Christmas

I went to Jessie's house in Sanguere Paul for Christmas this year, meeting three other volunteers there, Harley, Chris and Steve. It was low key but very nice, relaxing to be at someone elses house. We listened to music, some Christmas music (we actually didn't have very much!), watched movies, did crafts (lots and lots of clove oranges for all the volunteers in the north province) and cooked and ate good food. I had my puppy Papaya and her sister who I was babysitting and it was fun to have them there, although stressful as they chased neighbor chickens, looked for goat poop to eat and left their own in the house. Christmas day we went to church, a small church of maybe 30 people, where the service was incredibly short, maybe an hour, and completely in Fulfulde. In the evening on Christmas day we went for a walk at dusk to one of the hills, with wine glasses in hand, while the puppies raced around the fields, and during which various family members called us from the States. As the sun set we could see fires burning in the valleys, some Foulbe camps. Usually here, holidays don't cause too much homesickness because it doesn't "feel" like Christmas even. But in some ways it did feel a little tiny bit like it at Jessies house, whether because the of the cold sweatshirt necessary mornings or lazing around with no agenda at someone else's house. All was nice.

sleepy time christmas afternoon or evening

clove oranges

Christmas morning, some of Jessie's friends who came to visit

how remote am I??

One of my friends, Nate, from the States recently asked me how remote I was in my Peace Corps post. He was living in the "bush" in the states and comparing to the vision we have, perhaps of the typical Peace Corps life. isolated in a tiny village "en brousse". And the answer is probably not as remote as most would imagine, yet still a different life. I have an interesting post in that I have both worlds. Being on the major highway, I am only a 30 minute drive to the capital city of my province, where there is internet, hospitals, a lot of modernity and technology, although not necessarily fast! You can get basically anything you need here. Although definitions of "need" tend to change after living here for a while, which is a good thing. Yet my village is still small, poor, with very few amenities. While I couldn't call it "en brousse", a term we use to say out in the bush, really out there, as one might imagine a "typical" peace corps post, I could and do sometimes refer to it as "en brousse" socially or economically, in terms of the fact that it is certainly not the city. All inhabitants are farmers, French is not commonly spoken, electricity only came recently (in August?) and is only in a few houses in the village, there are only open wells used for water (the newly installed pump, also in August, just broke this week), income levels, living situations, and lifestyles are as much "en brousse" as any other post "way out there." So I think I have the best of both situations (although not a fan of living so near the main road). I am able, when I need, to get to the office, to use internet (if its not out for the day), to go to the doctor, etc, a lot more easily than some of my postmates who are more farther removed. However, I have the village Peace Corps experience that might be what one expects or envisions when I am in village. Sometimes finding a car to Garoua takes a while. You sit on the side of the road and hold out your arm until a car with space in it stops. Sometimes private cars pick you up (I've ridden with Catholic sisters from Ngong, and with Sodecoton workers in which I've had great work conversations!) But usually its in "taxis" which are regular beaten up cars that run the route Garoua Ngong all day long. Five passenger cars fit 7 or 8 people, 8 passenger vans fit 16. Sometimes I get out to the road and wait only 5 minutes. Other times I've waited an hour and a half (at which point I start to reconsider traveling at all!)
In terms of isolation, even posts much more removed have volunteers nearby. Peace Corps tends to place people in "clusters" so in villages that are pretty close to each other. And at the same time, if you stay in your village, even very near major cities, you can feel isolation (if you want) of never speaking your own language, of living in a foreign culture, etc. Each Peace Corps post is different, especially taking in consideration other countries. One of my stagemates has a friend doing Peace Corps in South Africa, where she has an "office" where she works every day with an ocean view and internet. I'm happy to be on this side of the spectrum...the more villag-y side. So I think that answers that question a bit, and hopefully helps those at home to maybe have a better picture of how remote I am.

Soy Group

Many of the farmers in my village plant soy. They were trained by IRAD, the Institute pour la Recherch Agriculture et Development, to plant it in efforts to fight the loss of soil fertility, perhaps to get farmers off the cotton cycle as well. The women were "trained" on how to make soy milk and tofu, although I'm not sure how well because they don't actually make it now. Maybe they didn't like it too well, or maybe it's too much work, or maybe they were only briefly trained and have forgotten. But they do add soy flour to regular flour to make "bouille" the traditional flour and water hot drink thats often drunk for breakfast. As it is, the farmers were trained to grow soy, were given improved seeds by IRAD and started to grow soy. But they didn't know what to do with it, because there wasn't a big market for it. Through other volunteers, I heard of a GIC (common interest group) in Mokolo in the Extreme North who works with farmers in various villages, trains them on growing soy, sells them the seeds, and then buys the harvest which they then transport to Douala and sell to CamLait, a Cameroonian company that makes soy drinks which are very delicious. I called the Mokolo people who came and met with my farmers. During this meeting 1) I was so proud of my villagers, because it was so evident they were good farmers, they already knew how to farm soy, already knew the distances for seeding, when to weed, when to harvest etc. and 2) I felt "this is the successful work of the volunteer." Matching a need in the village--lack of market--with a resource we know of. And now from now on, the villagers are connected to this GIC and can continue to sell to them, even after I am gone. After the meeting each farmer decided how much they wanted to farm for soy, in a group of perhaps 16-20 farmers. Some farmed a hectare, others a demi-quarter hectare. They ordered the seed from the GIC, I wired their money to Mokolo, seed was sent to Garoua, I went and picked it up with a farmer and they divided it up and planted.


January 15: They just recently finished the harvest in December and I am feeling very blessed, and praising God because the sale of the harvest went on without a glitch. Sometimes when working with new groups you never know what may happen, whether someone might run away with the money, whether the group might never come to buy the harvest after all, whether they might back down on the promised price. But all went well, they sent the advance of money ahead of time (before New Years so that the farmers could celebrate with the money), they picked up the soy last week to ship down south and paid the rest of the payment, and all my farmers were happy. Just one example of possible agroforestry work in Cameroon.

Yaounde again

I am in the country capital again, this time for Mid Service, which is made up mainly of medical exams complete with running to the lab across town with a paper bag concealing a cup of certain substances, as well as meeting with various administration members to talk about concerns, progress, etc one year into service. This trip I did not really want to come down here. I didn't want to leave post, and I didn't want to spend time in Yaounde. We finished up our duties on Wednesday and now I'm hoping to escape to Kribi for the weekend (if i can find other volunteers to go with me!) and come back on Monday for a Best Practices presentation, before heading back up north Monday night. I haven't yet decided where I will be spending Christmas, Ngoundere, Maroua and my village being the options. I hope you all are well and enjoying the cold weather. Ngoundere was COLD!

My foulbe ladde friends come to visit me at the house

What a beautiful surprise...when 9 girls and 2 boys come knocking on your gate and traipsing on in with singsong voices, talking to the dog, asking for your papayas, walking in your house, asking for more photos more photos more photos, crowding around to look at the screen, pushing, shoving, laughing, giggling, scolding, etc. Always brings me such joy!

The Schoolchildren helping me to protect my trees

On a Friday when the students have manual labor in the morning (yes this is a weekly "class", and usually they sweep up the school grounds, protect trees, etc) the older students, school director and a couple teachers came with me to my field to help me protect my trees. With 50 students working the job was done in record time, and it was fun to all be together, on an "outing". They especially loved the camera with pictures! Altogether about 50 trees of my 120 were protected, a necessary chore as the goats are being let loose soon. They are staked through the farming season but once the rains stop and most people have harvested they are let loose to roam again. And they will eat everything, everything in their path.

Cassia siamea trees in the foreground

searching for more stalks in the neighboring cornfield, already harvested

These boys are protecting a Leucaena tree. The one on the right is my neighbor.

The whole group photo! I wish you could see closer up to their faces, but it was a large group! The school director is on the right in the tan suit.

Birthday

view of morning painting site

Thank you to everyone for all the birthday wishes. In the morning I went to Garoua and chose a spot after the bridge with a good view of the Benoue river and hills behind it for a painting session. It was the first time I got to use my oil paints I got in Yaounde and on a canvas a friend here made for me, and that 1 and 1/2 hours of painting was so wonderful. I would have forced myself to stay longer and keep at it, but it was getting too hot. So next time. In the afternoon attempted to climb a big mountain we always passed between Nassarao and Pitoa. I think we would have made it to the top (we were soooo close!) but a thunderstorm came up on all sides and had to sit crouched in an alcove for an hour for it to stop, and then get down the mountain again before it got dark. Next time...After the hike, just too tuckered out to go out on the town dancing. think I went to bed at 7:30? Miss everyone at home though, and would have loved to have my birthday there!

after the rain storm. we were high up there!!! that mountain range across the way is where my village is, behind some of those mountains. Garoua is to the right out of the photo.

New Puppy "Papaya Treefrog"

A couple of weeks ago, I got a new puppy, named Papaya. Here's the only two photos I have of her so far. Evidence of Second Child Syndrome. I got her as a sore-covered, fleabitten, worm and tick infested scrawny thing, but she's doing pretty well now and is pretty barky, a little too barky for me, but Cameroonians appreciate that as a quality of a good guard dog. She's sweet though.

Peanuts

The past week I have been working hard in my field, harvesting peanuts. I had a good harvest originally, however after they were pulled up i had trouble finding help, other workers, and they sat in the field for a week calling insects far and wide. On top of that this past week it has rained every day. More rain in October than in any other month during the rainy season and last year the last rain was the 10th or 15th. This meant that I was in a race to get my peanuts to the house before the insects ate them and the rain rotted them. Have you ever seen the movie Girl of the Limberlost? There's a scene that kept playing in my head when there is a rainstorm and the mother is out in the rain shoveling her corn into a car (?) trying to save the harvest. that's about how I felt, fighting against the insects and time. They were crawling with beetles. The difference is that my livelihood is not dependent on it. Even if every single peanut was ruined, eaten, I could survived. However, it is still depressing and stressful watching the hard work of three-four months get consumed quickly before your eyes. Working against time. Finally all the peanuts are at the house, put out to dry in the sun (and put back up in sacks at night in case of rain). I must say that I am a tired person now, after all of the digging, plucking, sitting in the sun and carrying back to the house. Next week I will start sorting out the peanuts and see how many are empty shells (because the insects bored into them and sucked out the oils) and how many are good. Then I will know how much harvest I actually have. And also will start the soy harvesting next week. I will be glad when all is at the house and I can rest!!!

Voila behold my peanuts, drying in the sun. Lots of them yes.

Hey Claire,

when i was talking to you on the phone and said i was climbing a mountain (last week, not yesterday) this is where I was. The little buildings down there are my village. You can see my house and my field of peanuts and soy, but the photo is too small. Love you!

I miss...

Fall smells
Apples, Apple Cider, Apple Butter, Apple Pie
Warm sweaters
Winter/Fall Boots and smart wool jackets
Back to School feelings, excitement, rebirth
Evening soccer games at Klockner
Day soccer games at Darden Tow (sp?)
All the food for lunches at Dayspring Farm
Hiking in the Mountains

Haako Waigori

One of the traditional dishes I prepare a lot is Haako (leave/sauce) Waigori (melon). I thought maybe some of you back home might be interested in giving it a go, since it's ingrediant actually grows in the states, and for a taste of Cameroonian cuisine!


Haako Waigori

Ingrediants:
1 big onion
Garlic
5 cups Melon leaves torn
3 T Peanut Butter (non sweetened)
Water
Salt
If you're Cameroonian, 1 Maggi cube

Chop or tear the melon leaves into small pieces and put into a pot of water. Boil the melon leaves until they are very tender and strain them from the water. Slice through them again with a knife. Set aside.

Peel and chop onion and garlic and cook in oil until translucent. Add melon leaves and some water, and allow to cook for 5 minutes. Add salt to taste (and maggi cube if you like your msg) and some more water. Add peanut butter into the mixture last. Add or reduce water to attain a sauce consistency to your liking. Serve over rice or couscous.

This time of year there are squash vines growing all over fences, gardens and rooftops. It's been wonderful to just go out and cut some leaves and cook up a dish!

Geography/Ecology class

So I'm putting together a class for the elementary school kids, mostly the older ones, 4-5th graders which is going to be geography/ecology. Most of the people in my village have never seen a map of the world. Most believe there is one country, where all white people come from not distinguishing between America and Europe, or realizing that there are blacks or asians or any other ethnicity that live there as well. And this Europe/America/Land of the Whites might be as far or as a close as Yaounde, Nigeria, Saudi Arabia. For those who rarely leave the little village of Mafa Kilda, any place "out there" is far. So I'm going to go continent by continent, one continent at a time and talk about the weather there, the people, animals, etc. and where it's located. I am in the middle of drawing a huge map of the world on the classroom wall which we will paint in as we go continent to continent. In addition to the geography, I'm hoping to highlight on ecological lesson in each continent, for instance, comparing cows in Scotland with those here, why might the ones in Scotland have lots of hair, and the ones here have a hump? And so on. Or camoflauge with Polar bears in the Arctic. However, at the moment I am searching for nice photos (i.e. national geographics, magazines) that might show things like: cold places, deserts, snow, panda bears, polar bears, grizzly bears, birds from all over, Highland cows, Tigers, Galapogas turtles, people/clothing from all different countries, homes, landscapes. So I'm requesting your help! If any of you have any old national geographics or other old magazines that might be able to furnish some nice photos, would you be willing to cut them out and send them my way? Even if I get them in 3 months time it will help as I plan on doing the course next semester as well, and next year. And with the lack of resources here (textbooks, photos, everything) I'm sure they would be much appreciated by my following volunteer as well!

Rainy season is the Dying season

This is what I've come to understand. In the time I went to Yaounde for a few weeks I came back and about 4 people had died each week. Some were random, like a snakebite. Many are children. Rainy season brings the mosquitoes which bring the malaria. But I think also the fact that people work so hard during the farming season, they wear themselves out. Their bodies are tired and susceptible to sickness, which sometimes goes a little farther than treatable. Sometimes they die. My landlord and neighbor has been sick for over a month now and hasn't been able to farm, his family carrying most of the burden, yet not all of it, and they are forced to let some fields go. Apparently he gets sick like this every year and I wonder what it is. It pains me to see all their money go right out the window into doctor visits and medications which seem to have no effect. As crops come in they must be sold to cover the treatment. There is no getting ahead.

Trees planted 2009 season

Here's a rundown of the trees planted with me, around my region this tree planting season

Ecole Biblique
Mango 45
Lime 4
Cashew 2
Neem 5

Muslim Quartier
Mango 20
Lime 1
Neem2
Dalehi 2
Terminalia 2

Health Center
Mango 5
Neem 4
Cassia 5
Danielia 2
Guava 1

Random houses
guava 5

Medicinal field
total trees 140

Medicinal field live fence
acacia 100

Alley Cropping field
Cassia siamea 60
Leucaena leucocephela 60

Alley Cropping live fence
Acacia nilotica 100
Acacia senegal 25
Acacia polyacantha 25
Zizyphus micronata 25

Community Woodlot
Azadirachta indica 26
Albezia lebbeck 52
Dalbergia sissoo 26
Cassia siamea 169

Israel
Mango 22
Anacardium 80
Guava 87
Acacia Nilotica 300

Mangos in people’s fields
134

Verger Djakaya Jeremie
mangos 172

Lainde Karewa
Anacardium 36

Mafa Kilda chemin de l’ecole
Cassia Siamea/Neem 225

Total Trees 1969

1 year Au Cameroun

Fete de Ramadan 2009

Me at homestay with homestay mother Aissatou and "Sister" Aissatou and older Coultchoumi. They actually smiled for a photo!!!

Fete De Ramadan was a fun three days, starting on Sunday. I went to my homestay family's house Friday night to spend a few days with them. Upon arriving I found out that my little sister, the baby Coultchoumi had died about a month ago. She had always been sick and malnourished and finally didn't make it. However, all the rest of the family was there, including my homestay brother and it was a really nice visit, so relaxing, so nice to be back there, and see old friends.

Homestay father and brother Abdu (with other random boy) show me their Manioc (Cassava) and Follere field

The morning of the Fete, all the men went to a giant field in Nassarao out by the high school for the prayer. I didn't go to watch, but I sat outside our doorway and watched the parade of men walk back from the prayer to the town, all in beautiful fete clothes, old men with walking sticks, fathers with little sons in gandoras (big robe), cars, motos, people on foot. Honestly I had no idea that there were so many people in Nassarao! I had wanted to go to the Grand Mosque in Garoua to watch the prayer there, but when it came down to it, I felt bad leaving my family again after such a short visit, so I stayed put thinking maybe for Fete de Mouton, I'll go. I left shortly after that, and when I got to Garoua, the people were still leaving the Grand Mosque, hoards upon hoards of people, talk about rushhour traffic! all the beautiful colors. Seeing all the people, the seas of people, I was thinking, wow I wish everyone coming to visit me in Cameroon would come visit around a fete, to be able to see all this. This is what I want to show people.
I got all dressed up, all prettied up, with my hair braided, henna on my hands and feet, my new clothes and went to a concert in the afternoon/evening with Jessie, Emily and Cameroonian friends. It was a group called Waam, sponsored by the Alliance who are amazing. They are a traditional Northern music/jazz fusion and I love their sound.

Waam frontman Alpha Barry

The next day I spent visiting a few neighbors, like Stephanie (an old education volunteer who lived in Garoua) neighbors, which was really nice. This is the typical pasttime around Fete. Everyone goes to relatives and friends houses to visit, eat, sit together.
The evening of the second day were the horse races as well, which of course I couldn't miss. There were only three races so it went by quickly but there was a little performance by XMaleya, a hit group from the south of Cameroon during it and all the fanfare with the Lamido of Garoua, so the whole event was a little longer.
The third day of the Fete I went back home and Jessie met me there and we walked behind the mountains to the village of Israel. Their Fete was completely different, almost the same as any other day in the Foulbe villages, with the men sitting on mats eating by the mosque. However this time they were all in their finest attire. We sat and talked a bit and then went walking even further, another 30 minutes or so out into the country, the real "stix." Where the kids were having a dance out there with the cows. No adults were allowed, no parents, although there were a few "chaperones," unmarried men around the age of 23 or so. Even little kids aged 6 went. They danced and danced and danced, and played their games until around 1 or 2 am. Jessie and I only made it to 10 pm before heading back to turn in! But it was something to see, something to experience. Magical.

Foulbe kids who are in love with the camera

Where are we now?

People are harvesting. Big brown piles of peanut plants all over the fields--the discarded peanut plants whose peanuts have already been taken.
The millet has become a work of art...before all green with a bit of white. Now, ripening, a mix of striking colors...green stalks, some of which are turning yellow. White unripe heads contrasted against the ripened ones which are now a range of bright red to maroon. All those colors together in one little swath of space. And being harvested as well.
Corn stakls are drying up. Butaali yori. I used to think plants, crops dried up and gave their harvest when there was no more water (here) or the weather got too cold (home). But as it goes the crops have a natureal lifespan of a certain amount of days and are dying now as that time is up. I guess I didn't think about it but imagined that as long as there were suitable temperatures nad enough rain they would go on growing and producing, like trees. I guess that's a funy though. But it is strange having lots of rain lately, falling all around, and instead of things popping up growing green, the corn is drying up before our eyes, turning yellow. "No, no! Wait!" I find myself shouting internally, remembering the red, white, orange landscape without a trace of real green through the dry season, and not feeling ready for that.
Villagers are hanging bunches of corn from branches, from porches, from roofs as we do for Thanksgiving decorations, for them, drying it in the sun. And some of it is a bright yellow variety that also, drying in clusters hanging around is striking and beautiful--bright gold clusters of color. The peanuts and other greens--okra, follere, squash leaves-- are strewn on the ground to dry in the sun after harvest. Peanuts on the ground and greens on plastic sacks/tarp.
Squash is growing everywhere, the vines tendrilling up on thatch roofs, giving a whimsical fairyland appearance to most family compounds. And cooking squash leave sauce is one of my favorite things, meals here! Delicious. That added to the happy pink and white flowers that line every little path in village during rainy season do make it seem like a fairytale village.
These days as the sun sets it does marvelous things. I'm sure it does marvelous things all times of year as it sets. I know that for a fact. But lately it takes my breath away and makes me think "Wow, its amazing I'm here--I wish everyone at home could see this." The grass has grown tall and much if it has gone to seed so that the tops are wisps of red or purple or white. Looking into the sun as it sets, it lights on the grasses and turns everything golden, alive and bright and soft. Looking away from the sun, as its setting and just after, the whole world has a purple tint. The red mud of the houses, the grey is straw thatch roofs, the orange and blond paths, the red tipped grasses, as the sun sets all acquire a velvety purple, maroon hue, that melds so well together it becomes a monochromatic world, as if the air itself is purple and gives the tint to everything. It is beautiful.
School more or less has started up for children, though they tend to wander back to classes when their family is ready, either done with them in the fields or finding money for school fields, or remembering a little after the fact! Still, adults are in full fieldwork with the harvest. When does it shift from planting season to weeding season to harvesting season? It is one smooth cycle, through all the summer months. But now officially we are all in the harvesting season I believe...But wait...the rest of the dry season will soon come, and I'm sure people, their bodies especially, are looking forward to that rest, the lack of labor, the sitting around and shelling peanuts in the company of friends.

Yaounde trips

I am in Yaounde again for the second time in three weeks. Late August I came down for a week for the Steering Committee meeting for Agroforestry, and now I am back for a planning workshop to plan training for the new Health and Agroforestry volunteers who will be arriving here September 18th! Crazy to think they are in the same spot as us, one year ago. These two meetings have gone really well, and I have really enjoyed being a part of them. They have been both productive and insightful. The agroforestry program is undergoing a change of project plan, transitioning from much more agriculture farmer leader training program to a broader program which will emphasize four points: 1) Tree propogation, planting 2) Soil Fertility 3) Income Generating agriculture related projects, concepts, and 4) Environmental Education. The new project framework, which will cover the next 10 years, will allow for more flexibility and breadth of work for agroforestry volunteers. The fact is that because agroforestry extension volunteers are off in the bush with little schedule, most have already been doing such work as EE, income generating projects, as well as even broader activities as health and water projects, volunteering at local health centers, etc. But expanding the project framework will allow at least space for reporting such activities, and giving more of a longterm focus and unity of purpose with such activities.
And being in Yaounde twice has been very fun, very lovely. I had the choice of staying down here for an extra week between the two meetings, because traveling all the way back up to the north and then back down for one week, is, well, a lot. But I couldn't think of being away from my post for three whole weeks, and there were a few things I wanted to get done...a few trees to put in the ground, the paperwork with WWF being wrapped up and turned in, so I went back to village for a week and then headed back down. Surprisingly, with all the traveling, I was really excited to come back to Yaounde. I swore to myself that I'd eat ice cream every day, and though it is Ramadan, I worked it out pretty well, buying big bowls of it during the day and stashing it in the freezer to save for the evening. In fact, I gained maybe 10 pounds, thus back up to my pre-peace corps weight, ha. Didn't really weigh myself, but think it might be around there. Just wait till I get back to village, people will comment on how great I look, each one saying "Wow, you've gained a lot of weight!" This is a compliment in the highest form. Some other Yaounde highlights: 1) a lovely dinner with a lovely woman from the Embassy, with 5 other Embassy workers. Learned all about the Foreign service through interesting conversation over delicious Indian food. 2) getting together with a Cameroonian Rasta painter who took me to an art shop in the city where I bought some oil paints. Yay! SOOOO excited to get back to post and work on them. 3) Watching an African dance class, which, were I posted in Yaounde, I would without a doubt sign up for, but alas, two days journey is a bit far to travel for that. 4) getting to know some other very cool agroforestry volunteers who are posted in the south, and who unfortunately will be heading out of Cameroon in December. It's sad to just make their acquaintance now.
On top of that, as I said, the actual meetings, while rigorous, have been good and productive, working on the schedule for training (where to put in all those language, safety, medical and technical blocks) as well as the training manual and technical session subjects. I would love to be a part of the actual training, but this year it is held in the south and all the new volunteers will be replacing the grand south volunteers, so I think it's a bit to far to go again. Next Yaounde trip, December, for mid-service medical exams.

"I hate technology...but not as much as poo you see. But I still hate techonology"

I'm hoping you sang the title to the tune of "I love techonology" in Napolean Dynamite because that is what I was singing in my head. (I only wrote poo because I couldn't think of something else to rhyme with "You" and I don't hate "You." I don't really hate poo, unless of course amoebas are involved)

So this week as reaffirmed my lifelong difficulty, lack of affinity with, and frequent dislike of techonology as I have watched three of my most "techonologically advanced" apparatuses malfunction, start to say their goodbyes, and generally make my life frustrating.

My camera: starting with my trip to Limbe back in June, my camera began acting up. I think it's telling me "Too many beaches, too much sand." Sometimes it has trouble opening up, taking photos and sometimes just refuses altogether to take photos. In addition, I've noticed recently there is a dark smudge on all of my photos. Great. So, who knows how many more photos I'll be taking. Enjoy the ones you've seen! My hopes are not too high on finding a place here that can/will clean/fix it.

My USB key: I got to the office one day recently to find that my USB key was filled with viruses. Some of the staff told me there was a computer lab down the block that would clean it for me. I walked the 10 minutes down the block in the full sun, always a joy, sat for a while while they looked at it and worked on it and finally told me, "ok, it's all done, it's good to go. no more viruses." Walked the 10 minutes back to the office now in fuller sun. Plugged in the computer. Same amount of viruses. Yay.

My computer: And then this is the big one. Recently, for the past five months or so, my computer has been sending me messages that virual memory is too low. I kept ignoring them slightly, trying to delete certain files here and there, compressing things, etc. But finally it's giving out. Now there is no longer enough space for a lot of programs to function correctly. I just spent a few hours stressfully going through and after uploading my photos online, deleting all my photos, trying to delete other unnecessary programs, going online to find virus software, and none of it even made a dent. Im' not sure if it's just old and giving in as well or if there is a virus that's eating up all the space. I'm assuming the latter, but don't know how to fix it. Why are there not more computer volunteers in the north??? My computer has served me for a good 6 years now, so I shouldn't complain and I'm not. I should probably just unplug it and put it to rest on the shelf...but it's hard to do, when I still want to upload photos from my camera, etc. And all of these things adding up recently has been, well not so pleasant. But I guess that's the downside of being priviledged enough to have those technology items in the first place...and become a bit accustomed to them.

Its a good thing I don't have anything more advanced, such as a nice Ipod or Iphone or blackberry. Surprisingly, many volunteers do. And I am glad that I did not buy anything new for the trip, as I figured the chances of it being stolen/ruined by heat, rain, dust were pretty high.

What to do now? Again I would hesitate buying something new for the above said reasons, so it looks like I'll be flying even more technologically solo from now on. I'll keep using my camera until it gives out for good, although I've got to take it somewhere to see if it can be cleaned b/c the black smudge is a bit too much on all my photos now. The computer is sad. No more burning CDs, no more using my own computer to type up work (sad because often the one volunteer computer in the office will have a waiting line), no more looking at all my old photos from college and the years after that flash up on my screen as a screensaver and make me smile and think of home. Oh well. I will survive, because afterall we do survive without techonology, as long as the world doesn't expect us to keep up.

And that brings up an interesting phenomenon in Peace Corps these days, which I have noted and we have been discussing a little bit with other volunteers, and that is this: Back in the 60s, with the beginning of Peace Corps, there were no laptops, volunteers were not handed cell phones in their third day in country, there was not internet at an arms length from post. Volunteers were put in the bush (in many cases) and carried on their lives with snail mail and supplies trips to capital cities every now and then, much more independent, much more isolated. Throughout the years, especially the past ten, techonological advances have been made in the developing world. Enter internet cafes, cell phones, volunteers arriving with laptops, skype. Especially in major cities, and Yaounde, the country capital, this is certainly the case and communication and techonology is just as advanced as what I was used to at home, with perhaps a few more glitches as machines act up, and maybe a little slower. (however this could be chalked up to poor machines bought on a Peace Corps budget). And the Peace Corps administration has run along with this advanced pace of life and new freedom, speed and ? with which to communicate and run its office. Here's the problem. While the rest of the country (major cities) are advancing, and many volunteers are in cities with access to all of these advances, many volunteers are still in "the bush" placed in tiny villages with no running water or electricity or cell phone reception, let alone internet, hours on poor roads from big cities and high speed communication. Basically still in the typical "Peace Corps situation" of 40 years ago. (perhaps more so for volunteers in the north, yet not limitted to, as I think of volunteers in the East Province who are two-three days journey from the country capital...they are out there) And the problem is that it feels like the administration forgets about this, and expects the rest of us to keep up with the changes "down south," or rather "in urbanity." Volunteer reports must be submitted digitally, on an excell program.

I find this whole phenomenon very interesting, and often at times very frustrating. So how's technology in the states of late? what's all this "twitter" deal? .....I dont' know.....:)

Ramadan

Ramadan began 5 days ago on Saturday. I had thought about fasting since last year when we arrived around the end of Ramadan. It lasts a month, and this year started a little early as compared at least to last year, as it is based on moon cycles. The month name is "Soumaye" and those fasting would say "mi don souma." (I am fasting). Or maybe it's an irregular verb and would be "mi soumi." I'm not sure. (not to be confused with mi sommi which means I'm sleepy).
So I'm taking it day by day and seeing how it goes. I missed the first days, being in Yaounde and forgetting, but then upon returning have been fasting sunup to sundown. It is a really neat experience. Although I am not strict fasting. I am just refraining from eating, and allowing drinking. My Muslim brothers and sisters here do not drink anything, even water, and saliva also should not be swallowed (the result I remember comically from my homestay brother, as when we were walking everywhere he kept spitting every few feet.) I figure I am still a temperate American and it is still hot here--going all day working in fields or walking around without drinking water might not go for me personally right now. Fasting from sunup to sundown means that you rise early while it's still dark to prepare breakfast. I remember in my homestay waking up and hearing the call to prayer and hearing the women up and about, people coming by, cooking, eating, like a party, while it was still dark. And then you eat a big dinner again when it is dark. Sunsets here around 6:30pm. I remember also in college going to the Arabic house a couple of times to celebrate the "iftar", breaking of the fast, and it was such a nice community feeling, all coming together so much good food, sharing. So with breakfast and dinner, it is really just fasting from lunch, and any snacks during the day. Fasting generally is a good practice and one I personally have not practiced much. It is good to know what it is like to be hungry. It is a blessing to know that at the end of the day there is food if I want it--to buy or prepare. It is a good experience to know a little more about what other people practice and believe and experience. And I also believe that it opens you up to possible spiritual lessons God might want to teach you. It also teaches you so many other fun things, like how crabby you can be (and how to be nice and sweet and gentle even when you feel crabby and angry and hungry) when you don't eat every few hours! It is a challenge, true, but a good challenge. And think of this: so often volunteers dream with salivating mouths about all the food available in America, which is not available here. We often dream about food. So now picture how fasting from Cameroonian food, during the daytime, going hungry, how much that makes you appreciate what is available here! I am so happy to eat nyeri and haako and beans and beignets and eggs and bread at the end of the day, even if there is little variety!

Sitting and watching

How many times have I written about hos sitting is a major occupation for me here? Just sitting. It is a completely different pace of life. I am often sitting on my front porch watching things. I find I can pass hours at a time just watching the kittens nursing, playing, talking with their mama, sleeping. And I'm just sitting here looking at them. That's what life here does to you. And I can't say I'm bored, because there are million things I coudl do if I wanted to--I have all my art supplies, write letters, go for a run, visit and talk with friends. All these thigns tht could and would occupy my time at home in the states. But here, time is often passed by doing nothing but sitting and wathcing. I'm not sure why that is--is it really that the pace of life here rubs off on you? That because that's what everyone else does, I fall into that rhythm as well? That there just seems to be so much time sometimes, no 9-5 job, no rushing from one thing to the next, more living, so days run into days and hours to hours, and what day of the week it is rarely matters except to inform which market it is. So here I am, more than I ever thought I would be, just sittinga nd watching--looking at things, my garden, trails of ants, leila, kittens, clouds. And as odd as that seems to me, and as much as I remind myself how I had intended to spend all the "Peace Corps down time," writing essays, books, reading, drawing, exercicing, stretching, and general "self-improvement" I am oddly ok with the sitting, although it still amazes me. And still I manage to garner expressions of "You work so much, you do so much, you're always going here, there, you're never at home!" from all my neighbors and friends. Goes to show you the contrast of American way fo life and that here. And currently I am right int he middle. Imagine what my friends in village would think, if they witnessed first hand our frenetic pace of life in the States, where here they think I'm over-occupied if I have one activity a day. It's true that while the developed world might be rich in money, goods, availability and facility of life, the undeveloped world is rich in time. So we in the developed world, do we throw away those riches by trading them in for time, selling ourselves short, never having enough time, enough life to live? Time flies in America. Here too, sometimes it flies. But mostly it crawls. Or rather, it doesn't really exist, until after, after years and years have passed.

Rahmani's daughter Adama

I walked to Israel Saturday night. I was late getting back from Garoua because of rain and walking (practically running) against the approaching dusk. I knew I couldn't make it all the way to Israel before dark (two hours walking) but I knew I could make it to the first Foulbe Ladde village, and there either ask to spend the night at the chief Bouba Rarou's house, hang out with his wife (who he told me speaks knows french!) and talk about trees, or else ask one of them to accompany me the rest of the way. When I got there I stumbled upon his fathers compound, and he told me Bouba had gone to Garoua with his wife who was sick. I talked to his father a while instead and he was very very nice, very sweet, sitting in a field by a fire, cooking something to drink. It is hard to find one's way around the villages now with the corn way over head high. He sent me on my way with one of the boys in his family and we arrived at Israel around twilight. A guy on the path told us Rahmani (one of my friends from that village, the most hospitable, outgoing and talkative Foulbe Ladde I've ever met, where I would be spending the night) had gone to the hospital because his daughter was sick but he would be back. By the time I got there and left my guide praying at the mosque, they were all back. I walked into the compound and Rahmani's wife was holding Adama their baby, two years old, who was crying loudly. They had taken her to the health center in Karewa where the doctors said it was malaria, as they do routinely, and had given her a shot. They came home. I thought perhaps the intense crying was because of the shot. There were quite a few people at the house and they had resorted to traditional remedies of I don't know what, but something cooked over fire, something from Nigeria. She had fallen sick abruptly around 4 pm. And wasn't getting better. After a while she stopped the crying and they laid her on the bed in their bedroom. Whereas the end of crying should have been a relief, in this case I think it was a turn for the worse. Throughout the night people came, mostly women, sitting with the mother. Young boys in groups also came around. Rahmani stayed outside mostly and maybe men came and stayed with him. Finally, after a while, I went to bed. The morning I came out, got up around 6:30 and the baby was still in bed. Her eyes were open, but were tracking back and forth, and she wasn't seeing or responding to people. There was always at least one older woman there, with the mother. I sat with them a bit longer and had nothing to say when they asked "What should we do, what sickness is it, does it happen like this in your country, what should we give her?" More people came by visiting and leaving. I went back to the "guest hut". One of the grandmothers was holding the baby, mother was getting water. And then I heard her start crying and came out of my hut and Adama had died. Just like that. It was over. So fast a life departs. It was about 8:30 am. The mother started keening and immediately women started coming. As soon as the women came within three feet of the room they started crying as well, and sometimes you could hear them coming through the village, approaching, crying. And so everyone hears the crying and comes and the news spreads through the village. And it was awful. Yet the solidarity. The fact that while she was sick, everyone came by, the whole village is there with you. And when she died the whole village was there--all the women sitting outside (and inside too) the hut for hours. The old women took her and bathed her behind the room. They undid her braids. They cut up a white sheet and had perfume too and they wrapped her in it. Finally after hours they took her to bury her, the mother and other women still in the hut. By the time I was leaving, around noon, the word was spreading and Mborroros from surrounding villages-Karewa, Lainde, Djeffatou, Ngong even, were arriving, meeting at the mosque to support the family. The morning would last a few days.
It was awful. And so many questions. What was the sickness? What do you do? So much feeling of powerlessness. They took her to the health center and still she died. What do you do? Dabare walla. Dabare walla.

My pepiniere season 2009

For those of you who might be fellow agroforesters in tropical or sahelian areas and might be curious, these are the trees I produced in my personal pepiniere this season. I planted a good amount more but had low success rate with some of the species. Still others did very well. And the pepiniere has been such a wonderful thing for me, each morning and evening going through, watering, looking at which trees sprouted, which are growing well, recording germination times and growth rates. Truly I'm sad to see the season coming to an end. Daily my trees are emptying out as I plant them in my fields, around the house, take them to peoples houses, and people come over to take them. It has been one of the biggest joys to tell people in passing if they want a tree, to come over to my house. They come and they see which ones are available and the know exactly which one they want. They choose it, and walk home with it like it is a treasure. (And hopefully they plant it! haha.) I am very excited about expanding it next season, with more plants and more numbers! I particularly interested in going in the mountains to collect seed of wild trees and work on planting those. Most pepinieres only produce a certain amount of well-known species: maybe fruit trees, cassia siameas, neems, and trees with spines (acacia nilotica, senegal, and polyacantha as well as the zizyphus's). But i'm interested in working on introducing other species to our production and especially those which the villagers know and use (for food, or medicine) en brousse.


Carica papaye (Papaya) 12
Moringa oliefera 13
Moringa stenopetela 2
Leucaena leucocephela 55
Cassia siamea 60
Acacia Polyacantha 26
Acacia Senegal 20
Acacia Nilotica 8
Acacia Seyal 1
Dalbergia Sissoo 2
Fhederbia albida 3
Albezia Lebbeck 25
Office tree (unknown name) 2
(Flamboyant) 14
Khaya senegalensis (Cailcedrat) 5
Danielia oliveri 3
Zizyphus Mauritania 15
Combretum (unknown species) 9
Bauhinia large 3
Bauhinia small 10
Thevetia 10
Azadiracta indica (Neem) 1
Total Trees Produced (roughly) 299

Sing while losing a friend--Leila RIP March 1-July 28

Tuesday night after a particularly frustrating day, I got back to my house around 5:00. I was almost in tears on the walk home, frustrated and angry with a former "friend" who is now trying to steal money I lent him when he was sick, avoiding me whenever I try to find him, evidently intending to avoid me in order to never pay it back. I got home, sat down on my bed outside, and two of the 5 year old neighborhood girls came over, informing me in Fulfulde "Elizabeth, your dog died. A car." I walked up to the road with the girls, thinking in my head, "no, no no no no." There were a few kids playing around the road, and I asked them "Where?" I couldn't see any thing and the whole time was thinking, maybe she was just hit, maybe she'll be ok. But they pointed, and there she was on the other side of the road down a ditch on a bed of grass. I imagine she died instantly which is good. It is also good that I didn't see it. I sat there and cried for a little while before picking her up and taking her back to the house. I was so sad, and so frustrated, thinking, "why this now?" Life is hard enough here as it is, why does my best friend here have to be taken away too? You don't know. I would say that she was probably my biggest joy in my life here, along with Fulfulde, and work with some of the communities. So this has been a hard week. At first I thought, well what's the point? I don't really want to work any more. I don't really have much desire to be here anymore. Maybe some of you might think it's a little sappy or silly to have a blog posting about a dog dying (and if so, haha, you'd be thinking very Cameroonian!)It is one thing that I am an animal person, and love animals very much. It is another thing on top of that to be in a different culture, where the life and work is frustrating a lot of the time, where you're always speaking a foreign language, where sometimes you feel like you will always be an outsider, where you don't have the friendships you had back at home. So for me, Leila really was my best friend here, always greeting me whenever I came home, always there at the house, going with me to the field, to the mountains, sleeping with me during thunderstorms, and outside any night. Two of my friends came over the first two nights and stayed with me, which really helped, one of them the next morning digging a grave for her, and burying her with me, and then staying and helping me with work in my field and getting water and chores around the house. Thursday night was the first night for me sleeping by myself in the house since I'd moved there, and it was very empty, very lonely. However, life continues, and I am learning how it is simply that "Leila's not here any more." I am happy that she had the best life possible for a dog, running free, having lots of love and shelter and food, having fun. I'm happy that she and I could be together a little bit. And also that in the beginning, when I really hadn't developed a lot of relationships, that were close, she was there for me. Some of the people in Mafa Kilda have been really surprisingly sweet. I say surprisingly just become the idea of dogs/pets here is completely different. There is not the connection or importance for animals as "chez nous" but on top of that dogs in particular are looked down on as mangy, dirty, not really valued creatures. So most people were just like "Don't cry (crying is also not appreciated or allowed--I sure am sharing goal Peace Corps number 3 with them!). Just find another one. Just get another dog. That's all. It's no big deal." But then my neighbor came over and just sat with me the first night for a while, not saying anything. And her husband, my landlord joined us a bit later, and kept saying "Oh it's awful. It's terrible. It hurts." And I'd say, "It's ok, it'll be alright, it happens." And he'd respond "No but it's awful." And they'd check on me the next few days. It was as if they understood. As they would because the whole neighborhood, and especially their family loved her as well. And the students of the pastors school astounded me, as they heard through the grapevine and actually came to see me and offer condolences! That does not happen when a Cameroonian's dog dies. I think some of them knew she was like my child, comparatively. That night I wrote down my favorite memories and things I was thankful for for her, and maybe I'll add them, or maybe I'll just send them to my family, who perhaps are the only ones that would appreciate that and not think I'm going absolutely overboard with being sad about a pet. Life goes on, and now Leila is no more. Or maybe a butterfly.

My friend Jessie wrote a song for me and Leila that night that she died. It has a beautiful melody and I wish I could upload the singing, but alas all I can do is the words. We sang it together when we planted flowers on her grave.

Jessie's Song:

Leila, Leila, Why'd you have to go?

Leila, Leila, Some things we'll never know,

Oh Leila, Leila, Leila my friend,

Oh Leila, Leila, I'll remember you until the end, it's true,

Oh Leila, Leila, Leila goodbye.

Leila, Leila from now on, to me, a butterfly you'll be,

Oh Leila, Leila, Leila, Leila, Leila Bright Eyes,
Leila, Leila, Leila Goodbye.

Rain situation

We are now midway through July and the rains have not increased in frequency from June at all, in no way increased as they are supposed to. We’re having about one rain a week, sometimes more than a week between rains. The situation is not good and the villagers are absorbed in their anxieties. A few weeks ago everyone was asking “Where are the rains? What’s happening, what are we going to do?” There were still many many people who have not yet plowed or planted and are waiting for a good rain to be able to do it. It has only rained a few times since then, so maybe the lack of those incredulous questions now is the sign of a relinquishing and accepting of defeat on some measure. The lack of rains affect all aspects of life in communities that are based on farming. My work of tree planting has screeched to a halt and I find myself no farther along with intended projects than in beginning June. This is a bit bewildering as I had thought all would be in the ground by this point, and I’m not sure if it will all work out. Not only because we need to wait for the rain to plant, but because everything in life here is connected to farming, most especially economics. There is a group in neighboring Lainde Karewa who wants to plant one field of anacardium (cashew fruit) and on field of mangos. They are being helped by WWF who pays 75% the price of fruit trees for reforestation. They have the land, they have dug all the holes, and we are ready at any moment to plant the trees. However they don’t yet have the 25% of the money. They too are waiting for the rains because then they can find work to raise the money: ploughing or planting someone’s field for pay. So lack of rain means lack of resources for money. And so we still wait. I find myself immersed in the same anxieties, wondering if it will ever rain in time to get all the proposed trees planted, anxieties about wanting the trees to do well. If we are already in mid-July and only have one and a half good months of rain left, will the trees even take hold and be strong enough to survive the dry season? If they die, all that work and money for nothing. I hate that as a possibility for villagers, yet is always a possibility. And there are the anxieties about percentages of trees; WWF requires that at least 40% of all trees planted with their reforestation project be fruit trees and 60% or less “forest” species. I’m sure that this policy emerged well-intentioned from the desks somewhere, people thinking something along the lines of “we need to encourage people to plant fruit trees to improve their nutrition or income.” However on the ground it is really crippling, as many people want to plant forest species, to integrate agroforestry techniques into their farms. People want fruit trees, yes, but they are expensive. And the differences of one field of mangos (25 trees) and one field of cassia siamea for alley cropping (156 trees) is huge. It was difficult finding enough groups who wanted to plant orchards to begin with to balance out the wood plantations, but now all of a sudden I have many groups who originally proposed fields of fruit trees, who are now pulling out, and I’m getting really worried. If the numbers don’t balance out to 40/60 WWF will not pay for the trees and everyone will be hurt. So I’m trying to figure out how to handle that and hoping people will drop out of the sky who want to put some mangos or anacardiums or citrus I n the ground. And in the meantime sitting and waiting.

balanced diet and eating--seasonal and local

Going south and seeing the abundance of fruit and veggies, the ease with which to find food, made us reflect or realize again how difficult it is in the north to feed oneself. So I thought I'd write an entry on my eating habits. In the land of no electricity (refrigeration) and weekly markets it is literally impossible to achieve a balanced diet on a daily basis, let alone on a meal basis. More attainable is on a weekly basis, which is what I aim for. Many volunteers ahve the same sxperience I have in that when we find something (whether in season, or a novelty) we eat a lot of it, because we won't necessarily have it again next week or tomorrow. I found zucchini for the first time in the Garoua market last week. So I bought two big ones and then proceeded to eat them for two days, lunch and supper, lightly cooked in a skillet with onions and then breaded and fried-delicious! It is true you really appreciate the taste of something when you haven't eaten it in nine months, and I recalled conversations around the table in my sustainable agriculture class in college, talking about how having tomatoes available all year round (yet tomatoes that are not necessarily very flavourful) takes away something from the delight and pure pleasure of tasting that first tomato of the season. Lack of refrigeration means that I can't cook a lot and then save it. Or buy a lot and save it. So if I cook a lot, I eat a lot, and also share a lot with neighbors, because much better giving it away than it going bad in one day in a hot kitchen. And tonight, for dinner, I ate 8 small bananas. Bananas are hard to get up in the north, however Mafa Kilda has some land with enough water all year round that people grow bananas. They are small, about 5 inches, and not always around, but sometimes a girl will come to the carrefour with a plate of bananas for sale, which is what happened this morning. And when that does happen I try to take advantage of it. I bought them thinking I'd save them over the course of a few days but then ended up eating all of them for dinner because I was too tired to cook, or think up something else to make with onions pasta and one tomato. Milk is another example. As much as I've tried I still can't get used to (or even swallow, much) powdered milk here, so when I can, I buy fresh milk from the Foulbe Ladde. And I am blessed to have a quartier in my village where they live. So if I want milk, I walk ten minutes to one of their houses and wait until one of the kids comes back from the cows in the morning, who are kept about 20 km away en brousse. If I wait too long all the milk and yogurt is taken to Garoua where the women sell it on the streets. When I buy it, I usually buy 1-2 liters because it is not worth boiling only a bit or walking there every morning. However, without a refrigerator it doesnt really keep, so that means I often drink 1.5-2 liters at a time--in one day. (I don't complain) Food of course goes in and out of season too. Now, mangos and tomatoes are out of season, meaning before I could find mangoes everywhere and now, not. Now, while tomatoes are still to be found in the big markets, their price is much higher. Eating seasonally and locally is such a popular conversation in the States right now, and I feel blessed to really be living that life and knowing what its like. You understand about local foods in that when you go south, pineapples, coconuts, and bananas are everywhere. They grow there. They don't grow in the North. And I could find them in the streets of Garoua but for more expensive. So it is really something special to go on a trip to the south, and not only to taste those things, but to bring them back as gifts. I plan out my meals accordingly, taking into account when I have access to certain things in town. When I go to Garoua, I usually try to eat a salad at a restaurant or on the street, to get fresh vegetables, and if I go out to a "nice" restaurant (rarely) I usually eat fish, due to two facts, that restaurants don't offer any vegetarian dishes here and that I figure its probably good every once and a while to get some fish protein. Other than that, my protein comes from beans, eggs and dairy. My diet is made up mostly of beans, bread, onions, tomatoes, dairy, lots of eggs, a few other cooked veggies I can find, cous cous, and lots of sauce leaves. One of the local dishes is Follere, (sorrel at home) and I have a follere forest growing in my compound now, so just go out and pick off the leaves of the plant and cook them in sauces to go with rice or pasta.
While it snot as "perfect" as perhaps perscribed in Western diets and not what I was used to, I have to say that I think its still fine and am feeling very healthy. If I aim for the balanced diet across a week, I think there are no problems. We've got it way better here than Chad, where volunteers eat pasta every day!
(Butter just also came into season! Yay!)

So driving in the car today....

So this morning I took a car to Nakong, to the market, with a box of 5 mangos to plant at a Foulbe Ladde school. At some point along the bumpy road, with two people in the front passenger seat and four of us in the back, the driver turned around to hand a handle, a handle of the car for manually rolling up and down the window. He said something with the word jipugo in it, meaning to get down. The guy in the back said "Mi jipinan, na?" something along the lines of "I throw out, let it out, put it down." And I thought he was told to throw it out the window which he had just rolled down. And then, instead of throwing it out, he passed it to the lady on the other side of me. It was then returned to the driver. And I realized it was the communal handle, one handle in the car that was passed around to roll down peoples windows. I started laughing when I realized that, as I found it so funny, and thought I'd share that smile with you guys.

All levels, all classes

I have been thinking lately about how, as Peace Corps volunteers, we are in very privileged positions, being able to connect, while possibly not belong, to people here on every class level. Perhaps because we will always be outsiders, and never quite fit into any of the structures in place, we are able to develop relationships and form friendships with members of all different levels of society here: government administrators, traditional leaders, wealthy business people, small village farmers, "immigrants" from the south, university educated, high school students, illiterate adults, nomadic herders, Foulbe majority, small ethnic minorities, men, women, children. All these people somehow feel that we are relevent to their lives, or at least, which is even better, feel comfortable approaching us, sharing time together, sharing conversation and being friends. And I take great comfort in that fact, that I can enter the "foyers" of any of these groups and sit with them and talk, and listen, and feel at home, whether it is a spacious palace, or a tight city neighborhod, a country small compound, a mud hut. It struck me how true that was, and got me thinking about it two days ago, when I was flagged down by one of the local princes in the streets of Garoua to catch up on lives. As soon as he pulled away in his SUV, I heard another shout "Elizabeth!" and looked across the street to a construction worker friend who ran over to hug me after spending 6 months in Yaounde with a sick sister. And the more I think about that, and realize it, I feel very blessed to be in such a position, and to realize that blessing, for in our own lives at home, often in understanding social structures, we have an understanding of where we belong. I must say that in America, those social structures are a lot less rigid than here, and people of different economic means might have more opportunity of interacting and sharing with each other. Such lines are more blurry. However here, there are so many social strata, and often incredible importance put on that, whether in the realm of ethnicity, or wealth. So even more so, I feel privileged to be granted a position as a PCV to interact, and be seen as a friend, and get a window into so many different lives of different types of people here. I am thankful for that.

Festival de la Musique--Sunday, June 21

Sunday afternoon, Jessie, Emily, Pete and I went into Garoua for a Festival of Music put on by the Alliance Franco-Cameroonais, a cultural center here in Garoua. The Alliance supports a lot of musicians, both traditional and hip hop artists, as well as a group of artisans who work in leather, wood, silver and painting. They have many many cultural activities as well...Senegalais dinner and movie, documentary film showings, discussions and conferences, dance and music classes, a nursery of plants, an outdoor stage/auditorium where performances take place. and library. And the landscaping there is fantastic, so very beautiful with flowers and trees everywhere. It is there that I take fulfulde lessons once a week. And it is also a sort of sanctuary of sorts, offering so much culture and artistic activities and reminding me in a way of college. It used to be that when I went to the Alliance, it was like entering a different world, so different from village life. Now, as I have become friends with a lot of the people there, and meet them outside the Alliance, for drinks or hanging out, as they have become part of my "other life" the lines are more blurred and it doesn't seem so very different. But at the beginning, the first 5 months or so, when I walked in there, it was such a relief, and I often go there to write and find a little bit of peace and beauty.
But as I was saying....the festival. The festival was held in a park near the bank and about 20 musicians played starting at 4pm. The first set was artists and groups who played just one song each. Included below are some photos, of one group of Chadian musicians and dancers. Music was performed in French, Fulfulde, and a few, I believe in arabic. Rap is very popular at the Alliance, with the young people, so there were quite a few rappers as well. The second set was about 3 or 4 groups including our friends in Sahel Hip Hop, and a group called Waam doing traditional music, who was fantastic. Their traditional guitar player/singer was incredible. The final performance was the artist Isnebo, who is one of the gods/kings of the North. He is very well known, plays in the US and Europe and lives now in Yaounde I believe, although he is from Garoua. I enjoyed most of the concert and was getting tired and almost ready to go home. But as soon as he started playing, I was transfixed. Not only does he have an amazing voice but is very charismatic and had so much energy on stage. I seriously could have listened to him for the rest of the week straight. When it was over, finally around 11pm, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to take him with me or sit at his feet for the rest of the night, week whatever. I believe that night, during and after his performance, I might have been the happiest I have been in Cameroon. I was certainly high off of it. He was/is a fantastic musician, a singer who sang only, and spoke mostly in Fulfulde for all of the night. I actually recognized his first song from a world music album-africa and the middle east. (the entire performance I thought of Bashir, and how much he would have loved and appreciated it and how much I wished he was there to hear!) If anyone has a chance you should check out his CD. I am in the midst of frantically hunting it down so I can listen to it daily....

I thought I'd take this time to share a few cultural notes on musical performances in Cameroon. Ferrete-ing: I am not sure if this is the correct spelling for this french (?) term, which is the practice of giving money to performing musicians. (should be an accent on the last E and silent T) But this is a big custom here and fun to watch as well. At traditional events: Fantasias, parades, weddings, where traditional music is played, while the musicians play, members in the audiance stand up and give the musicians money. Often the money always in bill form is slapped on the forehead of the musicians. Or else tucked into the clothing of the musician. A way to thank the musicians, but also a way to show off your wealth if you are a grand Al-Adji. Sometimes an al-adji will pull out many many bills (the more bills, the more he shows off) and the first bill will be placed on the forehead and after that the bills will be thrown out onto the ground one by one. The rest of the crowd is sure to notice how many bills and what quantity of each! In other cases, this is not necessarily used to show off your wealth but to applaud whoever is performing (whether dancing or playing music). Examples: at a wedding I went to, there were hired professional dancers, but at one point the bride's mother and two aunts, three very large women, went out there and started shaking their butts to one song. People in the audience laughted and a few ran out and started throwing bills onto the ground for them. In a way to joke and say "yes you are a professional performer, we thank you," etc. At the concert, many people jumped up on stage and ferrete-ed many different musicians, to thank or to joke...thanking those that were really good, joking to support and encourage those who maybe were a little on the lower par (usually their friends), but appreciating their passion and interest in music.

Wiping the Brow: Along similar lines, often when a musician is performing really well, or is really appreciated, people from the audience will run (or dance) on stage and wipe their brow. This is during the performance, and there is no break in the singing or playing, which means that sometimes over enthousiastic brow wipers get in the way of the music by blocking the singers mouth. But that's how it goes. A way to show honor and praise and appreciation: we will wipe the sweat off your face because you are working to play us good music.

Communal Stage: One thing that is very interesting to me, and that I like, about the above things, is that at music performance (not so much the official ceremonies with big figures of lamidos and other traditional leaders present) anyone at all can go up there. You don't have to be a rich figure. Going beyond that though, anyone at all can get on the stage to dance with the musicians as well. If the spirit moves you to get up and dance, you can jump on stage. What floors me is that this is the case even with the big musicians...even with Isnebo. Random kids, young folks just jumped on up there at different points of his performance and danced right next to him. And he was really really welcoming, letting anyone interupt his singing, wiping his brow, getting in his way, dancing with him and around him. I really like that. A case of equals on the stage of music.

Chadian dancers and Musicians

enthousiastic audience member jumping onstage to dance with the dancers


Isnebo

Isnebo with Fanta and Cheik of Sahel Hip Hop

A wonderful way to spend the Summer Solstice.

Limbe proper

Limbe. Limbe, Limbe, Limbe. What can I say. It was gorgeous. We actually stayed at a campground a little west of Limbe in a little sleeping village called Batoke, as there are no swimming beaches actually in Limbe. I am a girl who typically is not a "tropical beach" girl. In my head tropical paradises are equated with hotels and tourism, Hawaii, California, Florida in the States not being my places. I grew up with the salt marshes and dunes of Virginia and North Carolina, and even the wild coastline of Ireland or Great Britain, or France seeming more along the lines of my mentality or heart. Limbe was about as picture perfect as a tropical paradise on a postcard can be. And it was amazing. I loved it. The coastline is covered with trees, palm trees, coconuts, terminalia. Mosses, ferns. The beach is black sand and the water is beautiful, not clear or aqua but the beautiful silvery/blue/grey color of the Atlantic of VA and NC. With good waves! It is overshadowed by mountains which tumble straight down to the ocean, towering over you and such great heights, covered in green. Each day, the mist swirled around them, changing the sights, so that at some moments you could see the peak and others not. In fact it rained almost every day, a nice drizzly rain, and the air temperature was cool. Yet contrary to ruining this beach vacation, it came as a relief, the cooler weather a balm to our bodies. I felt as if everything was easier. It was easier to breathe, to eat, sleep. I walked around in a bathing suit (so nice not to be wearing so many clothes!) and felt so light and so comfortable. And the water was warm enough that even in the cooler air temperature we could go swimming every day.
Perhaps because we went in the rainy season, there were very few other people there. There were not tons of hotels (acutally only a few) and very few people on the beaches, other than the people of Batoke. (to be continued--just want to post photos)

Pete, Emily and Jessie at the campground

The coastline


Fisherman in the distance

pulling in one end of the seine net

my new friends

view from our tent

children on their way to church walking there on the beach

stormclouds and sunset