Getting My Toes Wet

Hello All!



I know it has been a while, but sometimes Cameroon feels like a desert island. I tried to write last weekend, the weekend before that and the one before those both and spent the entire hour watching the computer screen. I was barely able to check my internet and my blog entry was lost two many viruses. But it is a new day and I have so much to tell. The problem is, it is very difficult to describe things here. I will do my best however, this place has its fair share of stories.



I begin, well at the beginning:



So here I am, watching my very new homestay mother drag my 500 pound duffel bag, wheels sinking in the sand, through mass crowds of curious children. The line was littered with neighbors, it seemed as if a small dignitary was visitng town. Previous to this, I had taken a 16 hour overnight train ride from the capitol. Then we drove for five hours, all without washng or eating very much. So basicaly my new homestay family has received a vagabond, who could eat a shirt.



My mother is sweating, panting her way home, all just to lug my bag full of gatorade packets and solar powered contraptions. I am spitting out "Bonjour" as fast as humanly possible to whoever will look at meet, while I myself ooze with sweat since my other two bags proably weigh 80 pounds combined. I am convinced that I would put Man vs. Wild to shame with my abilty to survive with the items founds in these three bags. I am embarrassed, needless to say.



Can I just say how LUCKY i am wth the homestay family I got paired with. My new family are positivly a dream homestay situation. I have lived with my fair share, and so far this is great. A week later it is still great. The head of the family is a widow with eight kids, a very common number in northern Cameroon. I think there are three boys and five girls, but really it changes weekly. Some kids are cousins, or friends taken in temporarily. It is a hodgepodge, but they manage to make it pretty loving and welcoming. They all look like models and are insanely kind, patient, friendly and don't have a problem laughing at each other.



We live down a little alleyway from a main road. The house is composed of a few small rooms, all connected by the central courtyard which is outdoors, but covered by a tin roofing. The kitchen and bathroom have tin walls and the bathroom is a latrine with no roof. Bucket showers under the stars have quite the romantic feel. well maybe except for the smell of the latrine.



First thing i do, rip my pants on their chair, basically exposing my derriere. So as each guest arrives, there was a lot of them, I awkwardly get up and greet them painfully aware of the show i am giving in back. One of the older sons speaks great french and is very friendly. He is a semi-pro soccer payer and we talk soccer. I now know he is only a friend of the family. This is a commn theme. When I tell him I love soccer and can play, he gives me a single raised eyebrow. Then I painfully ask him in french what position he plays on the team. We resort to drawings in the sand. I explain I am a defensemen, he gives another "doubtful" look. He is totally unimpressed. The only girls teams he knows of are in the capitol city. I will have to look into it. Lots of people stop by curious i am sure. One guy has a new flashy camera phone and takes endless pictures of me and then ones of just the two of us. So I am pretty sure I am his new girlfriend in the village.



The entire time I am suprised by my ability to communicate. This pattern really ebbs and flows with time. I did however agree to have my hair braided and attend Catholic church the followng sunday, so I guess I wasn't able to adequately discuss that. In the end, I did have my hair braided for about three days. It was the LONGEST possible time I could stand it. My homestay sisters think I am a doll and love my hair, skin, nose, eyes. Yet they all look like Iman, and I am a pale blob of sweat. So I let them braid my hair, I no doubt looked rediculous and it was actualy quite uncomfortable to sleep in. They could not for the life of themselves understand why I took it out, I just kept explaining over and over that I have to wash my hair every other day. They still weren't convinced.



Chruch was a interesting event. It poured the night before, and so walking to church without becoming a mud doll was a challenge. In Cameroon nice, clean shoes and feet are a really big deal. Everyone commments on your shoes, they think chacos are beautiful, and themselve wear only the finnest heels and sandals. The problem is, it is IMPOSSIBLE to keep these things clean here. So we finally reach the church, but before we can enter there is a massve puddle in front of the church and it is the only way through. So little kids are taking off their shoes and walking through it, the adults are delicatly balancing pumps and leather dress shoes on the tops of rocks above the water. I mysef am sporting a very stylish long jean shirt and manage to frantically hike it up above my knees, very scandalous, and wobble my way over the rocks. Bascially, I was quite relieved to have not fallen in the maleria infested puddle, in front of the crowd that had formed around this circus act. So I am about to walk into the church and my sisters pull me aside, due to the embarassing about of dirt on my shoes and feet. We are late, well by cameroonian standards, everyone is watching and there is no water source in site to clean myself with. So i go for my purified water bottle and my sisters screeched in horror as I dumped it on my feet. It was actually adorable, but I really didn't want to be any more embarassing than I had already been. The service was a blur and pretty boring. But the music was beautiful and this one guy had a pantsuit outfit made with Jesus' face plastered all over it.



One day the US Ambassador came to meet us, she gave us American candy bars. I think I ate my whole.



For the most part in my village, they don't speak french at home, but Fulfulde. So one night, I was working on writing down some simple terms, but really communicating in french is challenge enough. I think the aim of training is to get a handle on french and then fulfulde comes after, while at post. The same night, I had one of the best experiences so far. Awkwardly, I eat my own little foreigner meal, with my right hand, and the family watches me. All of a sudden, the entire family gets up and begins to load wood into the storage place. Everyone, even the eight year old girl helps and I am left sitting there, the fat American eating pasta. So I ask if I can help, they refuse, I insist and they give in. This always happens. So we line up to carry bundles of wood, the boys are loading the wood into smaller piles to carry. First of all, they think it is bizarre that I want/can help. Second, one of the girls grabs my hands and expresses her extreme worry that I will hurt the palms of my hands. So each time I go to grab a pile the brother's asses and purposly give me smaller piles. Each time I insist they load it up more and they basically add twigs. Well in the end, my family loved it and think I am the hulk. This is being said, as my sisters flex their perfectly toned arms, so really they are too kind. I think things changed that night. Before the volunteers seemed to stick to their rooms and the PC training center, so the fact that I hangout and helpout has made things really comfortable between us. Exciting news, my family got a new kitten and four new chicks the other day. However, due to necessary health precautions I can't touch either. But they bring joy to the everyday.



It is the end of the rainy season here, so everything is quite lush. The town I live in is pretty typical. It is considered a bit of cosmopolitan town due to the weekly market that happens here. It is a great market, I am sure you could find everything. People come from miles and miles away to sell shoes, prescription drugs, goats, bon bons, and more. The town is basically half muslim, half christian even though the north is considered a predominantly muslim area. The other day we were walking back from lunch and a large gathering of men had gathered to pray. It was quite a sight, a sea of blue and white pagne and little flat hats blocked the roadway. Some men sitting nearby kindly redirected us. I don't hear the call to prayer that often, but I just love it when I do manage to catch it. The reason I started this paragraph was to talk about the rain here. Now granted I have been living in Portland these past couple years, but I have never seen rain like this before. It doesn't pour here, it POUNDS. You basically can't do very much and really can't hear anyone as it comes down. It really feels like the sky is crying due to the intense yet short nature of the rainfall. An hour after you will go out on the street and barely see puddles.The earth just eats it up. It is one of those rains that you just stop and watch. I love it, it makes the whole landscape come alive in smells and colors. The thunder cracks so loudly your hearts skips a beat. One day we were walking back from lunch, a couple female volunteers, and it started to pour. We had spent the past couple weeks frying and the droplets just felt like heaven so we continued on walking through it. It really starts to pick up and we just start laughing uncontrollably because all the Cameroonians are running for cover and are huddled under tiny trees and overhangings. Those crazy foreigners are walking and laughing in the rain again. It felt like the last scene in Monsoon Wedding. We are supposed to educate them on health pratices and we are taking a joy ride in the rain. But it felt great.



One of the great things are doing during training are these community groups. As volunteers we split into four groups and once a week meet with a community group in our village. The group I am working with is the Youth Group, a organzation of young people, some employed, most are unemployed, majority are men. Technically we are supposed to find out some way we can help them, either by doing some presentations on health or group organization. Basically we get to pratice our French and learn more about Cameroonian youth. They were great and so patient with us. We threw a frisbee around and asked them what their group does. Basically they can't find jobs, so they grow tomatoes and onions to sell at the market. Then that money goes into a pot and whenever someone needs it more an emergency, they decide together what to do about it.

That's all for now folks. I can't possibly write more. I would to hear more news from everyone else, especially election news. The Cameroonian news does a two minute clip every major debate, with one line from each candidate. So I am basically in the dark. I miss everyone dearly and think of you often.