A women turning coucous on a foyer ameloire or improved cookstove at a cooking competition in Douroum
Me and a nurse at the health center posing in front of an alter during women's day.
A classroom at the public school in Mandama (they sometimes have up 60 students in a class)
Two girls pumping water at the pump near my house.  Hard work, I tried it once.

Happenings

I decided that in this blog I would just recount some random happenings in Cameroon, enjoy......

Why did I watch Arachnophobia as a child? And why did my 3rd grade substitute teacher tell me a story about her getting bit by a spider and being rushed to the hospital unconscious and getting five shots in her stomach?  It has only set me up for a life in fear of insects, but especially spiders. If I didn't have frosted glass for windows I am sure my neighbors probably would have thought I was crazy a few nights ago or at least possessed and practicing sorcery (which a few people in my village believe in).  I was running around my room armed with a large stick and tennis shoe chasing a spider.  In my defense the spiders here are mammoth and the cockroaches are human size.  We all have the things we fear and loath and mine just happens to be insects, but especially spiders.  Somehow I feel they have a personal vendetta against me, choosing to skulk around my room, tormenting me by running over anything that will make a loud noise and echo off my bare walls.  Its all over when I see their long, protruding legs, hairy bodies and fangs.  My mission, even if I have to stay up all night, is to see them dead and buried or at least tossed outside to be carried away by the ants.  One might ask why I chose Africa, where if one was to open a book of the worlds most deadly insects Africa might rank number one, I would simply answer "to sink or swim" to get over my fear once and for all by being thrown into the lions din or more appropriately, the spiders web.  In those moments when I am cowering in a corner, armed with bug powder and a shoe I am silently cursing myself while waiting for the spider to reappear from its hiding place so I can smash it to smithereens.  Maybe its an issue of boundaries.  My home, but especially my room is a safe haven for me and a creepy crawler has infinite ways of avoiding capture and tormenting me to the point where I end up like the crazy chef in the Little Mermaid, tearing up my sanctuary to kill something small and insignificant.  Its like a spec of dust to a meticulous housewife, I can't rest comfortably until its gone.  I would still feel this way if the intruder were an animal or person, but those are much easier to catch and release than an insect, which is capable of finding its way past my mosquito net and into any open orifice.

A few days ago I came face-to-face or rather face-to-hand with something I shouldn't have been that surprised about.  A nurse at the health center I work at purchased at the wednesday meat market in my village the left arm and rib cage of a monkey.  I have heard stories form volunteers in the south that many people in the southern provinces eat what is called "bush meat," which I hear is anything that you can find, kill, is edible and not someone's pet.  I heard that it isn't common for people in the North to eat bush meat, but this worker comes from the south where it is completely acceptable.  That still didn't hold back my nausea and disgust as the nurse picked up the severed hand and proceeded to advance towards me while waving the hand in my direction. I think she got the hint that I was disgusted when I yelled at her and ran out the door.  Guess it goes to show that one women's dinner is another women's cause for vomiting.

I was coming back from visiting my post mate in the neighboring village when my moto passed a crowd of people standing on the side of the road.  My moto proceeded to slow down as any good rubbernecker would and we passed a scene of an accident.  A moto had struck and killed a goat.  The driver looked in our direction as we passed with a severe look of distress on his face.  He gripped his head with both hands in dismay and looked on the verge of crying.  In Cameroon if you kill someone's goat you have to pay for it, but the way he looked you would have thought that he had struck a child.  While this scene was playing out a few feet down the road there was another accident.  This one attracted no crowd, but also involved a moto  and this time it had hit a person.  A moto had struck an old women who was bleeding profusely from the nose and mouth.  Its amazing our list of priorities, us humans.  The saying that Americans treat their pets better than strangers seems to ring true in Africa as well.

Lately I have been trying to visit all the villages that my health center serves.  On a recent visit to one of the villages my translator and I came upon a large crowd of men standing around a well.  It seems that a cow fell down a well and I just have to say that that happens when you dig a large hole in the ground and don't build a wall around it.  It was amazing to see all the men pitch in to get the cow out though.  It makes me think of a good ole fashion barn raising, although I have no idea what that really entails, but the analogy seems to fit. The sense of community and team work in the effort the men put in was amazing.  No one asked for money afterwards or complained that the task was too hard, but worked to together to help out their neighbor.  I think it was also a welcome break from the monotony of sitting under trees and shelling peanuts, a source of entertainment to reminisce on the next day when there back under the tree with nothing to do until raining season.

Why can't I talk about my diarrhea?  And why can't I pick my nose in public (come on we all know we do it in private)?  I feel the puritans really screwed us over with their manners and moral convictions. Why is it that while we have released ourself from the shackles of sexual oppression, I still feel I can't fart in public without being stared at like I have two heads.  We could take a lesson from Cameroonians.  After picking your jaw off the floor and relax your brow after watching them greet you with their left hand digging for gold while their right hand is extended or having asked practically your whole village about their bowel movements and watery stools, you come to do as they do.  I openly tell people here that "I am sorry I couldn't stop by yesterday. I had diarrhea and I couldn't be far from my latrine." I have also found myself walking around village "sanuing" people while with my left hand (never my right, thats for clean activities like eating and shaking hands) clearing the Harmattan from my nostrils.  My oppression in the states can be found in the fact that I didn't even know how to spell diarrhea in english and had to look it up, but I sure knew how to spell it in french: Diarrhee. 

The Mandama Workout

If anyone out there has ever searched for the ultimate exercise plan I think I have found the answer to your weight loss needs. You start by moving to Cameroon and not just anywhere in Cameroon. You need to pick a remote place, preferably on a mountainside or in the hills with lots of sand. This move will undoubtedly include much heavy lifting of baggage and moving it to various locations (think of olden day prison punishment when they used to have prisoners move rocks from one useless pile to another and then back again). Second, leave all conventional cleaning tools behind and do as the Africans do. Sweep your floors with a traditional broom made out of thin sticks, which requires you to sweep while bending over at a 90 degree angle. Pump your water at the local forage making sure to isolate those chest and arm muscles as you vigorously fill two containers (you are sure to repeat this exercise at least 3 to 4 times a week). For an added benefit you can then carry said containers on your head back to your house, although this is not for the weak necked and clumsy! Lastly, decide to do a community wide health survey, which promises to include every single household in your village. This last exercise is great cardio, especially if you choose a walking partner whose stride is much longer and faster than your own. You will walk over rocky mountainsides, cross dry, sandy riverbeds, do squats while trying to meet your butt to a stool that is a few inches off the ground, but most importantly you will lose those inches you’ve been dying to get rid of since you started to eat like a Camerooian and digested kilos of couscous and rice with sauce. I tell you people that I have tried this diet and so far it is agreeing with me.
So its been a month since I started walking house to house in my village doing a community survey. I have visited a total of 230 houses and that is about 90% of all the houses in Mandama and I plan on doing this again in the 12 other villages my health center serves. It was a very interesting experience, which opened my eyes to some health issues, but also allowed me to meet everyone face to face. Some of the “quartiers” or neighborhoods that I visited were a few minutes walk away, while others took me into places I didn’t think anybody would think to live. For example one quartier is over a hill and nestled in a valley near a river. In order to use the health center or buy things at the market the people have to walk fairly far on a road where a car can not pass and I have found that they often don’t use the health center for things such as giving birth or minor illness. It was at this very village that I hiked up a severely steep hill to visit one house of that particular quartier. I couldn’t imagine having to make that hike everyday, several times a day and with a bucket of water on my head. I am truly in awe of Camerooians sometimes.
On the 11th of February there was a big “fete”or holiday all over Cameroon called the “Fete de Juenesse,” which I guess is like international kids day. I had no idea what to expect from this day, but I heard it was a huge deal and I could hear the children at the elementary school practicing their march and songs for two weeks before hand while I was on my march doing the community surveys. Singing just has a different quality to it here. Kids in the states have their “Ring around the Rosy” and “Miss Mary Mack”, but they don’t hold a candle to the sound of the Camerooian children chanting in unison. It’s the same sound I hear during church service here. It’s a definite addition to the catholic services, where although I love my religion, the singing has always lacked a sense of liveliness. Squeezed into the benches amidst rows of colorful pagne dresses and babies strapped to backs it’s very enlivening and spiritual and always adds to any Cameroonian event.
On the day of the fete I struck out at 9am, already an hour late, but knowing that it would never start on time and ended standing for another 45 minutes while seating assignments were arranged. See, in village I am a “Grand”, someone important, and the important people always sit under shaded areas to watch such festivities and that morning I was second row to the parade of marching children. Schools came from neighboring villages to show off their marching abilities and chants with accompanied dances. It was truly interesting and not unlike small hometown parades, although minus floats and extravagant costumes. Later in the day a match of Football was held for the high school girls first, which drew a substantial crowd, but the real game was between the high school boys and the teachers. Although the teachers are young and fit themselves, they were no match for the Mandama boys who swept them 6 to 2. In most instances all this would have been enough for one day, but it wouldn’t be a Fete de Juenesse without a dance. If you have recently graduated from college and can reminisce on your old high school dances, you can probably gather a pretty accurate picture of what they are like. Although I didn’t attend this dance, I have attended a previous dance and don’t particularly wish to experience another. And if you can’t imagine, picture a tiny classroom packed with sweaty teenage boys and girls dancing non-stop until 6am to really loud music and you get the picture, although those are not the reasons why I do not wish to partake a second time. My reason centers around the villages need to make me front and center of all their attention, especially when it includes watching me dance to Cameroonian music. Although not bragging, I have picked up a few moves and can hold my own and have gotten compliments like “You dance like a Cameroonian,” I do not like being the center of attention in the middle of a high school dance full of adolescent boys.
I am now awaiting the next fete, “8 Mars” or International Women’s Day and have already bought my women’s day pagne, which I hope I can get cut into a dress before the day, but I am cutting it close. The day promises to be a lot like Fete de Juenesse and it brings another reason to eat lots of yummy gateau (cake) and a break from my village visits.

aka Fadimatou

So a lot has happened since my last Christmas/New Year blog. My landlord finally washed all the wasp nests off my walls and painted the inside a shade of yellow. I am now living in my house and have realized that there is still a lot for me to do. Although my bedroom is nearly finished I still have to result to preparing my meals on the floor of my kitchen and my stove stop is sitting atop two chairs (picture provided below).

My salon is bear and I am itching to fill it as I have no where, but a cement floor to offer anyone who visits and boy do people visit. Some volunteers here will not allow anyone, but other peace corps volunteers to enter, while others will let only certain people in village to enter or no one at all. Since my village is still getting to know me and do not have any concept of how private we Americans can be it is somewhat of a challenge to get them to knock on my door or not enter by backyard. Some girls will just open my door and walk right into my house without knocking or will knock and then walk in before I have a chance to say "come in." I have gotten used to locking my door when I am at home, especially when changing my clothes or using my latrine. I have been explaining to people that they need to knock on my door, which is also necessary as alot of people will clap instead of knock on doors. I believe that may be because people in village do not have doors like I do or have them don't ever close them unless they aren't in their house. Therefore people clap to announce that they are at your door. I am still getting used to that as I hear people clapping outside my concession walls all the time and can't distinguish between a visitor and some random person.

I think people in village also think its weird that I spend time in my house alone during the day. Mostly everybody eats lunch and takes a nap around noon till the prayer at 3pm cause its so hot. When they see me walking back from the health center at 10am or 4pm they will ask if I'm going to take a nap. I think its a weird concept for most of them that I work out of my house. For example one day I barely left my house because the following day I was attending a women's meeting and hosting my own village wide meeting. I stayed in most of the day writing out my speech to the village and preparing the materials for the activity that I wanted to do with them. While its not uncommon for women to stay in the house all day its weird I think for someone who works out of the health center to be at home and alone.

On another note my community meeting was very interesting. To start the process I met with the Lamido, which is the chief of my village to ask when would be a good day to have a community meeting with the entire village and if he could help me alert all the people, meaning all 4,000. He chose three days later and said that he would alert all the people to come to my meeting. I was sceptical, but I prepared and announced it to the people that I saw in the village, most who on the day of the meeting had no clue what I was talking about. At 4pm that day I sat on the bench next to the public square with my counterpart waiting. After about 45minutes the Lamido rides up and tells me that they need to pay respects to someones family because there had been a death and that they would return afterwards. I wait for another 30minutes and then the crowd starts to arrive little by little and I notice that only the men are coming and only the Muslim men at that. Apparently only the men who attend the Grand Mosque were given the notice, but you live and learn and then inform the priests of the catholic church next time. So i stood in front of about 100 men from my village and explained for probably the nth time, but definitely not the last that I am not a doctor, which they love to call me around village, nor a nurse, another popular choice and definitely not a nun, although I am Catholic. I also explained that I don't have any money to give them, but if they have ideas and are willing to work hard I will help them try to bring development to the village. After that I had the men and women (during my speech about 15 women showed up) split into groups and create a map of the community. It included all the place they felt were important in village as well as places they frequent the most, the least and things they feel are missing in village. The maps turned out to be a great resource for me as I discovered places I didn't even know existed in village like a technical school and a broken dam at the river. My village has some big needs, but they are a village that isn't shy of change and wants all the development they can get. My next project is to walk to each house in the village to do a community wide survey. All through out the month of February and a little of March I will be putting on my walking shoes and visiting everybody with the help of one villager from my town who is going to act as translator (keep me in your thoughts and prayers for this one).

On another note I know that I have talked to some of you about the crazy things that people can get on a moto taxi here. A brief list of my sightings include:

1) four grown men

2) Two grown men and a women with a baby on her back

3) About 20 live chickens strapped to the handles

4) About 20 large stacked 50 liter jugs

5) Man holding live goat across lap

6) The kicker.....the driver, and a bull in an upside down table and then another man on top of that

And its almost unbelievable, but I leave you with this picture of a man and his three tables on a moto. Oh yes, it happens.

Also I wish to announce that I will no longer answer to the name of Kauleen as no one here can pronounce it even after I explain that its just like "coline", which means "hill" in french. I have been told that you are really accepted when you are given a Muslim name and my counterpart picked Fadimatou, which people do call me. When I tell new people I meet my name they love it, its like instant street cred. The young man who helps me around the house even painted the name on my clay water pots and my concession wall.

Mail ME

So I have an address and instead of putting it out on my blog for everyone, email me and let me know if you want it kauleen@gmail.com. I would appreciate anything, letters, newspaper clippings, things I can give away to Cameroonians (which is like anything with Obama on it) or things I can eat or hang in my house. I miss all your faces so photos are always good too! Happy New Years to everyone, I will be celebrating here nine hours before all you California folks.

Christmas

Merry Christmas everyone! And a Happy New Year! So these last few days have been kinda up and down for me. I am in my village, but have yet to settle into my house. My landlord is being real slow about getting things done and even with my counterpart’s pressure and me bugging him every chance I get, he still is moving at a slow pace to get my walls painted and mosquito netting on my windows. Right now all my stuff is spread out in three places. I have been staying with the Catholic nuns in village and they have been amazing. They give me chocolate, which can seem like such a trivial thing, but when you’re out in the bush even a saltine cracker can seem like something special. I can’t wait to get into my house cause I have been getting furniture made and what an experience that has been. I have drawn some stuff out, but unless you explain to a T there is no guarantee on what things will look like in the end. And then there is the transport; trying to find someone to go out in the bush to deliver furniture is expensive and time consuming.
All last week I got to accompany my counterpart, who works in the lab at the health center in village, out into the surrounding smaller villages for a week long vaccination campaign. People say that I live in the Bush, but I don’t think people have seen some of my surrounding villages. For one, you can only reach some of them by moto or walking and at one point I had to get off the moto and walk up a hill cause it was too steep for two people to ride up. Most of these villages only have one well at best or they search for water in the dry river beds by digging holes. A lot of the children I noticed are mal-nourished and suffering from water related illnesses like stomach worms. I see a lot of potential projects in these small villages and can’t wait to start work. I am looking forward to collaborating with my post mate who is in agro forestry on some soy and moringa projects (check out this wonder plant that grows all over Cameroon!).
So Christmas here is interesting cause for the past three days there has been this overcast of fog or smoke I can’t really tell, but it blocks out the sun and actually makes it slightly chilly. In the morning I have had to wear a sweater and the moto rides are quiet brisk. It really felt like Christmas for me when I was on a moto and I had this real strong smell of food cooking and I thought that food is what makes my holiday, second to family of course. I’m not homesick at all and the volunteers that are here now are awesome to hang out with. We are making the best Christmas possible in a Cameroonian situation.
I hope all is well with you and yours and hopefully next time the internet won’t be so slow and I can upload some more pictures!

Finally done with Stage

Yes I am still alive! This last few weeks have been crazy for me as I have been finishing Stage (sounds like Sta-ag) and then swearing-in, going to post and now back in the big city for a day.

So the last week of Stage was really hectic as I didn’t pass my language exam and ended up doing 20 hours of language to catch up and take another test a day before I swore in. It happened, I passed and swore-in with my fellow, now I can say it, volunteers and I am officially on my own, kinda. So I left the day after I swore-in for my post with four other volunteers in a bush taxi with all of our stuff piled high on top. We were to make a big loop of the north province dropping everybody off with their stuff and I was to be second to last on that trip. The first few hours weren’t bad, dirt road, bumpy and scenic as much as the North can be scenic. We dropped off one and two and then the dirt just seemed to settle on everything, even my mood. The taxi broke down for a few minutes, trying to make it up a sand embankment after crossing a river and then decided to break down a few more times after that. I made it to my house in the afternoon, ran and got a key from my landlord’s son, kicked some random squatter out of my house, locked everything up got back in the taxi because my house has yet to be finished. I have been staying a few days with the Catholic nuns who hosted me during site visit and now I am in the big city to buy a bed so that at least I have something to sleep on. Village thus far isn’t bad. Everybody is glad to see that I came back and thought I abandoned the village, but translations can be deceiving.

I have my first official meeting with the health center staff next week to talk about my role in village. Right now I see two major challenges when it comes to that; 1) Everyone thinks I am a doctor or nurse of some sort (or possible a nun since I am around the mission a lot and got called sister yesterday), 2) People think I am there to bring money and answers to all their problems, when I am really just a facilitator/community development worker there to help them see the resources they already have or to help them locate resources outside the community. I have a lot of work ahead of me in terms of trying to furnish and empty cement block in the bush as well as opening up a new post and introducing the idea of Peace Corps to the village. Keep me in your thoughts, the next three months will be a challenge, but one that I am looking forward to facing.