Traveling to the Adamawa

As always, Peace Corps was running on “Cameroonian time”, so I left the house at 6:45 during the family’s morning prayers in order to be at the training center by seven, but the bus to Yaoundé didn’t leave until 8:30. Luckily, this gave Crystal and Audrey enough time to come to the center to say their goodbyes.

Truthfully, I was caught off guard at how emotional they both were, their eyes red and puffy with tears, and the only thing I could think to do was to hug them over and over, and say “It’s OK, I’ll be back in December.” Before seeing them like this, I hadn’t really reacted to this drastic change: I knew that I was moving to a new place, that I would be by myself, and that I wouldn’t see many of the people I was accustomed to for a long time, but I hadn’t really reacted until I saw my sisters cry. It’s as though I’ve been cut off from sadness. Most times, the only thing that makes me cry is seeing someone I care about cry. It’s as though I’ve forgotten when I’m supposed to express my emotions, and I need someone to remind me. But at least I still have some capacity for such expressions. I’m hoping that once things have settled into more of a routine that I can start behaving like a “normal” person again. But then again, my life won’t really be “normal” for the next two years.

Those of us posted in the Central, East, and Adamawa regions shared a Peace Corps van to Yaoundé, dropped off our luggage at the case (the brand-new travel house), and headed off in search of Chinese food, which was freaking delicious and slightly mind-boggling, as our Cameroonian waiter wrote out our check in Chinese. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much time to reap the benefits of being in the capital, as those of us going to the Adamawa were scheduled to be delivered to the train station at four. Our goodbyes to our stage-mates (fellow trainees) were brief and lighthearted, as though we would see them in class on Monday morning. Goodbyes are easier that way.

We were hurrying to leave the case by 4:30, but our train wasn’t scheduled to begin boarding until six, so we spent some time wandering around the makeshift market in front of the train station. Carl and I got some ice-cold smoothies, which was a pleasant surprise. (Another pleasant surprise: Carl came up to me the next morning and happily informed me, “That smoothie didn’t give me the shits!”) Cameroon certainly makes you appreciate the little things.

Just before the train began boarding, one woman started complaining (loudly) in French about us taking up too much space, clearly assuming that none of us could understand her. I rushed to her side and adopted the sweetest, most helpful demeanor I could, and explained to her (also in French), “I’m so sorry, Madame. I know we have too many bags—let me move some for you. I apologize for inconveniencing you.” She was clearly embarrassed, and mumbled something like, “No, it’s not a problem.” Just doing my part to suggest that not all “blancs” are inconsiderate and self-important—at least, not all the time.

Once we boarded, we all tried to shove our various bags into every possible nook and cranny, and the people who had never traveled via train took a moment to marvel at how compact and practical our cabins were. It wasn’t long, however, until the wine came out. Since Joyce’s birthday was coming up, and we wouldn’t be together for it, we decided to celebrate on the train by passing around some Peñasol and drinking it straight out of the box—that’s right, I said box—because we’re classy. At more than one point during the evening, a train worker opened the door and looked at us confusedly, since all seven of us had huddled into a four-person cabin for this impromptu “fête.” It was a great deal of fun, and I’m glad we took a moment, however small, to celebrate Joyce. She’s a wonderful person, and she’ll be a fantastic volunteer. And I’m not just saying that because she’s a fellow Midwesterner.

The train ride was gloriously uneventful, and we arrived only an hour or so behind schedule (unlike the last time I took the train from Yaoundé to Ngaoundéré, when we were about four hours late). We were all nervous but ready to negotiate the large crowds and taxis when two gentlemen in immaculate boubous (traditional clothing) approached us and said “Welcome, PCVs!” It was the first time we’d heard a Cameroonian speak English in at least 24 hours, and I’m sure we were all relieved that we didn’t have to worry about transportation or speaking to strangers in French for the time being.

The drivers took us to the Ngaoundéré case, which is older and not quite as clean, but feels very much like a home, mostly because of the Volunteers there, who are all wonderful and welcoming. I was finally able to meet Erin, the Agriculture Volunteer I’ll be replacing, and Kara, the Health Volunteer who will be my post-mate. Kara was kind enough to escort all of the “newbies” to the bank so that we could open up accounts, and she was an excellent resource during the entire weekend. After the bank (and an afternoon of torrential rain), we were all able to shower and use the Internet (joy of joys) before dinner, which was a delicious Mexican meal prepared by a few Volunteers in honor of our arrival. Without exception, every Volunteer from the Adamawa that I’ve met so far has been so genuine and kind, and I can’t wait to get to know them in the coming years.