessarily a good thing in this country. Leaving Bogo during the first week of March, I hopped on my friend’s motorcycle with a duffel bag and Timshel and made the 45 minute ride into Maroua. The ride from Bogo to Maroua is usually enjoyable and without incident, and that afternoon it was especially serene as I contemplated that in just a few days I’d be stuffing my face with just about any food or drink I could get my hands on. After a day or two staying in Maroua, handing Timshel off to a volunteer in town who offered to look after the little menace and doing some last minute business around town, I headed to the bush taxi agency for the 8 hour drive south to the city of Ngaoundere. I had a reserved ticket for the bus to Ngaoundere that morning, but all that really means is I am in the front of the line waiting to be trampled when the stampede of passengers towards the open bus door begins. The bush taxi fits about 25 people comfortably but about 35 people usually fill up the bus and the top is loaded down with a 4 to 5 foot pile of stuff on the roof. Not exactly the most nimble vehicle on the road, but the driver seemed convinced that he was driving a supercar on the autobahn. Despite the white knuckles I did my best to fall asleep. About halfway through the trip I was awoken by the driver laying on the horn and braking suddenly. Apparently a dog had wandered onto the road. Doing about 80 in an overloaded bush taxi is a bad idea, but trying to avoid a dog at that speed is an even worse one. Unfortunately for the dog, the driver was not quick enough to maneuver. But my sorrow for the dog quickly gave way to concern for our own safety when the bus began to rock and sway as the driver tried to get it back on the road. After a few tense seconds of swerving onto the sandy shoulder we came back onto the road in one piece. I didn’t sleep much the rest of the way.
When I finally arrived in Ngaoundere a group of about 40 porters and bag handlers crowded around our car of roughly 35 people looking for a customer. Since my time in Cameroon I’m still a believer that being polite is almost always the best policy for a foreigner, but situations such as this are no time for being polite. After a hellish 8 hours crammed in a bush taxi, I didn’t have any problem being brusque with the 5 or 6 people who ran up to me and grabbed my half empty duffel bag that I obviously didn’t need any help with. I escaped out of the mass of humanity gathered at the bus station and found the first moto taxi at the exit and high-tailed it to the Peace Corps house. Fortunately a few volunteers that I trained with and are now posted around the Ngaoundere area were in town. After a day like that I was in desperate need of either a nap or a beer. Luckily they talked some sense into me and we headed across the street to one of the neighborhood watering holes for a few ice cold bottles of 33’ Export.
I used a day in Ngaoundere to unwind a bit, and also got a chance to climb Mount Ngaoundere on the outskirts of town. The climb itself only takes about 45 minutes, but spending about 2 hours at the top enjoying the view was a great way to spend a day. That evening I hopped on a moto taxi and headed back to the bus/train station to catch the overnight train to Yaounde. En route to the station the moto driver started going increasingly faster and using the middle of a busy city street to pass and weave around other cars and motos. Normally I wouldn’t give it much concern, but this guy’s driving seemed to go beyond the average aggressiveness and crossed the line to just plain dangerous. I explained that I was in no hurry and suggested he go back onto the right side of the road. Something was lost in translation and he began going even faster down a hill. About 100 yards down the road the traffic came to an abrupt halt. Monsieur Eival Kneival saw it too late and slammed on the brakes, but then proceeded to slam into the back of a pick up truck, tossing me off a few feet into the busy street. Luckily I came out of it with only a scraped hand. My French has improved a great deal, but I was at a loss for words in this situation. After exhausting a number of English expletives that he couldn’t understand I believe conveyed my anger effectively enough. The driver tried to restart the stalled moto in the midst of oncoming traffic, and after a number of attempts and more close calls with angered motorists he willed the moto back to life. The rest of the journey was pretty quiet, but upon arriving at the train station the moto driver was very annoyed to learn that he wasn’t receiving the full fare. While I admittedly don’t know the unwritten rules of moto taxis very well, when the customer is tossed off the bike into the street I believe that warrants some kind of a discount if not a free ride.
Surely the train to Yaounde will be better than the journey so far? I had reserved a sleeping car which would give me a rare opportunity to sleep in transit. The train left Ngaoundere at 6PM that evening and was scheduled to arrive in Yaounde the next day at 6AM. My hopes of sleeping the entire way were dashed by the constant fear that hit me every time the train hit top speed and felt as though it wanted to jump the tracks. I had to position myself just so, in the event that a rougher than normal bump would eject me from my top bunk bed. And I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of Cameroonian villagers selling produce along the train’s many stops, but hearing them scream “bananes! ananas! batons!” (bananas, pineapple, sticks of manioc) at the top of their lungs during a stop at 3 in the morning doesn’t give one much chance to rest up. Other than a brief midnight breakdown in the Cameroonian bush, I arrived in the capital without incident and stumbled my way to a taxi and into Peace Corps HQ. And just in time for an 18 hour journey to Washington-Dulles!
Personally, I hate flying. It’s not a fear of flying per se, but rather a fear of the whole process involved. I love traveling, but a flight has always been best when I can sleep through the entire thing. Tiny seats, stale air, food of questionable origin, and no matter how clean I am when I get on the plane I feel as though I haven’t showered in a week when I get off. Yet after the voyage from Bogo to Yaounde, I arrived at Yaounde’s Nsimalem Airport and was immediately taken in by the grandeur and modernity of it all. I waited in a line at the baggage counter and it seemed like a portal into a completely different world. For one, no one was checking or carrying on any goats. After passing through security, where the customs agent looked at my pre-Peace Corps passport photo and commented that I should eat more, I went and sat at the gate and actually found myself becoming excited about flying in an airplane again. After a 20 minute flight from Yaounde to Douala we set off for Zurich and then on to Washington. I never thought I’d be excited to receive a plate of reheated airplane food, but when the flight attendant asked if I would be having chicken or beef I said I’d be having both. I ended up only receiving beef and a scowl from the flight attendant, but I will say that may have been the most anyone has ever enjoyed a meal on an airplane, hands down.
So touching down on American soil I felt a chill go through my body. Was it because I was so emotional to be returning? Was I being overwhelmed by nostalgia? Possibly, but I believe a more plausible cause was the fact that it was freezing! It was probably no colder than 35 degrees, but that was enough to do it for me as I waited for a taxi in the warmest clothing I now possess; a windbreaker.
Sidenote:
And just some words of advice to those of you looking to take a long journey like this: When you arrive on home soil, call your mother. Their minds wander as to what terrible fate you may have succumbed to while in transit. During the few hours I was sans cell phone in the DC area, a number of family members developed the compelling theory that I was attacked in a Zurich Airport bathroom by a roving gang of Swiss bandits. Look, I didn’t think to use a pay phone, OK? I didn’t even know those still existed!
Once on US soil I had an excellent time. Getting to see family and friends at the wedding was fantastic, and the food and beverage wasn’t too shabby either. I even took a picture of my plate of food at the wedding reception (For comfort during those dark times). It snowed a few inches during the weekend which was a huge bonus, although I think my body was more confused than ever. For the most part the weather was quite cold and dreary, but I was amazed to see clouds, rain, ice and snow again. As I mentioned before I unfortunately failed in my quest to gain 10 pounds and I also fell short in my list of restaurants and cuisines that I needed to eat. So much food, so little time. I’ve been thinking about all the meals that I consumed while there and while the food at the wedding was in a league of its own, there were many other special ones. I gorged myself at McDonalds, which was glorious, but probably not such a good idea. North Carolina BBQ was on hand the night before the wedding. The old man cooked up some serious rib eye steaks to finish off the weekend. Sadly I never got to my favorite greasy spoon diner in Arlington for a breakfast of biscuits & gravy and cheese grits washed down with some viscous coffee, but the St. Patty’s day brunch of bangers and mash with a few pints of Guinness at our neighborhood pub was a more than adequate replacement. And a large thanks to those fine gentlemen in Arlington (you know who you are) for welcoming me back to the states with some massive BBQ chicken legs and sending me on my way with an equally delicious lamb roast the night before leaving. And my kiwi cousins were excellent companions during the last few days in DC. “Should we have a doughnut at 3PM in the afternoon? I certainly don’t see why not! Should we have another Guinness? Brilliant!”
Besides the food, are there any thoughts on American culture or society after being away from it for over 6 months? Perhaps I was surprised about how little has changed, and admittedly 6 months is not that long in the grand scheme of things. However there were still things that caught me by surprise or perhaps had forgotten about altogether.
-While I’m sure the faltering economy has affected many, it was hard for me to see obvious signs of it. Perhaps spending most of my time in the DC bubble has something to do with that. Or possibly I was taken in by the organized, clean and seemingly prosperous way of life in the states as opposed to my current home.
-It was very nice being able to walk down the street and not get hassled every 20 feet. That feeling of anonymity and privacy we afford each other in the U.S. has become incredibly foreign to me. In many ways it’s very nice to be such an object of interest in Cameroon, but not at all hours of the day. The anonymity is something I will miss a great deal, but not as much as I’ll miss cold cuts (mmm, tuuurrrkeeey).
- The prescription drug commercials on television are a little bit ridiculous. I don’t know if there are more of them these days or not, but it seemed as though they ran constantly on television at all hours. I couldn’t get away from them. The state of healthcare or perhaps the lack of it in Cameroon makes them seem all the more crazy. People take these drugs and then are miraculously able to go mountain biking, fly kites and go have a wonderful time at an amusement park. The witch doctors in my area may be very interested to hear about these miracle drugs.
-The daily appliances we use are absolutely fascinating. I didn’t have much time to use them while home other than doing a bit of laundry and watching the TV, but seeing them again brought back memories of using them in the past. I can vaguely remember times when I would spend the majority of my day at my office computer, come home and put a load of laundry into the dryer and add another to the washer. Then immediately I might heat up some food in the microwave, grab a drink out of the fridge and take a seat at my own computer to check email. In the background there might be a CD in the stereo while Sportscenter flashed highlights across my TV screen. In many ways I’m remembering this in a positive light, so please don’t think I’m harping about American indulgence. Just the mention of instant sports results and highlights brings a tear to my eye. Then again, if I ever hooked myself up to the grid like that again I’d probably get epilepsy in a week or two. Just watching one 40inch plasma screen while home was an emotional experience.
-Which leads me to my next point. I made a trip to Best Buy in Arlington. Right after the heavens opened and angels sang on high (in full Dolby digital surround), I took a stroll among the aisles of flashing screens, shiny plastic gizmos and all the electronic media you could imagine. I didn’t want to embarrass my cousin who was with me at the time so I refrained from kissing the floor, but I still spent a number of glorious minutes roaming in awe. However, I give props to the DVD guys here in the Maroua market. I believe they’ve got Best Buy beat in the films section because in Cameroon I can buy 50 Arnold Schwarzenegger movies on one disc for 1500cfa ($3). What’s better than one Scwharzenegger movie? Fifty Schwarzenegger movies!!! Sure the quality is a little inferior and the legality of it all is a bit questionable, but that’s what I call the free market (or perhaps the black market) at its best.
-Transportation in the United States is comparatively timely, clean and efficient. They don’t let goats or sacks of dried fish on the subway, and taking a taxi is not generally a life threatening activity. Then I think back to sitting on I-95 bumper to bumper or every month pumping an insane amount of money into an automobile just to get around. Transportation in Cameroon is always an adventure, and as I said that is not always a good thing. Nothing ever leaves or arrives on time, the roads can be dangerous and the vehicles are in terrible condition, which actually sounds a bit like the Beltway.
To sum up my return experience, there are many things in the United States I’ve missed a great deal, mainly friends and family. Cold cuts are a close second (mmm, roast beeeef). Hot showers were amazing, but if I really want one in Bogo I just need to set a bucket of water in the sun for about 30 minutes. Fast and continuous internet was also great to have again. In ten days I probably got more work done on the internet than in 6 months here, but on numerous occasions I’ve been in Bogo for weeks and forgotten all about internet until stepping foot in the provincial capital. It was a rarity for me to go without email even for one day in the states, but the lack of it here really has not been a huge problem. And finally, its nice to come back to a country where you mix into the crowd and can be anonymous. Yes, we are all unique snowflakes but walking around and not getting called “Nasarra, nasarra!” for a whole 10 days is a nice surprise.
Other volunteers were eager to here of my voyage; the food, the luxuries, the news, the trends. Others were just amazed that my shirts smelled like Tide again. It would be a lie if I said 100% of me wanted to get on the plane at Dulles the other week and return to Cameroon. There was a little voice that kept saying just one more fast food joint, just one more NCAA Basketball game, just one more load of laundry, just one more…and the list goes on and on. But pretty much all those things that make American culture great will still be there in a few years, possibly even new and improved! And besides, if I didn’t go back some person(s) in Bogo would likely ask the question for years as to where that damn Nasarra ran off to.
So how does one go from a village in northern Cameroon to the United States? Well firstly, a little financial backing from the parents doesn’t hurt J I think I owe you guys some frequent flyer miles in the future. Or as my mother would say, “Just you remember this when picking my nursing home!” But to get to my flight in the capital, Yaounde, I had arguably the most interesting and exciting journey to date. As you’ll soon read that isn’t necessarily a good thing in this country. Leaving Bogo during the first week of March, I hopped on my friend’s motorcycle with a duffel bag and Timshel and made the 45 minute ride into Maroua. The ride from Bogo to Maroua is usually enjoyable and without incident, and that afternoon it was especially serene as I contemplated that in just a few days I’d be stuffing my face with just about any food or drink I could get my hands on. After a day or two staying in Maroua, handing Timshel off to a volunteer in town who offered to look after the little menace and doing some last minute business around town, I headed to the bush taxi agency for the 8 hour drive south to the city of Ngaoundere. I had a reserved ticket for the bus to Ngaoundere that morning, but all that really means is I am in the front of the line waiting to be trampled when the stampede of passengers towards the open bus door begins. The bush taxi fits about 25 people comfortably but about 35 people usually fill up the bus and the top is loaded down with a 4 to 5 foot pile of stuff on the roof. Not exactly the most nimble vehicle on the road, but the driver seemed convinced that he was driving a supercar on the autobahn. Despite the white knuckles I did my best to fall asleep. About halfway through the trip I was awoken by the driver laying on the horn and braking suddenly. Apparently a dog had wandered onto the road. Doing about 80 in an overloaded bush taxi is a bad idea, but trying to avoid a dog at that speed is an even worse one. Unfortunately for the dog, the driver was not quick enough to maneuver. But my sorrow for the dog quickly gave way to concern for our own safety when the bus began to rock and sway as the driver tried to get it back on the road. After a few tense seconds of swerving onto the sandy shoulder we came back onto the road in one piece. I didn’t sleep much the rest of the way.
When I finally arrived in Ngaoundere a group of about 40 porters and bag handlers crowded around our car of roughly 35 people looking for a customer. Since my time in Cameroon I’m still a believer that being polite is almost always the best policy for a foreigner, but situations such as this are no time for being polite. After a hellish 8 hours crammed in a bush taxi, I didn’t have any problem being brusque with the 5 or 6 people who ran up to me and grabbed my half empty duffel bag that I obviously didn’t need any help with. I escaped out of the mass of humanity gathered at the bus station and found the first moto taxi at the exit and high-tailed it to the Peace Corps house. Fortunately a few volunteers that I trained with and are now posted around the Ngaoundere area were in town. After a day like that I was in desperate need of either a nap or a beer. Luckily they talked some sense into me and we headed across the street to one of the neighborhood watering holes for a few ice cold bottles of 33’ Export.
I used a day in Ngaoundere to unwind a bit, and also got a chance to climb Mount Ngaoundere on the outskirts of town. The climb itself only takes about 45 minutes, but spending about 2 hours at the top enjoying the view was a great way to spend a day. That evening I hopped on a moto taxi and headed back to the bus/train station to catch the overnight train to Yaounde. En route to the station the moto driver started going increasingly faster and using the middle of a busy city street to pass and weave around other cars and motos. Normally I wouldn’t give it much concern, but this guy’s driving seemed to go beyond the average aggressiveness and crossed the line to just plain dangerous. I explained that I was in no hurry and suggested he go back onto the right side of the road. Something was lost in translation and he began going even faster down a hill. About 100 yards down the road the traffic came to an abrupt halt. Monsieur Eival Kneival saw it too late and slammed on the brakes, but then proceeded to slam into the back of a pick up truck, tossing me off a few feet into the busy street. Luckily I came out of it with only a scraped hand. My French has improved a great deal, but I was at a loss for words in this situation. After exhausting a number of English expletives that he couldn’t understand I believe conveyed my anger effectively enough. The driver tried to restart the stalled moto in the midst of oncoming traffic, and after a number of attempts and more close calls with angered motorists he willed the moto back to life. The rest of the journey was pretty quiet, but upon arriving at the train station the moto driver was very annoyed to learn that he wasn’t receiving the full fare. While I admittedly don’t know the unwritten rules of moto taxis very well, when the customer is tossed off the bike into the street I believe that warrants some kind of a discount if not a free ride.
Surely the train to Yaounde will be better than the journey so far? I had reserved a sleeping car which would give me a rare opportunity to sleep in transit. The train left Ngaoundere at 6PM that evening and was scheduled to arrive in Yaounde the next day at 6AM. My hopes of sleeping the entire way were dashed by the constant fear that hit me every time the train hit top speed and felt as though it wanted to jump the tracks. I had to position myself just so, in the event that a rougher than normal bump would eject me from my top bunk bed. And I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of Cameroonian villagers selling produce along the train’s many stops, but hearing them scream “bananes! ananas! batons!” (bananas, pineapple, sticks of manioc) at the top of their lungs during a stop at 3 in the morning doesn’t give one much chance to rest up. Other than a brief midnight breakdown in the Cameroonian bush, I arrived in the capital without incident and stumbled my way to a taxi and into Peace Corps HQ. And just in time for an 18 hour journey to Washington-Dulles!
Personally, I hate flying. It’s not a fear of flying per se, but rather a fear of the whole process involved. I love traveling, but a flight has always been best when I can sleep through the entire thing. Tiny seats, stale air, food of questionable origin, and no matter how clean I am when I get on the plane I feel as though I haven’t showered in a week when I get off. Yet after the voyage from Bogo to Yaounde, I arrived at Yaounde’s Nsimalem Airport and was immediately taken in by the grandeur and modernity of it all. I waited in a line at the baggage counter and it seemed like a portal into a completely different world. For one, no one was checking or carrying on any goats. After passing through security, where the customs agent looked at my pre-Peace Corps passport photo and commented that I should eat more, I went and sat at the gate and actually found myself becoming excited about flying in an airplane again. After a 20 minute flight from Yaounde to Douala we set off for Zurich and then on to Washington. I never thought I’d be excited to receive a plate of reheated airplane food, but when the flight attendant asked if I would be having chicken or beef I said I’d be having both. I ended up only receiving beef and a scowl from the flight attendant, but I will say that may have been the most anyone has ever enjoyed a meal on an airplane, hands down.
So touching down on American soil I felt a chill go through my body. Was it because I was so emotional to be returning? Was I being overwhelmed by nostalgia? Possibly, but I believe a more plausible cause was the fact that it was freezing! It was probably no colder than 35 degrees, but that was enough to do it for me as I waited for a taxi in the warmest clothing I now possess; a windbreaker.
Sidenote:
And just some words of advice to those of you looking to take a long journey like this: When you arrive on home soil, call your mother. Their minds wander as to what terrible fate you may have succumbed to while in transit. During the few hours I was sans cell phone in the DC area, a number of family members developed the compelling theory that I was attacked in a Zurich Airport bathroom by a roving gang of Swiss bandits. Look, I didn’t think to use a pay phone, OK? I didn’t even know those still existed!
Once on US soil I had an excellent time. Getting to see family and friends at the wedding was fantastic, and the food and beverage wasn’t too shabby either. I even took a picture of my plate of food at the wedding reception (For comfort during those dark times). It snowed a few inches during the weekend which was a huge bonus, although I think my body was more confused than ever. For the most part the weather was quite cold and dreary, but I was amazed to see clouds, rain, ice and snow again. As I mentioned before I unfortunately failed in my quest to gain 10 pounds and I also fell short in my list of restaurants and cuisines that I needed to eat. So much food, so little time. I’ve been thinking about all the meals that I consumed while there and while the food at the wedding was in a league of its own, there were many other special ones. I gorged myself at McDonalds, which was glorious, but probably not such a good idea. North Carolina BBQ was on hand the night before the wedding. The old man cooked up some serious rib eye steaks to finish off the weekend. Sadly I never got to my favorite greasy spoon diner in Arlington for a breakfast of biscuits & gravy and cheese grits washed down with some viscous coffee, but the St. Patty’s day brunch of bangers and mash with a few pints of Guinness at our neighborhood pub was a more than adequate replacement. And a large thanks to those fine gentlemen in Arlington (you know who you are) for welcoming me back to the states with some massive BBQ chicken legs and sending me on my way with an equally delicious lamb roast the night before leaving. And my kiwi cousins were excellent companions during the last few days in DC. “Should we have a doughnut at 3PM in the afternoon? I certainly don’t see why not! Should we have another Guinness? Brilliant!”
Besides the food, are there any thoughts on American culture or society after being away from it for over 6 months? Perhaps I was surprised about how little has changed, and admittedly 6 months is not that long in the grand scheme of things. However there were still things that caught me by surprise or perhaps had forgotten about altogether.
-While I’m sure the faltering economy has affected many, it was hard for me to see obvious signs of it. Perhaps spending most of my time in the DC bubble has something to do with that. Or possibly I was taken in by the organized, clean and seemingly prosperous way of life in the states as opposed to my current home.
-It was very nice being able to walk down the street and not get hassled every 20 feet. That feeling of anonymity and privacy we afford each other in the U.S. has become incredibly foreign to me. In many ways it’s very nice to be such an object of interest in Cameroon, but not at all hours of the day. The anonymity is something I will miss a great deal, but not as much as I’ll miss cold cuts (mmm, tuuurrrkeeey).
- The prescription drug commercials on television are a little bit ridiculous. I don’t know if there are more of them these days or not, but it seemed as though they ran constantly on television at all hours. I couldn’t get away from them. The state of healthcare or perhaps the lack of it in Cameroon makes them seem all the more crazy. People take these drugs and then are miraculously able to go mountain biking, fly kites and go have a wonderful time at an amusement park. The witch doctors in my area may be very interested to hear about these miracle drugs.
-The daily appliances we use are absolutely fascinating. I didn’t have much time to use them while home other than doing a bit of laundry and watching the TV, but seeing them again brought back memories of using them in the past. I can vaguely remember times when I would spend the majority of my day at my office computer, come home and put a load of laundry into the dryer and add another to the washer. Then immediately I might heat up some food in the microwave, grab a drink out of the fridge and take a seat at my own computer to check email. In the background there might be a CD in the stereo while Sportscenter flashed highlights across my TV screen. In many ways I’m remembering this in a positive light, so please don’t think I’m harping about American indulgence. Just the mention of instant sports results and highlights brings a tear to my eye. Then again, if I ever hooked myself up to the grid like that again I’d probably get epilepsy in a week or two. Just watching one 40inch plasma screen while home was an emotional experience.
-Which leads me to my next point. I made a trip to Best Buy in Arlington. Right after the heavens opened and angels sang on high (in full Dolby digital surround), I took a stroll among the aisles of flashing screens, shiny plastic gizmos and all the electronic media you could imagine. I didn’t want to embarrass my cousin who was with me at the time so I refrained from kissing the floor, but I still spent a number of glorious minutes roaming in awe. However, I give props to the DVD guys here in the Maroua market. I believe they’ve got Best Buy beat in the films section because in Cameroon I can buy 50 Arnold Schwarzenegger movies on one disc for 1500cfa ($3). What’s better than one Scwharzenegger movie? Fifty Schwarzenegger movies!!! Sure the quality is a little inferior and the legality of it all is a bit questionable, but that’s what I call the free market (or perhaps the black market) at its best.
-Transportation in the United States is comparatively timely, clean and efficient. They don’t let goats or sacks of dried fish on the subway, and taking a taxi is not generally a life threatening activity. Then I think back to sitting on I-95 bumper to bumper or every month pumping an insane amount of money into an automobile just to get around. Transportation in Cameroon is always an adventure, and as I said that is not always a good thing. Nothing ever leaves or arrives on time, the roads can be dangerous and the vehicles are in terrible condition, which actually sounds a bit like the Beltway.
To sum up my return experience, there are many things in the United States I’ve missed a great deal, mainly friends and family. Cold cuts are a close second (mmm, roast beeeef). Hot showers were amazing, but if I really want one in Bogo I just need to set a bucket of water in the sun for about 30 minutes. Fast and continuous internet was also great to have again. In ten days I probably got more work done on the internet than in 6 months here, but on numerous occasions I’ve been in Bogo for weeks and forgotten all about internet until stepping foot in the provincial capital. It was a rarity for me to go without email even for one day in the states, but the lack of it here really has not been a huge problem. And finally, its nice to come back to a country where you mix into the crowd and can be anonymous. Yes, we are all unique snowflakes but walking around and not getting called “Nasarra, nasarra!” for a whole 10 days is a nice surprise.
Other volunteers were eager to here of my voyage; the food, the luxuries, the news, the trends. Others were just amazed that my shirts smelled like Tide again. It would be a lie if I said 100% of me wanted to get on the plane at Dulles the other week and return to Cameroon. There was a little voice that kept saying just one more fast food joint, just one more NCAA Basketball game, just one more load of laundry, just one more…and the list goes on and on. But pretty much all those things that make American culture great will still be there in a few years, possibly even new and improved! And besides, if I didn’t go back some person(s) in Bogo would likely ask the question for years as to where that damn Nasarra ran off to.
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