Kentzou!

            After our long day of traveling, Geoff and I dropped our bags off at his house (where there was an adorable Welcome Steph poster colored in by children of Kentzou hanging in his living room). Geoff has a pretty sick spot for a peace corps volunteer. His house is concrete, with a tin roof and screened windows. He also has a smaller house in his compound for his chickens (he has 2). In addition to that, he has a large yard, a normal latrine and a bread oven.

            The following morning we went to the market where I met a zillion of Geoff’s friends and acquaintances. Kentzou is great because there is a market everyday. In most villages, the market only occurs one or two days a week, so you have to get all your shopping done that day. Kentzou is a border town (it is way closer to the Central African Republic than to Batouri), and a stop for logging trucks coming from the Congo in the CAR, so a market every day makes sense. On the flipside of that, Kentzou can be more dangerous for Peace Corps volunteers because of the amount of strangers that come through daily. The “village” is home to 15,000 people, with 3,000 of that number being refugees from the CAR. Geoff has never had a problem with his safety or anyone breaking into his house, but he takes the necessary precautions to prevent that. He walks around town with his machete frequently (I’m not joking), does not display his American wealth (computer, etc), and made friends with all the right people (police, army, political officials as well as informal leaders of the community like chiefs or businessmen). Most villages where PCVs are posted are small enough where the community looks out for the PCVs and those means are probably smart, but not necessary. That’s not the case with Kentzou because of its size and the transitory nature of the people living there. But don’t get me wrong, I never once felt unsafe while I was there. I merely aim to describe what its like for a white person (stereotype of white people in Africa is that they are all rich) to live in a Cameroonian border town.

            In the market I met my favorite family in Kentzou, headed by Douda and Ina (pronounced dow-DA and EE-na). Douda owns a very nice boutique in the market where his children sell the goods from their farm. He is also a prominent member of the Islamic community (which forms the majority of the people in Kentzou). Long story short, Douda is a boss. Ina was one of the nicest people I met in Cameroon. Despite our language barrier (she didn’t speak much French and hey, neither did I at that point), she was always wonderfully welcoming and kind, and for the most part, we made ourselves understood to one another. Ina ushered us into their house (which was right next to Douda’s shop) and immediately shoved a baby in my arms. This baby wasn’t as afraid of white people. She fed us (as is customary when receiving a guest) beans and rice as well as a drink called ‘gari’ in Fulfulde and ‘buie’ in French. Gari is a liquidy porridge made from fermented milk and oats. Definitely an acquired taste.

            While walking through Kentzou, I discovered that its inhabitants have a different name for white girl than I would’ve thought. In Kentzou, Julia means white girl. I would be walking down the street and have children rush up to me yelling “Julia! Julia! Julia! Saanu!” (Saanu is Fulfulde for hello). The first day, I told them all that no, I was not Julia. But after the eightieth time, I gave up. After that, I just smiled and said hello back. Julia is Geoff’s post mate and was the first girl to be posted in Kentzou. She was almost at the completion of her service, so had been living and working in Kentzou for about two years (she was an education volunteer and taught English in the schools). Its incredible the impression that she made on that community. Everybody knew who Julia was, which is a good and bad thing. Good, because she made such a positive impact on the community, and bad because she could never get a moment’s peace (also bad because if everyone knows where the white person lives, everyone knows where to steal from…especially in a town where the people in it changes frequently). Finally, at the end of my four days in Kentzou, some children called me Julia and their mother yelled at them, that is NOT Julia. I was thrilled she recognized me as not-Julia. 

Bertoua to Batouri to Kentzou

          There are a few wonderful things about African countries that I miss when I am back stateside. The first is the wide variety of items you can get at a market. Think of a Wal-Mart, but instead of aisles, you have individual vendors each selling a different item for a price that you can negotiate. Not to mention they already have all the add-ons that mega-marts are going for now (nail and hair places, food shops, pharmacies, etc). You can walk down one lane of a market and purchase anything from tomatoes to electronic sockets to fake hair to cloth. We spent the morning in the market, where Geoff bought a pair of pants that were the same color as the dirt (reddish brown) in Kentzou. The second thing I love is that you can get the clothes you buy tailored to fit you right there in the market for the equivalent of a dollar and the time commitment of ten minutes, as Geoff did with his pants. Amazing.

            It started raining while we were in the market and the effect on Cameroonians is immediate and pretty amusing. Cameroonians do NOT like the rain. Rain deranges (Peace corps French meaning: annoys, messes up, bothers, disturbs) everything. If you have a meeting with a Cameroonian and it’s raining, you can bet on the fact that they will not show up to the meeting. “It was raining” is as good a reason not to show up as any. So while it was raining in the market, Geoff and I stopped off under a stall to avoid the rain ourselves and watched the vendors and shoppers scramble to escape the rain as well as protect their goods from the offensive water. Fortunately, it was just a quick shower and we chose that opportunity to return to the case. Once we were back at the case, the real rain started. The road from the main road to the case is dirt and really, ridiculously bad. After the rain that day, the road got even worse, which I didn’t think was possible. Giant sinkholes of mud made traveling on any sort of vehicle a miserable experience.

            That night I had my first (and worst) reaction to food. I got food poisoning from one of Geoff’s favorite places to eat in Bertoua, “Beef Tec”. It wasn’t fun but it wasn’t the worst that could’ve happened. Plus my sickness didn’t mess up any of our traveling plans, which was a bonus. The next day we began our trek to Kentzou. We took a private car from Bertoua to Batouri, which is a faster but more expensive means of transportation. Africans tend to pack as many people as will fit in a vehicle and this was no exception. There were four adults and one baby in the back and two adults in the passenger seat in the front of a 1990 Honda. For 3 hours. On a pockmarked dirt road. We reached Bartouri just in time to catch the last prison bus to Kentzou (I was glad, at this point I was anxious to get to Geoff’s village). In typical African travel fashion, we bought our bus tickets, saved our seats and then had to wait about an hour for the bus to leave Batouri. The bus took about 4 hours to get to Kentzou due to numerous stops for Muslims to pray and to load and unload passengers. Despite the longer time, I preferred a prison bus to a private car. A prison bus is a tank. If we hit anything or if any car/truck/moto hit us, I doubt the bus would even gain a dent. There are speed limits posted on the roads but no one follows or enforces them. (Overall, I think Cameroonians drive too fast for the quality of roads and cars that they use.) And Geoff and I had our own seat that I didn’t have to share with another Cameroonian and her baby.

            One funny story from the bus. A big, happy Cameroonian mama gets on with a giggling, smiley baby girl. As the mama boards the bus, the baby is happily whacking the mama’s gigantic cleavage. I’ve never seen a happier baby. The woman settles in on the seat in front and diagonal from Geoff and I. Her baby continues her game until she catches sight of me. Her eyes get wide, her mouth falls open, and I do the thing that comes natural to me when I see a baby: I smile. The happiest-baby-in-Cameroon’s face takes on a look of horror and then crumples. She starts screaming and the mama looks to see what caused the abrupt change in attitude. When she realizes it was my offensive white face, she turns into the happiest-mama-in-Cameroon and all her friends join in. The white person scares the baby game continued for about an hour until I gave up and wrapped my head in my shawl. 

First Day in Bertoua

The morning was spent repacking and Geoff organizing his peace corps things to return to the East (where Kentzou is). We left for the bus station around 11, the bus was scheduled to leave Yaounde at 12. The bus didn't leave until 1. We spent a lot of time on the old, run down coach bus. It took about 6 hours to get to Bertoua and the ride was pretty uneventful. Geoff said that this leg of the journey is the easiest because the roads are paved and we each get our own seat. Drivers in Africa don't really abide by many laws...lanes are more of a suggestion than a rule and if someone is driving to slow, you honk and go around them. I was definitely more comfortable in the city in a vehicle but the ride was not bad. In the city, drivers cannot get their speed up very high as they can on the country roads. I think that Africans drive the way they speak, which is very vocal and involved. When one tells a story, everyone else is a part of the story telling. Listeners are active, responding and asking questions. Cars or taxis are also very vocal, constantly honking at each other saying things like "I'm here" "get out of my way" "speed up or let me pass". Without the honking, there would be many more crashes I think.

In Bertoua, we are staying at the "case" (pronounced COZ) or the peace corps station. We met his post-mate (the other PCV who is stationed in Kentzou), Julia. She is very nice and accommodating. I can tell that she is ready to get back to the US, however. Her patience with Cameroonians is nonexistent. She has had a very challenging stay I think, teaching difficult children in a difficult region of Cameroon. We went to a shack called Secret Fish for dinner. We each got a whole fish (the type of fish the Cameroonians didn't even know...some kind of white meat fish) which were delicious. Fortunately, I have experience eating whole fish from Ghana so I did not spear my esophagus with any fish bones. The fins were really good, crispy from the fire. I ventured to eat the fish eye, since I'd never done that before. The worst part is the pop of the eye in your mouth, but I accidentally popped it in my hand when I was removing it from the fish head so I missed out. The eye tasted very oily without much flavor. Probably not something I'll do again soon. From Secret Fish, we went to a bar to watch the Germany vs. Greece game. I love that every time I come to Africa some sort of big soccer tournament is happening. Africans love soccer just as much (probably more) than I do.

Last Night in Yaounde

I met the US Ambassador to Cameroon. How cool is that? So last night after Geoff was done with his meetings, his fellow peace corps volunteers invited us to the US Embassy to play some ultimate frisbee with the "embassy kids". The taxi was not allowed to let us out in front of the Embassy, only up the street. We were not allowed to bring in any phones or cameras and had to walk through a metal detector, show our id's AND in order to have even been allowed inside, we had to have been previously invited by someone inside the embassy. Luckily, one of the PCVs (peace corps volunteer) had a friend who invited us all. Frisbee was fun, intense and sweaty. I had to play in jeans because all of the shorts I brought to the country are too short to wear in public and we had to travel a ways to get to the embassy from our hotel. Behind the embassy was a beautiful hotel and absolutely stunning manicured landscape. We weren't allowed to play frisbee on that lawn.. The embassy certainly was a reprieve from Cameroon, nothing looked anything like the rest of the country, which I think is the point. During our game, the Ambassador rolled up in his Tahoe complete with US and Cameroonian mini flags on the hood. He waved to us and we waved back, hence, I met the US Ambassador to Cameroon.

After the game, we (about 10 of us le blancs) went back to Bastos for smoothies and shwarme (sh-waar-may). The smoothies were amazing, fruit in Africa is indescribably better than whats imported to the US. Especially pineapple. Shwarme is similar to a gyro, with meat and vegetables wrapped in a thick pita. It was reallly delicious. We took our goods to a bar to watch the Czech vs. Portugal EuroCup game. The bar was really nice, cushioned seats, flat screen TVs, liter sized beer and a pool table. I feel lucky that Geoff's peace corps friends were in Yaounde at the same time as us. They all had to come into the city for their "mid-service" which is their half way point of service in the peace corps. They had to fill out paperwork, have a psych eval and get medical check ups. It is very interesting to see the different types of people who join the peace corps. I hadn't really thought about it prior to meeting the PCVs; I'd just assumed they would all be similar to Geoff. Three stuck out to me as different. Jack, is 27 and married. He and his wife joined the peace corps together. I learned that you can apply as a married couple and be stationed at the same post. His wife was waiting for him back at his post while he was in the city. Jake (25 maybe?) was very put together. He wore a suit to the bar and was easily the nicest dressed out of all of us. He said to me, when I asked him why he was dressed like that, that people treated him with more respect when he dressed nicer and he didn't get hassled as much from children and people begging. There is a secure social hierarchy here, as in all African countries (and all countries really) and Jake wanted to be on the top of it. He's been trying to get a job at an American electric company here who has a monopoly. He seemed to me to be the type of person who would stay in a less developed nation so that he could be one of the elite. I had never expected to find a personality like that in the peace corps. The final anomaly was Christine, who cared so much about how she looked that we had to wait an hour for her to get ready to play frisbee. She was very particular about her make up, clothes and how her hair looked. For me, if I'm going to be in an African country for 2 years, I don't think I could care about that. What you see is what you get. But I do respect her ability to preserve her American nature while in Cameroon.

Yaounde, Cameroon

Bonjour, mes amis! I have finally arrived in Cameroon. I was a little nervous getting here; I'd never traveled internationally before by myself completely. My flights were fine, I slept all the way to Paris and then got to watch movies from Paris to Cameroon. On the second flight I got my reintroduction to an oh-so-missed aspect of African culture: no personal space. Africans love to touch each other, it is a big part of communication. What results from this is no regard for personal space. The older gentleman to my left on the flight took up (or attempted to...I have elbows too) half of my seat with his arm/elbow. It didn't really bother me except for when I fell asleep for two minutes before his elbow kindly reminded me of his presence. Geoff was waiting for me with a taxi driver friend at the airport (I was so relieved to see him) and we went to our hotel. After dropping of all my stuff and giving Geoff his presents, we went to the peace corps headquarters (next door to the hotel) so that his friends who were there could meet me. They were drinking beer and watching office space. Not a bad night on the job I'd say. We then took a taxi to Bastos, a neighborhood in Yaounde, for some street food and beer. We ate pork with some spicy sauce on a baguette. The food was really good, albeit very spicy (which Geoff informed me is mild). I forgot how much Africans love their spice. My stomach hasn't spontaneously combusted yet, thankfully, but really its too soon to tell.

This morning we indulged in spaghetti omelets (yes, spaghetti omelets) which were amazing. The little shop (and I say shop loosely, this was more akin to a picnic table with the table portion replaced by the cook and his stove) was clearly a local hangout and I felt for the first time at a loss for my limited French. I can remember being bothered by not speaking the main language when I was in Ecuador, something I never had to contend with in Ghana. Here, it is not so bad because I can speak French but I am rusty. Cameroonians also speak an African version of French, which fortunately is focused less on grammar than French French. My vocab is pretty good and solely coming back to me but I would be lost without Geoff. It takes me too long to process what someone said and then formulate a response. I've been letting him speak for me, but I know I won't have that luxury in his village (or the "vil" as cool peace corps volunteers call it). In the vil they speak fulfulde, which is similar to Swahili (again, fortunately I can speak a mild Swahili).

We walked Yaounde today for a few hours and then decided it was nap time. I'm not really feeling the effects of jet lag just yet, I think because my adrenaline has been pretty high since I've got here. At lunch, I had plantains and chicken, which I haven't has since the last time I was in Africa. Change is hard to come by, at lunch we waited about 30 minutes for it. Africans run on their own time and since there is no tipping, servers give you what they want to give you and will and do take their time about it. C'est d'accord.

I can't stop comparing Cameroon to Ghana. They are very very similar. Everything looks pretty much the same in the city: bumpy streets, insane driving, stray dogs, vendors, make shift houses. The mannerisms and way people speak is the same, accounting for the obvious language difference. Geoff says that the tourist industry suffers because Cameroonians (especially men) bother white people so much. We didn't get bothered that much on our walk, a few cat calls and winks. One boy, attempting to impress/amuse his friends I assume, latched himself to us but Geoff shooed him. The call the white people LeBlanc, which is funny since that is my name. Geoff's peace corps friends didn't believe me until they saw my passport. There is no end to their amusement of me being legally dubbed "the white". This afternoon we are going to the US Embassy to play frisbee with some of his friends and then possibly meet up with his host family brothers (when he was still in training he lived with a host family, now he has his own compound). I'm excited to go to Bertoua tomorrow, the halfway point between here and Kentzou (Geoff's vil). I think Geoff is too, he is more comfortable in Bertoua as he knows more people and it is smaller. I'm going to get clothes made while we are there and do a little shopping. The next day is to travel to Kentzou (its about an 11 hour total trip from Yaounde to Kentzou) and finally see his vil. I'm realllyy excited for the vil since many of the villagers are awaiting my arrival (and throwing me a party...awesome). I'll have internet in Bertoua but not in Kentzou. The plan is to be in Kentzou for a week and then go back to Bertoua. I'll try to update as much as I can while I have internet.

cape coast and leaving ghana

i have only a few more hours left in ghana and it is down right depressing.

i'm sorry i haven't been posting as much, but i don't get internet access in cape coast. the days have gone by much too quickly. the two weeks of the internship flew by. on friday i said goodbye to my students and it got me thinking. those poor children come from difficult homes with little or no money. they get to come to a school, which is great, but their teachers never stay. the foreign teachers come in, make a big impression on the students, give them someone to look up to, but then they leave. they always leave. that must be so sad for those children. they need teachers that they can count on. teachers that will stay with them to help them through school. it makes me want to come back and make a bigger and more lasting impact on the ghanaian school system.

saturday we spent most of the day at the art center. we've made some good friends at that giant market. its funny now because when they see the usual tourists, the shop keepers rush forward to ask them to come to their shops to buy things. when they see us, they welcome back friends. the market is a great place to go when you know the people more then them just trying to sell you their things. i'm really going to miss those friends that i've made. i think during this last two week period, i've made better and more quality ghanaian friends than i did during the whole of the study abroad. its really sad to leave them, and i don't know if i will ever see them again.

sunday, monday and tuesday were either hectic or incredibly relaxing. we travelled to cape coast on sunday and then just relaxed at the hotel while the two girls who hadn't seen the el mina castle went there. on monday we did the canopy walk again. then we visited an old professor of our professor. that visit was really cool. the man was 82 years old but looked like he was 60. he was so full of life. it was interesting to see someone who had mentored the man that we all look up to so much (dr. owusu-ansah, or as we call him O-A). after the visit, we returned to the hotel yet again while the other girls toured the cape coast castle. on tuesday, we travelled home.

now it is wednesday and tonight i'm leaving. i really can't believe that i'm actually leaving. the reality of it hasn't sunk in yet and i don't think it will until i'm on the plane. i spent all day trying to find everyone in accra that i had become friends with to say goodbye. we spent alot of time at the art center (again), buying and saying our last goodbyes. then i visited the family that i always play with and said goodbye to them. it's so strange saying bye but knowing that i won't visit them tomorrow like i always do. tomorrow i'm going to be in the usa. my good friend, david, and i were standing at the ocean (behind the art market) today and he looked across the water and told me, tomorrow you're going to be on the other side of that ocean.

i have to make it back to ghana sometime. this country is an amazing place. it is the people of ghana that make it so unforgettable. i'm going to really reallly miss all of them.

sad.

mhairi and i have been taking the tro-tro everywhere lately, which is ALOT cheaper than taxis and more fun. we squish into these barely-running vans with all the other africans and travel wherever we want for about 50 pesewas. i'm not sure if i mentioned it before, but tro-tro's are like the ghanaian bus system. we took it to the beach today during our 3 hour break.

we said goodbye to the glona children today. it was the saddest thing i've done here and it makes me realize how soon i'm going to be going home. i'll be happy to go home, but i REALLY don't want to leave here. i'm going to miss everything about ghana so much. i wasn't expecting to cry, but when we were walking out the door some of the students rushed into my arms crying very hard. i couldn't help but cry with them. i'm reallllllly going to miss those kids. i can't imagine how sad the germans must be after teaching at glona for a whole year.