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.