Its getting hotter/Football camerounais/The children have fire

It has been a few weeks since my last entry and plenty has transpired in that time. To begin on a slightly sad note the cold season, aka 70 degree weather, is coming to a close. I never thought it was all that cold of a season, but don’t tell that to the moto drivers in ski jackets and woolen caps or the little kids huddled around piles of burning leaves at 7AM. And true to my experiences with weather here thus far there really is no middle ground, as the coldest months of the year are now giving way to a heat that I’ve been dreading for some time now. I’m told that temperatures reach into the 120s w/ regularity in March and April up until the rains begin in mid to late May. I think I lucked out a bit this year since I am traveling back to the cooler climate of the U.S. during early March, which is immediately followed by a week of training in the provincial capital here in the Extreme North. They have hotels in Maroua and hotels have pools. Pools are filled with cold water, and by this point in the narrative I think you know where I can be found during training.

And with this recent “cold” weather that is soon to depart I’ve taken the opportunity to acclimatize myself on the soccer field. Bogo has a number of ‘stades’ or ‘terraines’ throughout the city, a fact I was very excited about when first arriving. Anyone familiar with soccer will most likely be aware of Cameroon’s national team, the Indomitable Lions, and their reputation as an incredibly talented squad. To classify the country as football crazy would be an understatement. Even in the tiniest village one can find an open, flat, dirt/sand ‘terraine’ with wooden goals at both ends. From my brief time here I’ve come to learn that if you fancy a game with the local lads you better be ready for some serious physical activity. And while most players have the latest Cameroon or Barcelona jersey, any other equipment is pretty much optional. So everyday at about 4:30PM until the 6PM evening prayers, anywhere from 15-20 guys gather at the nearest field to take part in what could best be described as a mix between soccer and hand to hand combat. Once everyone appears ready to do battle the participants split into shirts and skins and play commences. Within about 5 minutes visibility on the dusty pitch is reduced to about zero and the match has reached a frenetic pace in which the ball is moved from end to end in a matter of seconds. Now prior to my soccer experience here I considered myself to be a fairly fast individual. As it turns out, that is false. When a Cameroonian wearing jelly sandals blows by you like you weren’t even there it makes you reassess your athletic ability. Needless to say I’ve had to adjust my game a bit. Whereas in the U.S. I was typically an offensive player, I’ve been pushed back to defensive midfielder here. Perhaps their reasoning is this gives the other team less room to run past me, which they do with great regularity. But unrelenting speed is only one attribute of Cameroonian soccer. Physical play bordering on outright hostility would be another. Holding onto the ball for more than a few seconds is asking for trouble. High kicking (technically illegal) seems to be encouraged, out of bounds is often vague at best, and cleat marks, bruised toenails and head gashes are commonplace. But amongst the mayhem of the evening match you’ll see some of the most entertaining soccer around, played with a great deal of passion. And when the all important goal is scored just forget the fact that this is a game amongst regular guys in a village. They will celebrate that goal as if it just won Cameroon the World Cup. And half the fun (maybe more) of scoring a goal is their celebration afterwards. The standard celebrations such as the shirt over the head and also running to and dancing with corner flag are used frequently. However, there are two other celebrations here that I think are way cooler. The first involves the whole team; they form a circle around the goal scorer, who then leads them in some wild song and dance for about 30 seconds. The second is by far my favorite but I don’t think I’ll attempt it anytime soon. Besides, you have to score a goal first anyways. The goal scorer wheels away from the goal in celebration and then breaks into a string of 4 to 5 back flips. I think it takes more exertion than scoring the actual goal, and is impressive to say the least. At the end of training in November one of the Cameroonian staff members with whom we’d played soccer stressed to me how important the sport could be with integrating into the community. I think he was on point, as Cameroonians love the sport as much if not more (probably more) than I do. The guys I play with were some of the first people to replace my initial title of ‘Nasarra’ (foreigner in fufulde) with my actual name. And at least with some of those who still prefer to use Nasarra, many have upgraded me to ‘Nasarra qui joue le ballon,’ (foreigner who plays ball).

Finally this week, I’d like to tell a little about the recent Fete de Jeunesse that took place all across Cameroon. This is a week long holiday/event for all the youth of Cameroon and was celebrated with parades, soccer games, a cross country race and talent competitions in Bogo. I’ve heard from a few other volunteers how the weekly events went in their respective communities and while the activities were all a bit different, I think the general thought of “holy crap, there are a lot of children in this country” was a common conclusion. So how does one celebrate Youth Week? Well, some of the younger guys I play soccer with were involved in the parade and after every evening game that week they would practice their upcoming march past the authorities. They asked me to join them in their ranks and frankly I was honored and happy to do it at first. But I gradually realized that we would be marching in front of government officials, police, gendarmes and most of the community (and saluting the Sous-prefet). I then tried to explain that it was probably in the best interest of my work and the Peace Corps if I didn’t join them. They weren’t having any of it, so I then had to make sure I had some type of work that morning that conflicted with the parade. So unfortunately I missed the parade, but on the bright side I won’t be implicated in any inappropriate political activities on foreign soil.

Aside from the formal parade there was another procession that I was a witness to, and it was one of those things I don’t think I’ll ever forget. At about 7PM one evening as dusk was settling on Bogo my friend and I were at my house when we began to hear an approaching crowd. We came out of my concession door which opens up to the main road through town and in the distance I could see what initially I thought looked like an angry mob with flaming objects in hand. I looked to my friend for reassurance, and he coolly informed me that this was just the children’s march. To briefly describe this children’s march, hundreds upon hundreds of ‘petits,’ ranging in age from about five to fifteen, are given old metal cans attached to long sticks which are then filled with flammable liquids, trash, wood and pretty much anything else with the ability to burn out of control. Then, flaming sticks in hand the children proceed to run down the street for a few kilometers en route to the local government complex, spilling flammable liquid on the asphalt road and leaving the neighborhood looking like a small rebel force just swept through. Initially I probably had a look of horror on my face as hundreds of children ran down my street with incendiaries but then I began to question my friend about this spectacle, and his calm began to rub off on me. Who organized this? “The teachers.” And is anyone supervising? “The parents.” Sure enough, the parents were right there with them along the way. A few cars of adults escorted the parade of adolescent pyromaniacs as if it were the Tour de France. Well who on earth gave them petrol and kerosene? “The police.” At this point my questioning stopped. This was obviously an officially sanctioned event. Who was I to disagree with a seemingly highly dangerous activity if the community organized it? What could possibly go wrong? Anyone familiar with my juvenile record concerning flammable objects will beg to differ, but I honestly cannot think of a better way to celebrate future generations each year by giving them the capability to burn down the entire community. I never thought such a spectacle would leave me feeling serene and relaxed. Maybe it was all the burning chemicals, but more likely I think seeing young children joyfully playing with fire warmed my heart.

Ok, I got a little carried away there. Playing with fire is bad; especially during the dry season in Africa. Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires!

Guest Post with Pictures

Hi all, this is Bridget, Dan's sister. Since internet connections are unreliable for Dan to upload pics, I offered to post some of his great shots of his Cameroon adventure here. For those of you on Facebook, he is able to put them all there, but not all our family and friends have access to Facebook. That's where I come in. I put captions on the certain pics that Dan asked me to make sure to post.

The swearing in ceremony - that's Dan on the right in sunglasses

Stade Nationale, Yaounde

Random Village

Mahdi and Issa

Muhammet

Nassarao Training Center, Minaret in background

Me and brothers

Granny Hamatoukour, Fete du Ramadan

Extended family on Fete du Ramadan (next several pictures)

Mahdi

Moustapha.. cameroonians like looking away from the camera for some reason

too much cous cous

Children marveling at our cameras

Storm rolling in after a soccer game

So while information about the past presidential election and upcoming inauguration only reaches me in small bits and pieces, you would think that Cameroonians themselves just elected Obama as president judging by the tremendously upbeat mood in this corner of the world. And the part I find most entertaining is the ensuing Obama naming craze. My first taste of this was seeing a “Garage de Barack Obama” in Maroua the other week, but my favorite by far is the “Coiffure (barbershop) de Barack Obama.” While winning the U.S. presidency is certainly a fantastic achievement, I don’t think the president-elect could have ever dreamt so big as to imagine his very name gracing the front of a barbershop in Northern Cameroon. I, for one, know exactly where I’ll be getting my expanding beard trimmed up the next time I’m in town. And not far down the street you’ll find a banner outside of an unrelated business that reads “Fan Club de Barack Obama.” As a peace corps volunteer I don’t believe my political neutrality would allow me to venture to such a gathering, but I’m tempted to search out the creator of said club to find out exactly what it is they do when the meetings come to order. I am intrigued. Do they have a special pledge they say before every gathering? Will goats be slaughtered in celebration on inauguration day? Are they responsible for the naming craze?

Despite my interest with the inner workings of the Fan Club de Barack Obama, the true reasoning behind my visit to Maroua this weekend is to do some research on a pest problem my counterpart is having on one of his millet fields that borders on the bush. Apparently a group of either wild pigs or cane rats (guinea pigs on steroids) enter his field every night, cut down swaths of millet stalks, eat the grain and leave nothing behind but open areas that strangely resemble crop circles. While our immediate solution to this problem is chemical pesticides, they are expensive and I feel as though I owe him a more subtle approach or at the least an alternative to gassing the local wildlife. And besides, if I could keep squirrels and rabbits out of my tomato/pepper garden in the urban jungle that is Arlington, what could possibly be so difficult about driving wild beasts back into the African bush? And if the pesticides don’t work one can always camp out at night with machetes. It may be a bit difficult to get supplies to make S’mores though.

Unfortunately my time at the cyber café is a bit short today as I've been laid up with yet another stomach bug this weekend; big shocker. And I was actually starting to put some weight back on! While writing this entry it occurred to me that sharing other cultures with Americans is one of the three goals of Peace Corps. I don’t think my ramblings about presidential fan clubs and hungry giant rats has done much to fulfill that goal today, so I’ve put a new poll/trivia question at the top right hand side of the page. So when I learn any new and interesting facts about my new home, you can too! And then at your next dinner function or happy hour you can thoroughly impress everyone with your extensive knowledge of the Sahelian region of Cameroon, and you will undoubtedly be the life of the party. So let’s start off this week with a straightforward historical question about the lovely town of Bogo. Where does the name “Bogo” actually come from? I will leave you to ponder.

Au revoir, 2008!

After leaving Bogo this morning at around 5AM on my trusty bicycle (which I fear may actually be a complete piece of junk) for a 38km ride into Maroua, I thought I'd sneak one more blog entry into the year that was 2008. The ride from Bogo this morning could best be described as delightful seeing as December and January here is considered the cold season. At about 5AM the temperature is hovering around 60 degrees. After the past few months of non stop sweating, 60 degrees is pretty damn cold and I was sporting a long sleeve shirt for the first time since leaving the States. And to make the ride a little more enjoyable I brought along my new friend, which happens to be a 3 week old puppy. I got him about a week ago, and while I didn't feel comfortable taking a two week old puppy under my wing, mostly for his sake, I then saw the emaciated mother of the 5-6 pups and figured I'd be doing everyone involved a favor. As far as naming him, I'm leaning towards 'Timshel.' Yes, bizarre I know, but its from my favorite book (East of Eden), and if I have to bottle feed this rambunctious little ball of fur for another 3-4 weeks then I'm going to name him whatever I damn well please :) While the bottle feeding for meals and waking up at 3AM to take him outside to do his business is getting a little old, overall he's been pretty entertaining.

So naturally I have to take him on any trips longer than a few hours (this one being overnight), so he got to ride along in his box strapped to the back of my bike. I'm actually quite envious considering he's got a hot water bottle and a blanket back there. Of course once he gets old enough to guard my house I doubt I'll be lugging him anywhere, so he better enjoy it while he's got it. Luckily I don't share my father's aversion to making rest stops on long voyages, so he was able to relieve himself of his breakfast right down the road from a group of elderly ladies selling beignets (small pastries). Seeing a white man going down the road on a bicycle in rural Cameroon is in itself quite a shock for most people. So I imagine I either made their day or reinforced the idea that westerners are completely insane (maybe both) when I took what looks to be more like a hamster at this point than a puppy out of the box and patiently waited as he marked his territory.

As for my business here in Maroua today aside from updating the blog and checking the ESPN website to see how terribly the Browns did this year (surprise, surprise), I also hope to meet up with my counterpqrt, a local farmer/high school teacher to discuss our plans for the next few months. Thus far he's been integral in helping me settle in and feel welcome in the greater Bogo area, except of course for the goat-heart dinner the other week. He's already implemented some very simple strategies on his farm to improve soil fertility and reduce his costs on fertilizers drastically, and his enthusiasm to diversify his income with things such as a small-scale orchard and beekeeping should keep us busy (only suggestions at this point). Often times people that don't have the financial luxury to think about long term strategies need to see something already in practice and the benefits being reaped before getting on board. So with the Peace Corps mantra of sustainable development in mind, the goal here for my first few months in Bogo is to help my counterpart set up a demo farm of sorts among his existing farming activities. In the long run one hopes that this gentleman can pass along these agricultural practices to neighbors, family, or any other interested party. He's proved to be very intelligent, level-headed and altruistic thus far and seems more than capable. Its a very small start, but if 20 people are invited to learn about what we are promoting and only one or two of them actually start to do it correctly and wholeheartedly then I'd say we've made some progress. It's only a matter of time until they too pass along the know-how.

And while in town I also need to track down my friendly shoe salesman at the Grand Marché from whom I bought a pair of soccer cleats a few weeks ago. I grabbed the wrong size and as a result I've got massive blisters on my heels and two bruised big toenails. We seemed to have a pretty good rapport despite intense price negotiations, so hopefully we can work something out. And even if not some of the guys I play with in Bogo do so barefoot, and regularly make me look silly when they have the ball. So if my friend at the market won't cut me a break I suppose its time to really find out what its like to play soccer northern Cameroonian style: Barefoot on scorching sand, gravel and jagged refuse (batteries, glass, metal, you name it). Woohoo, cant wait for the next match!

Ahhh, where to start. Well, how about the fact that I am now officially a PCV! Thats right, training has finished and last Thursday we swore in as volunteers. As much as I loved my family in Nassarao and all the training staff that whipped us into shape incredibly quickly, I will not miss the endless scheduling of activities mixed in with a complete lack of privacy at home. And don't worry, I'm not planning on becoming a hermit in my new home in Bogo. But being able to sit in a room with complete silence and no small children staring, while reading a chapter of a book nearly brought tears of joy to my eyes. And exploring Bogo on my own time with no set agenda just yet has given me a much needed repose.



I'll get back to Bogo in a moment, but right now let me give you a little taste of how life as a PCV began for me. The swearing in ceremony in Pitoa was attended by none other than the US ambassador herself, a whole motorcade of Cameroonian 'fonctionnaires,' and also members of our Cameroonian host families. While the entire ceremony was great, the part I found the most interesting was the 5 or 6 guys sitting to the side of the ceremony with drums and traditional instruments. At every applause they would enthusiastically start jamming out for about 5 or 10 seconds. But my favorite member of the group was without a doubt the 'lead singer.' At the slightest mention of any person of importance present at the ceremony this guy would, a cappella, start yelling in Fufulde about what a greay guy or gal they happened to be. My fufulde knowledge is still in its infancy, but he seemed to be damn good at building up the esteem of these movers and shakers. Best of all, I think you can rent them out for weddings and bar mitzvahs, so I may have some guests with me at the Archibald-Berney wedding in March. Entering the wedding reception to an elderly man screaming my praises in fufulde would be pretty sweet. "Hey everybody, here comes the bride's brother, he is the greatest man alive!! Sing his praises!"



But lets move on. As for the trip to Bogo, a few of us made our way from Garoua to Maroua last Friday and proceeded to take care of all the nuts and bolts of moving. Groceries, bank accounts, furniture, cooking equipment, etc. I didn't really have as much to do in that department as some of the others, so my first order of business was finding a car, bus, or something with 4 wheels to take me and all my things to Bogo that Sunday. After speaking with one of the Bogo bus drivers for a while I was instructed to return Sunday morning and all would be taken care of. 'Well that was very nice of him' I thought to myself. I left feeling very pleased that things had been arranged relatively trouble free. So Sunday rolls around and I return to the depot, and by depot I mean a large sand lot where there isn't a single motor vehicle younger than me. Upon getting off the moto and paying the driver a hear a man yell 'Bogo!!' which must be directed at me. It was a different man than the one I talked to the previous day, but he came up to me and without even asking my destination said very confidently, 'I'll be taking you to Bogo today!' His price was fair (15000cfa, 30 dollars) and I liked his attitude right off the bat. But then unfortunately I saw the car we would be taking. I think carbon dating would place this particular automobile in the 1960s, but it looked as if it had endured any number of accidents, breakdowns, war zones, etc. At one point I think it was a Mercedes, but good luck getting them to claim it. I immediately thought of those cars that the completely incompetent henchmen in the old James Bond movies used to chase 007 with. And everytime without fail one of those knuckleheads managed to careen over a hill, flipping the car over several times, and then Bond rides off unscathed, etc. I now think that these cars had been sent to Cameroun after filming under some certified pre-owned arrangement, and my chauffeur that day was lucky enough to have one of these classic beauties. I knew at that moment I should just turn and walk away, but that little voice inside my head said that this was just to damn interesting to pass up. I hopped in the car, as my trusty chauffeur popped the e-brake and began pushing. Which explains why he had it parked on a hill. He proceeded to hop into the moving car, did a whole array of pulls and pushes of levers and pedals that probably only he knows, and the ancient beast awakened and rolled out of the depot.



Luckily the road to Bogo, while unpaved, is relatively straight and flat. Although this poor vehicle made the most awful noises over the slightest pothole. From time to time smoke would rise up from where the gear shift goes into the floor. This, the driver assured me, was completely normal. About 1km outside of Bogo I began to feel immense joy, for we had reached our destination. Unfortunately, gas was no longer making it to the engine. This, the driver assured me, was completely normal. 'And don't worry', he said. 'I'm a mechanic too!' as he jumped out of the car, proceeded to disconnect the gas line and suck vigorously to remove the blockage. This, I assumed, was completely normal. Nevertheless, we made the last kilometer and I now have an interesting snippet for the blog. I'd love to continue writing about my experiences in Bogo, especially Monday's Fete de Mouton, which I spent at my Cameroonian counterparts home. Its an amazing Islamic holiday of eating, eating, eating, and eating. And the hospitality shown by traditional families is nothing short of amazing. Unfortunately my internet time is running low. Long story short, I ate goat stomach, liver, intestine and heart...so I'm really not in a place to talk about it yet anyway.

So a late Happy Turkey Day to everyone in the States! Unfortunately no turkey was available here in Cameroon, but we made do by grilling up 12 chickens at the Garoua PC office. Mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, fried okra, stuffing, stuffed tomatoes, deviled eggs and all sorts of other goodies were on the menu so we can't complain all that much! AND, I believe the trainees heading up to the Extreme North after training are researching the possibility of slaughtering a goat for Christmas. Yes, you heard that correctly. We shall see if that ever comes to fruition.

And thanks very much to those of you who voted on the poll this past week in which I asked for your advice on what to do upon getting to Bogo. Although judging by the results I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother voted multiple times, or is atleast guilty of coercing the voting public. While I will respect the results and call my mother as soon as I step foot on Bogo soil, I just want everyone to know that I hope that all future polls will be conducted in a free and fair manner.

And at the top of this post there is a picture of me with some of my family members here in Nassarao. Internet connection here is iffy at best, so getting even one picture up is a hassle. And yes, I am wearing my boubou. Unfortunately the little white hat that goes with it is far too small for my massive head. Additionally, this photo was taken at about 6 in the morning. One evening I had told my family that I wanted a picture with them the next morning, thinking to myself somewhere in the ballpark of 9 or 10AM, after a nice breakfast and a cold bucket bath. My two younger brothers had a different agenda, and proceeded to bang on my bedroom door at about 5:45 that morning as the sun was just starting to make an appearance. I guess the excitement was just too much to handle. Hence I look like I just crawled out of my bed. Nevertheless, I think I look quite dashing in my Cameroonian man dress.

Bogo Bound!

Although I'm sure it has made its way to some of you already, I'd like to formally announce that my permanent post in Cameroon will be the city of Bogo in the Extreme North Province. It is about 30 km northeast of the provincial capital of Maroua, and about 40km from the Chadian border (yikes). Actually it is a very pretty and peaceful town of about 50,000 people which is surprisingly large for an agricultural post. The village itself is very traditional and about 90% muslim, which is an unusually high concentration even for the Extreme North of Cameroon. For the first few months at post most of my time will be spent learning Fufulde with a local tutor and getting accustomed to the city and the outlying areas where I'll be working. Teaching english at the lycee (high school) is also on the agenda along with playing soccer at the local stade whenever possible. One interesting Bogo fact is that the nuns at the local catholic mission have Scrabble, so I'm looking forward to playing some scrabble en francais with them in the coming months. I didn't have time for anything other than meeting with local officials during my site visit to Bogo earlier in November, but I look forward to getting back after December 4 when we are sworn in as volunteers. The sous-prefet (government) and lamido (traditional) were both very welcoming and made it clear how exciting it is to have an American in the community. Regardless of a volunteer's political affiliation, Obama's victory in the recent election has made our jobs here about 100x easier, as the entire country of Cameroon was ecstatic after his victory. Doing nothing more than walking down the street draws chants and screams of "Barack Obama!!" I've already seen Cameroonians wearing tshirts displaying his face, and I'm almost certain I saw a billboard in Garoua the other day advertising a Barack Obama fan club. It is all very humorous to witness and I doubt my descriptions can do it justice. When I took a moto ride the day after the election in Maroua during site visit the moto driver, or 'clando' as they are called here, sparked up a very deep conversation on the implications of the presidential election.

Clando: You french?

Me: No

Clando: American?

Me: Yes

Clando: Barack Obama!

Me: Please watch the road, as we are about to be killed by a bush taxi (in very broken french)

And about 2 miles later after a long and thoughtful pause...

Clando: Are you from Hollywood?

Me: No...Washington, DC

Clando: Barack Obama!

And a little later on down the road...

Me: This is my stop, thanks very much. Here's 100cfa.

Clando: Barack Obama!

Back to Bogo- My accomodations in Bogo may have been the most surprising discovery of all during site visit. My soon to be home, which is a fairly massive walled compound, has electricity, running water, two bedrooms and two full bathrooms, and (drum roll please) a small refridgerator!!!! I find myself feeling guilty about my accomodations being so 'non peace corps-esque." But that lasts for about five seconds, at which point I start day dreaming about keeping things cold, real showers and toilets that flush

While I know some people want very specific info on what I'll be doing (mom), it is very difficult to say at this point. As I said before, teaching english at the local school is on the agenda. I've also met with the local minister for youth development who is very interested in starting some sports or after school programs. As for the Agroforestry side, the first three months at post, the work I do with my cameroonian counterpart (a very dynamic guy in the community) and my community assessment will decide what I end up pursuing. I have certain things I know I'd like to accomplish in the community with certain Agroforestry techniques and Small Enterprise Development but there's no telling if my own agenda would address Bogo's greatest needs. Time will tell, and I look forward to updating this blog next time as a fully sworn-in Peace Corps Volunteer. If anyone has the time it may be worth checking out the U.S. Embassy (Yaounde) website to see if there is any information about our swearing in ceremony. The U.S. ambassador to Cameroon will be coming north for the ceremony, I'm told it is being nationally televised in Cameroon (we already have our tailors making some lovely new blue boubous for the ceremony), and often times these things are posted on the embassy website.