Swearing In

So, we’re officially Peace Corps Volunteers. All 37 of us made it through training and swore in, which was a pleasant surprise to some.

I don’t want to say that the ceremony was a let-down, but maybe it was blown out of proportion by the way people described it beforehand. The U.S. diplomat to Cameroon and various representatives of Cameroonian ministries were in attendance, which was an honor, but our role seemed to be that of fifth-graders graduating from elementary school: We all wore matching outfits, did a cute little presentation, and shuffled around awkwardly, since nothing was rehearsed.

I will admit, there was one solemn, profound moment (for me) when we all stood with our right hands raised and said the oath of service in unison. At that moment, I felt connected to the 36 other Volunteers that I’d spent the previous two months of my life with, as well as the thousands of people who have taken the oath before us. Call me cliché, or sentimental. I know that for some it was rather anti-climactic after two months of intense instruction, cultural shocks, illnesses, and hardships, but for me it was enough to celebrate with my fellow Volunteers and my Cameroonian family.

Following the ceremony, I was interviewed by a couple of media outlets, including CRTV, the national TV channel, so I’m sure I’m a national celebrity by now.

Lunch was at Le Cercle Municipal, probably the nicest restaurant in Ebolowa, and all of our host families were invited, as the meal also served as an appreciation ceremony for the families. I was slightly disappointed, since the soap opera playing on the big screen TVs drowned out most conversation, and the buffet ran out of fried plantains before I got through the line, but I was glad that Mama Isabelle and Crystal got a small token of appreciation in the form of a nice meal and a certificate from Peace Corps.

I spent the next few hours packing the remainder of my belongings (most had already been sent on to Ngaoundere), and at about 6:30, Mireille (the volunteer next door) and I headed to the training center for a celebratory bonfire. I had a warm whiskey Coke and watched part of Team America, which was great fun, but by 9 it was becoming clear to me that this was one of those times when you remember that alcohol is a depressant. Maybe it was due to fatigue, or nervousness about traveling the next day, but it was time for me to go home. Upon further reflection, I think what forced me to return home was the sad realization that many of these people had built significant bonds with one another during training, and while I’m certainly friendly with most of them, I don’t think any of them would consider me a friend.

When I returned home, I distributed a few things among the family members—articles of clothing I couldn’t shove into my suitcase and a travel-sized toothpaste that Audrey found fascinating for no discernible reason (you can buy the same ones here)—before heading off to bed for the last time. It was strange, not sleeping under a mosquito net for the first time in two months, and in a more or less empty room, but I suspect I left something more than toothpaste with the Abate family—a new perspective, perhaps, or at the very least, a few happy memories.

The End of Model School

Our month of model school has come to an end. The exams are over, grades have been submitted, and report cards have been distributed. And with the end of our training comes a variety of feelings.

First, I have to admit that I was so lucky. In a country here classes of a hundred or more are the norm, the Terminale (senior) class I taught only had a dozen. They were all engaged and attentive, and incredibly respectful. Of course, these were supplementary summer courses, not part of the academic year, but a few of the other trainees had ongoing disciplinary issues, so I still count myself as lucky.

One thing that I hadn't anticipated was how attached the students became... or perhaps they're just very convincing sycophants. After the first week of class, one of the most gifted students (and one of my favorites--that is, if I had favorites), a girl named Ariette, approached me after class to ask me when I was coming back. About a week later, we were learning about comparatives and superlatives. To demonstrate an irregular comparative, I said, "Beyonce is more beautiful than Miss F." Half of the class shouted out in response, "No, Miss F. is more beautiful than Beyonce!" Of course, I melted into a puddle of warm fuzzy feelings.

It's true that model school only lasted a month, but I'm glad that we had this opportunity, and I'm so grateful to the students for being patient with us: We undoubtedly learned more during this last month than they did. Before arriving here, I had only taught adults one-on-one, and one of my greatest apprehensions was not having experience teaching groups or adolescents. Some of those fears have calmed. I wrote previously about feeling somewhat bipolar at times, but I think I was able finally to strike a good balance between encouraging and authoritative. We shall see when I'm confronted with seventy 12-year-olds in a few weeks.

Thoughts on Animals

Stippy (on left, the family dog) and his neighbourhood friends

I was eating lunch with a Cameroonian yesterday when I casually mentioned my stint of vegetarianism in high school. I thought little of it, since many Americans (including quite a few people in my training group) have done the same thing, but my companion was very interested in my moral stance, and informed me that God created animals so that we could eat them.

This summarizes quite well the relation between many Cameroonians and animals: they all have a use or a role, and if the role isn't clear, it's probably food. For example, if someone has a dog here, the dog's role is to protect the house from intruders. If someone has a cat, the cat's role is to catch mice. If these animals perform to everyone's satisfaction, they get to scavenge for food in the trash. If someone finds a porcupine, which doesn't have any clear use, it becomes dinner. (I'm personally not a fan, but it's quite popular here in the South.) After all, why feed a dog or a cat when some children here have thinning hair and distended bellies from severe malnutrition?

This mentality of utility extends beyond pets to all sorts of animals, including ones we consider pests in the States. For example, I've never seen a Cameroonian kill a spider, because they have a use--that of killing mosquitoes and other insects. The same goes for the various species of geckos here in the south: they're able to roam classrooms and households freely without being in any imminent danger (excepting the very small ones, which are sometimes accidentally stepped on) because they eat potentially dangerous insects.

my gecko friend/room-mate

Two other remarkable differences between are probably related. First, what we would call animal cruelty is practiced far more openly here. I've seen a few instances of people going out of their way to harm dogs, like a moto driver slowing down in order to kick one, or a shopkeeper leaving his post to hit one with a stick. It's cruel, yes, but I suspect that it has to do with the second remarkable difference--fear.

It's true that fear of dogs is not unheard of in the US, but here it's almost universal. My host sisters are even afraid of their own dog: they count on him to protect the house at night, but if he gets too close when they're washing clothes or cooking outside, he's quickly shooed away.

Which makes sense. Rabies is a real danger here, since most people can't afford the vaccinations, or in the case of a bite, hospital treatment. In fact, a few weeks after we arrived in Ebolowa, a local teenager died of the disease. So, like in so many cases, fear drives people to hurtful actions.

Cockroach Football

I had heard before coming here that Cameroon, like practically every country other than the States, was crazy about football, but when people told me that kids can turn anything into a soccer ball, I thought they were exaggerating.

How little I knew. A few weeks ago, I watched a small group of boys playing with nothing but a mango pit, and they seemed to be having the time of their lives, laughing as they ran back and forth, already expertly moving their feet even though they couldn't have been more than 12 years old.

I was impressed and pleasantly surprised by this display of imagination and improvisation, but nothing prepared me for cockroach football.

We were all gathered around the television watching one of the final games of the World Cup when a massive cockroach, perhaps as long as my index finger, scuttled by, an ambulant brown stain on the white tile floor.

Junior, the 17-year-old, approached, and I assumed that he would shoo the roach out of this world with a satisfying crunch, but he instead lightly kicked it in the direction of Giovanni, his 18-month old nephew. At this point, Junior's older brother Brice wanted in on the action, and the two of them carried on batting the insect back and forth with the baby between them.

In addition to my surprise at seeing this game unfold, I was slightly disgusted, as I am every time I encounter such a large specimen of a cockroach, but I'd learned not to react in front of my family: for them, such visitors are a common occurrence, and my disgust only amuses them. So I said nothing, and folded my legs up on the couch, but even this prompted amused comments like "Oh, she's scared!" followed by peals of laughter. The lesson? Sometimes, whether you're playing the game of life or cockroach soccer, you just can't win.

Post Assignment: Adamawa!

Exciting news: We now know where we'll be living for the next two years! People from our stage (training group) will be sent all over Cameroon, with the exception of the North and Far North regions. About eight trainees, including myself, will be in Adamawa, the region I went to for my site visit. We'll be dispersed throughout the region, but I'll be in a town called Nyambaka, which is about 90 minutes from the regional capital, Ngaoundere. I've already talked to the PCV I'll be replacing, Erin, and it sounds lovely. There's weekly market nearby, so I can get a good variety of produce, and the house where I'll be living has TWO mango trees in the front yard! Nyambaka is famous for its mangoes, so I'm absolutely ecstatic.

Since most people aren't familiar with "The Grand North" of Cameroon, I should provide some background information. Adamawa is a mountainous area with a transitional climate, so it has more vegetation and isn't as hot as the North and Far North. I've been told that the population is equally divided between Muslims and Christians, but Islam seems to have more of a cultural influence. It's difficult to find pork products because they're haram (forbidden), and it's not uncommon to be awoken by the call to prayer before sunrise. About 60% of Adamawans are Fulbe, so I started lessons in their language, Fulfulde, last week.

Of course, every place comes with its own challenges. Because of the strong Islamic influence, many girls in Adamawa marry and leave school shortly after the onset of puberty, and because of the lack of hospitals, infant and maternal mortality rates are high. The main source of income in Adamawa is cattle-rearing, which for many interferes with school, so illiteracy rates are also high: I've seen one estimate of 80 percent. In a cruel twist of fate, the Adamawa is the one region of the Grand North that usually has water security, but because of this, it's more susceptible to waterborne diseases.

But with these challenges come opportunities for development and advancement, and since Peace Corps requires secondary projects outside of our jobs, I've already started thinking about how to start an after-school club for girls at the high school where I'll be working, or perhaps an adult literacy class. There are so many possibilities. I just hope that over the next two years I can make a small positive difference.

In short, I can't wait to get settled in Nyambaka. Every Volunteer I met during site visit was so friendly and kind, and the trainees coming up north are all lovely people. Erin has told me wonderful things about her neighbors and students, and I can't wait to meet them in a few weeks.

Thoughts on Food

It came to my attention during a recent phone call from my father that I have yet to describe my diet in Cameroon. I can be described briefly in four words: Carbs. So many carbs. During the rainy season, there's a great variety of produce-corn, carrots, guava, pineapple, mango, avocado, tomato, etc.--but almost every meal is based around some kind of starch.

To illustrate, here's my diet on an average day: For breakfast, the family usually eats three baguettes with margarine or Tartina (a sort of off-brand Nutella), accompanied by hot water with Nido (powdered milk) or Matinal (hot chocolate mix). Lunch is rice and beans with some sort of vegetable--yesterday it was avocado salad with tomato and onion. Dinner is different every night, but generally consists of a starch (rice, couscous, or cassava) with a sauce containing chicken or fish.

So basically, I'm gonna be that asshole who goes to Africa and actually gains weight. At least, while I'm in homestay. Once I get to post and prepare most of my own meals, I'll try to move away from such a starch-heavy diet.

Please understand, I'm not judging people who eat this way. I just come with certain cultural and personal baggage, being from a country where gaining weight is a deadly sin and having internalized this mindset. Truthfully, I understand how people come to depend on this kind of diet: If you only had a few hundred francs to buy food, would you buy fruit to eat, risking being hungry again in a couple of hours, or would you buy bread in an attempt to keep your stomach quiet for a while?

Model School

It's only Tuesday, but this week has already been full of "firsts." Yesterday was our first day teaching at model school after a week of observation, and today marked my first Fulfulde lessons.

Model school is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's currently the summer holiday, but Peace Corps has organized a five-week program that will, in theory, benefit both us and the students, by providing them with supplementary courses and us with a chance to cut our teeth as educators. Most of us worked as teachers in the States, but a few have no experience, amend frankly, I'm glad to have this opportunity, as I've only taught adults.

Yesterday was my first time teaching at model school, and my responsibility was to reach English to Terminale students (the equivalent of seniors in high school). I think it went reasonably well, but I'm still trying to walk the tightrope between friendly acquaintance and authority figure, so my students probably think I'm bipolar. There are moments when I'm smiling and encouraging with one student, but suddenly turn around to silence another gossiping student with my Germanic ice-queen death-stare (or so I imagine).

I won't be so foolish as to feel comfortable already. The class I'm currently teaching has only 12 students, and the smallest Cameroonian classroom I've heard of so far had sixty. Plus, we're in the South, where girls marrying underage isn't as much of an issue as it is in the north, where I'll be.

Model school takes up the entire morning, from eight to noon, which leaves he afternoon for language and technical training. Five us who will be living in places with a large Fulbe population had our first Fulfulde lesson today. I suspect it will be fun to start a new language after staying French for about eight years, but it's also intimidating, especially since this is so different from any other language I've encountered.

It may sound far-fetched, but I think it's important to have at least a passing knowledge of a language to understand the people who speak it. Plus, it's fascinating to hear how different languages express the same idea. For example, in English, we say "I had a dream last night," whereas a Frenchman would say "I made a dream." (If I hadn't been in such a rush to finish university, I probably would have dabbled in linguistics.)

In any case, we don't know much yet, but here's hoping that two years from now, I can call myself somewhat trilingual. And if some of my students can say the same by the end of my service, I will leave Cameroon completely satisfied with my work.