Much of the past few months has been spent on the road. Maroua to Ngaoundere to Yaounde to Bafoussam to Foumbot to Foumban to Mbuda to Dschang, back up North for the holidays, and now back in Yaounde on the cusp of a journey to the fatherland for a wedding. Without a doubt my mp3 player has been one of the most integral items I brought with me to Africa. My tattered copy of 'East of Eden' is a close second. When on the road there is no shortage of entertainment to be found amongst my fellow passengers or throughout the landscape out the window. Yet there are those times when escaping into my music is a great distraction from the erratic driving and cramped quarters. No to mention on many buses between cities the driver tends to pump Celine Dion over the vehicle's speakers. So allow me to share with you some of the tunes that keep me sane on even the most trying of journeys.
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I-IV) by Pink Floyd
There's nothing like a 13 minute song to whittle away the kilometers. And even better if that song happens to be a rock masterpiece.
It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube
I was sharing my earbuds with a Cameroonian kid on a recent voyage and the shuffle brought us to this song. After hearing it once he wouldn't let me go on to the next track, and we ended up listening to it about 5 times. Nothing like some hardcore hip hop to help bridge cultures.
Rock the Casbah by The Clash
The first and only rock song that I've witnessed a Cameroonian enjoy.
Carolina On My Mind by James Taylor
A little nostalgia never hurts when the voyage gets to be too much.
Country Roads by John Denver
See previous.
Sun Is Shining by Bob Marley & The Wailers
I can't think of any time when listening to Bob wouldn't be appropriate, but I think this song was made for the parched highways of the Extreme North.
Lucky Star by Madonna
Yes, this is a personal favorite and I am not ashamed of that in the least.
Rosa Parks by Outkast
This was my 14 year old host brother's favorite song on my iPod. Last time I visited them I brought him some CDs I made, one of which contained this track. Picturing him breaking it down in his living room while his mother looks on in horror brings a smile to my face.
Don't Wake Up Policeman by Junkie XL and Peter Tosh
A little tribute to those gendarmes and police at the checkpoints who make travel in Cameroon oh-so efficient!
Jazz (We've Got) by A Tribe Called Quest
When the chauffeur starts to drive a little nutty, which is a certainty, the Tribe can be counted on to keep me mellow.
Africa by Toto
Yes, I am that cliché. I ride across the country blasting "I've got some rains down in Africa!!"
North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem
When sitting next to a Cameroonian guy between the ages of 15 to 30 they will inevitably ask to share earbuds. I have no problem with this and it can lead to hours of entertainment for us both. However from time to time I get one of those guys who wants to listen to Thriller 50 times in a row (I'm not knocking Michael). I "accidentally" skip to LCD Soundsystem and within 1 minute I have the earbuds to myself again.
Get By by Talib Kweli
This song makes Cameroonians dance in their seats. Works every time.
Friend of the Devil by Grateful Dead
An anthem for the wayward.
Soon the New Day by Talib Kweli & Norah Jones
An unlikely collaboration to say the least but it's the only Norah Jones song that has received a thumbs up from my adopted countrymen.
Louisiana Saturday Night by Alabama
I was curious as to how the fellow sharing headphones with me on my latest bus ride would receive country music. I think I can mark that experiment down as a complete failure.
Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
When the woman to my left starts breastfeeding her child in plain view of everyone and the gentleman to my right has obviously not showered since the rainy season, this tune takes me to exactly where the title suggests.
1.15.2010
12.27.2009
Un Noel Villageois, Deuxieme Partie
Christmas Day, 3:00PM- Finishing a quick meeting with my counterpart at my house I get a call from the parents stateside. Its always wonderful to hear from family, especially during this time of year. I wrap up my call, see my counterpart to the door and get a bag ready to leave my village Xmas for a more American one in Maroua.
3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.
4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.
5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.
5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.
5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.
6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.
7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.
8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.
9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.
9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.
11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.
So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.
3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.
4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.
5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.
5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.
5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.
6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.
7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.
8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.
9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.
9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.
11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.
So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.
Un Noel Villageois, Premiere Partie
Christmas Eve, 3:00PM- Getting back to Bogo after a long absence, I took the day to soak in the sights and sounds of the Thursday market. After all the travelling my level of exhaustion has hit levels I never thought possible. I retreat to my living room back at home and sink into a magazine, falling asleep after reading the table of contents.
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
On the road again
I just spent the last three weeks travelling in the West of the country around Bafoussam and doing some mid-service medical exams in Yaounde. I don’t think I will ever piss and moan again when travelling in the U.S. I can’t think of anything in the states that can compare to the mayhem of travelling by bus or train in Cameroon.
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
10.28.2009
So You Want to Visit Cameroon???
Many of you have expressed an interest in visiting me during my time here in Africa. Personally I think that is fantastic, and I would welcome with open arms any and all of you hearty travelers out there in search of a good adventure. Yet a trip to Cameroon could quickly turn into a logistics nightmare for someone not fully prepared. Fear not as I, for one, am an extremely capable host. Furthermore, I have described below what a voyage to Cameroon to visit yours truly would entail and I could personally guarantee that you would have the experience of a lifetime.
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
Une Soirée Camerounaise
As many of you already know my local neighborhood team, Auxerre Marouaré FC, won the recent Coupe de Bogo (or Coupe des Vacances as they call it here). Now that the month of Ramadan has come and gone, the official Coupe des Vacances shin-dig was held this past Saturday evening. Held at the large event hall at the town Sous-Prefecture (think middle school auditorium), the entire Auxerre Marouaré squad plus the captains of all other participating teams are invited by the tournament organizers to celebrate for the evening. I’ve considered numerous ways of how to recreate this highly anticipated event for you, and I think the only way to do it justice would be to run you through a mental log I was compiling as the evening progressed.
Party Log- 11:30AM Saturday
At this point I am out in the bush working with a few project farmers discussing their current activities and possible well building projects in the future. That’s right, its not all soccer here. I also do work.
Biking about 12km back into town, I immediately run into two fellow teammates lazing out under a Neem tree by the soccer field. They seem incredulous that I have been working this morning and not at my house. Another teammate has been banging on my door frantically all morning because he has my printed invitation to this evening’s fete. Apparently this is the hot event of the weekend on the Bogo nightlife scene.
Noon Saturday
Returning to my home and a hungry dog, I go to my water tank to fill a bucket. I need to cook this raving lunatic of a dog some rice before he eats his tail, and I severely need a cold bucket bath. Uh oh, water tank empty. I go around the block to ask a kid to bring me water. Getting back to my house I learn that my frantic teammate was again banging on my door after hearing I was back in town. From what I understand the party is not until 8PM this evening so I plan to hit him up after taking a delightful bucket bath.
1:00PM
Bucket bath completed. Decreased internal temperature achieved. Dog fed and happy. It looks like my to-do list for the day is pretty much checked off. I look at my phone after getting dressed; 5 missed calls from frantic teammate. I appreciate his diligence but surely he is overreacting seeing as we have 7 hours before the festivities begin. I call frantic teammate. He sounds winded. He’s coming over “toute de suite!” he tells me. I’ve never heard anyone in Bogo so worked up.
1:45PM
Frantic teammate arrives chez moi, not quite ‘toute de suite,’ for probably the eightieth time today. This time I’m here. He comes in and produces 2 invitations for the party. That in and of itself is odd, but my suspicions are aroused further when he tells me the second invitation can only be given to a girl. Nice try, pal. I’ll add that to the growing list of ways people try to set me up with one of their cousins. I don’t know how to translate ‘going stag’ into French so I tell him I’ll check my rolodex and see what I can do. I think that has gotten me off the hook for now. Frantic teammate leaves less frantic.
2:20PM
No work this afternoon so I settle into the latest Economist that I picked up from Maroua. I think it’s an issue from late August so I’m a bit behind in the news.
4:00PM
After eating some leftover spaghetti I head down the road to Bogo stadium. Preceding the party this evening there is a friendly match between our squad and Siratare. I’m merely a spectator for this match. The game kicks off about 1 hour late, and I begin to wish I had laced up this evening as the game for once seems surprising amicable. I didn’t see anyone try to rip an opponent to shreds with his cleats the entire game.
6:00PM
On account of darkness and the evening call to prayer, the game gets called after only 60 minutes played. Auxerre Marouaré wins 2-0. I head back to my house with a teammate/neighbor. He is genuinely surprised when he learns that I don’t have a suit for the evening. I assure him that I’ll be dressed appropriately. I’m also told that I must be there at 8PM sharp. Cameroonians, especially in village, aren’t too concerned with punctuality. Perhaps this is such an anticipated party that it actually starts on time, I think to myself.
8:00 PM
Nope, I’m not yet at the party. I’m in the process of putting on my finest white shirt and gray slacks. I think I look quite dapper, but if you saw my finest white shirt and grey slacks you would know it doesn’t say much about the rest of my wardrobe here. I’ve decided to stroll over to the hall at around 8:30. I’ve never been to or organized a single event or meeting in this town that started on time so I presume I’ll show up just as the others arrive.
8:36PM
Approaching the hall I hear thumping rap music at high volume. That’s a good sign, I think. It sounds something like Akon, maybe Nelly, or whichever other marginally talented knucklehead the kids are listening to these days in Cameroon. Regardless, my plan has worked and surely the nassarra is not the first to show up!
8:37PM
The nassarra is yet again the first one to show up. I picture all my teammates snickering behind the bushes. “Haha, that moron showed up 30 minutes late. How does he not yet know that we show up to things 2 hours late?? Hahaha.”
I take a seat next to my buddy who is the DJ for the evening. Nelly is pumping through the speakers saying something deep and thoughtful like, “Yeah, Oh…uh uh. Oh, yeah!!” I tell him I have some Tribe Called Quest on my iPod back at my house if he’s interested. He doesn’t look interested. We shoot the breeze for a while. I ask when the people are coming. He shrugs as he continues thumbing through a stack of CDs. I truly fear what is next on his party mix. He tosses a disc in and “Barbie Girl” belts through the speakers.
8:45PM
Down the road a ways out of earshot I take a seat at the local watering hole and crack open a frosty 33’ Export. Cut me a break. That music played at such a volume has the ability to disintegrate eardrums. I settle in with a few of the regulars who are watching a match on the TV. It just started and it looks to be one hell of a game. I promise myself I’ll go back to the party in 30 minutes.
9:45PM
So much for 30 minutes. But atleast I got to see the whole first half. I begin to worry that everyone has already arrived and I’m past being just fashionably late. That turns out to be a silly thought as I arrive once again and there are at maximum about 15 people. Ok, I know that nobody wants to be the first one to the party, but this is getting to be ridiculous! I’m welcomed in and the inevitable questions from my teammates begin. “Où est ta femme, Daniel?” They assure me its no problem. “Many many girls are coming!”
10:30PM
Most of the guests have arrived. Some of the ladies would look more at home at a high school prom. Most of the gentlemen look very put together as well. There are a few 50 Cent wannabes in attendance, but for the most part a nice pressed shirt and slacks seems to be the norm.
10:35PM
I was quite comfortable at the table where I was sitting, but now I’m being escorted across the hall to another empty table. A few minutes later the same teammate brings some other guests over to join me at the table. We all greet each other (I don’t know a single one of them), and my teammate sits one of the ladies next to me as he shoots me a goofy grin. I strongly doubt that I could be any more uncomfortable right now.
11:00PM
After trying to make friendly conversation with my fellow revelers at table 3, the entire group has fallen silent for about 15 minutes. They also look extremely unhappy. I take back my previous statement made at 10:35PM. This is more uncomfortable.
11:25PM
I am beginning to wonder if my team is playing a very large and elaborate joke on me. Table 3 is still silent. Nothing that resembles a party atmosphere has taken place in about 30 minutes, with the exception of the thumping music. I look around and all other tables are at about the same stage of apathy.
11:30PM
I have to be honest. I’m starting to lose faith in this party. At this point the organizers need a small miracle to bring this thing back to life. I look at my friend at the DJ table. His expression tells me that he is also highly confused. I take comfort in this. It tells me that this is not how they typically put a party together. I say this is comforting for someone like me because I imagine that I’ll be attending similar events in the future. Someone obviously dropped the ball this evening.
11:33PM
I stand corrected. Just in time, a number of bodies begin hauling in cases of beverages followed closely by ladies with plates of all sorts of tasty looking treats. The beer, orange fanta and cokes get doled out while ladies begin setting plates of cookies, peanuts, fries, popcorn and grilled meat at all the tables.
11:35PM
That was a hail mary if I ever saw one. Whoever engineered the last minute appearance of beverages and grub averted a possible riot. I try to eat as much as possible; particularly the grilled meat and cookies while trying not to look like a pig. I doubt it’s working. The party seems to be in full swing.
11:50PM
It looks like everyone has had their fill. Despite the music at about 100 decibels, I feel incredibly content and relaxed. My belly is full and I’m nursing a cold bottle of orange fanta. Sadly I’ve given up on my fellow partygoers at table 3. I guess they’re the silent types. I begin to check my watch. I was hoping to stay for some dancing, but it’s almost midnight and I’ve got some tree planting to do at sunrise.
11:54PM
“Attention ladies and gentlemen…” My DJ friend announces that pictures of the team will be taken with the trophy, and that dancing will commence shortly. After the pictures I expect people to take to the floor. However, my friend begins picking ladies and men from the audience and pairing them together in the middle of the floor. This does not look good. When I heard there would be dancing my mental picture was jumping around and gyrating to some chaotic African pop or something. This sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion song. The couples on the floor slow dance for about 15 seconds and the music stops. Once again, I retract my statement from 11:00PM. This is more uncomfortable.
Another round of couples are chosen and dance for no more than 15 seconds to the same song. They all look as though they want to run off the floor in a panic. No need for chaperons with rulers here, as these young lovebirds look like they don’t want a thing to do with each other.
11:54PM and 30 seconds
Either that meat was of questionable quality or I’m seriously nervous right now, because the sweat is beading on my forehead and my tummy is grumbling. I look over to my friend with the microphone. He looks as if he’s up to something. I don’t say anything to him as he’s across the room, but I think my glare and subtle shaking of the head effectively indicates to him that I will take that microphone and beat him over the head with it if I am selected in the next round of awkward slow dancing.
Midnight
It’s been quite a journey over the last 12 hours. In short, my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin so it’s about time I hit the dusty trail. I’ve got some trees to plant at sunrise tomorrow and the mix of Nelly and Celine Dion is beginning to make my ears bleed.
Party Log- 11:30AM Saturday
At this point I am out in the bush working with a few project farmers discussing their current activities and possible well building projects in the future. That’s right, its not all soccer here. I also do work.
Biking about 12km back into town, I immediately run into two fellow teammates lazing out under a Neem tree by the soccer field. They seem incredulous that I have been working this morning and not at my house. Another teammate has been banging on my door frantically all morning because he has my printed invitation to this evening’s fete. Apparently this is the hot event of the weekend on the Bogo nightlife scene.
Noon Saturday
Returning to my home and a hungry dog, I go to my water tank to fill a bucket. I need to cook this raving lunatic of a dog some rice before he eats his tail, and I severely need a cold bucket bath. Uh oh, water tank empty. I go around the block to ask a kid to bring me water. Getting back to my house I learn that my frantic teammate was again banging on my door after hearing I was back in town. From what I understand the party is not until 8PM this evening so I plan to hit him up after taking a delightful bucket bath.
1:00PM
Bucket bath completed. Decreased internal temperature achieved. Dog fed and happy. It looks like my to-do list for the day is pretty much checked off. I look at my phone after getting dressed; 5 missed calls from frantic teammate. I appreciate his diligence but surely he is overreacting seeing as we have 7 hours before the festivities begin. I call frantic teammate. He sounds winded. He’s coming over “toute de suite!” he tells me. I’ve never heard anyone in Bogo so worked up.
1:45PM
Frantic teammate arrives chez moi, not quite ‘toute de suite,’ for probably the eightieth time today. This time I’m here. He comes in and produces 2 invitations for the party. That in and of itself is odd, but my suspicions are aroused further when he tells me the second invitation can only be given to a girl. Nice try, pal. I’ll add that to the growing list of ways people try to set me up with one of their cousins. I don’t know how to translate ‘going stag’ into French so I tell him I’ll check my rolodex and see what I can do. I think that has gotten me off the hook for now. Frantic teammate leaves less frantic.
2:20PM
No work this afternoon so I settle into the latest Economist that I picked up from Maroua. I think it’s an issue from late August so I’m a bit behind in the news.
4:00PM
After eating some leftover spaghetti I head down the road to Bogo stadium. Preceding the party this evening there is a friendly match between our squad and Siratare. I’m merely a spectator for this match. The game kicks off about 1 hour late, and I begin to wish I had laced up this evening as the game for once seems surprising amicable. I didn’t see anyone try to rip an opponent to shreds with his cleats the entire game.
6:00PM
On account of darkness and the evening call to prayer, the game gets called after only 60 minutes played. Auxerre Marouaré wins 2-0. I head back to my house with a teammate/neighbor. He is genuinely surprised when he learns that I don’t have a suit for the evening. I assure him that I’ll be dressed appropriately. I’m also told that I must be there at 8PM sharp. Cameroonians, especially in village, aren’t too concerned with punctuality. Perhaps this is such an anticipated party that it actually starts on time, I think to myself.
8:00 PM
Nope, I’m not yet at the party. I’m in the process of putting on my finest white shirt and gray slacks. I think I look quite dapper, but if you saw my finest white shirt and grey slacks you would know it doesn’t say much about the rest of my wardrobe here. I’ve decided to stroll over to the hall at around 8:30. I’ve never been to or organized a single event or meeting in this town that started on time so I presume I’ll show up just as the others arrive.
8:36PM
Approaching the hall I hear thumping rap music at high volume. That’s a good sign, I think. It sounds something like Akon, maybe Nelly, or whichever other marginally talented knucklehead the kids are listening to these days in Cameroon. Regardless, my plan has worked and surely the nassarra is not the first to show up!
8:37PM
The nassarra is yet again the first one to show up. I picture all my teammates snickering behind the bushes. “Haha, that moron showed up 30 minutes late. How does he not yet know that we show up to things 2 hours late?? Hahaha.”
I take a seat next to my buddy who is the DJ for the evening. Nelly is pumping through the speakers saying something deep and thoughtful like, “Yeah, Oh…uh uh. Oh, yeah!!” I tell him I have some Tribe Called Quest on my iPod back at my house if he’s interested. He doesn’t look interested. We shoot the breeze for a while. I ask when the people are coming. He shrugs as he continues thumbing through a stack of CDs. I truly fear what is next on his party mix. He tosses a disc in and “Barbie Girl” belts through the speakers.
8:45PM
Down the road a ways out of earshot I take a seat at the local watering hole and crack open a frosty 33’ Export. Cut me a break. That music played at such a volume has the ability to disintegrate eardrums. I settle in with a few of the regulars who are watching a match on the TV. It just started and it looks to be one hell of a game. I promise myself I’ll go back to the party in 30 minutes.
9:45PM
So much for 30 minutes. But atleast I got to see the whole first half. I begin to worry that everyone has already arrived and I’m past being just fashionably late. That turns out to be a silly thought as I arrive once again and there are at maximum about 15 people. Ok, I know that nobody wants to be the first one to the party, but this is getting to be ridiculous! I’m welcomed in and the inevitable questions from my teammates begin. “Où est ta femme, Daniel?” They assure me its no problem. “Many many girls are coming!”
10:30PM
Most of the guests have arrived. Some of the ladies would look more at home at a high school prom. Most of the gentlemen look very put together as well. There are a few 50 Cent wannabes in attendance, but for the most part a nice pressed shirt and slacks seems to be the norm.
10:35PM
I was quite comfortable at the table where I was sitting, but now I’m being escorted across the hall to another empty table. A few minutes later the same teammate brings some other guests over to join me at the table. We all greet each other (I don’t know a single one of them), and my teammate sits one of the ladies next to me as he shoots me a goofy grin. I strongly doubt that I could be any more uncomfortable right now.
11:00PM
After trying to make friendly conversation with my fellow revelers at table 3, the entire group has fallen silent for about 15 minutes. They also look extremely unhappy. I take back my previous statement made at 10:35PM. This is more uncomfortable.
11:25PM
I am beginning to wonder if my team is playing a very large and elaborate joke on me. Table 3 is still silent. Nothing that resembles a party atmosphere has taken place in about 30 minutes, with the exception of the thumping music. I look around and all other tables are at about the same stage of apathy.
11:30PM
I have to be honest. I’m starting to lose faith in this party. At this point the organizers need a small miracle to bring this thing back to life. I look at my friend at the DJ table. His expression tells me that he is also highly confused. I take comfort in this. It tells me that this is not how they typically put a party together. I say this is comforting for someone like me because I imagine that I’ll be attending similar events in the future. Someone obviously dropped the ball this evening.
11:33PM
I stand corrected. Just in time, a number of bodies begin hauling in cases of beverages followed closely by ladies with plates of all sorts of tasty looking treats. The beer, orange fanta and cokes get doled out while ladies begin setting plates of cookies, peanuts, fries, popcorn and grilled meat at all the tables.
11:35PM
That was a hail mary if I ever saw one. Whoever engineered the last minute appearance of beverages and grub averted a possible riot. I try to eat as much as possible; particularly the grilled meat and cookies while trying not to look like a pig. I doubt it’s working. The party seems to be in full swing.
11:50PM
It looks like everyone has had their fill. Despite the music at about 100 decibels, I feel incredibly content and relaxed. My belly is full and I’m nursing a cold bottle of orange fanta. Sadly I’ve given up on my fellow partygoers at table 3. I guess they’re the silent types. I begin to check my watch. I was hoping to stay for some dancing, but it’s almost midnight and I’ve got some tree planting to do at sunrise.
11:54PM
“Attention ladies and gentlemen…” My DJ friend announces that pictures of the team will be taken with the trophy, and that dancing will commence shortly. After the pictures I expect people to take to the floor. However, my friend begins picking ladies and men from the audience and pairing them together in the middle of the floor. This does not look good. When I heard there would be dancing my mental picture was jumping around and gyrating to some chaotic African pop or something. This sounds suspiciously like a Celine Dion song. The couples on the floor slow dance for about 15 seconds and the music stops. Once again, I retract my statement from 11:00PM. This is more uncomfortable.
Another round of couples are chosen and dance for no more than 15 seconds to the same song. They all look as though they want to run off the floor in a panic. No need for chaperons with rulers here, as these young lovebirds look like they don’t want a thing to do with each other.
11:54PM and 30 seconds
Either that meat was of questionable quality or I’m seriously nervous right now, because the sweat is beading on my forehead and my tummy is grumbling. I look over to my friend with the microphone. He looks as if he’s up to something. I don’t say anything to him as he’s across the room, but I think my glare and subtle shaking of the head effectively indicates to him that I will take that microphone and beat him over the head with it if I am selected in the next round of awkward slow dancing.
Midnight
It’s been quite a journey over the last 12 hours. In short, my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin so it’s about time I hit the dusty trail. I’ve got some trees to plant at sunrise tomorrow and the mix of Nelly and Celine Dion is beginning to make my ears bleed.
Extra, Extra
First of all let me apologize for being such a poor blogger. No posts in two months?? Yes I am in the bush, but I have to say that is just inexcusable! So while I am diligently working on several new posts that should be up later today and possibly next weekend, here are some interesting articles I've come across that have to do with Cameroon. So forget the local newspaper when you wake up this morning, and take a look at whats going on in our neck of the woods.
It Takes Courage: Honoring Cameroonian Journalist Agnes Taile (FindingDulcinea)
http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/international/2009/Oct/It-Takes-Courage--Honoring-Cameroonian-Journalist-Agnes-Taile.html
Chad Expels Cameroonian Journalist After Nobel Story (CPJ)
http://cpj.org/2009/10/chad-expels-cameroonian-journalist-after-nobel-sto.php
18 Die In Cameroonian Boat Accident (AP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iTR75hfQtopGsGDvhRNIo8UmnomA
Cameroon Military Repels Pirate Attack, Kills 4 (Reuters)
http://www.reuters.com/article/latestCrisis/idUSLF20942
Cameroon's Security Forces Dismantle Armed Bandits (Trading Markets)
http://www.tradingmarkets.com/.site/news/Stock%20News/2578689/
World Bank to Invest $215 to Boost Internet in Africa (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-10-06-voa43.cfm
Humanitarian Crisis Looms Around Shrinking Lake Chad (Reuters)
http://www.alertnet.org/db/an_art/59567/2009/09/15-102623-1.htm
Efforts to Save Lake Chad Intensify (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2009-10-12-voa19.cfm
Cholera Kills At Least 51 in North (IRIN)
http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=86608
Cameroon Defends Biya Hotel Bills (BBC)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8236962.stm
N'Guemo Aiming to Emulate Milla (ESPN)
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=687694&cc=3888
Cameroon Beats Togo 3-0 (USA Today)
http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/2009-10-10-2543409791_x.htm
Le Guen's Lions Ready to Roar
http://www.fifa.com/worldfootball/ranking/news/newsid=1121833.html
It Takes Courage: Honoring Cameroonian Journalist Agnes Taile (FindingDulcinea)
http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/international/2009/Oct/It-Takes-Courage--Honoring-Cameroonian-Journalist-Agnes-Taile.html
Chad Expels Cameroonian Journalist After Nobel Story (CPJ)
http://cpj.org/2009/10/chad-expels-cameroonian-journalist-after-nobel-sto.php
18 Die In Cameroonian Boat Accident (AP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iTR75hfQtopGsGDvhRNIo8UmnomA
Cameroon Military Repels Pirate Attack, Kills 4 (Reuters)
http://www.reuters.com/article/latestCrisis/idUSLF20942
Cameroon's Security Forces Dismantle Armed Bandits (Trading Markets)
http://www.tradingmarkets.com/.site/news/Stock%20News/2578689/
World Bank to Invest $215 to Boost Internet in Africa (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/2009-10-06-voa43.cfm
Humanitarian Crisis Looms Around Shrinking Lake Chad (Reuters)
http://www.alertnet.org/db/an_art/59567/2009/09/15-102623-1.htm
Efforts to Save Lake Chad Intensify (Voice of America)
http://www.voanews.com/english/Africa/2009-10-12-voa19.cfm
Cholera Kills At Least 51 in North (IRIN)
http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=86608
Cameroon Defends Biya Hotel Bills (BBC)
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8236962.stm
N'Guemo Aiming to Emulate Milla (ESPN)
http://soccernet.espn.go.com/news/story?id=687694&cc=3888
Cameroon Beats Togo 3-0 (USA Today)
http://www.usatoday.com/sports/soccer/2009-10-10-2543409791_x.htm
Le Guen's Lions Ready to Roar
http://www.fifa.com/worldfootball/ranking/news/newsid=1121833.html
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