Timshel Archibald: Dec 11, 2008 - Apr 14, 2010

My mother never let us have a dog when we were children. I now understand why. They are good companions and guardians, but are pretty much helpless and require great care. I imagine my mother knew most of this care would have fallen on her so she wisely had two cats in the house instead. I didn't know much about cats or any other housepet for that matter, but I became very attached to both of them. Cat, dog, hamster, monkey, river otter, whatever; I imagine I'd become fond of any creature that I took in as a pet as long as they didn't poop on the rug.

I wouldn't say I'm a "dog person" per se, but do like them for the most part. So last year around Christmas I arrived in Bogo, and living on my own for the first time ever I decided a dog would be great to have around. That's when fate brought me to a small mud and straw compound on the outskirts of Bogo.

To say Timshel came from rough beginnings would be an understatement. It is quite possible that the children in this same compound had fleas so what chance did a one week old pup have? I took the only remaining male of the litter (I didn't want anymore puppies on my hands) home with me that morning and he became Timshel. He didn't take to the water and mashed peanuts diet they suggested. That first night I imagine was very difficult for him. Eyes barely open, he would cry bloody murder if I left him alone for any amount of time. After trying to no avail to get him to quiet down, he spent his first night in a shoebox covered with a blanket at the side of my bed. Every hour or so he would let out a whimper but a few pets on the head would put him back into a sound sleep.

After another day of rejecting the mashed peanuts and water concoction (I tried it and cannot blame him), I got on the back of my friend's motorcycle with Timshel wrapped in a bandana. It would be the first of many trips we would take together to Maroua. Arriving at the Peace Corps house in Maroua shortly before Christmas there were many fellow volunteers around, and from that day on I don't think he ever lacked for love. Someone found a top to a baby bottle in the market and when attached to an old coke bottle filled with formula he would gorge himself until his belly was so swollen he could barely stand. It is never cold here, but night temperatures would drop just enough that he needed help staying warm. A Nalgene filled with boiling water and wrapped in a towel could keep him content all night.

He and his appetite grew swiftly. He was always a bit on the small side, but could put away quantities of food twice his size if given the chance. He never took kindly to a leash and the few attempts I made to break him in were futile. Yet he loved to wander from the confines of my home. After pestering the neighbors for a bit he would almost always make his way across the government parade ground to the forest just before the river and bridge leading out of Bogo. Other dogs would come through the forest and neighborhood but he carried himself in a way that suggested it was his turf. If at anytime I was coming back from work or play he would see me from across the parade ground and come sprinting back home, jumping all over me the entire way, no doubt hoping I had brought back his next meal.

Smaller than most dogs he was also the fiercest I've ever seen. It may be slightly demented, but I chuckle when thinking he probably still haunts the dreams of many children in the Garre and Marouare neighborhoods of Bogo. Theft happens from time to time in town, but if the perpetrators ever considered taking their chances on my house they quickly changed their minds when approaching the wall. He looked like a midget dingo but sounded like something that could do serious damage. Unexpected guests were not welcome in his opinion.

Giving him his meals everyday, I had about a half second to remove my hand from the dish before he would rip it to shreds. But let's not focus on the little bastard's hornary side. Often, just before the sun would go down on Bogo I'd be in my chair reading a book on the porch. At whatever point he found me, he must have thought that I had done enough reading, and would gracelessly jump and claw his way into my lap to lay down. Uncomfortable for me, but judging by his wagging tail I don't think there was a more enjoyable part of his day.

I hear people say that a dog's personality mirrors that of his owner. In Timshel's defense I must say it is not true in this case. For such a ratty, half wild mongrel he had more personality than I could ever lay claim to. At turns nasty and just downright mean, around his owner he was the happiest and most affectionate dog around. Perhaps he knew what the life of an average Cameroonian dog was like and didn't want to upset me. Banishment to the alleys of Bogo was threatened on a number of occasions.

Many shoes and garments found their way into his jaws, and the little bugger would steal just about anything not tied down. Two papaya trees and an entire cluster of fresh herbs in my yard met their demise at his hands. Yet regardless of how serious the transgression, its hard to stay mad at a dog that would immediately flop over on his side and grovel at my feet for forgiveness. He got a little too good at it, as often times he would begin apologizing before I knew he had done anything wrong. Despite all the misbehavior, he never once pooped on the rug.

In closing I will say that I am fortunate to have had him, even if only for just over a year's time. I would also say that the Bogo community, while short a few chickens, was also a better place with Timshel on the prowl. He spent many days out and about and it is not unreasonable to believe that soon there will be some Timshel Jr.'s out on the streets. This possibility brings a smile to my face, but most likely a feeling of dread to local citizens.

Sadly I an writing this in another part of the country while on training/vacation. My friend back in village, after doing everything in his and the vet's power, informed me that Timshel lost a quick battle against a stomach and intestinal infection. Medication was given but unfortunately he was too far along at that point. My house guardian found him in the morning, and meaning no disrespect, tossed him in the woods. I felt bad requesting that someone go search out a dead dog, but asked that he be taken and buried properly. My friend and another volunteer so generously took care of it in my absence, burying him in the woods that he used to claim as his territory.

In a few day's time I'll return to Bogo. Not having a rambunctious dog there to greet me will be very strange. Yet once I get settled back into village life I'll make the short walk across the parade ground and into the woods where he used to play, eat his stolen chickens, hassle children, and do god only knows what else, just to make sure he's doing fine.

For a Cameroonian dog Timshel led one hell of a life. I take comfort in that, and I know he is in the next doggy life humping and stealing everthing he can find. So next time you are having a cold one pour a bit out for my homey, the Diamare Dingo, the Terror of Bogo, Timshel!

Currently on the road, but coming soon:

I am finishing up in a cyber cafe in Kumbo village here in the english speaking Northwest Region of Cameroon. Plenty to share with you but my time here is short. Look out for my next post where I will share with you long bus rides through the jungle, hiding from spear throwing jujus, and how not to get trampled in a frantic/running crowd of people. Take care of yourselves and I look forward to getting in contact again soon.

Cameroon In The News: April 2010

Africa has produced exceptional players, but not a World Cup-quality team (LA Times)

Piracy Cuts Oil Production in Cameroon, Threatens Future Investment (Voice of America)

Cameroon to give local players a chance (ESPN)

Cameroon opposition accuse Biya of poll rigging bid (Reuters)

Girl who fled forced prostitution in Cameroon failed by social workers (Telegraph)

Nigeria forces on alert after text message threats (Associated Press)

Cameroon soldiers punished for clash with civilians (Associated Press)

Women's Day

There are a number of National Holidays here in Cameroon. Independence Day is an obvious one, but there are also a few others. Paul Biya’s (la president or sa magestie) birthday is an important one, not to mention it being indicative of a personality cult. On that note, the RDPC (Cameroon’s ruling party) also have their own yearly shindig where I imagine they celebrate the fact that they’ve miraculously won every election held in this country since independence. Being a neutral observer of politics here, I stay far away from any festivities associated with those holidays. Getting involved with any sort of political gathering would most likely get me an all expenses paid trip home to the states in no time at all.

In addition to these National “Fetes,” there is also Youth Day in February which is a favorite of mine. Any holiday that allows children of all ages, unsupervised, to run down the streets of Bogo with flaming jars and cans of gasoline attached to sticks is okay in my book(See February 18, 2009 post). In the North, while not official holidays in Cameroon, Fete du Ramadan and Fete du Mouton are heavily anticipated holidays of the Islamic religion. But just recently on March 8th we celebrated another Holiday that brings with it much revelry. On a sunny and hot(surprise) Monday this March, National Women’s Day was held, which I believe coincides with the international Holiday of the same name. This was my second Women’s Day in Cameroon, but unfortunately last year I was on a trip and unable to enjoy the festivities. This year I found myself in Bogo and was therefore privy to the celebration, which began two days prior to the 8th. Two days before Women’s Day, a concert was held in Bogo. Many were extremely excited about this concert, which featured the very popular Roukaiya Mabalwa. You may not have heard of her so allow me to preface the concert. Roukaiya Mabalwa is a very popular female singer from Northern Nigeria, where from what I understand most people speak either Hausa or Fulani; Fulani being very similar to the Fulfulde spoken in Northern Cameroon. When told of this concert I thought that I did not know the music of Roukaiya Mabalwa. However, after a few excited explanations from friends I realized that I was indeed aware of her hit song. Take a stroll past any boutique on any busy street in any Northern Cameroonian village, town or city and you will hear this song. Allow me to state that I do not dislike Roukaiya Mabalwa. All things considered, she’s put out some damn fine tunes. The only problem is that every boutique on every busy street in every village, town or city you will most likely hear that one hit song. I love music of all kinds, but regardless of how much I like a song, listening to snippets of it all day everyday can grate on me.

Nevertheless, I find myself very excited to attend this live music event in my village. The printed tickets say the concert begins at 8PM. As a result, a few other volunteers in town and I planned to show up around 9:30PM. It worked like a charm, as we sat down and about twenty minutes later the concert started.

The venue was a very large compound in the Matakamre neighborhood that belonged to someone I am told is an extremely well to do individual who grew up in Bogo but now finds his fortunes elsewhere, leaving the residence empty almost year round. The courtyard is large enough to seat the estimated 500 in attendance while a hoard of I can only imagine how many thousand awaits outside to see the arriving concert-goers and perhaps catch a glimpse of Roukaiya herself. Arriving on foot with two other nassarras, you can only imagine the scrutiny we are paid. If there was ever a red carpet event in Bogo then this is it.

At this point I’m extremely excited. I’ve heard this woman on the radio before but I want to know how she does a live show. Anybody can sound like a good singer on the radio, but not everyone can get onstage and really rock out. Let’s not forget about stage presence! I need a few crowd surfing incidents, maybe a drum solo or two. Bonus points if they set a guitar on fire. Yelling “we love you Bogo!” at the end of the set is encouraged.

All the movers and shakers of Bogo society seem to be present, and finally the Sous-Prefet rolls into the compound in his SUV with his sizeable entourage. Roukaiya and her three backup singers emerge and the concert begins. To my disbelief they are all lip-syncing. Roukaiya is holding a microphone, but even from the back row I can tell that this is not the Roukaiya I see before me that is singing. Many of her songs reference the names of places and their respective officials. It becomes apparent that they have pre-recorded all these songs and inserted “Bogo,” “Monsieur le Mayeur,” and “Monsieur le Sous-Prefet” where appropriate. From what I have gathered she has been paid a hefty sum of money for this gig so I feel a bit cheated.

I’m done badmouthing this concert for two reasons. Reason number one is that this was not the worst concert I’ve ever attended, believe it or not. In 2007 I went to see the “Allman Brothers Band” at Nissan Pavilion in the DC area. I was well aware that at that point there was only one living Allman brother, but I at least expected him to take us through the golden years with his new band following along. Man, was I wrong. It looked like any guy who ever smoked a joint on the Allman Brothers bus was given an instrument and thrown onstage for that show. To open the gig they ripped into “Hurricane” and I was fully impressed; also very eager to hear a number of their old songs. But listening to twenty geriatric stoners jam out for the next 90 minutes was more than I could handle. I would rather pay to hear someone play ‘Ramblin Man’ on a kazoo than listen to that cacophony again. If you are curious, the Moody Blues concert my parents dragged my sisters and I to when I was about ten years old rounds out the top 3. I’ve grown to appreciate a number of Moody Blues songs, but watching what can only be described as a less limber if not arthritic Justin Hayward prance around onstage in a pirate shirt while teary 40 year olds held up lighters was a childhood experience that really sticks with you.

My apologies, I digress. Reason number two would be what happened at the Roukaiya concert about 10 minutes in. On the 2nd or 3rd song all the ‘grands,’ or big men of Bogo, took to the stage to paste these four lovely ladies with a ridiculous amount of currency. The custom at many of these events is for the rich and/or powerful attendees to come to the stage and start “making it rain.” If you are not sure what I mean by making it rain, I recorded it on my camera and hope to share it with you in the not too distant future. Basically large amounts of cash are tossed at the singers and sometimes placed directly on their forehead. Seeing the amount of dough these guys tossed around was shocking. They could be trouble at a gentleman’s club.

This concert was two days before Women’s Day. Fast forwarding to Monday’s festivities, most of the community gathered at the local government grounds just around the corner of my house for the Women’s Day parade. The Sous-prefet and a number of other bigwigs were gathered under a shaded grandstand of sorts, fashioned out of wooden beams and straw. A few of them rose to address the crowd and bless the festivities. For the next ten minutes or so an assortment of groups marched through holding signs identifying their respective organization or community association. All the women marching are decked out in their newly tailored outfits made out of the official women’s day fabric. Any big event or holiday in Cameroon is accompanied by a corresponding fabric with which everyone has clothes made. Also gracing the ceremony was none other than Roukaiya Mabalwa who chose to stick around Bogo for the holiday. She and her three backup singers gave another rousing lip-syncing concert during the parade. I felt she had worn out her welcome by this point. The community paid a sizeable chunk of cash to have her come and perform, but as far as I'm concerned she can take this low budget karaoke act elsewhere.

So that was pretty much the extent of Women’s Day in Bogo. The parade ended around 10:30 or so, and I imagine most of the participants headed back to the kitchen afterwards to make lunch. Don’t take that the wrong way, ladies. I just call it how I see it.

Later that same day I went into Maroua for the evening to pay some bills and get some internet. I must say that Women’s Day in a large city such as Maroua is a completely different experience altogether. While I imagine the town of Bogo was settling into the evening and drifting off to sleep I arrived in Maroua to discover something resembling spring break. The Peace Corps house is located right in the middle of the main nightlife spot in Maroua along Boulevard Renouveau, and I believe jubilant pandemonium could best describe the scene when I arrived. Every bar, and they are plentiful on this street, was overflowing with people. The Domayo neighborhood where the house is located is known for being one of Maroua’s ‘wilder’ areas, but seeing the street, bars and everything in between filled with so many people that evening was very strange for a normally quiet city. Many of my neighbors/friends/colleagues in Bogo expressed their utter shock at what goes on in Maroua during Women’s Day. Having a drink amongst the crowd that evening I couldn’t say that I saw anything incredibly unsuitable or shocking, but to say people were having a good time would be understating it. Unfortunately I was too tired to enjoy the free for all, and I retired to the house for some sleep. The music and shouting from the street was such that lying in bed I still felt as though I was out in the middle of it all. Luckily I received Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment” on audiobook from a fellow volunteer. One of these days I’ll be interested to hear what the man had to say, but on this night Dostoyevsky is being read aloud on my iPod solely for his ability to put me to sleep in less than 2 minutes.

So what is Women’s Day in Cameroon really about? I’ve spent enough time ranting about what I find to be strange or humorous about it. In all seriousness it seems to be an excellent occasion for community groups that day in and day out work to improve the status of women in this country. Every other day of the year could be considered Men’s Day in Cameroon. Especially in the smaller towns and villages, women constantly face a number of challenges and are often severely limited in their choices and ability to be on an equal footing with their male counterparts. Limited access to education, domestic violence, vulnerability to HIV/AIDS to give a few examples. I do not want to give the impression that women are not respected by Cameroonian men or that they are doomed to be second class citizens in all situations. In my experience, women in Bogo are almost always treated with great respect and admiration as mothers, daughters, wives, homemakers, teachers, etc. And beyond what would be considered the traditional domain of females in this society, there are individuals who are always pushing the limits and demanding that women be given more stock in their community beyond what is considered the norm. Women's Day is a good occasion to bring these issues to the surface, but the reality is that it is only one day out of the year. Taking it a step further into everyday life in Cameroon seems to be the challenge now.

If you have the time, move on to the next blog post and freshen up on the latest installment of ‘Cameroon in the News.’ Cameroonian pirates are up to no good, journalists are behaving badly (according to security forces), Les Lions Indomptables gear up for the World Cup, the Central African Republic is not the best neighbor to have, and last but not least African leaders seem intent to prove that in terms of political power 80 is the new 40. Enjoy.

Cameroon in the News: March

Freed Chinese Hostages Headed to Cameroon Capital (Associated Press)

Cameroon's Media Crackdown 'Alarming' (Gulf Times)

Our Psyches Shy of the Goal (Mail & Guardian Online)

UNHCR Says More CAR Refugees Entering Cameroon (Voice of America)

African Leaders Show There Are many Countries For Old Men (The Guardian)

Ammendment to March 9 blog post "Cameroon in the News"

This past Tuesday I posted two items for your reading pleasure, one of which was a reccuring post I call "Cameroon in the News." Every month or so I like to search the web for the latest news on Cameroon that I think you may find interesting and/or educational. I wanted to quickly revisit a story I posted on Tuesday from The Washington Post, which described the practice and prevalence of "breast ironing" in Cameroon. I consider The Washington Post to be a very decent news source especially considering some of the other options out there. Yet when re-reading this article by a freelance writer, an American woman who spent a short time in Cameroon, I found myself disappointed with the Post's decision to publish the article. Now before I lose you on this one let me explain that the practice of breast ironing is something I find to be indefensible. It is not something I am confronted with frequently as it is rarely practiced in the northern region of the country where I am posted. I spend little to no time in the southern regions of the country where it is more common so I also cannot speak to its presence and prevalence in that area. My disappointment with this article stems more from the fact that this freelance writer failed to do the issue justice. I don't question her good intentions. Unfortunately her article indicates to me nothing more than an outsider's curiosity/nosiness, and I question whether it has added any substantive value to the fight to end the practice. Where do her statistics and numbers come from? I'm not disputing them, but I also like to know where the information comes from beyond vaguely identified health activists. What are the motives for those who practice breast ironing and how are people going about stopping the practice? She touches on these issues, but unfortunately I don't think this is something that she has sufficiently looked into.

My apologies for the rant, but reading through this article a second time it got me a bit upset. Someone living the expat lifestyle in a country such as Cameroon will never truly experience or understand the society from their insulated neighborhoods, private schools, tinted SUVs and pricey restaurants. As a result I don't believe the writer of said article is in a position to accurately depict the practice. If you would like to know more about this issue, visit the following link which I found to be far more informative. Women in Africa Bear A Painful Tradition. For more info see this article published by the German development organization, GTZ, an agency that has worked extensively on womens health issues in Cameroon.

Cameroon in the News: February/March

Breast ironing, a painful practice for Cameroon's girls (Washington Post)

Cameroon footballer jailed in Myanmar for forgery (Associated Press)

Polio vaccination targets 85 million in West Africa (Daily Nation)

UNHCR chief puts spotlight on Central African refugees in Cameroon (Reuters)

Cameroon journos 'tortured' (News 24)

Pig vaccine helps humans (Science Alert)

Ohio zoo helping with parrots rescued in Cameroon (Associated Press)

Cameroon has grown up (France 24)

Fifa denies African fans priced out of World Cup (BBC)

Cameroon GDP set to grow 2.9 pct in 2010, 4 pct in 2011 (Reuters)