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.
No comments:
Post a Comment