Peace Corps - Cameroon

Au Revoir Cameroun

2009-08-04T17:30:00.000-04:00

July 31, 2009

I am writing this blog from my hotel room in Casablanca, Morocco. My two years with the Peace Corps are finished and I’m on my way home. I’m no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) but not quite a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV) as I haven’t made it home yet. It’s this weird state of limbo where everything feels like a dream. I won’t see Cameroon at least for a few years if ever again. And I’m going back to Denver to live with my sister in a house I’ve never seen and a city I’ve only visited a couple of times. The past is already a blur and the future is almost completely void of the known. Everytime I drift out of sleep, in the middle of the night or on a plane, I have to remind myself where I am and what I’m doing (the fact that I’m reading a book about a paranoid schizophrenic probably isn’t helping either). I also was never supposed to see more than the airport in Casablanca. After missing my flight and them losing track of my baggage (including Saki) for over three hours, I’ve now been put up in a lush hotel and just finished an amazing buffet dinner, also on the house. The only downside to this impedement is that they won’t let Saki in the room with me. The only option was to have him locked up in his cage in a storage room (Sorry Saki! If I could explain it to you, I think you’d understand that it was worth the pain and effort to come back with me.). They would let me check on him every hour or so if I wanted, but I think that would just make things harder on him. Luckily, he’s turned out to be a great traveler. We were able to take a walk earlier on this incredibly flat, sandy Saharan earth through a residential neighborhood under development. Once again: surreal – bull dozers and cement trucks passing by in this strange mix of Arab culture and post-French colonization. Morocco seems like a really interesting place, but I feel like you’d have to know Arabic to get a real taste of it.

I had a good friend of mine recently remind me that I owed at least one or two more blogs before I threw in the towel. It’s been a little while since I’ve posted an entry. The reason is that these last few weeks at post were also eerily dreamlike. They somehow flew by and dragged on at the same time. There were a couple of weeks with constant visitors as the new Small Enterprise Development and Education volunteers came on site visit. Rhet and Rachel, a recently married couple, will be replacing me in Nkongsamba. It was great to get to know them and to show them around the intricacies of the town that took me the greater part of two years to really get to know. The week after the site visit was just used to pack up, say my goodbyes, and snap all of the pictures I’d been meaning to take but hadn’t for fear of looking like a tourist. Then, I left Nkongsamba for the PC transit house in the capital. Instead of transitioning from Nkongsamba to America, I transitioned from Nkongsamba to Cameroon around a bunch of Americans to America – a smoother approach. The week in Yaoundé is to finalize all administrative paperwork and get checked out for any parasites or other endemic maladies that might have been picked up along the way. That being done, I took a bus to Douala and hopped on a plane for Morocco. Once I leave Casablanca it looks like I’ll have to spend a couple nights in New York City (one more than expected) before making my way to my new home in Denver.

I’m planning on putting one last blog entry up to describe, as best I can, the readjustment process, but I might need a little prodding for it to happen. Right now, all it feels like there is to say is ‘Au revoir Cameroun.’

Tim

Saki Revisited

2009-06-30T08:25:00.007-04:00

June 30, 2009

Here are some pictures of Saki. In the last ones I posted he was still a little puppy.

These first three are from January when we hiked to the top of Mount Manengouba together. I try to take him on a hike at least once a week, but we've only gotten this high twice.

Still in January, one of Saki's favorite treats is coconut. I always have to help him open it though.

By February, He had outgrown his old sleeping spot.

Lounging around the house (the rest of the pictures are all very recent)

Doing whatever necessary for treats

His new cage. He seems to like it now; lets see what he thinks after the plane rides.

If I'm on the bed and he wants attention, he'll rest his head on the edge. It's pretty affective.

Daddy's boy

Next Steps

2009-06-22T08:31:00.001-04:00

June 19, 2009

The end of my two years of service with the Peace Corps and a big transition in my life is on the horizon. I’ve had a few people ask me ‘what’s next?’

Since being in Cameroon I’ve definitely reinforced the idea that I don’t need to be finding the job or picking the career track that makes me the most money. First and foremost, I want to be satisfied with the type and quality of work that I do. I’ve also learned that unlike the majority of people, I’m very comfortable getting up and talking in front of groups of people – my time studying saxophone performance probably eliminated the last of those fears. Add that to my knack and fondness for math and critical thinking, and the conclusion is something that I never thought I would say: I want to be a high school math teacher. When I first had the idea it sounded crazy even to me. I thought it would pass after a couple of days or weeks. But it hasn’t. It’s been about three months and the more I think about it the more I want to pursue it.

My plans for the next year start with me flying from Cameroon to Denver, with my dog Saki, to live for a while with my sister, Michelle. My parents will fly out for a week to visit shortly after I arrive. I’ll probably take a week sometime thereafter to go visit the rest of my family in Indiana and maybe a side trip to see friends in Baltimore. Once I’ve settled a little in Denver, I’ll probably look for a job with a non-profit in the area as I start filling out applications for grad school that would start either the summer or fall of 2010. Peace Corps has some great fellows programs that cover huge chunks of tuition and start you in the classroom right away. I’ll probably look there first, but might also check out Teach for America and some other inner-city programs.

Luckily I still have a few more weeks of 7 Habits classes to teach that are keeping my mind occupied. Otherwise it’d be in another continent. I’ll try to put up some Saki pictures for next week. He still acts like a puppy, but looks all grown up!

Tim

Depression

2009-06-13T08:36:00.002-04:00

June 13, 2009

In my request for feedback a few weeks ago I got an interesting note about depression. Here is the gist of it:

“Being a Cameroonian living now in the US, the one thing I notice here that really put me off is Depression. I mean I never seen anybody being depressed in Cameroon even though we don’t have it there easy… So do you think I’m right about Depression not being common in Cameroon. And if indeed I am, how do you explain that people are more depressed in the US with all the facilities to life they have?”

This topic came up in a conversation I had a few months ago. It’s very interesting because I agree with the reader. I don’t see depression in Cameroon either. Why? I’ll explore some of the possibilities in this post, but please keep in mind that I don’t really have the basis to have a professional opinion on this matter.

Firstly, there is a difference in culture – collective versus independent. If someone in the US is sad because a loved one died or they lost their job, generally they’ll want to be alone, to work out their problems, emotions, and thoughts on their own time. We might do something nice like prepare a meal for someone that recently lost their spouse but would by no means impose on them that we eat it together. Cameroonians, on the other hand, will generally tackle their pain or sadness together, either as a large extended family or as a community. A Cameroonian burial is a much longer and involved process than in the states. In some tribes the wife of the deceased will wear black and sit on the living room floor, even sleep there, for an entire week as family and friends fill the house and give their condolences. I remember in my Peace Corps training someone suggesting that we not tell people we are sad because in American-speak that’s usually code for “I want to be left alone.” In Cameroonian-speak it would more likely mean “I need you to stay with me until you’ve helped me overcome my sadness.” Being sad is not really a normal emotion save for prescribed times like when you’re dressed in black sitting on your living room floor. Or even during the long burial process, there is a certain time when everyone else allows themselves to feel sad and cry about the loss. To my American eyes it looks quite bizarre when that prescribed time for sadness is over and everyone seemingly goes back to normal. What does this mean regarding depression? Well, it might mean that a Cameroonian would be more likely to seek out help before an American, that he would see unexplained sadness as abnormal and work to rectify the situation immediately.

Another issue is pharmaceutical companies and psychologists. I think it is safe to say that depression is over-hyped and over-diagnosed in the US. Either the cause or an effect of that is that prescription drugs for depression are over-advertised and pushed very hard on medical professionals. There was a study a couple of years ago that showed that a lot of people being diagnosed with depression were in fact just sad because of concrete circumstances in their lives. One reason that Americans seem more depressed than Cameroonians could be due to this factor. Depression is in your face so often that maybe we’re not as depressed as we think. Either we’re being diagnosed wrong or we just think lots of other people are depressed because of how much advertising we’re subjected to. Or maybe the rate of depression is high and it’s precisely due to these issues. Maybe all this talk about depression is making people depressed. A constant worry about whether or not you’re depressed, whether or not you should take Prozac or Zoloft could eventually create a placebo effect that turns your worries into reality. Our minds often have more power than we realize.

Another possibility – fish. I think I remember reading that Japan has the lowest rate of depression of any country that has conducted such a study. Many people attribute that low rate to omega-3s, something found in fish oil that is said to counteract depression. The fact that Japanese eat lots of fish and therefore take in large quantities of omega-3s is a possibility for why they are so rarely depressed. Cameroonians also eat lots of fish. Even if you don’t have the money to eat fresh or frozen fish, you will still most likely flavor your sauces with dried shrimp and other small fish. The North, being much farther away from the sea, though, has a much more beef-centered diet. It would be interesting to hear the opinion of someone from the North regarding Cameroonians and depression.

Looking beyond psychological and nutritional possibilities, maybe it’s genetic. Maybe the genetic code of Cameroonians simply doesn’t allow for depression and Americans have an overabundance of people with the ‘depression gene’. This would be the easiest way to explain this matter. And maybe what I was saying with regard to Cameroonian customs is an effect of and not the cause for a people without sadness. I think I have a mild cycle of depression and it didn’t stop when I got to Cameroon. Of course I could never consider myself 100% culturally Cameroonian and being vegetarian I don’t eat fish, but this could still indicate that it’s a genetic and not a local phenomenon. There are several pockets of Cameroonian communities in the States. Having plenty to miss with regard to their homeland, food and culture, it would be interesting to know if they still go without depression.

Whatever the answer, there is one thing that the reader alluded to that I completely disagree with and that’s the idea that ‘facilities of life’ should diminish depression. One thing I’ve learned being here is that the human body and the human mind are incredibly adaptable. I often tell the story of Victor Frankl to my 7 Habits classes. His family was exterminated, and he was imprisoned and experimented on in a Nazi concentration camp. But despite all of this mental and physical torment, he took comfort in finding space between a stimulus and his response – his ability to choose his reaction no matter how dire his situation. He knew that this freedom was one quality that the Nazis could never take away from him. He found a way to be mentally at ease in a death camp! No matter what the circumstances our body and psyche will work to find some level of comfort in its surroundings. Circumstances are never objective. They are relative to each person and even in time. What has a negative affect on me now might be completely neutral in one year’s time. It’s very possible that a 15 year old will suffer through more stress and anguish when her first boyfriend breaks up with her than someone else when their mother dies. It is in our nature to try to make things objective – a middle school boyfriend is less important than one’s mother, life in the US is easier than life in Cameroon – but life, and especially our emotions, are not that way. Along these same lines, someone who has three houses, five cars, and a yacht probably has a bigger desire for stuff than someone living without hardly any amenities. Often the more stuff we have, the more we want. When we have very little it’s more likely, though not always true, that we learn to like and live with what we have. Jesus alluded to this when he said “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” If anything, the facilities of life and the stuff that Americans have more of don’t make our existence easier but just create even more desires which could in turn cause depression

I’d be very interested to get more opinions on this subject, whether you’re Cameroonian, American, or just have an idea, let me know what you think. And if you’re a psychology student looking for a thesis or a reason to fill out a Fulbright application, maybe this is your ticket.

Tim

Lessons I’ve Learned IV – Proud to be an American

2009-06-08T05:55:00.000-04:00

June 6, 2009

Joining the Peace Corps and moving to Cameroon wasn’t the first time I left the United States. I’ve been to Canada and a few places in Europe, but it’s the first time I’ve lived abroad. For this and maybe some other reasons, it’s the first time I’ve really identified myself as an American. Before, it was just where I happened to be born. I didn’t think it really changed the person I had come to be. I knew that it changed the circumstances and opportunities I had grown up around but I never realized how American I had become.

One thing I’ve learned about myself since joining the Peace Corps is how culturally American I actually am and how proud of that fact I have become. I have heard some people say that America doesn’t have a culture – that all of our traditions come from elsewhere, that compared to Europe or the rest of the world we don’t really have our own set of customs. I couldn’t disagree more. Look at the fourth of July, Halloween, Easter, and Christmas – Americans have very specific traditions for these and every other holiday. Then there are some countries who complain of their culture disappearing. What’s replacing it? McDonalds, Pizza Hut, the NBA, and R&B – American culture. But our culture goes deeper than what we do and eat and listen to. It goes to the core, our way of seeing life and the way we think life should be. Americans have a strong desire for hard work, efficiency (sometimes too much), freedom, and democracy. While we don’t live in this utopia, we still strive for these ideals. We have a need to give equal treatment and opportunities to all. I like that. If a CEO of a Fortune 500 company wants to buy a copy of the Economist in an airport press shop, he’ll still wait for the 5 year old kid in front of him wanting a candy bar. He might think in his mind that he is more important and know that he’s in a bigger hurry than the kid, but he will wait nevertheless. This is something I took for granted before joining the Peace Corps. It’s easy to think that concepts like ‘unalienable rights’, ‘a more perfect union’, and freedom of speech are just things that we learn in school, only important for judges or politicians. But these concepts seep into our very being. We come to respect them without even knowing how important they are to us. We are very lucky to have the principles of our nation created by the founding fathers. They were very enlightened men. And those principles do not exist only on old parchments on display in museums. They exist in the hearts and minds of Americans.

One very concrete event and advance toward that ‘more perfect union’ was the election of Barack Obama. I have no need to hide the fact that I am a big supporter of Obama, but even those who don’t like his policies must admit that his election was a very important step in moving reality closer to our ideals. It brought us closer to our ideals of racial equality. The actual election of Barack Obama didn’t change the reality of the US or its people but there was a shift of paradigm, or our way of interpreting that reality. There are many who believed there was a glass ceiling for blacks or other minorities. There are still plenty of hardships to overcome but no more ceiling. And that paradigm shift was not only for Americans or of America. I think I am safe in sayting that the majority of Cameroonians see themselves, or at least think they are seen by the West, as second-class citizens of the world. The election of one of their own, an African American with a Kenyan father, into the highest political office in the world brought with it respect and pride for those outside of America too.

But Obama’s campaign was about more than race. It talked about our ideals and hopes in just about every domain – about not settling for what we have but always striving for what we want and know to be right even if it seems unattainable. A simple example of this is gaining the necessary intelligence to win a war on terrorism without torturing detainees. Agree or disagree, it’s your right. Before boarding that plane for Africa, one could have rightly labeled me as an idealist. After two years a lot of realism has seeped in about the possibility (or lack thereof) of changing the world but I still appreciate the importance of ideals. We will never make it to that perfect utopian society, but if we don’t try to move towards it we’ll stay in the same place forever.

Barack Obama is just a man, but he represents a lot to a lot of people. I’m proud he’s my president. I’m proud that he stands for my ideals. And I’m proud to be an American.

Tim

Lessons I've Learned III - Frankness

2009-05-30T09:15:00.000-04:00

May 26, 2009

If one were to generalize Cameroonian and American culture, they would find that Americans are generally more frank – they share what’s on their mind. Cameroonians on the other hand will be more likely to tell you what you want to hear – ‘The bus will leave in 5 minutes.’ or ‘The item you’re looking for will be in stock tomorrow.’ It’s not that they’re lying; in their culture they’re just being polite.

Something that I’ve learned about myself since being in Cameroon is that I’m frank. And not just in the sense that Americans are frank – I take it to a new level. Maybe you’ve noticed that in my blogs. But I’m not sure I was always like this. I think living among a culture that will tell you what you want to hear has pushed me in the opposite direction. I want to know what’s going on, to cut through the BS and not play games – honesty at all costs. Here is a typical conversation that I might have while waiting for a bush taxi to leave.

“How long will it be before the bus leaves?”
“Five minutes.”
“Is it really going to leave in five minutes or are you just telling me that? I’ve already bought my ticket. I’m not going to go find another bus to take. I just want to know if I have time to go eat a croissant.”
“Maybe 30-45 minutes.”
“Thank you!”

As you can see, sometimes it can be very affective. And the man that told me the bus would leave in five minutes wouldn’t be offended at all. He knows the reality and in some way I think he respects a foreigner that understands him so well. Or at least he’ll get a good laugh.

But this quality of mine also has its down sides. Just a couple weeks ago, nearing the end of my service when I think I’ve figured everything out and I can navigate Cameroonian culture without problem, I stuck my foot in my mouth in a pretty big way. I was trying to secure a classroom where I could teach my 7 Habits adult class. Once, at the beginning of my service, I gave a business class to adults and used a government office devoted to community development. The man in charge let me use the classroom but charged me to have it cleaned after every class. I didn’t know then, but found out later that the money I gave him for cleaning just went into his pocket. In protest, I tried not to work with him anymore, but here I was in need of a classroom. Using the classroom I had used before would be the simplest way to get these classes off the ground and I didn’t have much time. I went in to talk to the same man as if there was no problem whatsoever – I just wanted to use the classroom again. We worked out all of the details regarding availability, number of chairs, everything. It was all set. I was ready to get up to leave – I remember putting my hands on the arms of the chair to stand up when he said ‘…and you’ll pay for the cleaning like last time, too, right?’ I wasn’t upset, just a little surprised that he would go there. I said very clearly and calmly no, I needed the classroom but wouldn’t pay for the cleaning. He pushed a little harder for the cleaning money and so I said, still in the same calm manner, ‘last time I was new to the community and to Cameroon. I didn’t know better. You tricked me. No hard feelings, but this time I’m not going to pay.’ This didn’t make him very happy, but I knew that I was right so I pushed it a little further. I told him that many of my Cameroonian friends had also told me that he had gotten the better of me. At this point he asked me for their names. I told him that the prefecture gives him a budget to pay for the cleaning of his offices and that he didn’t need my money. He refused, showing me a broom in the corner and claiming he was the one that did most of the cleaning (even though he has a secretary and several other employees under him). Then I brought up the fact that that the classroom was rarely even cleaned after our classes. This comment didn’t make him very happy. I asked him how much he had paid the local neighborhood boy to clean the classroom each time. I had given him 9000F to clean the room 12 times – way more than enough. He took this as a direct implication that he pocketed the majority of the money and was furious. ‘Every franc that you gave me went to the cleaning of that classroom!’ Oops! It was here that I realized that while still speaking calmly and without emotion, being more and more frank with the details was only getting me into more and more trouble (yes, I should have realized this earlier). He would absolutely never admit to what he did. If so, there was a possibility that it would come back to bite him. This was a chance he was not willing to take. He would deny, deny, deny until his face turned blue. What he needed and what I should have done from the beginning was to stroke his ego. I should have approached the situation saying ‘I know I paid for the cleaning last time, boss, but this time I don’t have the money. The classes are for the development of the community. I’m a volunteer and don’t have a salary. You’re such a big man in the community. I was hoping you could cover the cleaning this time.’

What actually happened was that I spent about an hour trying to smooth things over. After a lot of talking, he told me that I should write an official request to his boss for a partnership between the Peace Corps and his office. He claimed that he didn’t get any credit for the last class that I gave and this way he would be able to put it into his report. I thought it was implied, though it wasn’t stated, that this way I wouldn’t have to pay for the cleaning. It turns out that this was just a hoop to jump through, a way to tie up the process in bureaucracy. He was quite surprised when I showed up the next morning at his boss’ office to deliver the request. Obviously I didn’t read between the lines to know that he was just trying to get rid of me. The request is still collecting dust. I just think it’s funny (and quite ironic) that to get rid of me he asked for the creation of a partnership.

I ended up going to the mayor’s office to request the use of the town hall for the class. He agreed and didn’t charge for cleaning. Classes start next Tuesday. I’m still not sure if this quality is something that is going to stick with me when I get back to the states. Honesty at all costs has its good points and a lot of people find it refreshing, but it could probably get me into as much trouble when I go home, too.

Tim

Lessons I've Learned II - Mission Statements

2009-05-21T06:31:00.002-04:00

May 20, 2009

I’ve learned that mission statements not only have an enormous impact on setting goals and direction, but they also help to motivate you to keep moving in that direction. Here’s mine:

Personal Mission Statement
Tim Hartman
Created: March 17, 2008

Because through giving comes wealth, I will always seek to serve others first. I will accept everyone and defend those not present. I will be giving of my time and talents while cherishing opportunities to be alone, to think, to meditate and evaluate.
I will never assume I’ve figured it all out, always seeking to further my understanding of why I’m here. I will keep a calmness around my life that brings myself and others peace.
I will use solid judgment doing my best in everything I do, refusing to be discouraged by setbacks or failure.

This is what I created in a period of soul-searching after the national strikes in February 2008. I was frustrated, feeling that Cameroonians didn’t have very much motivation to improve their quality of life and I needed, once more and more seriously this time, to pose myself the question ‘What am I doing here?’ I took a few days off and rented a tent by myself on the beach in Limbé. I did a lot of evaluating, reading, reflecting, and of course relaxing. This was one of the very tangible outcomes of what I called a ‘fix myself’ vacation.

Tim

Lessons I’ve Learned I – How to be Happy

2009-05-17T13:21:00.000-04:00

May 16, 2009

Since joining the Peace Corps and being sent to Cameroon, I have changed and learned a lot. I remember writing in one of the essays in the application process that I knew I would change – I didn’t know how but I knew it would be for the better. That’s been true, but even after the change, it’s hard to enumerate the lessons I’ve learned. Nevertheless, I’ll give it a go.

The first, and probably the most important thing I’ve learned is how to be happy. I’m pretty sure that everything that I learned in this domain I knew before I came, but I’ve come to a higher realization of its truth and have been able to put it into practice.

Firstly, happiness is not sought. You can’t find it in money or things or places or even relationships. If flows naturally out of peace of mind. Virtually none of our unhappiness comes from the situations that we find ourselves in. It comes from our reactions and emotions to those situations. We have the power to choose our reactions and we have the power to control our emotions. Therefore we have the power to be happy. It’s easier said than done, but is very possible.

Secondly, the present moment cannot be changed. It is as it is and accepting it is a prerequisite for being happy. This necessarily excludes regrets about the past and worries about (but not planning for) the future. There is a lot of pain and suffering in the world and probably in our own lives as well. There are many examples that we can find where life simply isn’t fair. We don’t have to condone any of these things, but if we ever want to be happy or make a positive change, we need to first acknowledge and accept their existence right now.

I’ve learned that I personally will always have down times. Since being here I have found that I have small cycles of depression. When I thought I completely understood the lessons above and then went into one of those cycles, it was quite scary. I thought I was in complete control of my life, able to make proactive choices to better my future, my happiness, and my being. But I found that that wasn’t the case at all. Despite my continued ability to make those proactive choices, I had very little energy and found that I couldn’t get rid of my desire to stay in that sad state. What was the answer? Back to the lessons I thought I understood – accept the present moment. If I can’t get rid of the desire to remain depressed, it makes no sense to be mad or scared of it. It is what it is. I remind myself that it will pass, I spend my precious energy on maintaining my commitments, and I stop trying to change what I’ve learned have no control over. And if ever a problem arrives that I know won’t pass, that fact won’t change the answer that needs to be applied – only the difficulty in applying it.

Also related to my self-reflection and being happy is my choice of work. Ever since my first day at post, I’ve taken very seriously some advice from previous volunteers – don’t do ineffective or unsustainable work just to give yourself the semblance of being busy or productive. I refused to work with people that I thought were only motivated by selfish reasons and I did a lot more reflecting than doing. I analyzed what I thought was wrong with Cameroon so I would know where I could feel the most effective, and I reflected on the past and current approaches to development in search for answers to why it didn’t seem to be working. Although it took me a long time to get there and I’m not proclaiming to have found the answer, I did eventually reach conclusions on these fronts. And those conclusions led me to work that I felt rewarded in doing. My conclusions, essentially, were to take a more hands-off approach. I can’t change any other person – only they can. And the change needs to be at the core, not on surface or what I consider secondary issues like raising average salaries and building structures. Bubbles burst, but your foundation remains in tact. I realized that as an American, one of the biggest opportunities I’ve had to develop at the core, in my character, came from books – from the solutions and lessons that others have already learned, experimented with, and implemented. That led me to make lots of book donations to promote a love of reading and to take one specific book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, and share it in detail with as many people as possible.

It was a very bumpy road learning this lesson, but I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Tim

Feedback

2009-05-07T04:15:00.000-04:00

May 6, 2009

I’m kind of conflicted. Now that the majority of my work is finished, I actually scheduled the writing of one blog per week in my agenda. It’s something that has started to get neglected as of late and I wanted to make it a bigger priority. What I’m conflicted about is what to write. I think the biggest reason that my blog has been successful is that I’m brutally honest and my entries tend to be more in essay form than in here’s-what-I-did-today form. I try to choose interesting subjects that I’ve been reflecting on for a while because of the situation I’m in. My perspective is one that very few of my readers have ever had yet the themes affect everyone, even if only because some of your tax dollars are coming to this corner of the world. So in forcing myself to write one blog a week, I’m hoping that I don’t turn it into a weekly log of my activities, but that I can find enough interesting topics to keep you all engaged. I’ll leave the here’s-what-I-did-today stuff to the Twitter users. (Is that actually popular in the States? I still don’t believe it.)

That being said, that I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself to keep up the quality, I want your help too. Being stuck in my own perspective and having been outside the US for 2 years now, I can easily forget what might be interesting to someone living in the western world. Please write comments. Please ask questions. My responses to my mom’s book club turned into a great blog. It’s because they asked about all the things that I forget to write about. I’ve made this request before and gotten almost no response whatsoever. I know you’re out there! I have a counter on the blog that gives me all kinds of interesting statistics – what city you’re in, what site you came from, what terms you put into the search engine to find my site, how long you stayed, etc. (yes, I sometimes feel like a stalker looking at them all) So please give me some feedback. It’s really easy to make comments; you can even do it anonymously. It also motivates me to write more and better entries.

Until next week,

Tim

COS

2009-04-29T09:08:00.001-04:00

April 28, 2009

Sorry for the hiatus…having lots to do and feeling lazy at the same time makes for a severe shortage of blogs. I am kind of glad that the ‘10 cents a day’ blog was on the top of the page for so long, though. It’s one of my favorites. So what have I been doing for the last weeks/months? Finishing up. I got to my post in August 2007 and my two years of Peace Corps service are nearing an end.

Almost the entirety of my work right now is with my Club Success’ in nearby high schools. It’s a class based on the book 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I wrote about it back in November when there were two. Now there are five, and with the end of school year fast approaching and a party in the works to join all of the clubs together, tying up the loose ends is keeping me quite busy. I’m really proud of the kids and I think I can already see some of the positive results. After the class is over, I plan on giving a class of the same material to adults.

Literally speaking of the end of my PC service, I attended my Close of Service (COS) conference at the end of March in the capital with all of the rest of my training group that has made it thus far. We met in Philadelphia with 39 and at COS conference we were 26. Losing a third is, I think, a little more than usual but it was still great to reunite with friends that we hadn’t seen in over a year. And we’re still hoping to meet up with some of those who left for medical or personal reasons at future reunions.

Peace Corps treated us really well putting us up in probably the nicest hotel in Yaoundé. It was on a small mountain with our rooms’ balconies overlooking the pool in the foreground and the entire capital city in the background. We also had three really nice buffet meals a day. I felt stuffed for the entire conference and at least a week after.

The conference itself consisted of doing a lot of paperwork and planning logistics for our departures – things like our plane tickets home and closing up our posts as far as things like rent and utilities (for those that have them). My biggest headache right now is doing everything I can do get Saki, my dog, home with me. I decided to take cash in lieu of my plane ticket in order to take care of all the details but it’s proving more difficult than anticipated. I’ll keep you updated. Also during the conference, we spent a day at the embassy for a question and answer session (things like people looking for fiancé visas) and to talk about career opportunities in the State Department and elsewhere.

That’s all for now. I’ll be blogging a lot more – hopefully once a week – when my workload slows down in a few days.

Tim

Ten Cents a Day

2009-03-01T11:47:00.002-05:00

February 28, 2009

Looking at this picture reminds me of commercials I used to see in the US asking you to sponsor a child. “For only 10 cents a day…” they would plead. “Sponsor a child today.” Looking at this picture, what do you feel? Do you feel like you should take pity on her? Seriously. Stop and take 30 seconds to look at the picture and think about whether she is in need of assistance and why.

Yes, her button is broken – she’s wearing second-hand clothes. And yes she needs to wipe her nose. She also has a somewhat longing look on her face. Beyond that though, what is it? In my mind it’s just programming – clever marketing that has taken root designed to pull at heart strings and purse strings. Now don’t get me wrong. I have no idea what those organizations that take your 10 cents a day are actually doing. I haven’t seen any of them at work in Cameroon. Maybe they’re doing amazing work for kids that don’t have enough to eat or wouldn’t otherwise go to school. I’m not mad at the organizations. I’m mad at the stereotypes that I let myself be coerced into without even thinking about it. And I have a feeling I’m not alone in holding these stereotypes. Maybe I’m only alone in being able to notice this one because I’ve been living in Africa for almost two years.

Like almost every other introspective contemplation that I have in Cameroon, this one also leads me back to the ‘development question.’ What is it that people really need? Why are some countries considered underdeveloped? What are the criteria and do they really want to be developed? Peace Corps doesn’t send volunteers to Canada or Great Britain because someone somewhere decided that they are not in need. But how do we decide who needs what kind of help? To be fair to Peace Corps, each host country has to request volunteers. But then how do the host countries decide what they need. I think a lot of the ideas of what one considers ‘developed’ are relative – that is, compared to the West and Western standards, Cameroon is underdeveloped as is much of Africa. But if development is relative, in 75 years let’s presume Africa to be living at the exact same standards as Americans are now and America to be somehow 75 years more developed. Are we still going to say Africa is underdeveloped? I would probably strongly disagree if someone tried to argue that the US is underdeveloped today. I think most if not all of Americans would also strongly disagree, and would have done the same 75 years ago as well. But if development is relative, then that means it’s not about a selfless approach to meeting a set of standards that we deem indispensable to every human being. It’s just a game of catch-up – maybe a never-ending game of catch-up.

Now, I do think that there are some standards with regard to health care and education that are not relative and that are actually somewhat agreed upon. People have the right to drink water that doesn’t make them sick and a right to a decent education, for example. There are actually a decent number of NGOs and development organizations working on some of these problems. For the sake of the argument, let’s put those aside for now.

When I think of development, what normally comes to my head are roads and bridges and buildings and economies…and conquering poverty, like the girl in the picture – the idea of development that somehow established itself in my head. People need clean water, but do they need running water? Maybe a family is used to using kerosene lamps; do they need electricity? Paved roads? Automobiles? Where do you draw the line? Or, with a relative idea of development, do we keep moving the line farther and farther away like leading a horse with a carrot.

I occasionally hear some conspiracy theories about the white man trying to keep Africa down. I couldn’t disagree more with them, but we have to admit that we’re not playing on an even playing field. It is suited to those that are already ‘developed.’ We might not be cheating, but we did create the game. The idea of a capitalistic democracy was created by the West because it fit really well with our independent culture. There’s not necessarily anything wrong with it, but it is much harder to adapt, for example, in a collective culture like Cameroon’s. And now there is no longer a choice of whether or not to adapt it. It was decided by colonizing forces long ago and it is too late to go back. We’re stuck in this strange quandary with one puzzle piece left that doesn’t fit no matter how you force it. Cameroon and the rest of Africa, without outside influences, would have eventually developed into their own unique first-world identities. Sadly, we’ll never know what that image of Africa would have looked like.

We’re about to either hit a dead end or start going in circles, so let’s look at the question through a different paradigm: would you rather be a happy-go-lucky poor person or a miserable rich bastard? The idea is who cares about development? People want to be happy. If someone is living in a shanty town without running water but is a part of a loving family, has supportive friends, enough to eat and is not constantly sick, what’s the problem? Is the question how much stuff one needs to be happy or how one can be happy? They’re two entirely different questions. The person seeking the answer to the first question will probably never find enough stuff. The person seeking the answer to the second question, as in my case, will probably find little clues and tidbits of the answer along the way. And he might even find the quest just as enjoyable as the possibility of ever finding an answer.

Maybe it seems like I’ve changed my outlook a bit. It might seem that today I would disagree with what I wrote in the “What’s wrong with Cameroon” series. I don’t. The idea is not that there is nothing wrong with Cameroon – there’s plenty. But I could write another series on what’s wrong with the US or probably any other country after living there for a year or so. The idea is that while some or all of those problems might be causing a look of ‘underdevelopment,’ creating a look of ‘development’ won’t fix the problems. A lot of problems came from the West telling them what their societies were supposed to look like. And examining my thoughts while looking at the picture at the top of this blog, I don’t think we ever stopped. We still have an idea that African society doesn’t look the way it should, and that we need to fix it. I don’t think that development aid should be cut off, especially not in the areas of health and education. But maybe a more hands-off approach or more leadership by the part of underdeveloped countries would help. Maybe the founding fathers got it right when they said our unalienable rights were life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Maybe the developed world should take the approach that my parents still take in raising me: “We just want you to be happy.”

Underdeveloped countries have a steep hill to climb and no one can change that. But that doesn’t mean you can’t smile while walking uphill.

Tim

* I took this picture in the traditional animist household I visited in Rumsiki. The girl lives in a nice walled compound with her dad, several moms and plenty of food to fill her belly.

The North, Part III - The EXTREME

2009-02-17T04:17:00.016-05:00

February 16, 2009

While Genevieve and I were in the North Province, Angie was great leading us around and acting as our tour guide. And when we were ready to head to the Extreme North, she turned into a travel agent telling us about everything we needed to see and do. She even gave us a list with information and phone numbers to guide us on our way. The first thing on our list was Rumsiki. Rumsiki is a small town out in the bush nestled away among these strange peaks and not much else. It’s become a tourist attraction because of the scenery and also the Crab Sorcerer (we’ll get to him later).

We took a bush taxi from Garoua, in the North, to Mokolo, in the Extreme North. Mokolo is the closest decent-sized town to Rumsiki and happens to be where Fleurange, another volunteer and friend of ours lives. She was coming back from Rumsiki with some other friends the day we were to arrive and we were having problems with cell phone reception. So when our bus arrived, we asked a couple of moto drivers if they knew where she lived. They said they did and took us there. When we knocked at the gate a friendly dog and a tall, thin white girl answered the door. She spoke English like an American, but…this wasn’t Fleurange. It just happens that there are two volunteers in Mokolo. One is Fleurange, a SED volunteer that came in a year after me and that I met during her training. The other (the one whose house we were at) is an Agro-forestry volunteer named Thea that had just arrived at post one week ago – the reason we had never met her before. It turned out Fleurange wasn’t back yet so it was great to meet Thea and lucky that she was so nice as to feed and welcome in a couple of strangers for a few hours. It’s great having a big family – some members you don’t even know about. It’s also nice to know that a bunch of those members, Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, are waiting for me back in the States. After a little bit of worry and still no cell phone reception, Fleurange and her friends eventually arrived. They told us about their adventures and we crashed for the night.

Early the next morning – before the others even woke up – Genevieve and I headed into town to eat breakfast and find a couple of motos to take us to Rumsiki. It is possible to take a car there, but the road is horrible and everyone that I know that has been there told us to hop on the back of a motorcycle instead. The trip being as bad as it was on the moto, I don’t even want to imagine what it would be like crammed in a car. It took us an hour and a half to arrive on a bumpy dirt road and my moto didn’t have any back shocks. One time during the trip I had to tell my driver to stop. The scenery is gorgeous and I took some photos, but we really stopped so I could rest my tailbone a bit. I think I remember reading somewhere that the peaks are all old volcanoes. What you are seeing is actually the core where the lava came up, but everything else has eroded away over time.

The view from where I rested my tailbone

When we got to Rumsiki, we pulled into a nice hotel on the outside of town. This is where we hired our guide and bumped into the US Ambassador who happened to be on vacation with her family. She recognized we were Peace Corps Volunteers right away because of our motorcycle helmets (I would say maybe 2% of Cameroonians have helmets because of the cost) so we chatted a little bit and took some pictures before heading into town with our guide.

Our guide, the same one that took the Ambassador around, was very impressive. He was knowledgeable in everything that he was saying and seemed to me very westernized despite never having left Africa. One example of this was him setting up poses that he would take with our cameras. It was kind of cheesy, but you have to put it into context. As far as I know you can’t even buy a digital camera in Cameroon, so our guide who knew how to operate one, framed the image well, and was even creative surprised me.

Cheesy pose

A rather extreme case of a poorly taken photo a few days prior

On the way into town, we talked about the origins of Rumsiki and the makeup of its inhabitants. The town started with one man who was out hunting and found a great cave in one of the peaks in an area with a lot of game. He talked to a nearby chief about bringing his family there to live and the chief agreed as long as he was given some fresh meat from time to time. The town eventually grew from there and even defended attacks from Arabs because of the strategic location of the cave. Now the town is mostly made up of Animists, like its founder, with a minority of Muslims and a few Christians here and there. On the way through town we tasted some traditional millet beer, saw the men’s, women’s, and children’s palaver trees where the Animist community would come to work out any problems, and we also passed artisans making clay pots, weaving cotton and making other handicrafts. I’m not sure how many of those artisans would have been there fifty years ago, though. One square that we passed seemed to be a hub of activity. There were several people spinning cotton into thread, more weaving the thread with looms, and others selling finished products. They were some trying to show us how to spin the cotton, tell us how much they worked and how little money they made, and get us to buy their spindle as a souvenir. Funny thing was, when Genevieve and I passed by the same square later without our guide it was completely empty. Tourism is what drives this town now.

Our first stop was a traditional Animist household. My understanding is that an Animist is one who can see God or the Divine in ordinary objects existing in nature. It could be a tree, a rock, or an animal. Each practitioner or family will actually pick one of these objects to be ‘their God’ and to worship. At the entrance of this polygamous household, our guide pointed out the stone that the family worshiped. Walking in further, we saw lots of round, stone huts with thatched roofs. The first one was for any guest staying the night, a few were where the different wives and children slept and the rest were for stocking grains and other foods. The one way that these polygamous families are different from the Fulbé and some others in the Grand South is that if one of the wives is dissatisfied with the way she is being treated, she can very easily leave and go find another husband. I found that interesting – almost like polygamous women’s lib. (I’ve written about polygamy a couple of times in my blog because it’s so different from what I’m used to in the US. I should probably point out that while the outlook on marriage is very different here, the majority of Cameroonians are not polygamous.)

One of the storage huts – food is stored in the bottom and the top, you can also see the peak that has the cave in the background to the right

After the seeing the traditional household, we went to see the Crab Sorcerer. He, more than anything else in Rumsiki, is the reason for all of the tourists. The Crab Sorcerer is the head elder of the Animist Community. And he communicates with crabs. It is a skill that has been passed down in his family for generations, although it is the crab that decides to which son the skill will be passed, not the sorcerer himself. Our guide is actually his grandson and so has a chance of ending up as the Crab Sorcerer later in his life. Every Animist is required to consult the Crab Sorcerer at least once per year but he also tells the fortunes of all the tourists that come through. As much as was possible, I tried to keep an open mind before seeing him. He looks as authentic as is possible, but after hearing my fortune I have to say I’m pretty skeptical. He only speaks the local dialect, so you have to use your guide to translate for you. How it works is you ask a question; he tells the crab and puts the crab in a pot; the crab rearranges little sticks and stones in the pot; and the Crab Sorcerer, based on the arrangement of the things in the pot, tells you your answer. The question that I asked was ‘What am I going to be doing as far as work after Peace Corps, and where? The answer was either North America or Europe and that I should marry Genevieve. I think he assumed we were a couple. Maybe you understand now why I’m a skeptic. It was still totally worth the experience though – just look at the pics.

The Crab Sorcerer

The crab’s pot

After the Crab Sorcerer we took a short hike up to the original cave that was the reason for the foundation of Rumsiki. As we hiked up we could see what was left of some of the stone walls of the original buildings. And about two thirds of the way up, we arrived at the cave. It wasn’t really like one you would think of in the States, but more of an outcrop that was good for shelter and getting an eye of the land. There was a great view of the different neighborhoods of Rumsiki and even the border with Nigeria. By this time, we were hungry and ready for a late lunch. We had already put in a reservation at The Vegetarian Carnivore, a restaurant on the outside of town. Angie recommended it for us and I’ll do the same for anyone that might be traveling to the Extreme North of Cameroon. It was wonderful. On the way down the peak, our guide took the initiative to help us knock down a fruit from a baobab tree that we took to the restaurant. And as easy as that (ha ha), with our meal we had fresh baobab juice.

The cave/outcrop

The view from the cave

Throwing rocks to try to knock down the baobab fruit

Our aim was off so we had to use alternative measures

Me, victorious, with the baobab fruit

After our meal, and the necessary respite for digestion, we met back up with our moto drivers and rode back to Mokolo. That my moto broke down half-way back was actually a blessing – I ended up switching and getting a much cushier ride. Gen and I slept really well at Fleurange’s place that night and the next morning headed to Maroua, the capital of the Extreme North. Another suggestion for anyone planning to go to Rumsiki: don’t go there and back in one day. Even with shocks, it’s a long, exhausting ride. The hotel on the way into town is gorgeous, has a small pool overlooking the rocky landscape, and is not that expensive. If I had it to do again, I’d stay the night and maybe take a hike in the morning before heading back.

Maroua, for me, was a time to relax. And it was the perfect place to do it. The transit house (Case) for PC volunteers is beautiful, with a large shade-covered sandy lawn. I spent a lot of my time just reading outside and listening to the wind blow through the trees – a sound I hadn’t realized I missed. Compared to the rest of the Grand North, Maroua is full of trees. It’s a beautiful city with tree lined avenues nestled among a large river…except when I was there it was just a river bed. The beds dry up with the dry season, but if you dig just a little you can get to water. It was interesting to see people doing this in order to wash their clothes during the day. There are also plenty of shops and a large artisan market in Maroua. I didn’t get any, but the best things to buy are the leather products – bags, wallets and shoes are all popular items. You can even have things specially made for you.

The road leading into Maroua – I tried to capture the dry river bed out the window of a bush taxi

Other than reading in the shade and walking around the city, the rest of my time in the Extreme North was spent eating good food. Restaurants aren’t hard to come by in Maroua but we did a lot of cooking too. There are always a decent amount of PC volunteers coming through Maroua and this was New Years, so there were even more finding excuses to stop by. A lot of volunteers from the training group that had just been posted like to cook and there’s a nice kitchen in the Case so I felt right at home with them. I don’t even remember what we ate. I just remember it being good. The New Year’s celebration was pretty low-key, just a time to hang out and appreciate the good weather, good food, and good company.

Genevieve and I stopped for one more night in Garoua on the way back, but that pretty much wraps up my time in the North. Of course there was the dreaded train ride back (despite getting a couchette, I was starting to get sick and threw up twice on the ride) but I think I covered almost everything. I had a great time in the North and would suggest that anyone visiting Cameroon make the trip up there. It was a learning experience even for me and I tried to throw in as many of the cultural tidbits that I picked up into these three blogs. I hope you enjoyed reading them.

Tim

The North, Part II - Christmas in Garoua

2009-01-25T04:42:00.006-05:00

January 17, 2009

After spending a couple days in Tourningal in the Adamaoua, Genevieve and I headed back to Ngoundéré and then took a bush taxi to Garoua, the capital of the North Province. Garoua is supposed to be the hottest city in Cameroon. It is surrounded by mountains that trap in the heat and humidity. But there was not much heat and no humidity. We heard it was "winter," but knowing that the Adamaoua has a much more temperate climate, we were worried about what the North province had in store for us. We were told that as the bush taxi winds down the road off of the Adamaoua plateau, you can feel the temperature rising. We did feel the temperature go up slightly, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. What caught our eye were the Hermitan winds that bring the "winter" weather, or at least proof of their existence in the form of dust. It didn’t gust or feel that windy. It was just dusty. Visibility was probably around a half of a mile creating an eerie feeling and not allowing us to see the landscape around us.

While it wasn’t hot outside, it did get quite hot in the bush taxi. The majority of the people in the taxi were already used to extreme heat and they preferred it over the dust, so the windows stayed closed for most of the four and a half hour trip to Garoua. Thirty people crammed into a small bus with no circulation was not exactly pleasant, but we eventually made it. Angie and Stephanie met us at the agency and we went for dinner at a place around the corner that had fresh fruit smoothies.

Our time in the North ended up being an interesting mix between touristy, cultural stuff and American time. There were two reasons for this. One is that there are four Peace Corps volunteers in Garoua and lots more in the surrounding area, most of them from our training group. The second is that it was Christmas time. Christmas is one of those holidays where you want to be reminded of home and your own traditions, and being surrounded by Muslim culture, we stuck together a lot.

We arrived on December 23rd, so the way that we were introduced to most of Garoua, the fourth largest city in Cameroon, was in buying things from markets and boutiques to get ready for our own celebrations. On Christmas Eve, about 15 volunteers got together at Angie’s house for a great dinner. We had bruschetta, two chickens, vegetarian chili, mashed potatoes, carrots, and pumpkin pie (actually squash pie) for dessert. Dinner was served under the stars by candlelight with Christmas music playing from a collection of people’s iPods as we ate on a huge straw mat. It was a great ambiance. Then, Christmas day, everyone went to Stephanie’s house. The crowd grew even more as there were probably 30 volunteers at the party. Stephanie actually lives in a primary school. It’s a little surreal, but worked quite well for the party. There were plenty of chairs and tables (even if they were meant for people one third our size) and there was space for everything that she had planned. One room was set aside for Christmas movies, another was for board games, and there was even an area for crafts where people decorated a Christmas tree taped to the wall and cut snowflakes. The food was once again amazing - a potluck with green bean casserole, cheesy spinach dip, hummus and homemade crackers, salad, mashed potatoes, rice and vegetables, Christmas cookies, pumpkin pie, and a lot more that I can’t even remember. We even had a white elephant gift exchange later on in the evening. Because we had partied well into the night on Christmas Eve, this day ended up being a lot more laid back.

Christmas Eve Dinner

The day after Christmas we headed into the Grand Marché so that I could buy a boubou (pronounced boo-boo), the traditional men’s clothing in the Grand North. I can see them occasionally worn in the South, even by non-muslims, but it’s not as common and I had never worn one. For anyone that doesn’t know what a boubou is, it’s a pair of loose-fitting pants with a loose-fitting top that goes down a little below the knees. The top is embroidered around the neck and sometimes other places. One of the reasons I wanted to buy a boubou was because I had brought mostly shorts and t-shirts readying myself for the heat not realizing that they weren’t really acceptable in the stricter traditional standards of the North. But the main reason was just for the experience. When in Rome, right? When we got to the market we found two long rows of tailors making and selling nothing but boubous. It was quite a sight. Not knowing at all what a good price was but having acquired a love of haggling, I spent a long time going up and down the aisles talking to each shop. I finally got to the point where I found a boubou that I liked and told the man in the shop how much I wanted to pay. He had to call the owner who, he told me, was coming right away. I took the fact that he had to call the owner to mean that I was asking for a really good price. During the time I was waiting for the owner to show up, though, I found someone else that was trying to convince me not to buy one pre-made, that he wanted to make my boubou himself. I would be able to pick out the fabric, it would be tailored to my size, he could have it ready by the next morning, and … he could do it cheaper. Though a little bit skeptical, I agreed. It turns out he was a genuinely nice guy and a great businessman. He took me on his motorcycle to two different fabric shops to pick out exactly what I wanted, got me a good deal, and kept his word by having it ready first thing the next morning. It was dark green, almost exactly like the one I was about to buy except I was able to have the embroidery done better because I had saved so much money on the fabric. All that and at two thirds the price! Genevieve ordered something at the same time as me and he’s already picked up orders from at least three other Peace Corps volunteers. He does a great job and his good service is already paying dividends. If you’re ever in Garoua I’m pretty sure his shop is number GI-47 at the corner of the market.

The experience of wearing the boubou is another story all its own. I was amazed at all the respect and attention that people gave me. It was partly because they were proud that a foreigner was embracing their culture, but also because of the importance of appearance and what it represents as far as your social standing. People everywhere were calling me El Hadji which is a title for someone that has made the trek to Mecca. They probably knew that I had never been to Mecca; it was just a way of showing respect. Some people called me El Hadji Nasara. Nasara means white man in Fulfuldé, and while it’s often heard chanted from little kids or done just to solicit a reaction from you, this was very respectful. One of the days that I wore my boubou we all went to Lagdo, a town about 45 minutes outside of Garoua. I remember on one of the legs of the journey, as we were cramming seven people into an economy size car, it was insisted that El Hadji Nasara sit in the front. That is the seat reserved for the most important person. I usually don’t even like sitting there. They fit two people into that one front passenger seat. I would rather be one of the four people they squeeze into the back three seats. Three fourths of a seat is better than one half, right? But this time, the other person that was next to me in front was giving me as much space as humanly possible. He was like an acrobat almost on top of the stick shift giving me pretty much the whole seat to myself. While I felt uncomfortable having people go out of their way for me and judging me solely on the way I was dressed, it was an insightful experience into not just northern but Cameroonian culture. While I don’t necessarily like or agree with the practice, I can definitely see how if I had grown up here, every day I would dress to impress and not for comfort. I remember hearing in our training over a year and a half ago that people will wear the best clothes they have and take pains to keep up their appearance. I saw that it was true, but now I have an even better understanding of why.

The Lagdo trip that I had the VIP treatment for was pretty amazing. In the middle of this desert climate is a town profiting from a hydro-electric dam that creates a lake and some pretty incredible scenery. When we arrived we went straight to the dam. On one side is the lake and nearby hills extending right to the waters edge. On the other, hundreds of feet below, the river continues through a trail of fertile, green earth among the rest of the dry region. At the bottom is also a home for a few hippos that we could see lounging in the water and the afternoon sun. They were pretty far down and all we could see were the tops of their heads poking out of the water, but after seeing one yawn it brought back the reality of what we were seeing. His enormous head hinged open at least ninety degrees. After the dam, we went to have a drink at the Blue Lagoon, a small resort on the waters edge. The serenity of the resort with groups of small huts and buildings scattered on the hillside overlooking the lake made it the perfect place to sit down and soak up the scenery. We took our time, took a few pictures, and then headed back to Garoua.

The lake at the top of the dam

Hippos at the bottom

View from the Blue Lagoon

At the Blue Lagoon (the boubou has an affect on Americans too)

Once back in Garoua, we got a good night sleep, woke up early, and took the first bush taxi of the day into the Extreme North…

Tim

*Don’t forget to check out the photos I just added to the last post.

The North, Part I - Adamaoua

2009-01-08T05:04:00.007-05:00

January 7, 2009

I just got back from my trip to the north of Cameroon. I feel like there’s a lot to write about, so I’ll split it up. The “Grand North” of Cameroon is made up of three provinces – Adamaoua (pronounced a-da-ma’-wa), North, and Extreme North. I’ll designate a blog to each one.

The Grand North feels like a country of its own (In fact, I see Cameroon as three countries – Grand North, Francophone South, and Anglophone South which includes the Northwest and Southwest provinces). There are several reasons for this. The first is that every single road that goes into the Adamaoua, or the southernmost of the three Northern provinces, from the rest of Cameroon is horrible. The only reasonable way to get there is to fly, which is expensive and the flights aren’t always running, or take the night train, which is what everyone does. The second reason is the culture. The grand south, the remaining 7 Cameroonian provinces, is predominately Christian while the grand north is predominately Muslim culture creating an entirely different feel to the region. The climate and landscape set it apart too. The Sahel is a much hotter and drier desert climate.

First – the train. The train from Yaoundé to Ngoundéré, the capital of the Adamaoua, is infamous among volunteers and Cameroonians alike. The reason is that it’s a pain in the ass. Getting through the corruption at the station is your first hurdle. Anyone that’s ever had one before will tell you that a couchette, or a sleeper car, is the way to go. The only problem is that your reservations might mysteriously disappear. Being the only reasonable way to get north, the train’s packed every single night and the couchettes are always hard to come by as even well-to-do business men and politicians are waiting in line. Even if you show up first thing the morning of to buy tickets, you shouldn’t be very surprised to find that there is only first class left despite having already made reservations for a couchette. I ended up traveling with 11 other Peace Corps Volunteers who were down for a conference. We reserved 12 couchettes and only got 4 despite Sally making the reservations for all of them. Sally is a Cameroonian Peace Corps employee that knows all the right people, knows the system, and is the person you go to when you need to get things done. That the reservations she made ended up being given to someone else is a testament to how difficult it can be. So, I ended up sitting in first class. The seats were really not that uncomfortable. I would say that it’s similar if not a little better than coach on a plane. The only problem is that it’s a night train and you want to be sleeping, not sitting up. Also this is probably not the only leg of your journey. You might have traveled for hours already to get to Yaoundé and you might need to travel for hours more once the train arrives in Ngoundéré. The other pain is that the train is supposed to leave every night at a little after 6pm and arrive the next day a little after 6am. A 12-hour train ride is bad enough, but it rarely, if ever, leaves on time and rarely, if ever, takes just 12 hours. I’ve heard volunteers posted in the north complain to no end about having to take the train and was not looking forward to it. For my first experience, we left the station at 9pm, three hours late, made lots of stops where there were no stations, and arrived the next day at noon making it a total of 18 hours! As far as Peace Corps stories go, the longest anyone I know has had to wait was 30 hours because of the train derailing, but it’s been in the news that it’s taken 3 days on the worst of trips! Hope they packed some extra food.

My travel plans for the entire two-and-a-half weeks were incredibly vague to begin with. I knew I wanted to spend a night or two with my friend Ali, a health volunteer in the Adamaoua, Christmas in Garoua, the capital of the North Province, and New Years in Maroua, the capital of the Extreme North Province. Beyond that, I just wanted to hang out with my friends and get a better understanding of the entirety of the country in which I’m serving. It just so happened that Genevieve, a friend from my training group, was taking a trip to the north on the exact same dates and had planned even less than me. We decided to do just about everything together. So when we arrived in Ngoundéré, we got some lunch, met up with Ali, and headed out to her post on the prison bus. Yep, you read right…kinda. Something the Adamaoua Peace Corps Volunteers pride themselves in is that it’s the only place in the country where the bush taxis look like prison buses (think old school gangster movies where they load the crooks in the back and slam the door). There are definitely some similarities. It’s a big boxy truck that you load from the back, there’s not much in the way of windows that open, and there is a barrier with bars between the passengers and the drivers. I’m not sure if they ever used to be real prison buses; it reminded me, personally, of a bread delivery truck, but I decided it best not to say anything at the time. Ali, Genevieve, and I luckily got the last three spots on the bus and took off for the dusty hour-and-a-half trip to Tourningal.

Ali had stressed to me at Thanksgiving that I had to spend at least a night in the Adamaoua in order to get a taste of Fulbé culture. Fulbé are the Muslim ethnic group that makes up a lot of the Grand North. They tend to be taller, thinner, and lighter skinned than the other ethnic groups and they speak Fulfuldé. Their highest concentration is in the Adamaoua, probably close to 100% in Ali’s small village of Tourningal, and the farther north you go the sparser they become. While Christians and Animists become more dominate moving north, the Fulbé imprint on the entire northern culture is undeniable. Remember how I said the North had a predominately Muslim culture? It’s Muslim culture, not Muslims. I’m pretty sure I remember reading somewhere that the Grand North doesn’t even have a majority of Muslims, yet you would never know it just from looking. The architecture is different from the South and there are mosques everywhere. You can hear the call to prayer in any city you are in, and the bush taxis even stop at scheduled prayer times. The style of dress has a much more Muslim and conservative feel to it as the men wear traditional boubous and the women almost all have some sort of cloth covering their head. And then there’s the language. Cameroon’s two official languages are French and English, but if you want to do anything beyond tourism in the Grand North, you’d better speak Fulfuldé. You need it to get good prices at the markets and for moto-taxis in any town, and if you live in a village like Tourningal, 95% of your interactions will be in Fulfuldé. The majority of people there don’t even speak French. What about school, you might ask? Tourningal’s school system recently added middle school grades, but for anything beyond that you would have to go and live in a bigger town like Ngoundéré. Ali told us that last year there was one student from Tourningal that passed the Baccalaureate, the High School exit exam, and that everyone was really proud of him.

Me and Genevieve in Tourningal

When we arrived, we went to Ali’s house to get cleaned up, got a quick tour of the village (it doesn’t take that long), and headed over for dinner at her family’s house. This family essentially adopted her for her time in Cameroon. It’s a polygamous family and the wife that she is the closest to just happens to be the best cook. The wives take turns cooking for the husband and all the kids, but each wife usually prepares for herself and any other possible guests even when it’s not her turn. When it’s not her turn, the kids usually go to Ali’s mom after their dinner to see if there is anything better-tasting left over. She is a really good cook. While we were there we ate two different leafy green sauces with rice couscous, cassava in fresh sweetened milk, steamed squash, fried rice cakes, and doughnuts. There was always sweet lemongrass tea, sometimes with fresh milk. I think we ate breakfast lunch and dinner there for two solid days. It was wonderful and there was always more than could imagine eating. The biggest difference in the food for me was dairy. In the south there are hardly any dairy products while in the Grand North, cattle are a huge part of the economy. You can see them being herded everywhere and they look a lot healthier than the ones you see in the South. The opposite is true with fish. It’s everywhere in the South and very expensive in the North.

Ali and her adopted family

If eating food with dairy in the bedroom of one of the wives in a polygamous compound wasn’t enough, the other thing to throw me off a bit was the language – not only how little French Ali’s mom spoke, but also how well Ali spoke Fulfuldé. She kept trying to be modest and say she wasn’t very good, but not once did I hear her struggle to get her point across or understand what someone else was saying. And this is where Genevieve and I started trying to pick it up. Luckily, unlike a lot of other local languages in Cameroon, Fulfuldé is pretty straight forward. You pronounce everything pretty clearly, it’s not a tonal language, and there are only two sounds that don’t exist in English. We learned our basic greetings and thank yous, and then I asked her for a phrase that really helped me throughout my vacation – A ho’okan am na’ay noy, jay bangugo mo? It means ‘How many cows will you give me to marry her?’ I had a lot of fun with it. Fulfuldé is spoken everywhere in the Grand North, but it’s much more possible to get by with just French the farther north you go and in bigger cities. Some of the Peace Corps Volunteers that I met up with later on in my vacation didn’t even know what I was saying when I tried to sell them to their friends.

There was one other thing that we weren’t expecting – the cold! The north is supposed to be HOT. The Adamaoua Province is on a plateau and not supposed to be as bad as the North or Extreme North, but Ali had to lend us some fleeces and we were still shivering wearing socks to bed and sleeping under blankets. Volunteers in the North are glad to tell you their sob stories about it being 140° in the shade, but I had never heard anyone tell me they had a winter! That’s actually what they call it. The Hermitan Winds pick up for about 6-8 weeks in December and January cooling things off a lot. In the South, it’s the middle of the dry season and the hottest time of the year. In the North, it’s their coolest time of the year. To be fair to all of the sob stories, the coolest in the North is not that far off from the hottest in the South. To me, the days still felt like summer and the nights like fall. The other difference in the climate was the dryness. Dry season in the South means no rain, but it’s still sticky and humid. In the north there was no humidity – zero. For not being used to it, the dry air felt like it was going to give me a bloody nose every time I breathed. My lips became instantly chapped. And while I didn’t have any skin problems, Genevieve, who’s African-American, was putting on lotion 10 times a day.

No water or electricity at Ali's post (and notice the fleece a couple sizes too small for me)

Soaking up the Fulbé style of life (and the good food) in and around Ali’s post, we decided to stay an extra night. While we were there, we ended up seeing three different waterfalls, the ranch of the former president Ahidjo, and a town called Idool. Idool is a very interesting place. It’s a very traditional and conservative Fulbé village. It’s unique in that the founder was into city planning. All of the roads are straight and lined with trees, everyone lives in walled compounds, it’s kept very neat, no one litters, and we even saw a lake in the shape of the map of Cameroon. Another interesting note that I probably wouldn’t have even realized had Ali not pointed it out was that we never saw any women. It is so conservative that women either aren’t even allowed out of their houses or have many chores to do.

Idool

Waterfalls of Tello

The touristy stuff like the waterfalls were great, but the best part of our stay was just experiencing Fulbé village life. I completely agree with Ali that to fully understand the culture of the Grand North, you need to spend some time in the Adamaoua. We really enjoyed ourselves there.

Tim

Next Blog

2008-12-16T05:03:00.002-05:00

December 16, 2008

I'm going on vacation over Christmas and New Years to the three Northern provinces. This is where it's hot. The hottest days of the year get up to 140F in the shade! As long as I don't melt, I'll tell you all about it when I get back.

But...if you want something before then, help me out. I think one of my best blogs, or at least one with the most reaction was when I responded to questions from my mom's book club. So how about Round II? I should have internet access where I'm going and it's less work for me if you all come up with what I'm supposed to write about. I'm also curious who's reading. I've been told by countless volunteers that their mom reads my blog. And I know that it's a lot more than Peace Corps moms. I recently installed a counter on the site and the statistics are interesting. While it wasn't so much a 'surprise' where a huge number of the hits came from - Surprise, AZ is where my parents are living - some other details caught my eye. Eight percent of my readers are in the UK, and there are others from Ireland, Australia, Kenya, France, South Korea, and plenty of other countries (Cameroon was actually hardly existant on the list). In the US, a lot of places were predictable like Arizona, Indiana where I grew up, and Maryland where I went to school. And there were other places that caught my eye either because it seems random, like North Hero, VT or Lilburn, GA, or because I have friends there that I've lost contact with for a long time.

So partly because it's easier for me if you choose the topic, and partly because I'm curious who's out there, send me a line! Ask me a question, or just let me know you're out there. You can comment to this blog or, if you're shy, you can email me at thartman2pccam@yahoo.com

Tim

Piggy Bank Project

2008-12-10T11:14:00.001-05:00

December 10, 2008

The Piggy Bank Project that has lived in our heads for so long now has finally been carried out. Our plan was put into action around the Thanksgiving holiday and was an absolute success! And now I’m spent. It was a lot of work.

The idea started over a year ago. Autumn and Tara both had very good experiences with starting piggybanks for some kids in their neighborhoods. For some of the kids it was a place for storing some of the money they earned doing chores for the Peace Corps Volunteer; for others it was just a place to deposit a little change that wasn’t spent on candy or other unnecessary purchases. It was an idea that the kids took to very quickly, but as we soon found out, saving was a concept that many were not exposed to as children. It seemed like something easy to teach, inexpensive to implement (the piggybanks started out as empty jars), and able to make a pretty large impact. When Tara and I found out that her carpenter friend next door could make piggybanks, a simple wooden box with a slit in the top, for about 60 cents was when the idea for the project began to take form.

The idea was to bring piggybanks and the concept of saving to as many kids as possible. We decided to organize a series of savings seminars in all of the high schools in the area. We would open each seminar to the first 100 students and give each one of them a locally made ‘piggybank’ in hopes that they start applying the knowledge right when the seminar ended. Already going to all of the high schools in the area and wanting to make the seminars as fun as possible, we decided to tap the help of the other Peace Corps volunteers in the littoral province as well.

Our next problem was funding. While in the grand scheme of things this was a fairly cheap project, hundreds of piggybanks and transportation all around the province was pretty much impossible on a Peace Corps living allowance. So we posted the project on Peace Corps Partnership site where anyone can give a tax deductible contribution to partially fund a Peace Corps volunteer’s project (https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.donatenow&) and at the same time looked for funding from the communities here. You all did your part funding 75% of our project in about 2 weeks, and we didn’t have to look very hard here coming up with the last 25%. The MC² microfinance banks that almost all small business volunteers work with gave the rest. The seven towns where we held the seminars all had an MC². Each one of these community banks chipped in about $20 and we gave them a slot in the seminar program to talk about why it was better to save at a bank in lieu of at the home and to do a little public outreach to the students who could end up as future clients. At this point we placed an order for 700 piggybanks from Tara’s neighbor.

Through with almost all of the hurdles, the last thing that we needed to do was schedule the seminars in a time that worked for all the volunteers in the province. From the planning to the implementation, one volunteer switched posts within the province and another switched posts leaving the province confusing matters. And there was another volunteer that simply couldn’t schedule time away from her work. That left 5 of us to carry out the project. We picked a schedule for the seminars, and then changed it about four times finally deciding on the last week of November and the first week of December.

Tara, Autumn and I set up the final logistical details with each of the schools’ principles and towns’ bank directors the week before and we all crossed our fingers that everything would work out as planned. On November 24^th, we all met at my house to iron out who was going to say what and when in the seminar, and the next day we traveled to Manjo to do our first seminar all together.

In all, we did seminars in Manjo, Baré, Kekem, Melong, Nkongsamba, Loum, and Njombé. This is roughly what happened at each one: First we all had to find bush taxis to our location and someone had to bring two very large bags with the 100 piggybanks to our destination. We would meet quickly with the school administration to make sure that the communiqué was read inviting the students and that there was a room designated large enough for the seminar. For the schools that had one available, we asked for a sound system so we could talk into a microphone and save our voices for the two weeks. We had piggybanks for the first 100 students, but we let in as many as wanted to hear the seminar. There was only one town where we didn’t have 100 students – Njombé had about 75 in attendance – but in Nkongsamba we ended up with about 500 easily making up for it! I would say that the others averaged about 200 to 250. When we got to the classroom/hall the first priority was order. We needed to give numbers to the first 100 students so that they could claim their piggybank and, in general, just keep everyone calm. Dan was great for this. For those that don’t know him, Dan is about 12 feet tall and graciously accepted to fill the stereotype and be our bouncer. The seminar actually started with Tara giving a description of Peace Corps, why we were there, and introduced each of us. Then Abby and Dan (Sandrine et Gilbert) would put on a sketch of two students, one who saves, and the other that ends up learning from her example. I would then take the floor and give an analysis of the sketch which gave three reasons to save – to follow your dreams, for big purchases, and for unexpected expenses. There were Donahue references made as I would often go into the audience with the microphone soliciting some brainstorming help from the students. After me was Autumn, who did an activity with the kids. She had them list all of their purchases for a week and find out how much of that was non-necessary. Then they multiplied to find out how much they could save in a month, in a year, and until they turned 18. You could see some of their faces light up as they realized that all of this information could actually apply to them, that little by little it really starts to add up. Next was the slot for the bank director to talk about the importance of saving in a bank and anything else they wanted to add. And the last thing before giving them their piggybanks was to pump up the energy and make fools of ourselves at the same as time. Tara taught them a song and dance on savings. We took a popular Cameroonian pop song and modified it to remind them to save their money. The kids loved seeing us all sing and dance, and we often heard them singing it as they walked home toward their respective houses. Then, miraculously, we had them leave in an orderly fashion as the first 100 collected their piggybanks on the way out.

It was incredibly fatiguing, but we couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. This is one of the memories I will always take with me from my time here in Cameroon. I’ll try to get some pictures from the project into my next post.

Thank you to everyone who contributed to the success of this project!

Tim

And the answer is...

2008-11-17T04:57:00.003-05:00

YES! Saki's ears will, and in fact already have, gone up. I know it's been a question on the minds of many of you out there. I hope you haven't been losing too much sleep.

And because I was already uploading one photo, here is what's possibly only the start of the "Saki and the..." series.

Saki and the Snail

Saki and the Centipede

Saki and the Ant (it's there, I promise)

Saki and the Preying Mantis

Club SUCCESS

2008-11-14T04:42:00.000-05:00

November 12, 2008

I mentioned a couple entries ago that I wanted to start up a club in high schools that would follow the book “7 Habits of Highly Effective People.” I thought I’d give you an update on where I am with this project to date.

So far I’ve started two clubs. One is in Bare and is in collaboration with Tara. The other is here in Nkongsamba. They were both launched the same week by making an announcement in the classrooms of students in the second cycle – the equivalent of sophomores, juniors and seniors. We gave a very brief description of the objectives of the club and told motivated and interested students to meet us after school. The description was that it was called club Success, that we were going to talk about what it meant to succeed, and how that related to ourselves and our relationships with others. We also mentioned that there would be homework each week to better process what we had talked about. And just like that, it worked! Motivated, intelligent students showed up – not too many, but not too few.

We called it a club because it’s after school and it’s voluntary, but it’s actually more like a class with a lot of participation and discussion. Unlike other clubs, we don’t meet on Wednesdays, there’s no president or secretary, and there’s no fee to join. And, of course, there’s homework. Each student has a notebook in which they can take notes and do their homework – essentially a journal entry about what we talked about and how it relates to their life. The notebooks are probably my favorite part. I get to take them home over the weekend, read them, and give my own feedback. I end up having a bunch of private conversations about the lives of Cameroonian high school students and the problems that they face. When I’m writing in their notebooks I feel the highest sense of purpose since coming to Cameroon (that doesn’t mean to stop sending books☺).

So far we’ve had four classes and we haven’t even gotten to the 1^st habit. We’ve been talking a lot about principles and paradigms still following the introduction of the book. But moving slow doesn’t mean we’re not accomplishing a lot. In fact, because it’s going so well, I’m planning on starting up a couple more clubs in Nkongsamba while it’s still somewhat early in the school year. It’s something I really look forward to every week.

Tim

Reading Follow-up:

2008-10-29T05:47:00.000-04:00

October 15, 2008

I wrote a blog on reading in Cameroon in which I described how reading, whether for business, learning or pleasure, is just not common here. I talked about how it’s not promoted in school, but also showed that the price and availability of books here make it nearly impossible for someone to get into reading in the first place. Then, I asked you, my readers, to send me books. For those of you that have already sent books, thank you so much!!! I wanted to give you an update on what I decided to do with your contributions.

A few weeks ago, I headed to Tiko in the Southwest Province. It is rather small town in between Doaula, the commercial hub of Cameroon, and Limbé, one of two popular beach towns. It is also the home of my friends and fellow Peace Corps volunteers Joe and Debbie. Looking at my options for where to distribute the books, it had to be in one of the Anglophone provinces, so either the Northwest or the Southwest. I didn’t want too big of a town, because of the smaller scale of my operation and because bigger towns already have more resources. And the last of my criteria was that I wanted to go to a town with a Peace Corps volunteer. I needed to have a lot of trust in someone that knew their community well and would have good ideas about how to distribute the books and to whom. Tiko seemed the perfect fit. So I packed a small bag, gathered all the books that were sent into one big box, added a few of my own to give away, and jumped on a bush taxi for the 5-hour trip.

When I arrived in Tiko, Joe met me on the road leading to his house and we hopped on a moto because the box of books was pretty heavy. I think I’ve talked about this before, but Joe and Debbie’s hospitality, their house, the fact that they live where people speak English – add it all up and it’s just really easy to feel at home there. I always like visiting them. The first day, it poured non-stop. And when I say non-stop, I mean for 24 hours straight. When that happens, nobody does anything but stay in their house. We had a very relaxful day with great food. We read and napped, made crepes for breakfast and enchiladas for dinner, and in the evening we watched the opening ceremony of the Olympics (when the rain didn’t cut out the signal).

The next day, when the rain finally died down, Debbie and I set off to donate the books. We had already decided who we wanted to give them to. Joe and Debbie had two good ideas when I arrived. One was to give them to the library in Tiko – small, a little run down, and in need of more books. The other was in Ombé, a town nearby, that has an orphanage Debbie had visited a couple of times. The decision came easily to donate the books to the orphanage. The library already had some books, it just needed more. And it takes a lot of initiative to walk into a library for the first time, probably never having been in one before and not knowing the system. The orphanage gave us a chance to put the books into someone’s living room. But it wouldn’t just affect one family. There would be 50 or more kids of all ages with more continuing to cycle through. Then there’s the fact that they’re orphans and they have so much working against them already. I really liked the idea of being able to give this opportunity to those kids. And any time I went back to the area, I would be able to see the kids, talk about which books they’d read, and get an idea of the impact they’re having.

So Debbie and I set off to Ombé, to the Rhema Grace Orphanage. The taxi drove us to the door and there were already some kids there waiting for our arrival. They love having visitors! They set out all the chairs in their main hall and greeted us by singing dancing and drumming. Some songs were religious, some were traditionally African, and a few were literally saying ‘welcome to our home.’ After the festivities, we passed out the books. I’ll try to get a picture or two up soon. The books were of all reading levels and the kids were of all ages, so it worked out great.

Let me give you some details on the orphanage. It’s the Rhema Grace Orphanage in Ombé, in the Southwest Province of Cameroon. There are 53 children living there at this moment. Of the children, 9 are babies (0-2), there are 5 little children (3-7), 11 minors (8-11), 10 major girls (12-16), 7 major boys, 3 big girls (17-20), and 1 big boy. Two are mentally handicapped, one is deaf and mute, three are legally blind, and one is HIV positive. Beyond the older children magnificently looking after the younger ones, there is Mercy. Mercy and her daughter Gloria run and live at the orphanage. They are incredibly compassionate souls that essentially decided to stop everything else in their lives to create and take care of this giant family.

The children gathered in this orphanage are incredibly lucky to have Mercy look after and take care of them. And now thanks to your help, they have the beginnings of a library. I believe that this small step will encourage them to excel in school, increase their creativity and critical thinking, and eventually lead more productive lives. I was really nothing more than the middle man. Thanks so much for your generous contributions! This is something that I am incredibly passionate about and would like to continue doing throughout my service here in Cameroon. So please keep sending booksJ I might give a few more to the Rhema Grace Orphanage, but am looking forward to finding other places in the Northwest and Southwest that could benefit from a donation like this. Once again, here’s the address:

Tim Hartman
C/O US Embassy
B.P. 215, Yaoundé
Cameroun

Puppy Love

2008-10-23T07:11:00.002-04:00

October 22, 2008

I promise the blog on the book donations is coming. It is half finished; I have just been busy with lots of other things. We’re finalizing details on the Piggybank Project (with details to come once we’ve finished), I’m starting up my 7 Habits club in two different high schools, and I’ve gotten some French books that I’ve distributed in Nkongsamba and in the West Province. I’m also working on getting a well in a tiny town with an orphanage and no water where people walk miles to a river every day. That’s all in addition to … Sac à Puce (flea bag), or Saki as we call him. That’s right – I got a puppy! I am a dog person and had resisted getting a dog in Cameroon for the longest time because I didn’t know who I would leave it with or how to bring it back when my service was over. I still haven’t found that person and I’m not planning on taking him back, but I gave in. I figure I can leave him with another Peace Corps volunteer when it’s time to go. It’ll be hard, but I think the time with him will be worth it.

So while you’re already waiting for the book donation blog, I’ll give you something else – photos of the cutest puppy in Cameroon.

Tim

What's Wrong with Cameroon IV - Mentality

2008-10-07T08:13:00.003-04:00

October 3, 2008

I have already written three blogs on what is holding Cameroon back from being a developed nation. This, the fourth and last installment, has been in my head since the beginning. But…it won’t be the same as if I had written it months ago. My view of Cameroon, as well my view of the US, my own life, and even the universe are constantly changing on this rollercoaster ride called Peace Corps. There were times in the past months where I knew that I couldn’t write this blog; I knew that it would be nothing more than a list of complaints and a way to take out my frustrations. In fact, maybe that’s what the first three were. But I knew this one was different, that it got to the heart of the matter. Mentality is something deeper and more important. The way that people think about themselves, their family, their neighbors and countrymen doesn’t just impact the development of a country, it is the development. In fact, for me to say that the mentality of Cameroonians is holding them back is to say that Cameroon is undeveloped because it is, well, undeveloped. Mentality manifests itself in many ways throughout a people and a country. It can be seen in ways that people traditionally think of as development, such as leaders elected, the education system, health care, and infrastructure. But it is also seen all the way down to family life and peoples’ hobbies and pastimes. Development and mentality are one and the same.

Thinking about these issues, as I do often as a ‘development worker’ in Cameroon, leads to the question – What is the best way to develop Cameroon? And what follows is – Is what I’m doing effective? What impact, if any, am I having? When I think about ‘the development question,’ all roads eventually lead to mentality, which is a Catch 22. You can go in circles asking yourself how to develop a country, or the equivalent of asking yourself how to change the thoughts in peoples’ heads.

The current Peace Corps approach to development, at least for the Small Business Program that I am in, is not to go in and develop, but rather to help others develop themselves. At first glance it sounds great. It shows that we know it is not our choice to develop a country – to change the mentality of the people. The approach is to provide the tools, resources and trainings necessary for those who have already decided to change their mentality. But going back to our Catch 22, if they have already decided to change their mentality, they are already developed. The assumption that is made here is that they have already made the choice to move forward but need someone to show them the best route to take to get to where they’re going. My argument is that if they had the right mentality, they would be able to find that route easily, even without the ‘development worker.’ They would be able to find, or even create, their own tools and resources. And if they have not already changed their mentality, as was assumed, that would mean that the ‘development worker’ is just chasing his tail, running in circles trying to fix problems that he has no control over.

Then, what should the role of the ‘development worker’ be? My opinion is that development agencies should focus almost solely on education. They should insure that every child has the opportunity to go to school, and that the education he or she receives there is the best possible. This would allow the greatest possibility for people to develop themselves. They would have a better idea of the options available to them, and focusing on youth is a more realistic approach as to who will be making tangible changes for their country in the future. It would also start to get rid of the mentality that the ‘white man’ is here to give us stuff, that he and his stuff are the answers to our problems. Thinking about this makes me look back to the business classes I taught. At the ceremony to present their certificates, there was an impromptu moment when everyone stood up and said what they gained from the course and how it was going to help them. It was very motivating at the time. But I have to ask myself, now that a few months have past, how many people are gaining in the ways that they said? How many people are actually using the skills that I presented? My guess would be that out of the 20 people in my class, the 1 or 2 people that are actually using those skills would have had no problem in finding them elsewhere were I not around.

So where does that leave me? The conclusion that it sounds like I am coming to is grim. And in fact, so has been my outlook for the past few weeks and even months. I felt helpless in trying to find the people motivated enough to gain from what I was offering, only to find that they were the ones that didn’t need me in the first place. I came very close to deciding that I would be able to have more of an impact in the US and ending my Peace Corps service early. There was even a rumor spread through Peace Corps volunteers to every corner of this country that I was quitting.

While on vacation a week ago, thinking about where I would be happiest and why, I came back to mentality – not that of Cameroonians but of myself. Let me share a story that Eckhart Tolle puts in his book “A New Earth.”

A wise man won an expensive car in a lottery. His family and friends were very happy for him and came to celebrate. “Isn’t it great!” they said. “You are so lucky.” The man smiled and said, “Maybe.” For a few weeks he enjoyed driving the car. Then one day a drunken driver crashed into his new car at an intersection and he ended up in the hospital, with multiple injuries. His family and friends came to see him and said, “That was really unfortunate.” Again the man smiled and said, “Maybe.” While he was still in the hospital, one night there was a landslide and his house fell into the sea. His friends came the next day and said, “Weren’t you lucky to have been here in the hospital.” Again he said, “Maybe.”
We too often feel like the world is happening to us, that the events that take place in our lives are responsible for whether or not we are happy. It is not the events, but our reactions to them that determines our happiness. And it is not enough to choose to have positive reactions to negative events. That, in fact, is impossible to do all of the time. What is necessary is to detach oneself from outcomes, to realize that happiness is not out there in the first place. I’ve gone a bit astray from the subject, but I’ll get back.

This realization brought me to two conclusions. The first was that I could be happy in Cameroon. No matter what happened to me there, what people said, whatever I did or didn’t accomplish, however many times my patience was tried, I could be happy. And, in fact, learning to be happy in an environment like that would only continue to develop me as a person. The second conclusion was that mentality isn’t just the equivalent of development, it goes beyond that. Mentality leads to happiness. And it isn’t just development that Cameroonians want. They, like everyone else in this world, want to be happy above all else.

So if a change in mentality that is necessary for development can’t be made from an outside source, then how could I promote a change in mentality that would lead people to be happy? The obvious answer is that I can’t, that the change needs to be initiated and come from within. The one missing link that I still see here on the ground in Cameroon, though, is books. Remember my first installment of What’s Wrong with Cameroon? It was about reading. For me personally, I’ve been able to grow immensely from books. They lead to creativity and critical thinking skills, but they also share others’ trials, tribulations, errors, and points of view. I feel like I have become a happier person and developed personally and spiritually because I had the opportunity to read so many books and gain from others’ experiences. I expedited my own search for happiness through reading.

And that is where I am left in Africa – with a strong desire to give others the same opportunities that I had. I’m not talking about opportunities to go to prestigious universities, or to own a car or a nice house. I’m talking about the opportunity to be happy. My plan, as I complete my two years in Cameroon, is to share that opportunity with as many Cameroonian youth as I can.

The first part of my strategy is to get books in people’s hands. This is what I wrote about in my first installment of What’s Wrong with Cameroon. I’ve already received some packages of books that I have distributed and I’ll tell you about where they went and my experiences with handing them out in my next blog. But I want to restate my request. Send me your books! The short of it is that there aren’t enough available here and they are too expensive for people to afford. You can send anything you want. There are no guidelines, but if you want me to be more specific, send books for all ages; page-turners, or books to get people to enjoy reading are great; and books that have inspired you or helped you along the way will fit in more with my mission.
Tim Hartman
C/O US Embassy
B.P. 215, Yaoundé
CAMEROUN

The next thing I am going to be working on is to start classes/clubs for as many youth as possible that will be centered around the book “7 Habits of Highly Effective People.” If you haven’t already read it, it’s much more than how to be a successful businessman. It talks about how to lead a principle-centered life. Being proactive and managing your own life is balanced with having effective relationships with others. It is a book that has helped me and that crosses all religious and racial boundaries. I’ll start the first club with Tara in Baré and create as many as possible on my own from there.

The last thing I have in my head right now is to work on giving scholarships to high school students. Enrollment is only 10 dollars per year and lots of kids either don’t go to school or skip years because they are needed to help raise money for the family, usually working in the fields. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about the logistics or sustainability of this idea, but I’ll have more details and might be soliciting funds in the near future.

Sorry it’s been a while since I last wrote. I had a lot on my mind. Next up is how I’m distributing your book donations, but don’t wait for it – send them now!

Tim

Book Club Quetions

2008-08-01T04:05:00.003-04:00

July 31, 2008

My mom recently printed out my entire blog as a book for her book club. She sent me a list of questions that they all came up with after reading it. I figured the answers would be interesting for anyone that reads my blog. So, here you go…

1. How well do you like being in the Peace Corps?

It’s a huge roller coaster ride. People told me before I left that I will wonder why I’m here. I thought “Yeah, maybe.” The correct thought would have been “Yes, I definitely will.” The highs are just as high as the lows, though. It definitely takes a certain type of person to be a Peace Corps volunteer, but I wouldn’t change the experience that I’ve had thus far for anything.

2. Why did you join the Peace Corps?

I know that service to others is an important principle. It leads to humility, a reduction of our ego and our own self-importance. It is something that I strived towards in the states but found hard to do. The main reason I decided to join the Peace Corps was to dedicate myself, for two years of my life, to this principle. I also like to travel. We live in a very diverse world and we can’t pretend to understand it just with television and movies. Peace Corps gave me a chance to broaden my horizons and go somewhere that I probably wouldn’t have gone otherwise. The last reason was for the experience. I had talked to quite a few returned Peace Corps volunteers and heard only positive things. I went into it knowing that this experience would change me, not knowing how, but knowing it would be for the better.

3. Why Africa?

I told my recruiter that I wanted to go somewhere hot, where I would never have to wear a winter coat, and that I wanted to learn French. Those were my priorities and I knew exactly what they meant – Western Africa. I was alright with that. One of my best friends recently lost her father. He was an amazing, kind, and loving man. And he was obsessed with Africa. His parents forced him to go law or med school even though he didn’t want to be a doctor or lawyer. After law school he joined the Peace Corps and spent two years in West Africa, never to lose this fascination. When he got back he used his legal expertise and the help of a few good friends to create a fund that would invest in up-and-coming businesses in Africa. He was able to travel to Africa regularly, work to help the conditions there, and do a job that his parents could be proud of all at the same time. Hearing him talk about his work, I think a little bit of the fascination rubbed off.

4. What are some of the misconceptions you had about Africa before arriving?

I tried my hardest not to have any preconceptions about where I was going. I knew that whatever I thought, I would probably be wrong and/or disappointed. That didn’t mean I tried to open or clear any preconceptions. That meant “Don’t think about it!” Any time I did, I tried to go back to ‘knowing that this experience would change me, not knowing how, but knowing it would be for the better.’
Hmm…If I were the one to ask this question, I would probably think the response I gave was a cop-out. Maybe it is. Read the next question. I guess I fit into the category of ‘most Americans’ too.

5. What other misconceptions do you think most Americans have about Africa?

I think the biggest misconception is lack of diversity. It’s even in the wording of the question. An entire continent is seen as one homogeneous entity. Yes, pretty much everyone here is black. Yes, there is a lot of poverty. But beyond that, the country of Cameroon, let alone the entire continent is incredibly diverse. In Cameroon there are over 140 languages because there are that many different ethnic groups. Most everyone speaks French or English or Fulfuldé, but in addition to that, everyone also speaks their local dialect. Economic and social levels, while bottom heavy, are just as diverse. You can see people and even villages like American TV commercials that ask you to sponsor a child, but in the same day you might see someone drive by in a Mercedes wearing an expensive Italian suit. There are Protestants, Catholics, Muslims, Animists, and Atheists here. I haven’t seen too many Jews, Hindus or Buddhists, but my friend actually found a Mormon church to go to in Douala. It is religiously diverse, too. If when someone says Africa, you think of a safari, there’s a whole lot more. The landscape is as diverse as the rest. Just in Cameroon, there are beautiful beaches, mountains, forests, jungles, plains, and savannah. Some areas are unbearably hot and humid. Others are unbearably hot but completely dry. In some towns, you need to wear a jacket regularly and wouldn’t even think about sleeping without a thick blanket.

6. What is the average Cameroonian person's perception of the U.S.?

For the average Cameroonian? One word – Utopia. It’s the same with developed countries in Europe. I’m constantly telling people that, while not at the same level, there is poverty and hardship in my country too. Some of them refuse to believe me. Others start to realize that they were thinking a bit idealistically. The majority of Cameroonians’ only opinion of Americans comes from the development workers and ex-patriots in their country. People doing development work are for the most part giving grants and computers and building roads. The conception is that they have way more than they need in their own country and so they are giving to others. This is somewhat true but it doesn’t apply to all Americans or ‘life in America.’ For ex-patriots, or people working in Cameroon, a meager American salary can go a long way here. They see the average ‘white man’ living in luxury a bit like their heads of state. Are our salaries larger than theirs? Absolutely, but one thing that a lot of people don’t understand is that the cost of living in America is that much larger as well.

7. How do you experience corruption, if at all?

Just wrote my last blog on it. Check it out.

8. How effective do you think the Peace Corps is in promoting peace and cross-cultural understanding between the U.S. and Cameroon?

At times, I think the only, or maybe the most worthwhile thing that I am doing here is creating relationships, having conversations, and sharing culture. It’s so hard to see results for the other work that we do. Whenever you run into someone that says they were affected by a Peace Corps volunteer, they don’t talk about the well that was built in their town or their new understanding of health or agriculture. They talk about their relationship with that volunteer and how that changed their desires and motivations in life.
What would be different if there were no Peace Corps? Is the budget from American tax dollars worth it? I have no idea. The budget is just a drop in the well compared to all the other things we spend money on, but so am I compared to all of the other volunteers and staff so how would I know? My opinion, if I were forced to give one, would be that we do very little for the development of countries, but way more than an embassy ever could at exchanging culture and giving a positive view of Americans.

9. What do you personally hope to accomplish in Cameroon?

End up a better person.

10. Do you or other Peace Corps Volunteers worry about your safety when you are critical of the Cameroonian people and/or their government?

I would say I worry about my safety a lot more when I’m in a bush taxi (sorry to scare you mom). I did send the blog that I wrote about the strikes to the Peace Corps Country Director before I posted it. I wasn’t sure at the time what he would say, but he said there was no problem and that gave me a little more confidence in posting some of my other blogs, like the “What’s Wrong with Cameroon” series. I can be somewhat critical about Cameroonian culture. The main reason is that I found myself making excuses for behavior saying it’s just the culture. In my opinion there are some things that shouldn’t be excused, like hitting children. Please be reminded that I’m critical of my own culture too. I hate how consumer driven and material we’ve become, how all Muslims are seen as terrorists, and I critique the current US president often.

11. Do Cameroonians ever take offense at your efforts to make things better?

While I did hear about someone taking offense to the reading blog, I don’t think anyone has taken offense at my work on the ground. If anything, people want me to do more. A lot of people have requested to be a part of the next business classes, for me to teach computers, and to help with lots of projects that I don’t have time, money, or expertise for. Peace Corps’ approach is to offer time and expertise, not money. This is the contrary to the majority of the other ‘development players,’ so I do have some people that are disappointed that I’m not here to bring them money or fix their roads.

12. I wondered if the PC owns the houses in which they house their volunteers?

Each volunteer, when they leave, gives a recommendation of whether they think they should be replaced. Because the towns where there are volunteers are constantly changing, every volunteer house, at least in Cameroon, is rented.

13. Why is there a fee for enrollment in your business class - is this to make it seem not too free and easy for the students?

Yup. I could choose to enroll students however I want. What I chose to do the first time was to charge $10 for the class, which consisted of 12 two-hour sessions. I gave a discount to women and youth, charging just $6. The fee was to cover the cost of photocopies, marketing, and the classroom. It was also, probably most importantly, to make sure I had people who were motivated to come each week. I had a decent amount of money after the class to pay for a nice ceremony to give them their certificates. I think for the next run of classes, I will discount women and youth down to $4 and make more of an effort to market the class to them. I had three women and a two people under 30 out of my 20 students the first time.

14. It seems to me that you have to generate your own ideas for development -- is this true?

The Small Enterprise Development program of Peace Corps Cameroon has a detailed project plan. There are things like developing your host institution and the people in it, teaching business skills to entrepreneurs and in formal classes, creating resource centers, and creating linkages between micro-finance institutions, NGOs and community groups. Because I found out that my host institution didn’t actually need my help, self-starter has taken on a whole new meaning in my job description. There are some people that hardly ever work outside of their host institution (mostly micro-finance banks). I do have that project plan to get the wheels turning, but all projects start with me and my motivation. Creativity is definitely important in finding ways to initiate projects that will be appropriate, effective, and fun.

Thanks for the questions! You can add comments to ask more questions or follow up on any of my answers.

Tim

What's Wrong with Cameroon III - Corruption

2008-07-21T09:46:00.002-04:00

July 21, 2008

Here’s part three in my series. And here’s the Disclaimer: I’m not professing to be any kind of expert in stating my opinions of what I see wrong with Cameroon. They’re just that – opinions. I’ve been living in Cameroon for about a year now. I’ve been living a little better than the average Cameroonian, but no where close to the luxury of the average ex-patriot. I’ve been living among and working with Cameroonians on a day to day basis and this is what I see.

In 1999, Transparency International called Cameroon the most corrupt country in the world. They repeat the study every year, and since then we’ve moved in front of some 30 other countries, but we’re still just a few tenths of a point from the bottom. It doesn’t take much to notice it either. Even a tourist coming for a week could see plenty of examples.

Probably the most visible examples are police and gendarme traffic stops. This is where police are set up on the road stopping almost every car that passes. They are set up under the guise of making sure that the vehicles and drivers have proper documentation, but they don’t try to hide anything. What the driver is expected to do is to get out of the car, walk over to the officer, pay him 500F (one dollar), and be on his way. If you don’t pay, the officer will ask for your documentation. He will go through it very slowly and probably tell you that you’re missing something (even if you’re not) or that something is expired (even if it isn’t). I’ve been in a bush taxi multiple times where a driver was being held up and another passenger voiced his frustration saying “Just pay him already!” or “It’s only 500 francs!” Occasionally they’ll make all the passengers get out and show their ID cards. As a Peace Corps volunteer I have a Cameroon-issued visitor card, but I’ve heard of other Americans that had to pay a bribe because the officer wouldn’t give them back their passport. The Peace Corps stance is to absolutely never pay a bribe, so one American that works in the office told me he always travels with a book. Whenever he gets stopped, he whips it out. The message you want to send is “I’ve got all day.” he says. As annoying and downright wrong as it is for law-enforcement officers to be demanding bribes, it can also get expensive. They’re usually set up outside of every decent-sized town, sometimes on both sides of a town. You might run into four of or five in an hour making it hard for a driver or travel agency to make any money.

Law enforcement is not only corrupt on the roads. The entire legal system has problems. We take a lot for granted in the US. Here it’s your neighbors that look out for you and mob justice that dishes out the punishment. There is a system set up and channels to go through, but lots of people along the way can be paid off. I know an American that came to Cameroon to volunteer for an orphanage. It was a bad sight. The woman running it was using it to get foreign donations. She maltreated, underfed, beat, and allowed the children to be sexually abused. My friend found a way to have the kids legally removed and created his own orphanage. The government was helpful at first, but then started saying he couldn’t legalize the orphanage, that he stole the kids. He started getting death threats. The woman at the old orphanage had money to give to the right people and had friends in high places. When the Cameroonian government actually came to remove the children it took a call from the US Ambassador to make them change their mind. You can check out more at www.greeneyesinafrica.org.

Government officials and lawmakers also find ways to steal money. Money for projects that goes through five different people might lose 15% at each step of the way. Many people in high places see it as their right to do favors on the side and under the table. I had another volunteer friend that used to hang out with a ‘grand’ or ‘big man’ in his town. His friend would always pay for food and drinks when they went out. He never thought too much about where the money was coming from until he was in his office when one of these transactions took place. The “client” handed over a large stack of 10,000F ($20) bills. When the big man asked where his friend’s part was, the client handed another stack to my volunteer friend. He stood there stunned holding the money until the client left and he refused to accept it.

I talked about corruption in the education system a bit in my last entry. In short – money, sex, and connections can get you a long way. But these actions don’t just help those that use them; they hurt those that work hard. One of my business class students recently took the test to get into a specialized school and was anxious about the results.
“How do you feel like you did?” I asked.
“Really good, but I’m still worried.”
“Do a lot of people pay to pass it?”
“Yeah, I know someone who’s aced it three times and not passed.”

Banks are one area where you would assume there would be no corruption but even they aren’t immune. That’s the main reason people don’t trust them to save their money. Conflict of interest doesn’t have quite the same meaning here. Employees and members of the board will often give themselves and their friends loans that don’t get paid back. And the president of the board of directors of one bank where there used to be a Peace Corps volunteer was also the chief of the village, owned the building the bank was occupying, and made sure no one ever said no to him.

Lastly, corruption has worked its way into the development and non-profit sector. A lot of local non-profits are created not to do good, but because there’s money to be had. This happens especially with HIV/AIDS projects and groups. There are a lot of foreigners willing to give money but not do the legwork. Unfortunately, not very much of this money gets to the cause. A bank manager in a neighboring town went to the European Union Development office in Nkongsamba looking for money to buy a car so he could visit his lenders and do more publicity. The EU told him no, that they only give money to Community Groups. The advice a Cameroonian friend of mine gave him was: “Start a Community Group.”

It’s the way of life here, a cycle and a Catch 22. The country can’t advance with this much corruption, but everyone thinks they need to join in to get ahead.

Tim

Arriving in Cameroon – Take II

2008-06-25T06:34:00.000-04:00

June 17, 2008

Last week I had a chance to relive the excitement and fear of arriving for the first time in Cameroon, this time on the faces of others. Tara and I were chosen to be the two volunteer hosts that welcome the incoming group of trainees. That means we would greet them at the airport and stay with them for their first five days in the hotel in Yaoundé. It would also mean lots of work and responsibility.

We showed up in Yaoundé a couple of days before their arrival to start getting ready. What tat meant was stopping by essentially every Peace Corps staff person in the office and figuring out what they needed from the trainees. It was anything from the IT guy needing them to sign off on guidelines before using Peace Corps computers to immigration forms so that they could get national identity cards. There were also three things that most of them would want/need their first week in country. They would need their US dollars changed into CFA. \The banks here don’t like to do it and/or charge big fees, so we needed to figure out who in the office would be going to the states and wanted to buy dollars. Cell phones – for safety and to be able to talk to their loved ones, we went out and priced phones at the two big competitors. Voltage regulators – you don’t just plug an iPod or a laptop into the wall here because of the power surges so we went and priced these too. During any free time, we stalked the new kids. Peace Corps gave us photos and résumés for everyone so we could start getting to know them and almost half had already found each other and started a group on facebook.

Saturday night they arrived. We met 38 trainees at the airport with the Country Director and lots of other Peace Corps staff. I was surprised at how excited and alert everyone was after 24 hours of traveling. It’s interesting, what I remembered from my arrival in the airport exactly 1 year ago was fear, but what I was seeing on their faces was excitement. They looked ready to go. There wasn’t a single bag lost during the trip so we loaded up everything and everyone on a big bus and headed to the hotel. We all had dinner at the hotel, and despite everyone’s excitement, everyone went to bed right after.

The next day was set aside for relaxation and recuperation. Most everyone took advantage of the free time to do some very small-scale exploring of the capital. Because they had arrived at night, this was their first chance to see Cameroon – people selling things balanced on their heads, what the shops and bars look like, and Yaoundé’s crazy style of driving (which looks normal to me already). While everyone with jetlag was out exploring, knowing how busy the week would be, I took a nap. That night everyone got fancied up for a nice catered dinner at the Country Director’s house. The US ambassador, Cameroonian government officials, and Peace Corps staff were there to welcome everyone to Cameroon. The food was great, but there were about 7 people that got sick later and the speculation was that it was this dinner. If getting sick was something they were afraid of, they got that out of the way early. Welcome to Cameroon?

The rest of the week, for the trainees, was filled with training sessions. They were getting more shots, learning about diarrhea, getting an introduction to Cameroonian culture, and getting ready to move in with a Cameroonian family. For Tara and me it was nonstop all over Yaoundé and the Peace Corps office. We exchanged their money, bought the things they had signed up for, filled out forms, gave a couple of the training sessions, gave back the Cameroonian money that was still owed them, and answered innumerable questions at every step of the way. It was all stuff that we knew we were getting into. We were the ones that had requested the job. And while it was worth it and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, it was way more tiring than we could have expected.

Thursday morning everyone repacked their bags to be loaded on two small buses and prepared to leave the capital for the training village and their home-stay families three hours away. Thinking back to how I was a year ago, words like naïve and clueless come to mind. I remember looking at our volunteer hosts and thinking “Will I really be that integrated and comfortable after one year?” They might have had the same thoughts going through their minds, but it didn’t come across to me. It was a great group. They all seemed mature, adventurous, and ready to take on anything. I think they’ll all make great volunteers.

Tim

What’s Wrong with Cameroon II – Upbringing

2008-06-12T08:58:00.000-04:00

May 6, 2008

The first blog in this series got a lot of reaction. In the states I heard of and from lots of people inspired by my “call to action” that plan on sending books. And I even got reactions from Cameroonians. One of my fellow volunteers told me that someone in his village in the extreme north approached him wanting to argue against the points I had made. I was flattered. It means he takes pride in his country. But whether any or all of what I said was right or wrong, starting up a conversation about these topics could only be helpful. This blog’s topic: Upbringing. I’ll repeat the disclaimer. I’m not professing to be any kind of expert in stating my opinions of what I see wrong with Cameroon. They’re just that – opinions. I’ve been living in Cameroon for about a year now. I’ve been living a little better than the average Cameroonian, but no where close to the luxury of the average ex-patriot. I’ve been living among and working with Cameroonians on a day to day basis and this is what I see.

People have written books on nature vs. nurture – whether it’s your genes and biological makeup that make you who you are, or whether it’s the way in which you were raised. I think everyone can agree that it’s some combination of the two, and while I’m not going to argue which is more important, I’ll be sticking mainly with nurture – the way that children are raised.

Also to be noted is that a lot of what I might see as negative, someone else might see as just a cultural difference. Are these things actually impeding the development of the next generation of Cameroonians or am I just refusing to step out of my own perspective? I don’t know (not an expert, remember). I guess what I’m trying to say is that there are good things and I feel bad writing a lot of what I’m going to say, but these are the only things I can rationalize as causes of what everyone can agree are actual problems in Cameroon. Okay, I guess I’ll just jump in.

“A child is not only raised by its parents, but is a product of the entire village.” This is a concept that exists to my knowledge all over Cameroon. At first glance, it sounds great, like lessons and principles are taught by more than just the two parents. But if this idea is used to justify diminishing parental responsibility, it quickly becomes negative. What happens when parents don’t know where their children are or what they are doing? Tara’s two-and-a-half-year-old neighbor who can’t even put together a complete sentence wanders over to her house all the time. When Tara leaves the house, she follows and would be content to walk around with her anywhere in the town were she not led right back to her house each time. Another example is when Tara and I caught a 6-year-old girl smoking. She had found a still lit, half smoked cigarette in a pile of trash and was actually taking drags off of it. We were stunned. We told her sternly to throw it down and not pick it up again. After we walked by, we turned around and noticed that she had picked it up again and smoked some more. We ended up asking her where she lived and dragging her back, kicking and screaming, all the way to her home. When we got there we realized that her dad lives and works in another city and her mom had been away from the house for the last week. Who was taking care of her and all of her other siblings? Her oldest sister, about 15 years old.

Also to do with parenting is the way that children are viewed by society – their parents and others. There are different degrees of this, but a lot of times children are viewed as property whose role is to do chores and fetch things. If someone is sitting in a bar and wants some corn that is roasting across the street, the first thing he’ll do is look for a kid walking by that he can send to buy it. The kids lack identities in many situations too. Before they can talk, there name is bébé (even to most parents). Until they’re about 12, they’re most commonly referred to as petit. With most parenting styles they get little to no positive reinforcement. If they do something wrong, they’ll hear about it and probably get hit. Do something well and they won’t even know. In general, affection is just not shown to kids. In the US, we put a huge emphasis on education – life lessons and classical education in schools. The idea is that the generation below our own will be running the country and aspects of our lives when we get older. It just doesn’t feel like Cameroonians have this same mentality. This is probably an extreme case, but I had one Cameroonian tell me that he didn’t understand Americans’ obsession with their pets. “Once all your kids have grown up and left the house, Americans get a dog or cat to keep them company. But what happens when your wife is at the market? The dog can’t get you a beer.” He told me that when his last born leaves the house and gets married, that child will give his first born child to his parents (in lieu of them buying a dog).

Nutrition plays a role as well. This has mostly to do with poverty. If a mother can only afford starches with hardly any nutritional value and little else while she is pregnant, it can create learning disabilities and other problems with the developing fetus. Learning disabilities happen in all corners of the globe, but they seem more prevalent here. And once the child is going to school, not eating breakfast in the morning or not having money to pay for lunch often creates problems concentrating in class and on tests. Outside of class if the child is busy doing chores and working in the fields, they don’t have time to do their homework.

That leads to the education system itself. First problem – class size. Classes in any grade can easily get up to and over 100 students. This makes distractions more prevalent, makes it harder to hear the teacher and see the board, and takes away individual attention to the students and their questions. One other thing it probably takes away is the ability of teachers to plan dynamic lessons. Most of the emphasis in Cameroonian schools is placed on memorization and passing standardized tests. Most students are never taught critical thinking skills or encouraged to be creative. One example of a lack of creativity was Tara’s English class on Halloween. She taught them about the American holiday and made a short trick-or-treating skit that each student would reenact asking for candy and telling what they were dressed up as. They were encouraged to be whatever they wanted and to ask for the word in English if they didn’t know it. Of her 90 student class, all but 2 said they were dressed up as a witch or a princess (even boys) which were the only two examples she had given in class. The other two, if you’re interested, were a doctor and a Christian. Maybe also because of class size, class control and discipline are big problems. Although it is illegal, the most common forms of discipline are physical punishments. Students are hit all of the time. Some teachers carry around a rubber strap that they use to strike the kids with and just about every education volunteer has a horror story about someone coming into their class and hitting their students. Most teachers that refuse to hit their students make them kneel on their knees on the concrete floor for the rest of the class. Kids are also given cleaning and yard work responsibilities for misbehaving. Last but not least within the education system are payoffs. I’ll get more into corruption in my next blog, but this is one place where it happens. Money or sex for the high school exit exams, college entrance exams, and other things are not uncommon. This reduces students’ motivation to learn and doesn’t bring them to the realization that hard work pays off.

I wish I had a way for everyone back in the states to feel good about doing something to help some of these problems like I did with the reading issue. But I think the best way to go about dealing with most of these issues is for people to start having open conversations here in Cameroon. You can agree or disagree with anything I’ve said but the truth is that Cameroonian kids are the future of Cameroon and we should always be thinking of ways to mold them into better educated and more capable leaders and citizens.

Tim

Business Classes

2008-06-02T03:52:00.003-04:00

May 30, 2008

Yesterday rapped up my first full round of business classes. I taught business and math skills at a girls' center in Baré early on, but it felt more like a warm-up to teaching. There were a couple of girls that I was proud to have taught, but a lot of them would talk, not pay attention, sleep, or just not show up. For the classes that I just finished, I did everything from start to finish. I marketed them, I found the classroom, I enrolled local entrepreneurs, and I taught the classes, adjusting preexisting Peace Corps-provided lesson plans to the needs of my community and my own teaching style.

There were 12 classes, each one lasting two hours. I only once a week, so finishing up a project that lasted 3 months felt like a pretty big accomplishment. The classes covered entrepreneurship, feasibility studies, goals and action plans, cash books, inventory, budgeting, marketing, income statements and balance sheets, leadership, financial services, and business plans. Planning the lessons, even already having lesson plans, was pretty time-intensive because (shhhh!) the majority of these things I’ve not even done in the US.

The last class was a couple of weeks ago, before my trip to Yaoundé, but last night was a reception that I planned so that I could give my students certificates proving completion of the course. Everyone paid $10 to take the class to offset the cost of photocopies and the classroom as well as to motivate them to be there each week. Photocopies are pretty cheap so there was a lot of money left over. It paid for a great spread of food and a room for the reception at my neighbor’s house. She runs a catering business and was the perfect person to know for the occasion.

For the vast majority of our work here as PCVs, we don’t get to see the fruits of our labor. Development is a slow process. Occasionally I’ll run into someone who’ll talk about a volunteer 10-15 years ago who changed their life, but in the here and now, we just have to hope that we’re making those kinds of positive impacts in peoples’ lives. So the reception last night was a rare and special occasion for me – an opportunity to receive positive recognition for the work that I’m doing here right now. There was even an impromptu moment where each of my about 20 students stood up one by one and shared why they thought the class was so important to their individual lives. I think the words that spoke to my the most were when someone stood up and talked about how those who have the means tend to leave the country for Europe of the US. The general thinking among far too many Cameroonians is that those living in Africa are suffering while everyone in the developed world is just living it up. This student was saying that my class empowered him to realize that he could succeed right here, that his hard work would pay off – the American Dream in Cameroon if you will. It was great to hear.

After everyone finished eating, I handed out the certificates one at a time and then we took pictures. Lots and lots of pictures – more than I took at my high school graduation. I even took pictures with the photographers that were there. This is a very Cameroonian thing to do and you just get used to it

So after about a year living in Cameroon, this was a nice boost to motivate me to continue doing what I’m doing. Next week when I pick up the new volunteers at the airport I’ll have one more positive experience to share.

Tim

Two Weeks in the Capital

2008-05-18T16:08:00.001-04:00

May 18, 2008

Sorry about the hiatus on the blogs. My last blog got a lot of reaction and I’ll get back to that series in a short while, but I wanted to keep you updated with what I’m doing.

Last Thursday, I wrapped up my business class that I was running in Nkongsamba. It was a pretty rewarding experience. I think everyone really appreciated the information that was imparted and there are a few people that are already actively looking for ways to put it into practice. The class was 12 weeks – one 2-hour class per week. I taught business startup and feasibility studies, basic accounting, financial planning, and leadership among other subjects. When I head back to post, we’re going to have a small banquet and ceremony with the proceeds of the enrollment fees where I give everyone that passed a certificate from Peace Corps.

The day after my last class, I headed to Yaoundé, Cameroon’s capital. This is where the Peace Corps headquarters is and where I and 15 other volunteers are planning the training for the next group of volunteers that get here on June 7th. The first week we spent discussing and making improvements to our own training. Then we put together the 11-week schedule and figured out who was going to teach what sessions. The program directors and other staff help teach, but it’s mostly current volunteers that run the sessions. We also put together arrangements for the incoming volunteers’ first few days in Cameroon. Tara and I were chosen to be “volunteer hosts” and will be greeting them at the airport, answering their many questions, and trying to help things run as smooth as possible.

This week, my second week in Yaoundé, will be spent doing “Training of Trainers.” This is where Peace Corps training staff will try to impart to us knowledge about learning styles, adult learning principles, and methods to make our sessions as effective as possible. These two weeks of seminars have so far been productive and well-organized, but exhausting.

It’s nice to be able to get out and relax when we have free time, but Yaoundé is expensive on a Peace Corps volunteer’s salary. I had a rather depressing moment yesterday as I went to a full-fledged supermarket for the first time in 12 months. The variety and selection were amazing, but so were the prices. Pretty much everything was imported and about twice the price of what I was used to in the states. All this while I’m making about 10% of my small non-profit salary I had back home. I ended up getting balsamic vinegar and a couple of soup mixes and forcing myself to pass on the incredibly tempting, endless varieties of cheese and ice cream.

Restaurants are expensive too, so we have been trying to make one big meal that everyone can chip in for each night. Enchilladas and soul food were the highlights, and we’re trying to put together some pizzas tonight. Staying in the volunteer transit house here in Yaoundé is nice: there is a washer and dryer, hot showers, lots of kitchen supplies, and a great DVD collection. It’s kind of like a little slice of home, but it gets old pretty quickly too. It’s kind of like a Peace Corps version of a frat house. There is a decent amount of drinking, people don’t get to bed until late, and keeping the place tidy is a constant struggle.

So that’s what I’m up to. Sorry for taking so long. I’ll try to get back to being more regular with my postings.

Tim

What's Wrong with Cameroon I - Reading

2008-03-26T04:26:00.004-04:00

March 25, 2008

The national crisis a couple of weeks ago pushed back my “What’s Wrong with Cameroon” blog. So here’s the first installment. I’ll add the disclaimer again: I’m not professing to be any kind of expert in stating my opinions of what I see wrong with Cameroon. They’re just that – opinions. I’ve been living in Cameroon for almost 10 months now. I’ve been living a little better than the average Cameroonian, but no where close to the luxury of the average ex-patriot. I’ve been living among and working with Cameroonians on a day to day basis and this is what I see.

Reading, or lack thereof, is a problem with Cameroon. It took me a while to realize. It was actually another Peace Corps Volunteer, Autumn, that brought it to my attention first. In America I remember having existential conversations well into the morning about God, the meaning of life, and why we’re here. Autumn and I have similar feeling conversations about what’s wrong with the Country we’re living in and the best theoretical “fixes.”

“Cameroonians don’t read for pleasure.” She said. And right then I realized, she was right. I just doesn’t happen here. Whether for pleasure, for current events, or to further their own knowledge, Cameroonians, or the vast vast majority of them, don’t read. Autumn, although a Small Enterprise Development volunteer like me, has been teaching English classes at her local HS and trying to promote reading to her students. Most know how to read and write. That’s taught in schools, but once they’re out, and even while they’re in school, there are no books in their hands. That’s right, not even textbooks. They’re too expensive for most to afford. They average Cameroonian class consists of the teacher reading their notes and the students copying them down, essentially creating their own textbooks that they can study at home.

The only way to buy books in my town is from people on the sidewalks with 4 or 5 large stacks (and this is a big town – 200,000+). Most are “textbooks,” all used, all outdated, and all too expensive. Looking for something to help teach my business management classes, they didn’t have what I wanted and they wanted too much. Ten dollars is what he started at. I probably could have gotten him down to six, but for a used, outdated, 150 page softcover textbook in the developing world, it was too much. 20¢ for 5 tomatoes but $6 for a crappy book?

Let me jump back to my midnight conversation with Autumn. I was showing her a book that my mom had sent me in a package. It was a new release paperback that cost $14.99. Taking an average Cameroonian salary of $1920 (80,000F/month is estimating high), a 15 dollar book is 0.78% of their annual income. Taking an average American income of $30,000(estimating low), 0.78% is $234.00! Would you pay $234 for a new release paperback? No wonder no one reads and no wonder there are no real bookstores outside of the two largest cities in the country. To sell that book at the equivalent price in Cameroon based on the income difference would be to reduce the price to 96¢. Not only would that be impossible for publishers to do, but no one is accustomed to reading, and so they probably wouldn’t even pay 96¢ for a book.

That brings me to my business proposition, the 100F Bookshop, the final result of my midnight conversation with Autumn. My plans for after Peace Corps might include starting up a non-profit. The idea would be to collect used books in the states, ship them over to Cameroon (to one of the Anglophone provinces), and sell them for 100F (20¢). The books would be donated by average Americans, anything from trashy romance novels to quantum physics textbooks. The money to ship them would come from tax-deductible contributions. And the booksalses would pay the salary of a Cameroonian working in the shop. Everyone that I’ve talked to so far, Cameroonian and American, seems to like the idea.

And here’s where you come in. Beyond whether my idea is economically feasible or not, I want to know what kind of impact it can have. I want to get some experience putting books into people’s hands. So if you’ve got the money to ship them here, give me your books!

You can send ‘em here:
Rev. Tim Hartman
c/o US Embassy
B.P. 215 Yaoundé
CAMEROUN

Cameroon’s got some things wrong with it, but maybe you can help me slowly get things going on the right track.

Tim

CONSOLIDATION Vacation

2008-03-15T13:04:00.002-04:00

March 6, 2008

You probably missed it, but there was a national crisis in Cameroon last week. It was bad enough that Peace Corps in Washington almost evacuated all of us. It started Monday, the 25th, with a strike of all the taxi and moto drivers because of the price of gas. It should be noted that this halted probably 95% of transportation as only the rich own cars. After the drivers decided to strike, the rest of the population soon followed. They decided that the cost of living had gotten too high and that they would strike too, to lower the price of soap, cooking oil, and other products – prices all controlled by the government. So on Monday morning, everyone was on foot, and by the afternoon, all businesses were closed. At this point, Peace Corps told us that we were on ALERT status, meaning we shouldn’t travel (not like we could), we should be keeping up to date with the news and letting administration know what was going on in our towns.

Dan, who lives in a tiny town in the mountains, was planning on traveling to Baré that day. He never got the ALERT from Peace Corps on his cell phone, so he tried to travel anyway. He got all the way to Nkongsamba before realizing he couldn’t get any further so he ended up crashing at my place until it was all over.

The next day, the strike continued. It was kind of creepy to see the country on lockdown. There were a few people on the streets, but no stores were open. Talking with my Cameroonian friends, everyone was mad. They weren’t happy with their quality of life and were ready to tell you about it. This kind of frustrated me, being a political organizer in what feels like another life. The real strike was for gas prices, something that, while controlled by the government is totally dependent on foreign oil prices. Cameroon has oil that they drill and export, but don’t have refineries big enough for changing it to gasoline. Therefore, they import all the gas and are at the mercy of the foreign market. Not a great reason for the whole country to go on strike. They were demanding lower prices for other goods, but the movement wasn’t organized. It was just angry people on the street airing their complaints to TV station cameras without any leader to actually talk to the government.

Cameroonians do have real reasons to be mad about their quality of life, though. One of their actual problems is that the salaries of public servants (anyone paid by the government) were cut by half or more in the ’90s. Public servants, including teachers, represent the vast majority of non-entrepreneurial jobs in Cameroon. If they had double their salary, they wouldn’t have as much trouble paying a little extra for soap. Another problem is corruption. Cameroon just moved up from number three to number one. We’re now the most corrupt country in the world according to a study from a couple of weeks ago. So gas and soap…I didn’t get it.

That afternoon, Tara and Abby, with the help of a friend with a car, got a ride from Baré to my house. The logic was that the house was safer and that we could worry all together about what was going to happen. With this addition, we were now four in the house.

The next day, according to Cameroonian news sources, the gas prices had been lowered to where they were two weeks ago and a lot of taxis were back on the streets. The reduction of about 17 francs worked out to about 10 cents/gallon. What I saw on the ground was very little taxis operating and only a few businesses open, the ones selling essential food products. BBC was reporting that there were burnings of some government buildings and some deaths during the previous night. Peace Corps told us to stay put; they were working on plans for what to do if things got worse. That night, the president addressed the nation saying that the streets were not the place to have this discussion, that everyone should go back to work, and something else about sorcery that I didn’t understand.

The next morning, Peace Corps moved from ALERT to STANDFAST status, meaning pack a bag in case we have to CONSOLIDATE in a few strategic places around the country and/or EVACUATE. Cameroonian news was still showing taxis back on the streets, but the night after the speech that didn’t include any acknowledgement of the struggles people were going through, was when most of the violence took place – looting and burning of buildings (not in Nkongsamba, even though there was a rumor that the mayor’s office was burnt down). For Nkongsamba and elsewhere, that morning was when things, strangely, started going back to normal. Shops were open, taxis were running, and only a very small military presence which in Nkongsamba is normal because of the military base here. People were on the streets and going about their business. Talking with my Cameroonian friends again, everyone was happy. This frustrated me again. They were livid just a couple of days ago, they didn’t get what they wanted, and now they were acting like nothing ever happened. When pressed, they would say “We’re a peaceful country. We didn’t want a war.” But I didn’t get it. They didn’t even get cheaper soap. Peace Corps wasn’t convinced either. There were rumors that more riots were going to take place on Monday. They decided to take advantage of the calm and the available transportation and CONSOLIDATE everyone on Saturday.

Mickie and Autumn, from Kumba and Kekem, came to consolidate with the four of us here at my house in Nkongsamba. Kumba was where the riots were probably the worst in the country. Mickie heard gunshots and helicopters as he was going to bed one night. But by now, as I said, things were getting back to normal. My neighbors didn’t even understand why everyone was at my house and not going back to work. The situation worked out in our favor, though. The markets were open with everything we needed and we weren’t worried about our safety at all. It was like a little vacation – a CONSOLIDATION vacation. We relaxed, played games, read, and ate great food. During the vacation we had two pizza nights, a lasagna night, an enchilada night, and a movie night where we had popcorn, peanuts, and cookies for dinner while watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. Everyone did their share of keeping the place clean, and while we spent a pretty penny on cheese for all of our dinners, I think it was a big success.

Monday rolled around and there was no change, still peaceful. Tuesday, the same. On Wednesday morning, Peace Corps gave the all clear for everyone to go back to their posts – catastrophe averted.

While it was a fun vacation with friends, it gave me a lot to think about too. I didn’t want the Cameroonian people to go to war and force me to evacuate, but I did want them to fight a little harder for a better life. If they’re not ready to work for it, then what am I doing here? So that’s what’s on my plate – figure out what I want to give and get out of the rest of my service. Tim

I'll be back...promise

2008-02-20T11:31:00.002-05:00

Sorry about the short hiatus. Some thoughts have been circulating in my head about my next post, and I think it's going to be another longer one about what's wrong with Cameroon. There are plenty of resources and Peace Corps has been here since 1962, so why haven't we succeeded yet. I'm not an expert but I'll give my analysis on what I've found in my first eight months. Thanks for being patient.

Tim

Mount Cameroon

2008-01-17T06:40:00.000-05:00

January 17, 2008
Updated January 23, 2008
Updated January 29, 2008
Finished February 5, 2008

After Christmas, I spent a few days relaxing with Joe and Debbie in Tiko, and then met up with four friends (Anne, Angel, Rachel, and her boyfriend Thomas from the States) to climb Mt. Cameroon, the tallest mountain in Cameroon at 4090 meters. I think that works out to about 12,000 ft. or 2 miles high. At the time it seemed like one of the fun touristy things I needed to do before I left Cameroon, but it turned out to be probably the hardest physical challenge I’ve ever put my body through.

We met in Beaua (pronounced boy’-uh) on the 28^th. Beaua is the capital of the Southwest Province and a very short ride from Tiko and Limbé. That’s where we planned our hike. There were several different options for paths to take and days to spend. We were told by others not to do the 2-day hike as it was just up to the summit and back down the same trail. We decided on the 4-day hike. It goes up to the summit on the same trail that everyone takes, but then goes down through volcanic craters and an elephant jungle and ends up on the beach. The only problem was that 4 days starting on the 29^th would mean us reaching the beach on New Years Day. We thought it would be better to get to the beach a day early and celebrate the countdown to 2008 on the beach, so we decided to do the 4-day hike in 3 days. In hindsight, I think I would have done the same thing again, just packed more socks.

Day 1:
We woke up in Beaua early in the morning on the 29^th. Feeling, at this instant, more refreshed than we would for the next couple of weeks, we headed to the ecotourism office to meet our guide and porters as well as to take care of any last minute business like buying food and snacks. The guide and porters are not only essential, they’re required. We had five porters, one for each of us, and our guide’s name was Simon. He helped keep the pace, lead us in the right direction, and most importantly cook the food each night. All packed up and details taken care of, we started walking at about 9am – uphill. It seems silly to mention. We’re climbing a mountain. Of course we’re going to be going uphill. But unless you’ve ever climbed a mountain this big, you’ve never walked uphill this much. I’ve been on plenty of hikes, some with inclines like this, but normally you go up and down, usually ending up where you started by the end of the day. Our target for the end of the day was Hut 2 – about 2/3 the way to the summit.

The hike started on a trail going through farms, but quickly made its way into the forest. As we walked I couldn’t help but notice that one of our porters walking in front of me was wearing flip-flops a couple sizes too small so that his heels would actually touch the ground with each step. This made me feel a little better about doing the journey in tennis shoes. After a few hours we reached Hut 1. It was a relief to see. It meant a decent sized break with water and snacks. It was also the first milestone that we reached other than the change from the farms to the forest which was at the very beginning. Knowing that we were only halfway to our refuge for the night, we continued on, quickly reaching the tree line. Here the landscape changed from forest to magnificent fields of what looked like grain blowing in the quickly cooling mountain breezes. When we got to the tree line, Simon told us we needed to do a ritual dance. We each held a branch of a particular bush in each hand, danced while he sang, and then threw the branches behind us on his word. Mt. Cameroon is a very active volcano, or group of volcanoes, that erupted most recently in 1999 and in 2000. The rituals that they perform have apparently stopped lava from ever reaching any town around it.

The new landmark (and break) was New Hut. I don’t think people usually sleep here. It was created mostly as a water stop for the runners. Once a year there is a race to the summit and back down. We asked our guide and porters multiple times “Are they still running at this point?” and the answer was always yes. Who would or even could do that to themselves, I have no idea.

After New Hut was the “magic tree.” It is a tree growing all by itself way above the tree line. It sounded like a magnificent site and we were looking forward to hearing the legend behind it until we got there and realized that it wasn’t the only tree above the tree line. There were plenty more, even higher up. When we asked Simon, he told us that it was actually a German runner that named it the magic tree. It wasn’t called magic because it was above the tree line. Apparently the first time you see it, it doesn’t look that far away, then you go for a while and look up and it hasn’t gotten any closer, go for a while, look up, and it hasn’t gotten any closer. Then all of the sudden it’s right in front of you. The story was a little disappointing to us, so we continued on.

I’m not sure if this last leg of the day’s journey was any steeper, or if we were just already really tired, but it was grueling. When Hut 2 finally appeared around the bend, it was a sight for sore eyes. There were a couple other groups that had started before us already there, one from Canada and the other from South Africa. The three guys from South Africa were actually in the middle of motorcycling all the way up to Morocco. When we got to the hut, the first thing we did was to take off our shoes. Then we waited for the food to be prepared. Then we put our shoes back on – it was quite cold already and when the sun went down it only got colder. Rachel actually had a thermometer that she checked as we were shivering in our sleeping bags. It said 50° F. I’m not sure if it was broken or if we had just already habituated ourselves to the tropical African climate, but it felt a lot colder.

Maybe it was the cold, maybe the altitude, or maybe the hard wooden shelf where we laid our sleeping bags, but no one slept particularly well that night. When Simon told us it was time to get up, the general reaction was “It’s about time!”

Day 2:
When I sat up for the first time in my sleeping bag, the room spun. I didn’t know what was going on. Every time I moved my head I would get dizzy. I asked around and found I was the only one having this problem – probably the altitude, most everyone agreed. In actuality I’ve decided it wasn’t the altitude, but a calcification in my inner ear. The same thing happened to me about 4 or 5 years ago and you just have to wait it out – about 2 to 3 weeks. It was manageable, but still thinking it was some kind of altitude sickness made it a little bit scarier to continue upward. Three to four hours to the summit, though. It seemed well within reach, so we got moving. What we thought was the summit down in Beaua had been replaced by a new summit that looked not too far off, giving us the little burst of energy that the sleeping accommodations did not.

While there was never any actual climbing, a need to use you hands to pull yourself up, this path between Hut 2 and Hut 3 was the steepest. Each step seemed to be the equivalent of 2 or 3 stairs high and it just didn’t let up. Every time we stopped to take a breather we would look back at Hut 2, where we had spent the night. Each time it was a little bit farther and a little bit smaller, but never small enough and never far enough away.

Eventually, what we thought was the summit disappeared and was replaced just like the last one. Whether it was the real summit or not we didn’t know, but below it was a kind of ridge. It reminded me of the outcrop that hut 2 was hiding behind and I was sure that this one was hiding Hut 3, which would mean a decent break before the last 45 minutes to the summit. I poured it on, for the next 30 minutes, to get to the top of that ridge. And just like the summit that kept moving further back and farther up, my inclination about the location of Hut 3 was wrong too. When the rest of the group caught up (they weren’t as foolish as I to think it was “just around the bend”), we took a short break. Breaks by now, it should be noted, no longer entailed sitting, but rather lying on the ground. This was not only because we were dead tired, but also to get behind a bush or outcrop and out of the cold mountain wind that whipped around ceaselessly.

While Hut 3 wasn’t just around the bend, it wasn’t too, too far. We hit it pretty soon thereafter and crashed once more. I remember wrestling with whether or not to put my head all the way back against the ground because it kept making me dizzy. I ended up putting up with it though, and I think I even snuck 5 or 10 minutes of sleep too.

At this point, knowing there were only 45 minutes to go, we saw what we were absolutely positive was the summit, even a path going up it. Yet when Simon pulled us away from our repose, he led us off to the right. We’d been duped again. The path was probably for geologists studying the volcano.

We were told that the trail from Hut 2 to Hut 3 was the worst and that the final trek to the summit was quite mild in comparison. That could’ve been true, but it felt all the same to us. The terrain did change though, to small porous lava rocks. You could hear them crackling against each other with each step. You also had to pick some of your steps carefully. If you walked where there was no vegetation growing whatsoever, it was a little like walking on sand – two steps forward, one step back.

Eventually, we got to a point where Simon pointed up and said “That’s the summit.” We actually had to ask him to repeat himself. Compared to all the other “false summits,” it looked rather meager…until we got to the top.

The view from the top of Mt. Cameroon was magnificent. The clouds impeded your view a little bit but also made it that much more majestic. Looking around you could see some rocky peaks in one direction and weathered volcanic mounds in the other. It felt incredible too – a great sense of accomplishment as well as the knowledge that everything from here on out was downhill!

Partly because Simon was pushing us to continue and partly because it was really cold, we only spent about 10 minutes on the summit before heading on – downhill. It felt so weird to our legs at first. We were using muscles that had been resting for the last two days. There was also a skill to it that we had to learn. The two steps forward, one step back going uphill became two steps forward, slide a bit farther going downhill. We ended up almost running, spanning about six feet with each step. It was quite fun and a great change of pace; we just had to take breaks more often to get all of the volcanic rocks and dust out of our shoes.

Because we were going downhill and because we were sliding with every step, we were covering lots of ground. It was pretty amazing to look back every few minutes to the summit, where we were just a little bit ago and realize how far we had come, literally and figuratively. The terrain quickly changed from tiny broken-up volcanic rocks to solid hardened lava. This slowed us down quite a bit. It was very jagged and you felt like with every step there was a chance to sprain your ankle.

The solid lava lasted about two to three hours until we got to some more grasslands and took a break. At this point the summit disappeared from view and soon after we found ourselves on the surface of the moon. The landscapes at the broken-up rocks and at the solid lava fields were quite alien, but this area was somehow distinctly lunar. The clouds and fog rising up over the rocks only added to the effect. I have a 5-second video that Thomas took with his camera that you’ll have to ask me to see when I get back. It’s pretty funny.

After the moon and some volcanic craters, we made it to more grasslands. This is where we actually twisted our ankles. On the solid lava we were careful with every step. Here it was hard to see where you were stepping because the grasses were so high. Also, the grade wasn’t very steep, so Simon was pushing the pace. None of us rolled our ankles that badly; they didn’t even swell that night, but once you twisted it that first time, it weakened and made it that much easier to do again. I think it happened to me four or five times.

After 9 hours of hiking, we made it to the Mann Springs hut. It was right under the tree line and before we could even see it we could hear the porters shouting/singing words of encouragement. They had taken a shortcut not going all the way up to the summit so that they could have dinner ready by the time we got there. We cleaned up and then ate li_ke we hadn’t seen food in days. Dinner both nights was a vegetable stew that we poured over rice. It was pretty amazing. There was also fried fish for those who ate it.

Right after dinner we crashed. As the sun was setting, four out of the five of us were already in our sleeping bags. Thomas stayed by the fire listening to a rather heated discussion in Pigeon over the actual price for a Honda engine block. He said he didn’t understand that much, but that it was entertaining. Apparently one of the porters paid too much but he wasn’t convinced. “No rich! No rich!” he kept saying (I didn’t pay too much).

Eventually, everyone else went to bed and we actually slept very well that night. The next morning we woke up to more talk about engine blocks. The porters had restarted the fire and apparently also rekindled their dispute over whether he overpaid.

Day 3:
The last day of our hike, down through the elephant jungle and to the beach, is kind of a blur in my mind. Because we had to cram the last two days of the four-day hike into one, the pace was blistering. Simon told us that morning that if we walked quickly enough, we would get to the beach in 9 hours. Every time we stopped, in fact, he would give us two times – one if we kept the same pace, and a longer one if we slowed down. Although the sights were quite amazing, shortly after we started, most of us just wanted to be relaxing on the beach already. We kept aiming for the shorter of the two times.

Mann Springs, where we stayed the night, was right on the tree line, so the day’s hike started at the entrance to the jungle. Throughout the jungle, the terrain changed a lot. It was mostly downhill but there were some short uphill sections. At times there were huge old trees spread out, other times it was more dense needing a machete, and occasionally there were open clearings and lava fields. The lava fields were beautiful and very different from the ones we saw the day before. All of the sudden you would step out of the jungle and be looking at an underwater seascape. It looked like we were on the ocean floor but without the water. There were lichens covering the lava rocks and tall skinny plants that looked like algae poking up through crevices.

As for animals, we were promised monkeys and elephants but only saw millipedes, other insects, and a rather outgoing mouse in our hut that morning. We did see a few porcupine trails pointed out by Simon, some with snares set up by hunters. One time, going down a steep incline, Simon stopped abruptly, shushed us, and pointed way in the distance at trees probably 300 yards away. We stayed for a while, stared, moved to change our vantage point, and stared some more. Apparently there was a monkey in one of the far away trees that dropped down out of view. We took Simon’s word for it. One of the porters said he saw it too. As for jungle elephants, we saw plenty of evidence but never the real thing. We saw elephant droppings in a few places, some only a day old. We saw some of their trails and where they brushed up against trees. We also saw a camp of wooden tent frames that was trashed by them. The camp was being used by scientists that were tracking the elephants. It was torn apart the day after they left. Simon was actually a part of the expedition.

We were told that if elephants were to charge us, that we should run up the nearest tree. The fact that we weren’t able to just “run up the nearest tree” scared us a little at first but after some probing we found that we weren’t actually in that much danger. The only time they usually see elephants is right after the rainy season starts and we weren’t to the end of the dry season yet. Also, while Simon had been up and down the mountain hundreds of times and seen plenty of elephants, there was only one time with tourists that he had to run and they ran behind, not up, a big tree. One really neat thing that we saw, and our best chance at seeing any elephants, was a crater lake in the middle of the jungle. It’s the watering hole for the elephants in the dry season. We took a small path off the main trail for about 30 yards downhill not realizing we were already walking down into the crater until we saw a beautiful, perfectly round, emerald green lake in front of us. You could even make out a couple of paths that the elephants took on the opposite side.

By the time we had seen all these things, we were salivating at the thought of being at the beach already. We had passed where would have stayed the night had we not shortened the hike by a day and so were past halfway. I don’t think anyone had serious problems with their feet after the first two days, but 30 minutes into the jungle and we were already sloshing in our tennis shoes. Dry season doesn’t mean no dew in the morning, especially in the jungle. All that water created extra friction and we could feel exactly where blisters were forming. I picked up a walking stick very early on in the day and that helped way more than I would have imagined. When you’re walking that much, any weight that you’re putting on a walking stick is weight that’s not on your feet. By the last bit of the hike, I had both hands on that walking stick and was walking, literally, like a 92-year-old man.

The last two hours to me felt like days. I wanted to walk faster and get there quicker, but all I could do was hobble along. When we got out of the jungle, the trail met up with a very old road built by the Germans through a palm plantation. Germany had colonizing forces in Cameroon just before the British and the French and this was one of the few remnants of that.

The road lasted longer than we wanted, but finally…we reached the end of our hike. I wish I could tell you we saw the Atlantic Ocean and fell on the sand like someone who’s ship-wrecked and just found land, but that’s not what happened. Instead of the beach, we made it to a road. The beach was another half-mile farther and not where we were going to spend the night, so we decided to wait at the road for the next hour trying to find a taxi. The wait gave us time to change into flip-flops and compare blisters. Finally we, well, Simon found a car that would take us a few miles down the road to Madison Park, where we could relax on the beach and rent a tent for the night. The five of us crammed into the car with one other lady while Simon sat on our packs in the trunk.

Soon enough, we were there – relaxing on the beach, watching the sunset, and playing in the ocean with energy we didn’t think we still had. And celebrating. It was New Years Eve. As we were all in bed before the sunset the night before, I wasn’t expecting anyone to make it to midnight, but we all did. We got some food from the nearby town for dinner and made a small fire on the beach to sit around enjoying the end of 2007.

This was an absolutely amazing experience that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Except, maybe, for the same experience with more socks.

Tim

Happy X-Mas

2008-01-08T13:00:00.000-05:00

January 8, 2008

After IST and a few days before Christmas, Tara sent me a text message that said something to the effect of “Tim, I love you, but I changed my mind. I’m going to stay at post with Brad and Abby and Dan for Xmas. You should join us. Hope you’re not mad.” My response was “Tara, I love you too, but I’m going to the beach.” And that’s what I did. I knew there were other people heading toward Limbé for the holidays. And it won’t be for my whole life that I have a tropical paradise 3 hours and five dollars worth of transportation away.

Early Christmas Eve morning, I headed out to the big intersection to find a car headed toward the ocean. A few hours later, I was walking up to the door of Joe and Debbie’s in Tiko. Already there were Angie, Vanessa, Alyssa, Abby, and Abby’s boyfriend and sister visiting from the states. By noon we had all headed to Madison Park. It’s the beach where we went for Thanksgiving, but I was a little bit general in the description, so I’ll tell you more.

To get there, you take a cab just outside of Limbé to a tiny town called Batoké. For the longest time I thought it was called “That’s OK.” Just after the main drag of Batoké is a sign for Madison Park. The cab will drop you there and you walk about ¾ mile down to the beach. Closer to the road you pass a few houses where small children are running around yelling “White man! White man!” but this doesn’t bother you like it might at your post because you’re going to the beach. You simply smile and wave and say good afternoon. Headed further downhill, you pass a small palm plantation on your left as the sound of the waves reaches your ears. When you make it to the bottom, you go through a gate and the first thing you see is a magnificent array of plastic toys. This might catch you off guard at first, but over time, somehow it only adds to the charm. There are countless plastic cars, slides, and basketball hoops of all different sizes. After this somewhat random playground is a grass lawn with umbrellad tables and chairs, hammocks, beach chairs and sometimes tents set up. Down a couple of steps from the grass are beautiful black sand beaches and the Atlantic Ocean. It’s hard not to imagine that if you went straight out to sea, you would eventually end up on the East Coast. (Now that I look at a map, it turns out you would actually end up on the East coast of Brazil, but oh well. I can still imagine.)

This private getaway, known almost exclusively by Peace Corps volunteers, is run by Roland. He always makes us feel at home either by serving cold drinks, renting boogey boards or a tent for the night, or just by striking up a conversation. The tents, by the way, are one of the best deals in Cameroon. For five dollars a person, you get a tent with a nice spring mattress (better than at my post), and sheets. Roland, a francophone, also speaks English better than just about any Cameroonian I’ve met – all this from being self-taught, never learning Pigeon, and practicing with lots of Peace Corps volunteers. He’s a great guy, and because it was Christmas Eve, decided to share his lunch with all of us. We stayed and relaxed until just after the sunset and then headed back to Tiko for the night. Christmas Eve dinner? Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It’s weird how good that stuff tastes in Africa.

Christmas day, we woke up leisurely, enjoyed some Christmas cookies made by Abby’s mom in the states, and entertained all of the Trick-or-Treaters that came by. That’s right, I guess they needed to make up for not celebrating Halloween. We had numerous kids in large groups ringing the doorbell to wish us a Happy X-Mas (Pigeon for Merry Christmas), some to sing Christmas songs, and then wait for us to give them candy. In all honesty, I’m not sure if giving treats is part of the tradition. Word probably just spread after the first couple of kids that the white folks were giving out candy. Instead of staying home with family, though, like we do, they go and visit their family and friends on Christmas day. This made for lots of people coming to the door to wish us well.

Merry Christmas to everyone back home! (a little late)
Tim

In-Service Training

2007-12-21T10:15:00.000-05:00

December 21, 2007

Last week was In-Service Training, or IST, a weeklong seminar that’s scheduled for volunteers and our Cameroonian counterparts about three months after being at post. If you remember from one of my blogs from Pre-Service Training (PST), we had created a petition asking for IST to be combined so that Small Enterprise Development and Education volunteers would meet at the same time. Well…it worked. We were all really happy to be together once again. There were only 31 instead of the 36 of us that signed the petition because 4 decided to end their service early and one was medically separated, but those of us that were there had a great time. One reason – it was in the #1 tourist town in Cameroon, Kribi. Located in the South Province, Kribi has some of the most beautiful golden beaches I’ve ever seen. It made you feel like you were in a screen saver.

Because we knew the sessions were going to last until 4pm most days, 6 of us decided to go a day early. We got in at about two, found a not-too-expensive hotel on a secluded beach and then went to check out the town and get some dinner. We had a nice meal, most people getting their first taste of crocodile, and then headed back to the hotel where we could sit on the beach. We did more than sit, though. We made a fire and ate s’mores as the waves crashed into the shore.

The next morning we enjoyed the sun and the ocean until about noon, get omelettes from someone making them on the beach, and then headed to the hotel where we’d be staying to meet our friends and our counterparts as they came in. We had a nice dinner that night at the hotel and started the sessions the next morning.

Overall, IST felt useful and well organized. A lot of things from PST were reinforced and we got some new information too. Some examples of some of the sessions were the roles of our counterparts and ourselves, designing sustainable projects and where funding is available, problems and solutions we’ve run into at post, and info on the different volunteer committees that we can join. We also had free time to go out each afternoon and evening and three birthdays happened to fall that week, so go out we did.

It was a great week that ended too quickly, so instead of leaving on Saturday morning, a dozen of us decided to stay an extra night. That’s right – one on the front, one on the end. We headed to a different beach and took a hike to the Chutes, the only waterfalls in the world to fall directly into the ocean. It was gorgeous! Then we hired a couple of guys to paddle us back in a large dugout canoe all the way to the beach where our stuff was. Because we argued them down to a really low price, we bought them each a beer when we got to shore.

That night there was a music festival on the beach strangely similar to what you would see in the US. Every restaurant in town had a booth there selling food and drinks and there was a huge stage with bands planning all night. At one point I noticed a random white person dancing on stage. She actually wasn’t random, though. It was Tara. When we figured it out, four of us went to watch her make a fool out of herself. Unfortunately, though, we got a little too close to the stage and they pulled us up too. We already feel a little like celebrities, everyone watching us all the time solely because we’re white living in Africa. But here we literally got our five minutes of fame dancing on a stage for a Cameroonian festival.

Not what I expected when I left Baltimore, but I’m having a pretty good time.

Tim

Pictures!!

2007-12-04T10:26:00.001-05:00

As far as the blog goes, the creative juices aren't really flowing. I thought I'd put up some Thanksgiving pictures from the beach instead. If anyone was discouraged from visiting after reading about how sick I got early on in training, this might change your mind.

Tim

This probably looks pretty random next to the beach pictures, but they're both bodies of water. This was the small lake in my house that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago.

La Vie est Dur (Life's Hard)

2007-11-26T11:49:00.000-05:00

11/26/2007

Thanksgiving was last week and coincidentally fell on our three month anniversary at post. We don’t normally celebrate anniversaries of our time at post. Three months is a milestone only because of a silly rule that the Peace Corps created. We’re not allowed to use any vacation days or travel anywhere that would leave us away from our post overnight for the first three months. With this ban being lifted and Thanksgiving falling on the same day, a few of us decided to head toward the beach.

Joe and Debbie are a retired married couple that are teaching Computers and English about 20 minutes away from Limbé, one of the two beach towns in Cameroon. They were incredibly welcoming saying that they would host anyone that made the trip. My and Tara’s trip was only three hours, Alyssa’s was about the same, Brad’s was six h ours, Abby’s was an hour and a half, and Bill was only about 20 minutes away. From the time we got there until the time we left, it felt like being in America and was an amazing getaway.

Limbé is in an Anglophone province so everyone speaks English. They have a thick accent and some only speak Pigeon English, but it’s English. This made it a lot easier to argue prices and just communicate in general. It was also a little hard to remember that people can understand us when we’re talking amongst ourselves.

In terms of buying, eating, and drinking, we lived extravagantly. The first night we went to a restaurant where the meals cost six dollars. We went to a store with all American products from soaps and shampoos and moisturizers to barbecue sauce and syrup and peanut M&Ms. They even put all of your purchases in Wal-Mart bags when you check out. For our Thanksgiving feast, some things were bought from the American Store and others were sent in packages from the states. Joe baked five whole chickens, we had mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, devilled eggs, and pumpkin pie. To drink we had Merlot, Chardonnay, Absolut, and Bailey’s (all either incredibly hard to find here or incredibly expensive). For the next morning in addition to having leftover pumpkin pie, Joe made his famous banana cake and Alyssa made cranberry apple walnut scones – both amazing!

If all that wasn’t enough, we also went to the beach. Now we’re not talking 5-Star hotels and surf shops. We’re still in Cameroon. But it was pretty nice. It was a secluded beach (nobody but us), fine black sand, hammocks in the shade and beach chairs in the sun, palm trees, and warm water. We also had someone that would bring us cold drinks. We were reminded once where we were when a couple of fishing boats beached at our shore, but it really felt like heaven on Earth.

It was an absolutely amazing trip that I’ll never forget. None of us wanted to leave. In fact, we’ve already made plans to come back for Christmas. La vie est dur en Afrique!

Your Suffering African Brother,
Tim

p.s. Check back and I'll try to get a couple pictures.

Restaurant Woes

2007-11-21T06:11:00.000-05:00

November 21, 2007

Last Sunday, market day in Nkongsamba, I was buying things for myself as well as helping Tara buy things for her new house (She just moved out of Yune’s house and into an empty one of her own). We make a pretty good tag team when it comes to haggling prices so it was pretty fun. We had just about finished and decided to get something to eat for lunch.

Restaurants, in my opinion, are Nkongsamba’s weakest point. For the siwe of the town, there are hardly any. There are two that are good but too expensive, charging 4-6 dollars per plate not including drinks. There are a couple others that charge 2 dollars, a little bit more reasonable, but the food’s not that great. Then there are a couple omelette shacks where you can get out for about 60 cents but there’s never any selection.

Constantly frustrated by these facts, Tara and I decided to go exploring for other restaurants we hadn’t seen or tried before.

The first place we went was where we had seen a sign the week before. The sign was on the side of the road with an arrow. We didn’t know whether the sign had been moved or not, but we went where the arrow was pointing. It didn’t look like a restaurant and when we asked, we were told that the restaurant wasn’t there any more. “Oh, you should take the sign down.” I said. They just kind of laughed at this comment. Why did they laugh? Because the two silly white people were the only ones that didn’t know the restaurant had shut down. If everyone else in Nkongsamba knew, why bother taking the sign down?

Marketing isn’t quite the same here. Just as there are restaurants with signs but don’t exist, there are also restaurants that exist but don’t have signs. One reason is that it makes your business look healthier and you might end up paying higher taxes. So how do you know where they are? If you’re a Cameroonian, you either just know or you don’t go to restaurants. If you’re American, you go exploring. One thing we were looking for were white sheets hanging in the doorways. Most smaller restaurants have them. The only problem is a lot of hair salons have the same white sheets. Tara and I took turns peeking inside the white sheets and asking if they were restaurants. One of my funnier experiences in Africa was when Tara peaked inside not a restaurant, not a salon, but someone’s house. The conversation went like this:

“Is this a restaurant?”
“No.”
“Okay (short silence)…You live here?”
“Yes.”
“Okay (short silence)…Have a nice day.”
“Okay.”

What people think of us I have no idea. By this point we had found a couple more omelette shacks and one somewhat sketchy hole-in-the-wall place with only one choice on the menu which was very meaty (still a vegetarian). We were about ready to give up our search when we found a lady walking around with a huge bowl on her head selling rice and beans. It cost us 30 cents per plate and was probably the best rice and beans I had ever had. The only problem was that she was walking around and we might never see her again.

Landslide, Lake, and Workstuff

2007-11-18T06:07:00.000-05:00

November 13, 2007

Yikes! I just looked at the date of my last entry. If there’s actually anyone that still checks my blog every week, I’m sorry. I’ll try to write more often, but you were warned from the beginning that I felt like I might have been biting off more than I could chew saying I would write every week (Reminder that I can take incoming calls for free on my cell phone. Email me for the number). Part of the problem is that I don’t feel like I have any coherent ideas to write an entry on. Sure little stuff happens here and there, but it’s not enough to fill up a blog. So this one might jump around a bit, but I figured it would be better to get something out.

Three or four weeks ago, there was a landslide in between Kekem and Bafang. The road was completely taken out. This is a big deal because this is the road between Douala and Bafoussam, the first and third largest cities in Cameroon. Nkongsamba, my post, is also on this road. The day it happened I got text messages on my phone from different Peace Corps employees saying that any travel plans should be rearranged. I already had plans to go to a credit committee meeting in Bafang the next morning. I decided to meet my counterpart first and see what he said. After talking to him, we decided to see how far we could get. Most of the cars were already taking alternate routes so we had to find cars that were going short distances, just to the next town. After three short trips we made it to the landslide. It was pretty serious. The road looked like it just dead-ended at this monstrous pile of dirt. There were people everywhere – Some just came to look, others were crossing over it, and others brought their market goods to sell because there were so many people gathered. There was also a new market for boot rental as some areas were extremely muddy. We started to make our way across and after about 20 ft. decided we needed the boots. It cost us the equivalent of 50 cents to borrow the boots and have someone walk with our shoes behind us. It seemed like a lot to pay by Cameroonian standards, but we ended up paying it so I guess the demand was high enough. When you first got to the landslide, you couldn’t tell how wide it was, but we ended up walking for about a quarter mile before reaching the other side. When you got to the road on the other side and looked back, it was about the same – a road dead-ending at a huge pile of dirt. But on this side there was a palm tree perfectly transplanted by the landslide to where it looked like it had always been right in the middle of the path where the road would continue. We made it to the meeting, albeit a little late and had a story to tell all of our friends.

Last weekend the new group of Agro and Health volunteers who are in training had their site visits and so were let loose in the country for a week to see where they would be working for two years. Yune and Ben and the volunteers replacing them, Abby and Dan, came over to Nkongsamba along with Tara on Friday for a hot shower and another one of our soon-to-be-famous “enchilada nights.” It was a full house and we all stayed up playing Suggestions late into the night. The next morning we woke up to find that a small lake had formed in the house. My entryway and hallway were flooded – some areas weren’t bad, but others were up to your ankle. Instead of a sewer system Cameroon has concrete channels about a foot and a half deep on both sides of most the roads. The one right outside my house had gotten clogged and all the rainwater from the storm that night had come flowing in right under my front door! I did all I could to get as much water out as possible, but the stream also brought with it a lot of dirt. It was a mess, but when my neighbour came over to do my laundry, she also helped my by cleaning all the floors and even doing all the dishes from enchilada night (no small task by itself).

I’ve been doing a lot of contemplating recently on what my role should be in working with ADAF, my host institution that supports and audits all the surrounding microfinance banks. I’ve started to realize that the work I’m already doing now and what I’m learning how to do is essentially the work of an ADAF employee. That’s not why I’m here. I’m supposed to be building capacity – that is, making the institution function stronger when I leave then when I came. If I’m working just like an employee, not only am I taking the work and possible salary of a Cameroonian, but they’d be worse off after I left not having anyone to do my workload. After talking to my APCD (Assistant Peace Corps Director) and counterpart we all agreed that ADAF didn’t need much help with capacity, just the huge workload. So my first task now is to see if we can get another employee in the Nkongsamba office (right now it is only me and my counterpart). Beyond that I’m looking for more work to do in the community, which I’m finding somewhat difficult. I’ve already started teaching a management class at the Girls’ Center in Baré but beyond doing that I don’t feel like I’m meeting the kind of motivated people that I want to do any other work with. I’m beginning to think that starting another management class for entrepreneurs in Nkongsamba would be the best way to start meeting those people. We’ll see. I’ll keep you updated on what my “professional life” turns into.

Tim

Living Alone...But not so Lonely (Finished, with Pictures)

2007-10-13T07:24:00.000-04:00

October, 13, 2007
October, 21, 2007

So I'm living in this big house all by myself. I'm the only American living in the quite large town of Nkongsamba (I'd say at least 100 000 people). Everything that we heard before we got here told us that we would be, well, lonely. There would be lots of down time - time for self-reflection, for wondering why we're here. We would read loads of books. The closest volunteer might be two hours away. So far...Not true. I do wonder why I'm here quite often, but it's not because of all the down time - I don't have any. In about 4.5 months time, I've only read 1.5 books and the one I finished was the last Harry Potter which is pretty hard to put down. I'm constantly moving and don't feel like I even have the time for the self-reflection I would be doing in the states. So why am I not lonely? Let me see if I can shed some light on the matter.

First of all, let's be honest. I'm not living alone. From the second I got to Nkong, I've been sharing my aparttment with numerous ants, cockroaches, mice, and lizards. They don't really keep me company, but they definitely keep me occupied. If I don't bleach the countertops after every time I prepare food, thousands of tiny ants come marching in from who knows where. The cockroaches are pretty hard to get a handle on. One of the downsides of having this place already furnished before I got here is that they already have hundreds of hiding places. I'm constantly finding them in places when I think there's already nowhere else for them to hide. I don't like killing them so I don't spray insecticide. When I find one, I trap it and toss it outside. The mice don't really creep me out as much as the cockroaches when they catch you off guard, but they can be destructive. I kind of chase them from one hiding place to another too. They've taken up residence inside both bathroom doors, a bookcase, and a wardrobe. I even found them nesting under my mattress! I don't know where they are now, but I feel like i have the upper hand and they might be leaving soon. Lizards don't bother me so much. They're usually just on the walls outside but occasionally they'll run through.

Thousands will come for the tiniest of scraps
One by one I toss them outside
A cozy little mouse dugout in my bookshelf
Another one in my wardrobe
What I saw when I lifted up my mattress one night
They've got no fear

So other than critters, I hang out with Americans all of the time. There are two volunteers in Baré which is 10 minutes away. I teach a management class every Friday at the Girls' Center there. Tara also teaches there as she is an education volunteer, so I see her at least once a week on her turf. She comes to Nkongsamba at least every Sunday, which is market day, to stock up for the week. Nkong is also the closest place she can use the internet and it's where she does her banking. Yune, the other Baré volunteer is gone a lot because she is helping with the training of the new Agro and Health volunteers right now, but she is going to be replaced by someone we'll probably see all the time. Ben lives in the bush not too far from here and stops through Nkongsamba every time he travels. Autumn lives about 45 minutes up the road and does banking here at least once a month. There are also others that find excuses to come hang out. And why wouldn't they? It's a cool town and I've got a great house (especally with the addition of the hot water heater). Autumn and Emily, the next volunteer up the road past Autumn, also come down sometimes for work related stuff. They are both posted at MC2s (microfinance banks) that ADAF supports. There are trainings here once a month and sometimes they come down for those. I also see them whenever I go to one of their Credit Committee meetings or do an audit of their bank. So I see Americans a lot - so much so that It doesn't even feel like my French has improved since 've gotten to post.

The last reason I'm not lonely is because I'm constantly busy. Things in Africa just take longer. There's no other way to explain it. While I'm not traveling, I only work half-days at the bank. That's because everything else that I do takes longer than I'm used to. Buying things takes longer; the bank, the internet, and other errands take longer; preparing food takes longer; doing dishes takes longer; cleaning takes longer. The idea of time and the resources available are just not what we're used to. When I got to post, I would make a list of 5-10 things I wanted to get done in a day and would only be able to do one or two. The only headway I've made on this is that I pay my neighbor to wash my clothes every weekend. I still have to wait for them to dry and iron them though.

So, lonely? Not so much. I feel like these two years will be over before I even realize it. I'm busy, but trying to make the best of it too.

Tim

Wish List

2007-10-03T11:43:00.000-04:00

So my mom has been asking to send a list of christmas ideas. I thought I would create a separate page that I could keep updated. It's kind of funny...there's quite a lot more than the first list I published having only been in Africa for a few weeks. That being said the same disclaimer applies: DO NOT FEEL OBLIGATED TO SEND ANYTHING. DO NOT FEEL GUILTY FOR NOT SENDING ANYTHING. I'm doing just fine.

http://timhartmanwishlist.blogspot.com

Tim

Cameroonian Surrealities

2007-10-01T07:01:00.000-04:00

09-30-2007

Things that make me say “Huh?”

Menards: (For anyone that has never heard of it, Menards is a home improvement store in the mid-west.) As I was coming home from a bank audit in a bush taxi, we stopped to pick up more people headed our direction. Whenever you stop, the market comes to you. People run up, slide open your windows, and try to sell you anything from pineapples to toothbrushes. The guy that came up to my window had a blue Menards shirt on. In a circle on the chest it said “How May I Help You?”
Trumpet: Almost every morning when I wake up I can hear someone practicing bugle calls. It might be coming from the military school nearby, but he makes lots of mistakes and plays for about an hour so it sounds like he’s just practicing.
Road Construchtion: There is a pretty big lack of infrastructure in Cameroon. Police don’t have cars, there’s no garbage collection, no sewer system, ambulances don’t exist, and mail can go to P.O. Boxes but not to your house…But for some reason, road construction happens faster here than in the U.S.
Safety on the Job: On the road going north out of Nkongsamba, there’s a one-lane bridge 40 feet over a small but raging river. Upstream, they’re constructing a new bridge. In case anyone falls in, attached to a rope attached to the current bridge is a life preserver thrashing back and forth. I said a little prayer because I was sure it would work better than the life preserver were it needed.
Bathroom Tile: A lot of the dead are buried in front of their family’s house. Those that have the means put up a gravestone covered in ceramic tile. It’s usually blue and white and whenever I see one, I’m always reminded of what you find in a bathroom in the states.
Addresses: They don’t exist here. The streets don’t have names. The houses don’t have numbers. But people ask you for your address all the time.
Coke: When I opened up my bank account with 2 other Americans, there was a decent amount of waiting. Either because he considered us preferred customers or because he was interested in my 2 female friends, he took our drink order and brought us 3 bottles of Coke while we waited.
“I’m living in Africa:” No matter how many times I say it, it still feels weird knowing it’s true.

The Mix of Emotions

2007-09-17T10:58:00.000-04:00

9/17/2007

It’s come out in some of my other blog entries that I’ve often felt contrasting emotions at the same time. It started when I got my invitation to the Peace Corps. This week is no different. I’m starting to feel quite content with being able to live here and fit in – understand and be understood. I’m also quite frustrated. I came here to do good work and I’m still in the learning phase when it comes to all the bank work. I’ll take one at a time…and vent first.

So I was able to justify to myself for the first three months while I was in training, not feeling frustrated. I was there to learn, and when I got to post, I would start doing, well, whatever it was I came here to do. And I did learn some important cultural lessons as well as improving my French. I was even able to justify the first couple of weeks at post being primarily for learning. At least 80% of what you need to know for any job is learned on the job. Now I’ve been at post for over three weeks and it’s becoming obvious that the learning part of things is going to be going on for a while. It’s not just the learning that’s frustrating, though. It’s also what my role is when the “learning phase” is over. The obvious role is to take some of the workload off of my counterpart’s shoulders and become, essentially, an ADAF employee. But that’s not why I’m here, even if ADAF is doing a good job supporting microfinance banks that help communities and work to alleviate poverty. Number one, I don’t want to take the job of another Cameroonian, and number two, what happens when I leave? It all goes back to how it was before I got here. Where’s the sustainability in that? Creating a sustainable impact is incredibly challenging, but that’s the goal, and it’s hard to see right now how Peace Corps thought I would achieve that by posting me here.

Enough complaining, though. There’s good stuff too. This weekend I felt the most comfortable yet as far as living in Africa goes, and I don’t think it was just because I spent a lot of time with Americans. There are two volunteers that live very close and were at a conference in Yaoundé ever since we got to post. They got back this week and we had a chance to hang out this weekend. Other than making the best enchiladas ever conceived, there were a couple of instances that made me feel good about myself and like I was integrating into the community. The first was when we were all walking into town to go to the market. We passed two people in separate instances that I had met and talked to before. Both times, I saw them coming in the distance, recognized that I knew them, and came up with their names immediately so I could introduce them to my friends. Sounds like a small victory, but you’ve no idea how many names and faces I’m trying to learn right now. It’s easy for them to learn the name of the one new white guy in town, but to learn an entire community is difficult. Also on the way into town we passed loads of kids who all yelled “Bonjour Tim!” This is impressive because they all used to yell “Bonjour le blanc!” It took repeated efforts going over to them and introducing myself as Tim. “Now you can say ‘Hello Tim’ instead of ‘Hello white man,’” I would tell them. It took some repeated efforts but I think it’s finally stuck.

The second instance was going to visit a handicapped man in the hospital. One of my neighbors, a boy about 16 years old, had asked me if I would go talk to someone he knew who was handicapped. I found it a bit strange because that was essentially the first thing he said to me, but told him to come back on Saturday when I had more time. I had honestly forgotten about it preparing enchiladas with three other Americans when he knocked at the gate. I told my friends about it and we all decided to go.

He knew that one person was coming to visit him, but when he saw four, he was moderately ecstatic. You could tell that we really made his day. We stayed and talked for a little over an hour, him explaining the condition of his legs and how he loves the US and Canada because the rights we give to handicapped persons. In the end he gave me a large sack, probably 4-5 kilos, of dried soy beans (still not sure how I’m going to use them, but I plan on researching veggie burger recipes) and a letter that he had taken the effort to write in English.

When I got home and read the letter it was almost all about getting some kind of priority health card that would take care of all his medical expenses. That kind of turned me off from the whole experience as there are lots of people here looking for handouts. He was in a lot more need than the others that ask, though, so I don’t think I can blame him for trying.

I’ve decided I’d like to go back and visit him. I’ll explain that I can’t really help with the health card but I can come and talk once a week or so. I’m still learning at the bank, but it doesn’t take any training to have a conversation with a man in the hospital.

Tim

My Life as a Volunteer

2007-09-10T12:39:00.000-04:00

9/8/2007

As the weirdness wanes, I’m stating to see a slight glimpse of what my life and my role in this community over the next two years are going to be like. Going into the bank and starting a routine has helped immensely with both reducing the weidness and giving me an idea of what I’m doing here. That’s not to say that I can see myself making a difference or even feeling comfortable in my role for a few months, just that it’s on the horizon, almost within reach.

Because I don’t want it to be the only thing I do in the community, and because I’m not completely settled into my house yet, I go into work from 7:30 to noon, Monday through Friday. That gives me time in the afternoon to do errands and things. Everything takes longer here, so I use all of each afternoon. Last weeks’ consisted of lots of trips to the electric company to get them to finally turn on the power at my house.

My work at the bank so far isn’t really work – it’s learning. I have about 5 manuals on statutes, rules, and regulations that I’m going through. Half of what I do is to take notes on the manuals and the other half is to take notes on the technical French vocab that I don’t understand.

I don’ think I’ve mentioned too much in my blogs about the institutions I’m working with so I’ll try to give a brief description. My counterpart, Pierre, is the only employee for this regional branch of ADAF (Appropriate Developement for Africa Foundation). ADAF is a non-profit organization that audits and gives advice to MC2s (Mutual Communautaire de Croisance). MC2s are microfinance institutios that do savings and loan services for rural, poor, and minority populations (women and youth). Both ADAF qnd MC2 were started by Afriland First Bank, which is where my office is here in Nkongsamba. There are 14 MC2s in this region. Anytime one of them has a credit committee meeting, where they decide to whom to extend loans, or a meeting of the board of directors, ADAF has to be present. ADAF also does regular audits of all the banks.

Thursday, I had my first chance to travel as there was a credit comittee meeting in Melong, 20 minutes away. We left at 2:30 and Pierre told me we would be back by 6:00. I had already planned to make Mexican food with Tara, who lives in the neighboring village and that would give just enough time for dinner.

When we got there, I got a tour of the bank and the meeting only started 15 minutes late, which from what I’ve experienced and been told, is quite early. One of the first things I noticed in the meeting was that my French was not where it needed to be. It was scary how much I didn’t understand.

While the meeting started nearly on time and seemed at first to be progressing smoothly, the efficiency decreased as time went on. Disputes about whether or not to extend loans started taking longer and becoming harder to settle. As I looked at the time throughout the meeting, I started realizing that being back by 6:00 wasn’t going to happen. At first I thought, “I can be back by 6:15.” Then I thought, “maybe it’ll be 6:30.” As the meeting was almost over and I was thinking 6:45 at the latest, the youngest person there started making his way around the room asking what kind of beer everyone wanted. “Let’s be realistic...7:15.” Then they brought in the food. This is not your normal American meeting. It wasn’t even just a small snack. It was dinner. There was chicken, beef, sausage, and fish, with pineapple for dessert. It didn’t bother me that there wasn’t any vegetarian option other than the pineapple. I was more concerned with getting home to start preparing food and not keeping my friend waiting.

Pierre agreed to eat auickly and we made it back by 8:15. Things in Africa just take a long time. Proof is that Tara, who was supposed to be done with her commitments by 3:00, didn’t make it over until 10:00. On va faire comment? (What are you gonna do?)

Tim

The Start of the Next Two Years of My Life

2007-09-04T12:13:00.000-04:00

9/2/2007

I’m here. I made it to post. What’s it like living your first week as a Peace Corps Volunteer? Weird.

About 30 minutes have passed as I ponder how to accurately describe the weirdness. If you really want to know what it feels like, go to peacecorps.gov. The application process takes 6-12 months. Otherwise, I’ll do my best to give some of the reasons.

The first is the stark contrast with training. We used to have mandatory classes 6 days a week; now we can make our own schedule. We used to have trainers and staff hovering over us to answer our questions and look out (a little too much) for our safety; now we’re on our own. We used to hang out in big groups of Americans speaking English; now it’s me, my post-mate 10 minutes away, and a lot of French. We used to eat the food our Cameroonian family served; now we make our own and do the dishes. We used to live in a family where there was always someone around; now there’s a lot of alone time.

The next thing that makes it weird are the expectations. While I’m good at not setting specific ones, I do kind of expect the overall experience to be great and to change my life. But when is that going to happen? If I were to go home right now, would I say my experience was great? Would I say it changed my life? Is there a specific time when that happens? I don’t really expect to write on my blog sometime over the next two years - Aha! It happened. My life is changed and my Peace Corps experience has crossed the line. It is now great! There’s a cheesy saying that no two Peace Corps experiences are the same - yours is what you make of it. If that’s true, then what could I be doing differently to change my experience, or what would someone else in my shoes be doing differently? Too many questions. Too few answers. It’s just weird.

The other thing that’s weird is feeling the weirdness start to slowly wear off. Is it really going to feel normal living in Africa? …Weird.

I’ll try to give some more specifics on what my life is actually like next week. I need to go to bed now because I start my first day at the bank tomorrow morning.

Stay Well,
Tim

Through with Training

2007-08-26T04:59:00.000-04:00

8/22/07

I’m sitting in bed writing the night before our swearing-in ceremony where we officially become volunteers and no longer trainees. It feels to me long overdue and while I’m not nervous, the anxiety is sure to come. After the ceremony tomorrow we pack, celebrate, try to get some rest, and the next morning pile all of our belongings into bush taxis and take off. Our belongings, while big and bulky to begin with, have grown since we’ve gotten here. In addition to our two big bags and carry-ons, we now have a bike, a footlocker, a water filter, a mosquito net, a bicycle helmet, and a motorcycle helmet. Thus piling our belongings into a bush taxi and taking off will be a little harder than it sounds. We’ll see how it goes. Plenty before me have figured it out, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.

These last few days have been great as we’ve been experiencing the luxuries in life – fine dining and warm showers. We had to take a trip on Sunday to Yaoundé, the capital, to receive our moving-in allowance and transfer the money to our post. Why couldn’t they just wire the money to our post? We didn’t ask too many questions, as we knew that warm showers and fine dining were in our future in Yaoundé. The Peace Corps transit house has plenty of beds, a hot water heater for each of its three showers, a great collection of DVDs to watch, and a kitchen with appliances and utensils to make just about anything you can’t elsewhere. The kitchen wasn’t really used much as Yaoundé has one of the best selections of restaurants in Cameroon. Some people went for cheeseburgers and french fries, others for Chinese, and some for sushi, but 3 friends and I went to an Indian restaurant. We went all out. We split samosas, fried cheese, and hummus as appetizers, all had entrees, and had a milkshake for dessert. There was, quite randomly, a kiddie park (some type of cross between an amusement park and a playground) right outside so we couldn’t resist getting cotton candy before we left as well. After walking around town for a little bit, we found a boulangerie with Italian gelatti and we filled our already stuffed stomachs just a little bit more. Back at the transit house that night we had pizza delivered. It was literally impossible to wipe the smiles off of our faces. It’s amazing how much we take for granted in a society of instant gratification, but it felt really nice to indulge in those comforts from back home for a solid 24 hours. And while I spent a lot of money by Cameroonian standards, it worked out to about 30 US Dollars.

Can money buy happiness? It bought one day’s worth in Yaoundé. I’ll get back to the goal at hand soon. Sometimes it just feels good to act like an American.

Tim

Nearing the end

2007-08-14T08:24:00.000-04:00

08/12/2007

I can see it now – the end of training and the beginning of my 2 years of service. All 36 of us are ready to go – even the 5 or so that haven’t yet reached their French level. While our tolerance for all the assignments, classes, and schedules is diminishing, we’re not taking for granted the fact that we’re only together for a little while longer and all get along great. Last weekend a few people organized a night of Mexican food. We had salsa, guacamole, refried beans, fajita meat, and homemade tortillas. We’ve gotten together a few times to watch movies on people’s laptops. We celebrated somebody’s birthday last night by going out to a nightclub (Boîte de Nuit in French translates literally to Night Box). And tonight I organized a night of Italian food. We had spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce (we were going to have pesto too, but the blending didn’t quite work out) and fresh baguettes to dip in garlic and olive oil. We also made makeshift s’mores in a frying pan and banana bread.

Even though training is dragging on and, on one level, I’m sick of being here, I am kind of proud of where I’ve come. The biggest achievement is my language proficiency. Being able to communicate just about anything I want in French is really empowering. While I can’t understand people who speak fast and/or mumble, I’ve come a long way, and I’ll get there soon. As small business trainees we were all assigned companies to work with in town. I’ve already given my store written reports in French on an overview of their business functions, the need to write out specific goals and action plans, the need for accounting books and how to use them, and marketing strategies. I also just finished with my cross-cultural presentation, which was 25 minutes all in French, on how to prepare Bâton de Manioc, a gummy cassava side dish wrapped in banana leaves.

For a while, life was pretty normal. Now I’m back to feeling all these different emotions at once – proud, frustrated, happy, sad, excited, nervous, ready, and scared. I also feel like my life has a purpose and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here at the same time too.

One thing I’m looking forward to is down time. I hear we’ll have a lot of it. Getting my meditation/spiritual practice back in order is high on my priority list. I think that will help a lot with getting my emotions straightened out. I know there will be hard times in the next two years, but having a better focus will help me get through them.

So that’s where I’m at this week. I hope everyone’s in good health and happiness back home.

Tim

Birthday Party

2007-08-07T10:02:00.000-04:00

8/5/2007

Last Saturday was my host brother’s 8th birthday party. He had been looking forward to it and my family had been planning it for a while. My host mom had asked me 2 weeks prior if I would make guacamole and mashed potatoes and gravy. Those were the American (and Mexican) foods we made a while ago for one of my fellow trainee’s birthday party. I was under the impression that she really liked them, so I was a little surprised that on the day of the party, her response to how much guacamole I should make was “enough for the Americans that will be coming.” Maybe Africans are better than us at pretending to like exotic foods that don’t end up tasting so great, I remember thinking to myself. Then I thought, Ca va aller (It’ll be okay). It was the time for a birthday party, not for worrying about whether my African family likes American food.

It was quite literally, the time for the party, 3 o’clock, but no one was there save the people doing the preparations. It was something to remind me that I’m not completely integrated yet. Their sense of time here is completely different. My friend that helped me make the American food and I decided to sit and wait. An hour and a half later, people started to pile in. That’s where, as an American, things felt socially awkward. At Cameroonian parties, you put all the chairs against the walls so that everyone can sit in a big circle. The circle’s too big to have one conversation with everyone, but you can’t really mingle either. The other thing that’s awkward – the word awkward doesn’t exist in French, so you can’t explain how awkward you feel.

Once the festivities actually began, though, it was quite fun. My host dad’s sister acted as master of ceremonies using a remote control as a microphone. It started by my host brother offering some words of welcome to his guests and was followed by a karaoke performance by his younger cousin (the MCs daughter). Apparently she had been preparing all week. After she finished, having danced but not sung, her mom made her start over from the beginning. I was shocked and kind of wanted to rescue her, but she actually gave a much better performance the second time around. Next there were competitions. Some were dancing competitions; there was arm wrestling, and musical chairs, too. After that there was more dancing. They start ‘em young here.

By 8 or 9 o’clock, the party had changed from being mostly kids to mostly adults. It was a lot more like parties in the states – essentially eating, drinking, and talking. Overall, I had a great day, I learned a little about the culture, and even the Africans ate the guacamole.

(sorry...I had some pictures I was going to post, but the internet cafe is having problems)

Tim

Back to Training(and photos!)

2007-08-01T08:57:00.000-04:00

8/28/07

I don’t feel like I have a lot to write this week. To make up for that, I’m going to attempt to upload pictures to the blog this week. The gist of what’s going on: I got a glimpse of what’s to come on my site visit – what I signed up for: a chance to make a difference and have fun doing it – and now I’m back in a rigorously scheduled training program. I wasn’t expecting to ever feel this “senioritis” feeling again, but I’m itching to be done with training. I feel like 95% of what I need to know is going to b learned on the job (at post). Of the other 5 %, I’ve already learned 3%. So it feels like I’m back in training for three weeks and 2% of what I need to know. Oh well. Ça va aller (It will all be okay). The one saving grace in the whole matter is that I’ve already reached the necessary French proficiency required before going to post. That means almost half of my classes, where everyone else has language are “self-directed learning.” Believe it or not, I’ve actually spent most of these classes self-directing myself to French grammar, but it is nice to know that if I want to take a nap during this time, I can just take a nap.

It’s also nice to be back with all the other trainees. We all get along great, and even though training is dragging on, this might be the last time we’re all together. We have In-Service Training in December, but we just found out that the Small Business and Education IST are not held at the same time. That was upsetting to all of us, so I decided to bust out some of my organizing skills I learned at Clean Water Action. Last week, I brought up the issue in front of all of our training staff in our weekly group meeting. The training director said he would bring it up with the country director, but didn’t sound too hopeful. This week, the country director is going to be here when we have our group meeting. I prepared a formal letter and had all 36 of us sign it. We’ll present it to him on Thursday. We’ll see how it goes.

Alright, so I’ve rambled on for a little bit. Let me see how many pictures I can get up on this SLOW connection.

Tim

The Cameroon Country Director(left) laughing at the Peace Corps Director (yes, the director) from Washington dancing at the celebration for the 45th anniversary of Peace Corps in Cameroon

The entryway to my house!

My mountain!

The path to my mountain

The bedroom window from my homestay house: This is the view I see every morning that reminds me I am in Africa

Love is in the air at my host brother's birthday party (I'll tell you a little about it next week)

Site Visit

2007-07-24T12:15:00.000-04:00

07/22/07

I found out my post the day I was released from the hospital. It was Friday. I came in about an hour late and everyone else already knew where they were going. I got some hugs from people I hadn’t seen in a few days and then was led over to a map of Cameroon with all of our names push-pinned to our posts. Someone pointed out my name. I didn’t really know what to think right away, but after learning some details about my city, I began to think it was a good fit. It is located in the Littoral Province. It’s a pretty big city that makes most of its money from coffee and cocoa, but since the prices dropped in the 90’s, they have never completely recuperated. Most peoples’ counterparts are managers at MC2s, which are microcredit banks. My counterpart works for the organization that controls all of the MC2s. That means I’ll get to travel a lot, learn the microcredit thing inside and out, and make sure the banks aren’t corrupt (corruption is probably the number one impediment to development in Cameroon). I was pretty excited.

The next day all of our counterparts traveled here for a two day counterpart workshop. The workshop served two purposes. One was to get to know the person we would be working with the most over the next two years. The other was to introduce any of the ounterparts who had never had volunteers before to the Peace Corps’ small business program and to American culture. The cultural exchanges are always the most entertaining. One example from the session: “If you have a female volunteer and you tell her every day that she is beautiful, she will take it as a come on and might feel uncomfortable coming to work.”

The workshop was Saturday and Sunday, so Monday morning we left to go see our new hometowns. I traveled with two other trainees whose posts were on the way. It was my first of many rides to come in a bush taxi. Everything between villages is “the bush,” so any ride that you pay for to get to another village is a bush taxi. They’re quite interesting. You can either get a car or a travel agency. Pretty much the only difference is the size of the vehicle. The cars are pretty much all economy size and the travel agencies have mini buses that kind of look like 12 passenger vans. Something we learned in one of our cross-culture sessions: “The white man designed the back seat of a car to fit three people. But you can easily fit four or five and that’s not including any small children, chickens, or goats that can fin on your lap.” This lesson is applied to every vehicle in Cameroon, and I think most of the rest of Africa too.

Even if you go to the travel agencies, there is no schedule for departures. You go, buy your ticket, and wait in the vehicle. When the vehicle is full, really full, you leave. Sometimes this takes more than an hour or two, but I was pretty lucky. Also, while you’re waiting to leave and whenever you stop along the way, like to pay tolls, the market comes to you. People sell anything from fruit to baked goods, candy to tissues. I’m doing my best to describe it, but I don’t think you could truly understand it without experiencing it with all 5 senses.

We dropped the first two trainees off at their posts and I did the last leg of my journey alone. I was dropped off on the outskirts of my new town and hopped on the back of a moto to go to the house of a volunteer that is living there now. She’s the volunteer I’m going to be replacing, so it was actually my new house that I went to. I don’t know how fair this is, but essentially the bigger your town, the nicer your house. I’m not complaining because I have a pretty big town. I have an entryway/dining room, a kitchen, a sitting room, a master bedroom, two bathrooms, and two extra bedrooms. I have running water and electricity, and because there have been three volunteers in this house before me, everything is completely furnished. There is even a decent library already there, too. Because I’ll still get a move-in allowance to buy all the things I already have, I’m thinking about buying a small hot water heater for one of the bathrooms. Cold showers are one thing that I don’t think I will ever get used to!

I don’t think I can explain how beautiful this town is. It sprawls out from the base of a mountain, and while there are houses and businesses everywhere, you’re never more than a couple minutes walk from nature. There are all kinds of small paths that are almost jungle-like with their tropical trees and rustling creeks. There are paths that go up the mountain too. I can’t wait to climb it.

Because it’s the rainy season, there are always clouds. Sometimes you can see the whole mountain, and sometimes they cover the peak. Other times you can’t see it at all. It wasn’t until the third day of my site visit that I realized there was another mountain! It’s a little bit farther away, and I found out that it’s actually an inactive volcano in the neighboring province. It’s bigger than the closer mountain and has two beautiful crater lakes. I’ll definitely be checking it out too.

Most of my time at post was spent just walking around and discovering the town. I bought croissants and baguettes from the bakery (not as good as France, but way better than the US) and fresh fruit and produce from the open air markets. It was really liberating to be able to cook for myself, too. Not that the Cameroonian dishes aren’t good, but the spaghetti and garlic bread that I mad was really comforting and reminded me of home. It’s making me hungry just writing about it.

While the first four nights were like a vacation, the last night was a chance to really let loose. I got in another bush taxi and made my way back to another big city where a volunteer is stationed close to our training village. I met up with seven more of our trainees. We went to a couple of bars and then went dancing ‘til late in the night.

Overall, it was a great week. It was nice to take a break from the rigorous scheduling of training and gave me a lot of confidence in my ability to be a Peace Corps volunteer and to integrate into the culture.

Until next week,
Tim

Never Again...

2007-07-18T08:40:00.000-04:00

07-13-2007

…will I write in my blog “Hopefully, I’ll have some better stories for next week.” I guess I had it coming to me. I just got a letter from my mom that says she wants to know it all, good and bad. Well, here you go Mom – without the sugar coating.

But before I tell you all the bad stuff, I am going to spoil the ending and share a short passage from Thich Nhat Hanh. I can’t find the quote so I’ll have to paraphrase a little.

He talked about never forgetting the good things in your life. We tend to focus too often on things that we are suffering through and not the things that we are given. He asked you to remember the last time you were sick and could not breathe through your nose. Now remember the first time after being sick that you could take a big breath through both nostrils and how good that felt. If we can be that happy after one breath, how many other things are going right in our life that we are not acknowledging?

This is all to say that I’ve taken that breath after this experience and I won’t forget it. Now, stop here if you are a fan of the sugar coating…no, really.

Monday night, I was having a hard time getting my dinner down. It definitely wasn’t my favorite meal, but I’d eaten it before without a problem. That night as I was trying to swallow my last few bites (trying to show respect for the food and the cook), I was getting a gag reflex. I managed to not let my host mother know that I was gagging on her food and even to finish the last few bites. I didn’t think much of it until I was closing my window before going to bed. I could tell my muscles were a little fatigued and my brain put it together right away: “You’re getting sick.” I’d been sick twice in the last two weeks – maybe why my brain put it together so quickly. The first time was a fever with chills that woke me in the night and was gone within 24 hours. The second time was some kind of food poisoning that started in the night with vomiting and diarrhea and continued for two days with diarrhea and stomach cramps. Each one cleared itself up on its own, but I was not looking forward to what lied ahead of me that night

I woke up after one hour of sleep and the vomiting and diarrhea commenced. I woke up every hour thereafter with more vomiting and diarrhea. By the time morning came, I told my host mother I couldn’t eat breakfast and notified Peace Corps that I wouldn’t be coming to classes. They asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I told them no, I just needed to rest. By 11 a.m. my host mom, worried by my still frequent trips to the bathroom, had called Peace Corps and they had set up an appointment with the doctor at the hospital. I didn’t realize the shape I was in until I had to walk 50 yards to the PC vehicle. I had quite a fever, and because of all those trips to the bathroom, I’d become incredibly dehydrated.

A short but bumpy ride later, we made it to the hospital, which I would describe as a cross between a motel and an outlet mall. There were lots of different buildings all connected with covered walkways. There were lots of people standing and sitting around. I wouldn’t have known where to go on my own, but the Peace Corps driver walked me slowly over to a woman sitting at a desk outside of one of the buildings. While he convinced the woman that we were going to pay and needed to be seen right away, I puked in the bushes and then sat down on a bench to wait.

After a short visit with the doctor, they decided they needed to put me on intravenous fluids and do tests for malaria. I had only seen a handful of mosquitoes in Africa and had not been bitten to my knowledge. I’m also on prophylaxis, but they always rule Malaria out first because it is so common and dangerous if untreated. The Peace Corps driver took me through the walkways and we ended up in a hospital room where I immediately crashed on the bed. It was the only piece of furniture in the room, with terribly worn out springs and an old mattress without sheets. The room had windows on one wall with a decent view but one was broken as if someone had thrown a rock through it. The bathroom was very small. There was no room to move around as there was a toilet on your left (its seat and lid sitting on the floor next to it), a sink in front of you, and a barrel on your right, filled with water to flush the toilet in case the water was shut off. There was toilet paper but no soap.

After a few minutes of being alone, a nurse came in to take my blood. I don’t know why, but she took a little bit from three different places in my arm before hooking me up to an i/v drip. When she came back, to my surprise, they told me that I had malaria. Shortly after, our training officer came to talk with me and offer congratulations on being the first trainee to be admitted to the hospital. He was helping me to make light of the situation, but it wasn’t until then that I realized I’d be spending the night.

After the diagnosis, the nurse added quinine to the i/v bag turning it yellow. I didn’t know it then, but I would come to hate that yellow bag. With the quinine comes a diminution of hearing, ringing in the ears, and a terrible metallic taste in your mouth. I think it might have also been responsible for some mild hallucinations I had later on when I closed my eyes. While the vomiting had stopped I still had very frequent diarrhea, a dull pain in my entire belly and a fever in addition to these new side effects. Throughout all of this, my host mom and Peace Corps staff came to bring me things – all of my meals prepared by my mom, sheets and a pillow for my bed, toilet paper (I ran out quickly and the hospital didn’t have extra), soap to wash my hands, bottled water and Gatorade to drink to stay hydrated, all the prescriptions written by the doctors, tape for the window to keep the mosquitoes out, a mosquito net, insecticide to prevent mosquitoes getting into the room because there was no place to hang the mosquito net, and stuff from my room like a change of clothes, toothbrush and a book to read.

By early afternoon on the second day, and already into my third yellow bag, it became known that because the frequency of my diarrhea hadn’t diminished, I’d be staying another night. From the time I finished dinner and my host mom and brother left, until 2 a.m. when yellow bag number 4 was scheduled to arrive, I went from incredibly low to rock bottom. The absolute unceasing and miserable nature of so many things had built up for too long: In the last 48 hours, I had gone to the bathroom at least 48 times. My stomach ache was intense and hadn’t let up at all from the beginning. It was the least when I would stand up but I didn’t have the energy to stay standing. Sitting added to the pain and lying down, which was the only thing I wanted to do, made it the worst. When I did finally give in and lay down it was on a terribly uncomfortable bed that had already give me a back ache. The spray for the mosquitoes was toxic and breathing it could not have done a thing to help my condition. Almost all of my interactions were in French. While I speak at a decent level now, it takes a lot of concentration, especially because my ears were ringing and it felt like I had earplugs in on top of that. I hadn’t gotten more than 1.5 hours of continuous sleep the last two nights and I didn’t expect much more for the night to come. Those yellow drips – I really despised them. With every bag the side effects got worse and I knew number 4 was coming soon. We had learned in one of our health sessions that malaria is often over-diagnosed to be extra precautious and I didn’t know if my treatment was even necessary. My stool sample was negative for amoebas yet I was taking a medicine to kill them which made the stomach ache worse. I was having to force down food with absolutely no appetite in order to attempt to lessen the pain caused by the medicine. Whenever I would try to think about my stay here in Africa, all that would come up would be negative. I became fixated on one thing – a plane trip back to the states.

When the nurse came with the i/v bag at 2 a.m., I had her wake up the doctor. When he came, I vented. I even called and woke up the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) so that she could talk to the doctor. In the end, I had to take the 4th bag. The PCMO said she would call the other doctor in the morning and talk about changing my treatment. The doctor kept telling me that the stomach ache and diarrhea were going to be going away by the next day. I smiled and said OK. When they started the drip, I had another hour of imagining that plane ride home and then fell asleep.

The good thing about rock bottom is that things only get better from there. I woke up after getting 3.5 hours of continuous sleep…and I was ecstatic! It felt so good to get that rest. I followed up with the PCMO and we got my malaria treatment changed from the drips to pills and we added an antibiotic because bacteria wouldn’t have shown up in the stool sample. Physically I was still in agony, but I felt in control. Because of the sleep, I had more energy. I could stand longer and I was able to force myself to eat more to lessen the stomach pain. And I found a way to put up the mosquito net so I didn’t have to breathe insecticide for another night – Yes, another night. Despite my 3.5 hour record, my bathroom trips the following morning weren’t any better than the previous days and they still needed to monitor me. As the doctor said it would, though, my symptoms did start resolving themselves early that evening.

After diner, I got a surge of visitors – 8 or 9 people, 3 of whom were fellow trainees. Things were looking up, but that visit really raised my spirits. All the good things about my time in Africa started pouring back. Someone even gave me some treats and their iPod so I could listen to music that night. The visit didn’t last that long, but it was enough. After forcing some food down and taking my meds, I turned on the iPod and found the Beatles’ “Rubber Soul.” It was the album I was listening to when I was packing up my room in Baltimore in preparation for coming to Africa. The second the first song started, the last of my desires to hop on a plane melted away.

I got 6.5 hours of sleep that night and was released in the morning. Things are looking fine. Right now it’s midnight. I’ve been writing for a while and am ready to get a good night’s sleep in my own bed.

Next week we go on site visit. Maybe I’ll have a good story, and maybe I won’t.

Tim

Getting Comfortable

2007-07-06T06:46:00.000-04:00

July 3, 2007

I’m at a bit of a loss on what I should write about this week. I think that’s a good thing, though. It means there wasn’t a huge obstacle to my comfort or adaptation. From where I’m sitting right now, everything seems doable - the language, the culture, small business development. My big worry right now is whether this vegetarian will be able to resist a cheeseburger tomorrow at our 4th of July party.

If I’ve learned anything from this process so far, though, it’s to not get too comfortable. Right when you do, your world turns upside-down on you. Looking at the schedule, I would say that moment is coming next week. That’s when we find out where we’re going to be posted in Cameroon. Our counterpart (most likely a bank manager) will come to meet us on Saturday, the 14th, and we’ll go to visit our site two days later. I don’t really have any expectations or wishes for where I want to be posted, but I’m sure it’ll be stressful as the time nears. The North is mostly Muslim, more conservative, and would mean a longer dry (hot) season - 9 months without a single cloud! The East is much less developed, less chance for running water and electricity, lots of forest, rainforest, and logging. The forests are there the Baka (Pygmies) live. The South would be close to the beach, but they are very wary about posting anyone there. The West is where I am right now. It would mean I wouldn’t be changing scenery. I think it has a little longer rainy season, lots of vegetables and fruits, and I would probably be closer to other volunteers. Whatever my fate, I’m sure everything will work out.

Since I’m short on material to give you, maybe I’ll use this space to tell you how to get a hold of me. The address to send me anything is:
Tim Hartman
C/O US Embassy - Cameroon
US Peace Corps - Corps de la Paix
B.P. 215, Yaoundé
Cameroon
That address will work for the entire time I’m in Cameroon. Once I’m done with training (August 23rd) I’ll have a new local address, but you'll still have to send mail through the capital. I’m not really missing a lot of things from the states, but if you insist on sending more than a letter, I don’t think I could ever have too much Instant Hand Sanitizer. I carry some around with me 24/7. Some spices I didn’t bring and might want when I start doing my own cooking are Oregano, Cayenne pepper, chili powder, and curry powder. And last but not least is cheese. Most would go bad if you shipped them, but a little parmesan could go a long way.

Please DO NOT feel obliged to send a package, but if you want to, here are some tips that one of the other trainees researched to minimize theft: Red ink looks official and is less likely to be tampered with. You can address it to Brother Tim Hartman as if I am a monk. Symbols or Bible verses written on the package will keep away any superstitious thieves.

Also, I have a cell phone here. Even though I’m not getting enough money to call anyone in the states, all my incoming calls are free, so if you want to call me, send me an email first and I can give you my phone number. Obviously, emails work too. I check my account about once a week at the Cyber Café.

That’s all for now. Hopefully, I’ll have some better stories for next week.

Tim

The People/Homestay

2007-06-29T09:47:00.000-04:00

The People
06/11/2007

So I thought I was going to write once a week about all the things that had happened in the last 7 days. That might work later on, but as I said in my last post, there is just too much going on in my head and in my surroundings. I’m going to try to break things down, for now, into categories - this one being The People.

I started meeting my fellow volunteers on Wednesday in Philadelphia. We were all easy to spot in the hotel. None of our rooms were ready so there were lots of people chatting in the lobby among piles of luggage - big pieces, lots of backpacking packs, and everything over-stuffed. Some of us were more shy and some of us were more outgoing, but everyone was talking by the end. There were 80 of us at the hotel and we quickly found out that half of us were going to Cameroon and the other half was off to Peru. Not that they weren’t just as nice, but there were far too many people all going to Cameroon, soon to be family that we didn’t know anything about so we didn’t socialize much with the Peru group. The 39 of us handed in our forms and began our orientation pretty soon after. The sessions started with getting to know everyone, and then progressed towards preparing our minds for whatever laid beyond that 24 hour trip ahead of us. It’s been really fun to slowly learn the names, the hometowns, and little bits of information about all of my counterparts here. There are 4 “older” volunteers (sorry for the adjective if one of you is reading this) and the rest of us are in our 20’s. All of us have been to college, one even has his doctorate. Some of us are in the small business program and others will be teaching English, science, or computers. It’s amazing how well traveled everyone is too! More than half the group have lived in another country, three have been to Africa, and everyone has left the US at least once before. As we realize how similar our emotions are, it’s becoming easier and easier to share our fears and expectations.

The Peace Corps staff has been absolutely amazing as well. They’ve been doing this for so long that everything flows incredibly smoothly, they have all the answers to all of our questions, and are really invested in our safety, health, training, and happiness. That goes for the staff in Philly and Cameroon. I feel really privileged to be a part of this group and this program. I’ve made it my goal to give back as much as I receive during my stay in Cameroon…It’s becoming quite lofty.

Later,
Tim

Homestay
06/18/2007

I think I wrote already that our first 5 days in Cameroon were in a hotel in the capital, Yaoundé. The hotel was great! We had 3 meals a day served to us and there was a bar and patio where we could all hang out. We all knew we were being sheltered. We knew it wasn’t anything like our experiences to come. We knew they did it that way on purpose. And we were okay with it.

Then came Thursday, and along with it, many emotions. That afternoon we traveled to a new city for training, where we would stay for the next 11 weeks with a host family. We were excited to experience the “true” Africa. We were also scared to death. We were about ready to immerse ourselves into a culture we still barely knew and a new (for some more than others) language. We had also heard horror stories of rabid pet monkeys, over-zealous Jehovah’s Witnesses, and kids that would poke you for hours or stare at you non-stop until you physically led them out of your room. (We heard good stories too.)

After a four hour bus ride, we arrived at the town hall of a medium sized city in the West Province. All the families were already waiting inside. These were our instructions: “Line up inside. We’ll call the name of a family and the name of a trainee. And off you’ll go. We’ll see you in the morning.”

And that’s how it went. I don’t think I can convey actually how terrifying the process was. I can remember thinking “I hope I’m not first. Oh wait, I don’t want to be last either.” Rationally, we knew everything would be okay, and if it wasn’t, Peace Corps would fix it. But it was definitely one of those few moments in my life where my rationale was nowhere to be found.

In the end, everything went alright. I wasn’t taken away first or last, and the family I was paired with is quite nice. There are two parents and two children (much smaller than the average Cameroonian family). There is a 7 year old son who is very cute and an older daughter who left on vacation when school let out. I have still yet to meet her after a week. The mother is an English teacher and the father is a guidance counselor for all the schools in the town. We stay on the second story of a building with three apartments and a boutique (I consider it Cameroon’s version of a 7-11 with a small place to drink your beer). The apartment has 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room and a kitchen. There is running water, although it is only cold and quite sporadic. It can be off anywhere from 1-24 hours at a time and on average, we have water 4 out of every 7 days. We have electricity which is also sporadic. Sometimes we have water and electricity. Sometimes we have one or the other, and sometimes we have neither. It’s a way of life here and you get used to it pretty quickly. There are oil lamps to see with and full buckets of water in the bathroom to bathe with when needed. The bucket baths are almost better because the water is not quite so cold.

My room is very nice. I have a bed, a simple desk, a trunk, and a closet for my things. It’s nice to have a little safe haven to get away from our busy days, even though most of my time awake in my room is spent studying French or reading articles on business or development.

Communication right now is slow. I can generally get out whatever I need to say in a roundabout way, but understanding others is a little harder. It is getting better though. Just tonight I noticed I was understanding small pieces of dialogue on TV.

Television is an interesting thing here. I think it’s relatively new and/or a sign of status. The people that have TVs watch them. What I’ve found to be most popular are French game shows as well as soap operas from Burkina Faso and those overdubbed in French from Argentina. It’s possible I’ve got it all wrong though. We get our signal from the family downstairs and whenever they change the channel, our TV changes too.

More to come,
Tim

Africa!

2007-06-11T12:18:00.000-04:00

I made it! It would take an immense amount of words to describe everything that has happened and that I have been through these past few days. Right now, I'm pretty tired from jet lag and have a few volunteers waiting to use the computers so I'll keep it quite short.

I don't even know where to start...We met in Philly on Wednesday for orientation - a brief two day introduction to the other volunteers, Peace Corps policies, and the idea of crossing cultures. Friday we got some vaccinations and headed for the airport. The trip went quite smoothly, but obviously it took quite a while. We had an 8 hour flight to Paris, a 2 hour layover, an 8 hour flight to Douala, Cameroon, a 1 hour layover and a 30 minute flight to Yaounde, the capital. The country director met us at the airport. Everyone from the Peace Corps has been incredibly nice and welcoming. We felt like diplomats being ushered out of the airport and to the hotel. For being in Africa, things for us are quite nice. All our meals are all in the hotel, our rooms have electricity, air conditioning and hot water. All the Peace Corps staff have been awaiting our arrival for a long time and are incredibly accommodating. Our training has already started, but we are still in the hotel in Yaounde until Thursday when we move in with our host families.

As far as what I'm feeling, it's everything! Excited, scared, happy, sad, welcomed, isolated, sick and well. Even though some of these adjectives are negative, the decision still feels well worth it.

I'm going to stop for now, but promise to give more details soon.

Stay well,
Tim

Down to the Wire

2007-06-04T13:21:00.000-04:00

I leave in two days. I should be running around frantically, but I'm not. Instead I'm pacing back and forth with nothing to do. Is it possible I was too well organized? A few minor details are not enough to keep me busy for the next forty-eight hours. It seems like every two minutes I'm trying to think, unsuccessfully, of something that I forgot to do. I sense an overarching feeling of anxiety over everything that I do. This is something I'm not used to. Anyone that knows me closely knows that I normally just will these unnecessary emotions to stop. No sense in being worried about something that might not happen. No sense in being nervous about the unknown - just take it as it comes. Not so today. I'll just have to patiently wait it out.

In the same sense of not being able to will my emotions to stop, I'm finding goodbyes a little harder than expected too. I've made a lot of quite good friends over the last few months. I have been very fortunate all my life, but especially as of late I have been happier and more peaceful than before.

One last thank you and goodbye to everyone who has ever showed me kindness even in the smallest way. We'll stay in touch. If you're trying to figure out if I'm talking to you, I probably am.

Peace,
Tim

T Minus 9 Days

2007-05-28T11:00:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my blog! This is probably the first thing most of you will read, so I hope my life turns out intesting enough for you to want to keep reading about it. My goal is to create one entry once every week. I'll be writing about my personal life and what it's like to be a Peace Corps Volunteer away from my family and friends in a third world country for 2 years. Right now there are 9 Days to go until I take off! I'll be heading to Philadelphia on June 6 for three days of orientation and of course shots before the long trip to Cameroon. In the meantime, I'm trying my hardest to get everything in order as soon as possible so I am not incredibly stressed out the last couple of days before I leave.

I haven't written in a journal in a very long time, so the words for what I'm going through right now aren't exactly flying out of my head. I have a feeling that over time, as I get used to doing this, the entries will get longer and the writing will get better. As for the most popular question right now - Are you nervous or excited? The answer is yes. Don't feel bad if you were one of the people to ask it, just know that you are in good company.

I'll try to write again before orientation.

Tim