**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.
8.14.2009
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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