tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19429166210238470502024-03-05T05:35:47.379-08:00Taking A DipNavigating Cameroon as a Peace Corps Community Health VolunteerAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-48822860434752180762009-11-09T11:26:00.000-08:002009-11-09T12:55:02.711-08:00A Visit From the Home FrontHello from a guest blogger, Wendy (Allison’s mom), who will hopefully, fill in some gaps since Allison’s last and very long ago posting. My husband, Dick and I recently returned from a visit to Cameroon and since, unlike Allison, we have the luxury of high speed internet, I have included photos from our trip. Hopefully, these will satisfy many who have been anxious to really SEE Allison’s life in Africa. (If you don’t want to read my reminiscences, you can scroll down to the photos, the best part.)<br /><br />Allison is putting in AND getting back so much from this experience. Her life is busy with work projects and to see her navigate Cameroonian culture, its languages, its social quirks (like incessant bargaining), with humor and great affection for the people, is a sight to behold. Speaking of sights, seeing Allison for the first time in over a year was pretty overwhelming. In the first instance of cross cultural confusion my tears of joy startled some security guard at the airport who asked me if anything was wrong. Far from it, seeing her was such a joyous moment. She looked just like herself but we were about to discover that she was transformed in so many wonderful ways.<br /><br />After a night’s stay in Yaounde, the capital city in the south, we spent a comfortable night via couchette (our own sleeper room with bunk beds) on the 14 hr train north from Yaounde to Ngaoundere, the main city in the Adamawa region where Allison lives. There had been a very serious accident on this train route about 2-3 weeks earlier so we were very grateful to arrive safely only about 2 hrs late – we had heard tales of the 14 hour trip taking far, far longer. In Ngaoundere, Allison picked up a small refrigerator (gift from her aunt) and a sewing machine (gift from her grandmother) and we started our journey to Meiganga, Allison’s post. With a private car and driver and Allison’s counterpart, Bourdier, we were about to venture on what has to be one of the worst roads in Cameroon (or anywhere!) but which is, of course, the only way to reach her post. It has been said that Peace Corps volunteers compete for who has the hottest post, the worst road etc. Well, from what we saw over 2 ½ weeks and many miles traveled, Allison’s road to Meiganga wins hands down. Unpaved, full of potholes, with tons of mud marking the end of the rainy season, the road makes for a harrowing drive. We were held up by an overturned truck, darkness and, of course, torrential rain. Even in good weather it can take 4-5 hrs. It took us at least 7. We survived…. after all, we’re intrepid travelers, right? A wonderful surprise awaited us at Allison’s house……eight of her Cameroonian friends and her new postmate, Claire greeted us with shouts of “Bienvenue”, hand painted welcome signs all over, outside and inside, AND a very welcomed home cooked dinner - spaghetti and meatballs Cameroon style which meant a spicy sauce - quite delicious. This was the first of many signs that Allison is surrounded by caring and generous friends. To our surprise, the refrigerator and sewing machine, despite hours of shocks and bumps, arrived safely and Allison has not stopped raving about the joys of refrigeration (cold drinks, a place for leftovers so she doesn’t have to cook every day). It’s amazing how we take so many of our conveniences for granted. Looking back, travel was both challenging and comical from trucks overturned blocking the entire road in 6 inches of pure mud to jumping from a almost moving car pulling my pants off to squash killer ants that had run up my legs.<br /><br />Allison’s French is shockingly good –total immersion is the best teacher. Luckily many of her friends speak French in addition to Fulfulde or Baya (the local ethnic languages) so her French is great and her Fulfulde and Baya are, well, a work in progress.<br /><br />Meiganga is quite rural, surrounded by hills (you’d never know it has about 70,000 people, feels more like 1-2000.) The roads, (all dirt, of course) are this beautiful red color and next to the ubiquitous green fields make for a pretty sight. There are mosques and churches and the Muslims and Christians live side by side. This might be explained by the fact that people have Islam and Christianity interspersed in their families like Allison’s counterpart, Bourdier who is Christian but whose grandmother was Muslim. Bourdier, Allison’s liason for work and everything Cameroonian could not have been more kind and generous. He has a great smile and infectious spirit and we understand why Allison feels so lucky to work with him. He arranged so much for us including a day trip to a beautiful waterfall on the border of the Central African Republic and had us over for a traditional Cameroonian meal.<br /><br />Cameroonians are a high spirited people and we were always greeted with warmth and excitement. Peace Corps volunteers are rare and their parents even rarer. We felt like special diginitaries the way people greeted us. We visited the local hospital where Allison works, the women’s center where she teaches young girls computers and life skills and organizes a scholarship program so girls can attend school. We also visited a group of handicapped men for whom Allison is securing a microlending project so they can purchase milling machines for a new sustainable business. We encountered friends of Allison’s everywhere and stopping to chat ( a must in Cameroonian culture) stretched each walk into the better part of a morning. We met the local tailor who offered to give Allison lessons on her new sewing machine, many neighbors, children and Allison’s favorite food vendors at the local market. We passed on the fried caterpillars but bought meat and vegetables since Allison invited 12 friends over with Dick as guest chef. The dinner and evening were great fun and some old standby games we brought, notably Jenga and Chinese checkers, were a huge hit.<br /><br />Allison has constant house visitors – from children (often carrying babies) who silently sit on her floor watching the goings on (which in this case was us) or playing with her kitten, Houdini, to teenagers and adults who came by to meet us. The constant visiting would drive us crazy but it also made us relieved to see that Allison has a wide circle of friends and aquaintances who look out for her. We were invited to many homes for dinner. One of Allison’s friends, Leelee, knowing that we were in the restaurant business, invited us to watch her cook us a traditional meal. After 2-3 hours, we came to appreciate the effort involved in producing the most popular Cameroonian staple, Ndole. We sat in an unbelievably smoky cook house (a small enclosure behind the house next to the pig shed containing the fire and food hanging from the ceiling being smoked) Ndole requires the rinsing and peeling of raw peanuts, combining them with many spices into a bittergreen similar to spinach but whose bitterness requires hours of boiling. The ndole was delicious but the accompanying “couscous” a combination of flour and water into a sticky uncooked ball, was hard to eat more than a couple fingerfulls – an acquired taste. A tasty porridge, fried plantains as a side dish and bananas or fried beignets for dessert are common. Allison took us twice to her favorite fish restaurant where a woman grills whole lake fish (capitain and perch) outdoors which you then eat with your fingers and a spicy sauce –delicious!<br /><br />In Meiganga, as in most Cameroonian villages, there are no taxis, no cars at all so local transport means motos, hopping on, with great faith, behind a moto driver and hoping he is careful and keeps his eyes straight ahead (which they almost never do). For me, these rides were always frightening as the dirt roads (yes, no paved roads anywhere) are basically uneven layers of mud with two foot potholes everywhere requiring a driver’s utmost concentration and agility in navigation. If it wasn’t for the oppressive heat, I think I would have walked everywhere. Thankfully, I did learn to close my eyes and enjoy the breeze while the drivers got us everywhere safely for about 20 cents a ride. The gas stations consist of a small table on the side of the road containing plastic water bottles filled with fuel. I also loved the sight of a single copier machine on the side of the dirt road as the local answer to Kinko’s.<br /><br />After leaving Allison’s post, we spent the rest of our time in the Extreme North where most of Allison’s friends are posted. On the way we stopped in Pitoa to visit the family Allison lived with during the first three months of Peace Corps training. How lovely and sweet they were; no wonder Allison’s initiation to Cameroon was so positive. As they showed us their village, the little girls (her sisters) in their beautiful pagne outfits would fight with each other in order to hold Allison’s hands. The main city of the North, Maroua was a pretty surprise with huge trees shading its streets. From there, we visited many small villages (on the border with Nigeria), so picturesque with groups of boukarous (little mud huts with pointy straw roofs) nestled in the hills. They look like something out of The Hobbit. A trip to Rhumsiki in the Extreme North showcased the Mandara Mountains – stunning basalt rocks jutting out of a moonlike landscape. Our lunch and dinner there were a highlight. A local man cooks everything from his small farm including fowl and coffee beans. We started out with bread fresh out of the oven with a delicious garlic sauce and the best vegetarian pizza ever. We liked lunch so much we said we would be back for dinner and when we arrived, we found a single table (we were the only customers) set with candles under the stars and another scrumptious meal of squash soup and local guinea fowl followed by a lively political discussion initiated by the owner/cook.<br /><br />Compared to other African countries that we have visited, Cameroon felt much more relaxed. The complete lack of tourist infrastructure might explain the absolute absence of begging and the lack of hustlers in the markets.<br /><br />As luck would have it, our last day in Yaounde was the Cameroon vs Togo World Cup qualifying soccer match. How could we miss a chance to see 40,0000 passionate Cameroonians in one venue? Cameroon won 3-0 and the favorite son, Eto was applauded wildly. The enormous crowd was enthusiastic but not out of control; everyone stood when a goal was scored but orderly sat down afterwards. The half time show featured 100’s of women dancing, of course, African style – great fun.<br /><br />During all of our travels, it was wonderful to meet other Peace Corps volunteers. They are a great group, so supportive of one another as they are all in this together! Check out the photos below for those we met.<br /><br />Through it all, Allison was the consummate tour guide, arranger of everything, our tireless translator who was ready for a deserved rest when we left! Daughter and parents – this trip was the epitome of total role reversal. Thank you for all of it, Allison ……..and for all her friends in Cameroon. We will never forget it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQlPXqiIBRqDIjEpLHcNndGePSha6ruj-JbuZLGPEYTVG5dr59FE631NWK4ur4wfLA60qaHSiWkJrYzLXKCkDdmxDOIyIhCx62DAZIqHR84iQIEbbX5y5-W6nOPTmI0toVKxCgkEAzfFD/s1600-h/IMG_1378.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQlPXqiIBRqDIjEpLHcNndGePSha6ruj-JbuZLGPEYTVG5dr59FE631NWK4ur4wfLA60qaHSiWkJrYzLXKCkDdmxDOIyIhCx62DAZIqHR84iQIEbbX5y5-W6nOPTmI0toVKxCgkEAzfFD/s320/IMG_1378.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402190157778902994" /></a><br />Chez Allison<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5cI-Cj44yhpMz7m4GtGt7BXZlbWkOaVtm0W04sHzQD0YGeOIj8gHLDFNvS6gp0Bpq23jm0olT3coD5EHX0CbCj1hxgMxe4cWY86RenRm0TdBgYjOGICXgaeFfWTEaTXgruXHw9jhhDv6/s1600-h/IMG_1326.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5cI-Cj44yhpMz7m4GtGt7BXZlbWkOaVtm0W04sHzQD0YGeOIj8gHLDFNvS6gp0Bpq23jm0olT3coD5EHX0CbCj1hxgMxe4cWY86RenRm0TdBgYjOGICXgaeFfWTEaTXgruXHw9jhhDv6/s320/IMG_1326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402189367957159746" /></a><br />a corner of Allison’s living room. She had all the furniture made for a ridiculously cheap price.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKSRCkojr1pmUt63ADATVxy0urdPoZUgnAiwZQ2DWljoJf-yO15PTv7rDEWgPmLBGlTKJpIvyzSdNojRyZfmZWX2Uge6vOQ0y0cu-hVid0jc73NW3lkoNFgfKUkbq3whrxvvpddtootS2/s1600-h/IMG_1329.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKSRCkojr1pmUt63ADATVxy0urdPoZUgnAiwZQ2DWljoJf-yO15PTv7rDEWgPmLBGlTKJpIvyzSdNojRyZfmZWX2Uge6vOQ0y0cu-hVid0jc73NW3lkoNFgfKUkbq3whrxvvpddtootS2/s320/IMG_1329.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402189654163027906" /></a><br />another corner of Allison’s living room – it’s huge!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB02Uevei5kKF_sKHrkio6m334JOt5vau423-SHf1Ny3w39KCMtzfLuOqxN2HWBwJ74hDd2SLY0YkMIu5GGRPoKMnzgl4PiJmxkbdeO2S3vBtCG6PN4AcI6EUqHf1X28PZjapreOhSGCGi/s1600-h/IMG_1331.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB02Uevei5kKF_sKHrkio6m334JOt5vau423-SHf1Ny3w39KCMtzfLuOqxN2HWBwJ74hDd2SLY0YkMIu5GGRPoKMnzgl4PiJmxkbdeO2S3vBtCG6PN4AcI6EUqHf1X28PZjapreOhSGCGi/s320/IMG_1331.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402190635241787922" /></a><br />Allison’s bedroom with her mosquito net<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay7i32iYEh1m_MrDZZk7L6ynVklnr14qgz6A9wozqQ7Mzq1m_JkRVYh7IQwq3ZyHF-GK4QQ7HSTZQnRUfBwB3DpF5vP5IMROOUcCjF8NFq3t9tpsE0RwV7bKw8SShTyz7GfMgHbLG7plJ/s1600-h/IMG_1320.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay7i32iYEh1m_MrDZZk7L6ynVklnr14qgz6A9wozqQ7Mzq1m_JkRVYh7IQwq3ZyHF-GK4QQ7HSTZQnRUfBwB3DpF5vP5IMROOUcCjF8NFq3t9tpsE0RwV7bKw8SShTyz7GfMgHbLG7plJ/s320/IMG_1320.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402188538864345730" /></a><br />Allison’s counterpart, Bourdier had us over to his house for dinner with his girlfriend, her daughter and Allison’s postmate, Claire<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_ZFcK8SEhjiGxJWVsjYm5vy0c_chl42LriFYahOjeaPN_1pnqQFmkPYDoLikaTST1K_MPSxDTmoRzgBhRaCdnTn4WtDb0JBCKwiPywlF3VmSOWvUfdbNA6tE3WgKqH1tmrHtHlEYYYyv/s1600-h/IMG_1340.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_ZFcK8SEhjiGxJWVsjYm5vy0c_chl42LriFYahOjeaPN_1pnqQFmkPYDoLikaTST1K_MPSxDTmoRzgBhRaCdnTn4WtDb0JBCKwiPywlF3VmSOWvUfdbNA6tE3WgKqH1tmrHtHlEYYYyv/s320/IMG_1340.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402191143770145650" /></a><br />A little food market near Allison’s house<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0cCZTjVqBAmpVfG27ZCyfi1GOGbD5xOD5mgigOKozHo_d7LATHj2HTLS1nu9QiDgeGnqSvIUXiHu60VYaCJ1ZbrOP-qn7Lp59M5-vCjnpVDZVkclcoUlkv8ggeAYRGChxla2kYxxxXtW/s1600-h/IMG_1342.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0cCZTjVqBAmpVfG27ZCyfi1GOGbD5xOD5mgigOKozHo_d7LATHj2HTLS1nu9QiDgeGnqSvIUXiHu60VYaCJ1ZbrOP-qn7Lp59M5-vCjnpVDZVkclcoUlkv8ggeAYRGChxla2kYxxxXtW/s320/IMG_1342.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402191456626571938" /></a><br />Allison and Dick walking on a typical road in Meiganga filled with ruts and potholes<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPozltSHC2ycPGmd9ocwCl29BnjfhI68nNNmSKcZrzEHHKCMX9uaEmCwvGDsJzf4q7_F3o2nMTP7wiUbMh_HJBuvlcGGdK0d-CuLvIy7jrIKwFCJSVK-vQOJshTdPm3HK0AXDx_18q6zNY/s1600-h/IMG_1343.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPozltSHC2ycPGmd9ocwCl29BnjfhI68nNNmSKcZrzEHHKCMX9uaEmCwvGDsJzf4q7_F3o2nMTP7wiUbMh_HJBuvlcGGdK0d-CuLvIy7jrIKwFCJSVK-vQOJshTdPm3HK0AXDx_18q6zNY/s320/IMG_1343.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402191757801576306" /></a><br />Imagine riding a moto over these ruts (made worse by the rainy season)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKmV0vi76jKzk96PZGDQm0inEuEx8w0AqsGLnrzrqPbyRcin5F367HAqKh_4S7ZVytJsVEzv3VO79frtePJRglb_coFtHyue5HS9XyD9Yhp8Y2SRP1J5Z2zIybo6wbBpHXjp383SLr7fB/s1600-h/IMG_1346.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzKmV0vi76jKzk96PZGDQm0inEuEx8w0AqsGLnrzrqPbyRcin5F367HAqKh_4S7ZVytJsVEzv3VO79frtePJRglb_coFtHyue5HS9XyD9Yhp8Y2SRP1J5Z2zIybo6wbBpHXjp383SLr7fB/s320/IMG_1346.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402191986750326850" /></a><br />the staff at the hospital where Allison works run by Madame Sephora and her husband (both on the right) wearing the hats, t-shirt and wristwatch, all gifts from San Francisco<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1aDoZ9qLjU-e98qy4Zqukp9qMiquXWMC-28Sd52zGmYeq0n5jLuN8FbZInGDlYiGJ0Vn0zS1_VvamnOeoa7n-ASjAMDOYRstCYbuc8YWs6AP72Q0LrljANmzpGK7VKwt4WdWIJ41AZ7Kp/s1600-h/IMG_1358.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1aDoZ9qLjU-e98qy4Zqukp9qMiquXWMC-28Sd52zGmYeq0n5jLuN8FbZInGDlYiGJ0Vn0zS1_VvamnOeoa7n-ASjAMDOYRstCYbuc8YWs6AP72Q0LrljANmzpGK7VKwt4WdWIJ41AZ7Kp/s320/IMG_1358.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402192273523061170" /></a><br />Allison and her postmate, Claire with their girl’s group at the Women’s Center, Meiganga<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIO2XhE8fFTySDGYo9N0yNmeYBhtaP3hLRdwOpCtqA37VImICVdeOx_VYy7kExOT2oSxZf3bKNUSJJx1F5M70m6A5B0leUshYSHeICGbGt0hjC0-9NttUuRLlLiOomo5ekizLfRv6X6K6/s1600-h/IMG_1360.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIO2XhE8fFTySDGYo9N0yNmeYBhtaP3hLRdwOpCtqA37VImICVdeOx_VYy7kExOT2oSxZf3bKNUSJJx1F5M70m6A5B0leUshYSHeICGbGt0hjC0-9NttUuRLlLiOomo5ekizLfRv6X6K6/s320/IMG_1360.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402192508083292082" /></a><br />a typical street in Meiganga which is quite hilly. Gotta love that red mud which in the dry season turns to red dust that infiltrates everything.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b5zFyd7PgJOyG5SIN9gqB66XwO6tV0pEWLyvf1Xd_bTJaqCZOXja65kInammOXCCvSu78FPXho8Xo2Zn1mQHbPRGrNtR468d6Xjm-LyT2otXspW_0MRdxKGwaj01ew6kcuFDZdbwl4U0/s1600-h/IMG_1372.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1b5zFyd7PgJOyG5SIN9gqB66XwO6tV0pEWLyvf1Xd_bTJaqCZOXja65kInammOXCCvSu78FPXho8Xo2Zn1mQHbPRGrNtR468d6Xjm-LyT2otXspW_0MRdxKGwaj01ew6kcuFDZdbwl4U0/s320/IMG_1372.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402192780779002226" /></a><br />Allison and Dick buying food for dinner and, of course, Allison bargaining over the price<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVEAUQVdQLsQS0UjHbVInAp5AzKnfkSJm6n9l6vX1nJ0PhbHBM7EuXP3iYWd2ZfLrStxeomUsIw_rgoIhE5HWIacHUv0z-2rXEYpaRz_0Eq2YafyZdv5HLLHu15e_ROZ9vvlYkzjsA6st/s1600-h/IMG_1373.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCVEAUQVdQLsQS0UjHbVInAp5AzKnfkSJm6n9l6vX1nJ0PhbHBM7EuXP3iYWd2ZfLrStxeomUsIw_rgoIhE5HWIacHUv0z-2rXEYpaRz_0Eq2YafyZdv5HLLHu15e_ROZ9vvlYkzjsA6st/s320/IMG_1373.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402193012530895410" /></a><br />the main market in Meiganga<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9r7_AR9cUbe900itwlw7ileDkerNZs3aIiqNAytG3gf4F82diYt4bfJIhcsUfhiEMEGHTzjWpLGS6vzq8_MmTRTdEhvGMbo1D6wWbEWe2yJoFIZiQqbaoY-iVsNhTdZen0qK0CQHI6oU/s1600-h/IMG_1386.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9r7_AR9cUbe900itwlw7ileDkerNZs3aIiqNAytG3gf4F82diYt4bfJIhcsUfhiEMEGHTzjWpLGS6vzq8_MmTRTdEhvGMbo1D6wWbEWe2yJoFIZiQqbaoY-iVsNhTdZen0qK0CQHI6oU/s320/IMG_1386.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402195164135684418" /></a><br />Allison’s kitchen showcasing her new refrigerator!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUuT6F8ofsdLEITI19Ld8EROFRSsuhdk7fIbd8Vh66CrvvUdYJmkOltfS-J1QHhQS1MJPaJehvz99d878pX3yztdBuWBjqamFzpl0RKLjYd3lR2NsguViQ9WgH78PdCTX1vtI4i_sZo-y/s1600-h/IMG_1393.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUuT6F8ofsdLEITI19Ld8EROFRSsuhdk7fIbd8Vh66CrvvUdYJmkOltfS-J1QHhQS1MJPaJehvz99d878pX3yztdBuWBjqamFzpl0RKLjYd3lR2NsguViQ9WgH78PdCTX1vtI4i_sZo-y/s320/IMG_1393.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402195468994408466" /></a><br />good friends in Meiganga modeling gifts from San Francisco<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-QVNFwtIA0hehcL_XbWY-qh2TrgnZdXPBj9r-vNLbXn0DauR9JoghGRe41ybltD0bu0OAF0ex-sY4j3W0ePM8afetvMXCTylje6_G2ZNKPTXEj_71eRfY57RWGfAqghvn1vKSAQ4A4v-/s1600-h/IMG_1405.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-QVNFwtIA0hehcL_XbWY-qh2TrgnZdXPBj9r-vNLbXn0DauR9JoghGRe41ybltD0bu0OAF0ex-sY4j3W0ePM8afetvMXCTylje6_G2ZNKPTXEj_71eRfY57RWGfAqghvn1vKSAQ4A4v-/s320/IMG_1405.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402195736763258802" /></a><br />a dinner party at Allison’s house with Dick as guest chef<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUw3Kzy6GDV9yyojZOAdMJChjTghIjabcRMLno5wX8iGxDdTi4efmeocLqNUiwbI98y7rut0rye0vpiZemyKgqevMUqlPyYGkgo9UWIZHhCMCSkK_lIT5Ind6y_afAsKaRciRwotwt-2F/s1600-h/IMG_1407.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoUw3Kzy6GDV9yyojZOAdMJChjTghIjabcRMLno5wX8iGxDdTi4efmeocLqNUiwbI98y7rut0rye0vpiZemyKgqevMUqlPyYGkgo9UWIZHhCMCSkK_lIT5Ind6y_afAsKaRciRwotwt-2F/s320/IMG_1407.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402195941566311474" /></a><br />good friends of Allison’s<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ538dZMXbwFhj9Q6nO5OzhRMmoxaAiENskWisJ2sg9Bz3v1UVzHqVK2qv9-77mAd_CalgwXTIMMrMEd88TLjKI22n_OdJicQegkU5qSsv6FWx3Cdx298vpE-PFoD6riJNUZMavaKmbWcp/s1600-h/IMG_1412.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ538dZMXbwFhj9Q6nO5OzhRMmoxaAiENskWisJ2sg9Bz3v1UVzHqVK2qv9-77mAd_CalgwXTIMMrMEd88TLjKI22n_OdJicQegkU5qSsv6FWx3Cdx298vpE-PFoD6riJNUZMavaKmbWcp/s320/IMG_1412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402196263013523890" /></a><br />Allison and her kitten, Houdini, both relegated to her 2nd bedroom during our visit<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw6m2bDdabGvetFckMgPy9jv5M_lbbmudwMvXl3KsKQKlqf1zjdpvxgct6YVK6UqrrpfCVFN1kYXBInT6tC_7Evxfm6GWVvWRzdZzYhrcbogr0iPhjOiVWO1tOL53QS881b77vngUOdbN/s1600-h/IMG_1424.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikw6m2bDdabGvetFckMgPy9jv5M_lbbmudwMvXl3KsKQKlqf1zjdpvxgct6YVK6UqrrpfCVFN1kYXBInT6tC_7Evxfm6GWVvWRzdZzYhrcbogr0iPhjOiVWO1tOL53QS881b77vngUOdbN/s320/IMG_1424.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402196524673646082" /></a><br />Ranch de N’Gaoundaba - beautiful old hunting lodge (empty except for us) on a lake <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmDIiIUpjbinEQKHX33DYyyJmlRqVcX2mPxgO2I0U4JZUv-X-DXsKyttPLfyHV9n038th0e6bOv0EffksLQe_up0R6IxAiATyLfHQAU9vL9YpZPMdCsQZpww0UL1_ewDHOr9HUNjTPvOb/s1600-h/IMG_1426.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmDIiIUpjbinEQKHX33DYyyJmlRqVcX2mPxgO2I0U4JZUv-X-DXsKyttPLfyHV9n038th0e6bOv0EffksLQe_up0R6IxAiATyLfHQAU9vL9YpZPMdCsQZpww0UL1_ewDHOr9HUNjTPvOb/s320/IMG_1426.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402196751001030546" /></a><br />Allison, Jesse and Brian (PC couple from her original training group)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FmtjgHXl6-43fiDfJ-WfLRN2KN_tt14ipa8-CjR8VVA5B3mppM4Tuo_3oTUT89H2eLr8GfcLpyRaGYYMmyCigx_uzLB7uVeBFcY6kmVDokW63FFp9bUyCI0T4vRki-VEJ2oGd6XRAFI2/s1600-h/IMG_1430.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FmtjgHXl6-43fiDfJ-WfLRN2KN_tt14ipa8-CjR8VVA5B3mppM4Tuo_3oTUT89H2eLr8GfcLpyRaGYYMmyCigx_uzLB7uVeBFcY6kmVDokW63FFp9bUyCI0T4vRki-VEJ2oGd6XRAFI2/s320/IMG_1430.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402196979610525394" /></a><br />Allison’s wonderful homestay family in Pitoa who she lived with during training<br />(one other daughter not in photo)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF2D1ve3MbSsVfbEX_iIpLYb1ehCyu3677kJRvaUXhbzX7-E4hjKZRvE2JfSQ9nPSHx2QFqm47ESvRXjhyphenhyphenS1ZRorRX_6Bc5xcfzjd7U_wK-W8AgtD6tVGOLEVM3HU1Nk9PchZ6-J5edX4/s1600-h/IMG_1435.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF2D1ve3MbSsVfbEX_iIpLYb1ehCyu3677kJRvaUXhbzX7-E4hjKZRvE2JfSQ9nPSHx2QFqm47ESvRXjhyphenhyphenS1ZRorRX_6Bc5xcfzjd7U_wK-W8AgtD6tVGOLEVM3HU1Nk9PchZ6-J5edX4/s320/IMG_1435.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402197238443537346" /></a><br />Her mom, sisters and baby brother in their beautiful pagne outfits<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvH_rxCREoN_EHXvNttd-rH2TGBv6EpLTcU8scX0w5A_TPe2wqN9F5rDHMnqIr6MEVXg-IOI8ar70Jvcf7sARrrtJ98j02sNk9UdYoRbL9DQpiTtXgXBa0nwsyJwwEWSOl8d7MYVk3GIqF/s1600-h/IMG_1438.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvH_rxCREoN_EHXvNttd-rH2TGBv6EpLTcU8scX0w5A_TPe2wqN9F5rDHMnqIr6MEVXg-IOI8ar70Jvcf7sARrrtJ98j02sNk9UdYoRbL9DQpiTtXgXBa0nwsyJwwEWSOl8d7MYVk3GIqF/s320/IMG_1438.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402197519716351810" /></a><br />Her sisters showing us around their home town, Pitoa<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbM8CHdj1Tb3a173vIFc9Gx7yUAq9Hz950I_cExOEANAlHhqLXuipcYcWU5bf7_SUj9seaJ1zV3KgNboAg-vQaWBvOSuZd3tAfLPcaCRQvXkqJOMM2FC5SZndjElFGOpJE4N1RsVLeJLBK/s1600-h/IMG_1441.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbM8CHdj1Tb3a173vIFc9Gx7yUAq9Hz950I_cExOEANAlHhqLXuipcYcWU5bf7_SUj9seaJ1zV3KgNboAg-vQaWBvOSuZd3tAfLPcaCRQvXkqJOMM2FC5SZndjElFGOpJE4N1RsVLeJLBK/s320/IMG_1441.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402197735966835282" /></a><br />In Maroua, visiting with volunteers Ashley, Brianna, Joanna, Adam, Josh and Brad<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNr5NXw7as7PhYuSsvSpIfqT9jiylkJ_v5l4jnXdyGO1jHtDIuBN0ovBpLciCj_tGfRh8DLjL3ne8Pz9qlp1-7bjVH6eA8LuV6xGTuHQRkDkq-4Lj0V_FLAzzCJjZrrNBIUwJUKewMcFq/s1600-h/IMG_1443.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNr5NXw7as7PhYuSsvSpIfqT9jiylkJ_v5l4jnXdyGO1jHtDIuBN0ovBpLciCj_tGfRh8DLjL3ne8Pz9qlp1-7bjVH6eA8LuV6xGTuHQRkDkq-4Lj0V_FLAzzCJjZrrNBIUwJUKewMcFq/s320/IMG_1443.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402198043498333026" /></a><br />Volunteers Dan, Brianna, Ashley, Caitlyn and Allison<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR9zueciwETKM4VBG74mgY5nSFMeASZpXPPOsbruc0tWejo1KO2RXZvPg8TKFwbXlbto0GatKV0DggBu_k4ZCsQpy19t6O5AhRPtCMMr1ijX5te3HRVQ_UV9aaQOj6PqSr_mY_dLYe3pJ/s1600-h/IMG_1444.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlR9zueciwETKM4VBG74mgY5nSFMeASZpXPPOsbruc0tWejo1KO2RXZvPg8TKFwbXlbto0GatKV0DggBu_k4ZCsQpy19t6O5AhRPtCMMr1ijX5te3HRVQ_UV9aaQOj6PqSr_mY_dLYe3pJ/s320/IMG_1444.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402198638120079442" /></a><br />Enjoying a home cooked meal with Caitlyn’s counterpart, Alim and his wife in their home<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzaCHoylcKitfn7YTK4tVkVrRR7e41O-ZXqLrKrcwh5WXD4byg1y0Rb9j89C5E4Rsa6_m-wZUpnSjURNTy4IYklPA_P5cGFhZ3mKwVjwE4euyccOnsD_QEw1KDYvCER_E4udslAuiup8_/s1600-h/IMG_1452.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbzaCHoylcKitfn7YTK4tVkVrRR7e41O-ZXqLrKrcwh5WXD4byg1y0Rb9j89C5E4Rsa6_m-wZUpnSjURNTy4IYklPA_P5cGFhZ3mKwVjwE4euyccOnsD_QEw1KDYvCER_E4udslAuiup8_/s320/IMG_1452.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402198795015503538" /></a><br />Rhumsiki in the Extreme North Province of Cameroon, just 3km from Nigeria<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJd2PnfbZ8M1n6KW1s1TurK8eHjENgJP7e8sIfzKD8OOfjapZjUbZppZ8j-8qXuvRb8BeThAre39PFT2Q6mSzB_Gj35AOy1HIiyrmWpQ5ONVghiEHY7JyqGRprgjbHaBKM_7KLdkslkaVA/s1600-h/IMG_1457.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJd2PnfbZ8M1n6KW1s1TurK8eHjENgJP7e8sIfzKD8OOfjapZjUbZppZ8j-8qXuvRb8BeThAre39PFT2Q6mSzB_Gj35AOy1HIiyrmWpQ5ONVghiEHY7JyqGRprgjbHaBKM_7KLdkslkaVA/s320/IMG_1457.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402198959658673906" /></a><br />another scene of Rhumsiki<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpvOuxNRB9I2SX4PG5uIfi9SnDnapIn0xIpXVgS1nTVO7h1irWymyEhqkZu4v5PIccpddBy62sXago_xmmgUOFbTFZh8Ha2d_yjA-B1S6X3WR1fjBjMAO0PyCDxOplhBN-HfZ18x8gX7T/s1600-h/IMG_1467.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpvOuxNRB9I2SX4PG5uIfi9SnDnapIn0xIpXVgS1nTVO7h1irWymyEhqkZu4v5PIccpddBy62sXago_xmmgUOFbTFZh8Ha2d_yjA-B1S6X3WR1fjBjMAO0PyCDxOplhBN-HfZ18x8gX7T/s320/IMG_1467.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402199597778081298" /></a><br />Children singing and greeting us in Rhumsiki<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnmroixFHHrzVpNzqaOxXhqZEMCZPVfut0vh23dee6fD1JKDJbe_pVh3bC9FlxYEC_dlI5pQysmU1U5_i07RO8cf_B5zadDoy5-wHQE4JYyzHG8qE3-gSqKUqvUHHawo1XJmmg-gyiGUj/s1600-h/IMG_1470.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnmroixFHHrzVpNzqaOxXhqZEMCZPVfut0vh23dee6fD1JKDJbe_pVh3bC9FlxYEC_dlI5pQysmU1U5_i07RO8cf_B5zadDoy5-wHQE4JYyzHG8qE3-gSqKUqvUHHawo1XJmmg-gyiGUj/s320/IMG_1470.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402199868774801730" /></a><br />Rhumsiki mom spinning wool<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPowXyGUicGl2v29BrlEFSa3_jl3yEWboErqjpqlowVtJryvWlngXEQX1T6QBQPQvBrC4VBoamqh9ghzcr0f5nud-aBoNM1jouu4yOzBSYyieUgWsaF-OuC-TE61uY669NbS4zsgnSkbc/s1600-h/IMG_1472.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPowXyGUicGl2v29BrlEFSa3_jl3yEWboErqjpqlowVtJryvWlngXEQX1T6QBQPQvBrC4VBoamqh9ghzcr0f5nud-aBoNM1jouu4yOzBSYyieUgWsaF-OuC-TE61uY669NbS4zsgnSkbc/s320/IMG_1472.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402200199384471954" /></a><br />Rhumsiki villagers<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9AJsemav6o9xAYs-baYNCC3iQqM1N_OTjCWe4TUXrtQQzEX2bfa9qypU5RU1-8ANwJv1ggYSDKflZFXSAJXqOyS8kRV9uIpAqMDMQjv-IghNXdnjhaDMW_4EFt2uBXEN6d233z9rHe8FR/s1600-h/IMG_1484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9AJsemav6o9xAYs-baYNCC3iQqM1N_OTjCWe4TUXrtQQzEX2bfa9qypU5RU1-8ANwJv1ggYSDKflZFXSAJXqOyS8kRV9uIpAqMDMQjv-IghNXdnjhaDMW_4EFt2uBXEN6d233z9rHe8FR/s320/IMG_1484.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402200466074206354" /></a><br />Rhumsiki at dusk<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqv9LcH4djeMd7B8iZ5IBVcZRLRJOfAQpQHuzSaP1uZPMhcfcZuOmqG2SkLJ3evkRvuHbYMYJ4KBZMHwoR7jTw56FCvpsqXHcDamI1CfZy_hwDPVlfCgzlzTKaOnj8KYQRVmJOCF11QbL/s1600-h/IMG_1503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHqv9LcH4djeMd7B8iZ5IBVcZRLRJOfAQpQHuzSaP1uZPMhcfcZuOmqG2SkLJ3evkRvuHbYMYJ4KBZMHwoR7jTw56FCvpsqXHcDamI1CfZy_hwDPVlfCgzlzTKaOnj8KYQRVmJOCF11QbL/s320/IMG_1503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402205337885115378" /></a><br />typical cluster of boukarous<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFUNA58rfhLNPVt9Xl7H2yF-GhM6_KM0GPh4FJvHq2q2QAruhms7-t1vihL3VGz_kleSJ6LWbtia218Kv_Vb4R8h7t67L8ZVj0pOx3wv_GjkxbnNAgOhuKSKdz4utG9kjwkTvIwHmqMwY/s1600-h/IMG_1505.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFUNA58rfhLNPVt9Xl7H2yF-GhM6_KM0GPh4FJvHq2q2QAruhms7-t1vihL3VGz_kleSJ6LWbtia218Kv_Vb4R8h7t67L8ZVj0pOx3wv_GjkxbnNAgOhuKSKdz4utG9kjwkTvIwHmqMwY/s320/IMG_1505.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402202195171228610" /></a><br />In Djingliya, small village in Extreme North enjoying a beer with volunteers Joanna and Katy<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqWcrVd85KyRXlUORmrBqTu0QVPHaCKv8bAdgKFYXsjM0rysc1OYfhFiTdPDjd29bqFg5ahKadtCvz6ppwmjo4cFRarFoFTOsUKeTViAKQ85zYL5WAhWU4izRhibf6rI_vPhlqFFmecZ5/s1600-h/IMG_1506.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqWcrVd85KyRXlUORmrBqTu0QVPHaCKv8bAdgKFYXsjM0rysc1OYfhFiTdPDjd29bqFg5ahKadtCvz6ppwmjo4cFRarFoFTOsUKeTViAKQ85zYL5WAhWU4izRhibf6rI_vPhlqFFmecZ5/s320/IMG_1506.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402202508871168370" /></a><br />a boukarou – notice the stone pillars holding up the partial roof<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIn9jr9bLxZIYCVL1bpkUUKo78uUb2SUsgmsu8FawYNHacMgud3nFOy4bL-FnYHsw9oA9ij1qoc91Ai44lnRguHjvOXa6YNtl5flrPm0gDAkjFowrDiWAsusjCvLeI8ed8gm2MobG5exy/s1600-h/IMG_1508.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoIn9jr9bLxZIYCVL1bpkUUKo78uUb2SUsgmsu8FawYNHacMgud3nFOy4bL-FnYHsw9oA9ij1qoc91Ai44lnRguHjvOXa6YNtl5flrPm0gDAkjFowrDiWAsusjCvLeI8ed8gm2MobG5exy/s320/IMG_1508.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402202797558409330" /></a><br />roofs of boukarous<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-OsjPIpiRmI5A7kHxGKYpbmsqam7UH4MjvXrqSipAt7sBQ_PHcpQJh9s6Jj5pqrP_Uw9cGDQC5jIy1YhY9_NjH5xkYmMNBGLUy9iDiEkdS2q0zfEpxsjaQ4EGZLdR1J2RO05xBv0Ja8l/s1600-h/IMG_1502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-OsjPIpiRmI5A7kHxGKYpbmsqam7UH4MjvXrqSipAt7sBQ_PHcpQJh9s6Jj5pqrP_Uw9cGDQC5jIy1YhY9_NjH5xkYmMNBGLUy9iDiEkdS2q0zfEpxsjaQ4EGZLdR1J2RO05xBv0Ja8l/s320/IMG_1502.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402199242026719394" /></a><br />Boukarous set in the hillside<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4YDx_Dzqj0WZ4iafnGFCVKqwbZl7zT2GiJfFKfDjsQDf9XbL3FOExJx3kCVsivTtDGDI8ShDicYPGUa26yezlw56UZ0uCGyKhiXDZsOf7aLxHxxGUu5O3oEqaLOo44X2e0QG5Nh6gCVo/s1600-h/IMG_1515.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH4YDx_Dzqj0WZ4iafnGFCVKqwbZl7zT2GiJfFKfDjsQDf9XbL3FOExJx3kCVsivTtDGDI8ShDicYPGUa26yezlw56UZ0uCGyKhiXDZsOf7aLxHxxGUu5O3oEqaLOo44X2e0QG5Nh6gCVo/s320/IMG_1515.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402203129777635266" /></a><br />Sunday market day in Touro, beautiful pagne everywhere<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8wMefV1t4zw4kVqso2CZ9wEypCGvXcPM61PHj2HjIfS4cV9fhlUJfSyT03HiFZUReSQrxDK5W-YWOQEVDylNQEpPFpL1817Ce7d-gqMsPjBrTcSTD6Vqf6eRN7qm3e6VJaVmtQbtt1z3/s1600-h/IMG_1524.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8wMefV1t4zw4kVqso2CZ9wEypCGvXcPM61PHj2HjIfS4cV9fhlUJfSyT03HiFZUReSQrxDK5W-YWOQEVDylNQEpPFpL1817Ce7d-gqMsPjBrTcSTD6Vqf6eRN7qm3e6VJaVmtQbtt1z3/s320/IMG_1524.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402203391482678226" /></a><br />market day in Touro, Extreme North<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyufAsvckHhxHZLAWZrMPYOC77NTDOZrXm_bBkMoxX9b6SI7Gf1F1O2-hYAPRMgLFGKmrouhErLiRvEs3KlaEvPQsDQMOcMnoxWhbecAdY09bM3EcVPcO6kDOXhyqF1QG3lncwmfrDKec-/s1600-h/IMG_1531.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyufAsvckHhxHZLAWZrMPYOC77NTDOZrXm_bBkMoxX9b6SI7Gf1F1O2-hYAPRMgLFGKmrouhErLiRvEs3KlaEvPQsDQMOcMnoxWhbecAdY09bM3EcVPcO6kDOXhyqF1QG3lncwmfrDKec-/s320/IMG_1531.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402203669566442130" /></a><br />Calabash helmet worn by women in Touro – designs signify marital status, # of children, geographic locations<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwihkIWs5vqDtJdmmq_x3LU-5tQUhyphenhyphenHtA8SUe-iBURWBp0CI8dguP7wZLe0EnRyaZxz-1lvCRAzUjabfmnOuv-_iZ8WOspnpXdxwxlHvnIsfDwkz9GaaywKpHEP30rECpHyom4RTOGSI0u/s1600-h/IMG_1533.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwihkIWs5vqDtJdmmq_x3LU-5tQUhyphenhyphenHtA8SUe-iBURWBp0CI8dguP7wZLe0EnRyaZxz-1lvCRAzUjabfmnOuv-_iZ8WOspnpXdxwxlHvnIsfDwkz9GaaywKpHEP30rECpHyom4RTOGSI0u/s320/IMG_1533.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402203891499643762" /></a><br />Allison with Cara and Matt, volunteers posted in Touro<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-GHsqv-09sS3h3mpZGLlHEy9ryQs1xVM-1FSkNfjh3rvcw3eMV3Qsgpg-boHMY4Se9NrsLeu_FiVNgPH7b609bFu3MWs6mXHRb8KH708xG3yKycsiAoyUcgGpWnpU__ey47TZgD9sKoc/s1600-h/IMG_1534.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-GHsqv-09sS3h3mpZGLlHEy9ryQs1xVM-1FSkNfjh3rvcw3eMV3Qsgpg-boHMY4Se9NrsLeu_FiVNgPH7b609bFu3MWs6mXHRb8KH708xG3yKycsiAoyUcgGpWnpU__ey47TZgD9sKoc/s320/IMG_1534.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402204110521625170" /></a><br />Touro woman with a pretty heavy load, probably at least 50 lbs.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9MGPeQW-42CqtP9rKfjwcdj571CWYP4PNlUYqFaLEceScP_YBEWQQtBpCnND6szqfZBUmJD6-0Un2XFRUVehkSdbzmPJnaS2thv7aVPrNILUyX2z7XSJbr6KIdjqhG2akZMJDjE6TAyx/s1600-h/IMG_1540.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR9MGPeQW-42CqtP9rKfjwcdj571CWYP4PNlUYqFaLEceScP_YBEWQQtBpCnND6szqfZBUmJD6-0Un2XFRUVehkSdbzmPJnaS2thv7aVPrNILUyX2z7XSJbr6KIdjqhG2akZMJDjE6TAyx/s320/IMG_1540.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402204354180957410" /></a><br />More Touro finery<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbkXeGihwmU8BH9HfTHwy1lRfbh6QyIjwEaXdvCJNm0IzCDUJZcNgp637dktQ-AfuAlDy0wnYX6l6XqBm9H9VDz-075sKABtyfL5fdsXKOnkPxl0kWbDL6xYUehnZwOWx_YU5sHiWLLt3/s1600-h/IMG_1545.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbkXeGihwmU8BH9HfTHwy1lRfbh6QyIjwEaXdvCJNm0IzCDUJZcNgp637dktQ-AfuAlDy0wnYX6l6XqBm9H9VDz-075sKABtyfL5fdsXKOnkPxl0kWbDL6xYUehnZwOWx_YU5sHiWLLt3/s320/IMG_1545.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402204595955572194" /></a><br />a simple, non designed calabash, Dick’s favoriteAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-79220976629647819892009-06-22T05:21:00.000-07:002009-06-22T05:27:29.303-07:00Appreciation and Birthdays Cameroonian StyleSo an old woman spat on me today. It was a typically beautiful Sunday in Meiganga, sunny with foreboding purple-grey clouds in the distance waiting for their typical late afternoon turn to play. I had spent the morning cleaning my mansion of a house for a single woman. I sweated in the garden, had a young visitor stop by and ask random questions about America and went to a meeting with a community group of restaurateurs. Then a small girl with no shoes called out my good name “white lady”. I slapped her wrists and told her to call me al. She asked me something in Fulfulde and said my best friend’s name, Nina. Instantly I knew who she was and what she wanted. So I threw on my sandals and most fashionable muumuu and followed her through the maze of corn stalks and mud walls. Sometimes in Cameroon you feel like a puppy dog, powerlessly following someone to your next awkward yet great adventure.<br /><br /> My best friend Nina is 13 years old. She has lived in Meiganga her whole life and is an orphan living with her six brothers and sisters in their grandmother’s home. She is fascinated and I mean fascinated with the “world of white people”. This is something she has divulged to me. She has declared herself betrothed to my brother, loves touching my terrifyingly pale skin and always stops by with a small gift. I do manage to repay these gifts and one day Nina came to me talking about her grandmother’s back pain. So I gave her a small bag of aspirin and ordered a big dose of rest. So today when I arrive at the house with the bare-footed petite, I am greeted by Nina’s grandmother with open arms. Her grandmother starts to work herself up into some sort of frenzy. She starts to shake her fists at me, which is actually a sign of respect here, not offense. She is hugging me, shaking my hands, and saying something in Fulfulde. All of a sudden she spits on me and places her hands on my forehead. The American part of me didn’t really know how to react, but I just went along with it and figured Nina would have salvaged the situation if I had caused any sort of wrongdoing. In the end, she was very thankful for the drugs and all the pain they alleviated. Things continued well enough and think I will be going to work with them in their corn fields next week! <br /> <br /> Last night I attended my first ever birthday bash. I had planned to go out dancing with my friend, but then we had to make a pit stop at a party of a schoolmate. Well I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. First of all, I arrive at her house and she is in the process of wrapping a package of menstrual pads. I felt bad about not having a gift and crashing the party, so I ended up giving her a beautiful wrapped box of biscuits. It was recommended to me to give her a box of condoms, which as a health volunteer I was in full support of. But then I realized crashing her party and then giving her condoms was a bit much for me. So there is no power in Meiganga and the building of the party is one of the sole buildings glowing with florescent lights and Rihana. When we enter the party, each one of us is carefully shown to a specific place at a specific table. I look around the room and it is littered with awkward boy and girls starting at the ceiling. Each table has potpourri of unopened drinks, ranging from soda to boxed wine. The center of the room has a massive spread of meat, chicken, popcorn,ect. I realize this is a SERIOUS party, but the best part about it all is no one is eating or drinking a thing. So finally enough people fill the room and the party officially starts. Some boys and girls perform the standard lip-synching performances. I am asked to perform but respectively decline. I am sure I could have shown those Cameroonians how to shake their hips. Then each table one by one gets up to get their food. This is the perfect time for all the girls to check out each other’s outfits. I realize my shabby jeans and sweater don’t really compare to the skin tight, ruffled skirts and elaborate 80’s style pagne dresses. I am embarrassed and quickly shuffle to my seat.<br /> <br /> So eventually the party turns into an all out high school affair. Kids start pouring massive cups of whiskey and opening beer bottles with their teeth, only to let it spill all over themselves. Girls have trouble walking and no one is paying attention to the birthday girl. It’s my party and ill cry if I want to. Then we all line up to one by one hand the birthday girl her gift. I attempt to hide mine in my sweater, in fear of being realized as the only white chick who showed up with biscuits as a gift and mud streaked jeans. We finally make a swift exit and leave the glowing florescent building for the stark black streets of Meiganga. There was no dancing that night, we returned home and recounted the night’s events amidst giggles and blankets.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-30899361712743637932009-05-07T01:52:00.000-07:002009-05-07T01:54:23.083-07:00Raining Cats and DogsRainy season is in full force here in Meiganga and life in every form has erupted. Mangoes and avocados rain from the heavens. It is so fun to tell Cameroonians how much a mango is in the states, how it is such a treat. I make mango salsa almost daily and have mastered tortillas from scratch. I found myself mid mango the other day wondering, how many is too many? It is almost the end of the school year and the beginning of real work in the fields. My own mini-champ is growing beautifully. I can now say that everything tastes better homegrown. I just finished the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and urge all to follow. In a year and a half I will meet you all in the Appalachian Mountains eating your locally raised turkey. <br /><br />At the end of March I met up with all my stage mates in Maroua for a weeklong conference. It was a delight, just to be on vacation and see all the people I came to consider family during my first few months here. It was nice to share war wounds and gain perspective on things. I also picked up the new love of my life, Moses. Yes, some would consider him spiritual guru, but my version is much hairier and the only miracle he performs is pooping in his litter box. But really, my new addition is great company at night and loves to cuddle. I couldn’t be happier with him. <br /><br />I have kept busy with work activities. Spend two days at the hospital, teach computers at the women’s center and meet with community groups. My work helping to organize the community groups has now come to depend on the level of commitment of the members themselves. It has been the most challenging work so far; there is no quick fix, no map, and no answer. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t just waste people’s time here. I am trying to plan a new project for the prevention of mother to infant transmission of AIDS and general nutrition. I am putting together a crack team of experts, so hopefully I can just sit back and relax and let them do all the real work. I mean that’s what sustainable development is right? <br /><br />Today I celebrated Private Industries Day and all I got was a fully belly and a sunburn. It was actually a lot more fun than I expected of typical Cameroon fetes. There is always a general formula for national holidays: march in front of all the local authorities, wear some matching outfit and then eat and be merry. I have avoided marching in the past few fetes, as everyday tends to feel like a parade in front of the good people of Meiganga. Today I marched with the Lutheran Hospital in a t-shirt that said, “We treat, Jesus heals”. Gotta love it. After waiting in the sun for an hour and taking several pictures with strangers, I successfully marched without falling in front of hundreds. The Cameroonians are very serious about keeping in straight lines and marching in time. One of the nurses’ overly exuberant husband kept barking orders on how, when and who to salute during our time in the sun. Although it is usually a serious affair, another nurse managed to bring a wheelchair, mask and blood pressure machine. So we reenacted a mock procedure as we marched by the grandstands. I thought it was hilarious. It seemed to be a common pattern though; the radio station had microphones, bakery had loaves, cattle association had bull horns and raw meat (swarming with flies of course), the bars brought bottles of beer and shook them up and the moto drivers sped through massive crowds (thank god the hospital staff was there!). Festivities continued at a local bar where we all ate endless amounts of fish, beef, bread, batons of manioc and beer. After hours in the sun and beer-free for several weeks, I had to literally peel myself from the festivities and go home to lather myself in lotion. All in all, it was a grand day.<br /><br />After much pressure and demand, I have agreed to the unthinkable. No, not shark diving or the Atkins diet, but to have my hair braided with synthetic extensions. Basically a pale Beyonce with less curves and more attitude. I keep thinking of Monica from Friends when she gets her braids caught somewhere inconvenient. All the girls I teach and my girlfriends have begged me and if I don’t do it in my twenties, when will I ever do it? It is required by schools and general standards of beauty to braid hair with multi-colored, textured extensions in Cameroon. It is a true form of self-expression and as I have said before, it can change the entire look of a woman. Not to fret, pictures will be taken. I am a little worried about pain and all my hair falling out though.<br /><br />So one of the great things in Cameroon is that you can order custom made wooden furniture for an extremely affordable price. The other day I was walking home a new set of items (desk, screen door, chair and shelves). I had been waiting at the shop to have the guys lacquer the goods and find someone to pus-pus (wheelbarrow) it home. Halfway home, the dark violet clouds ominously float in and it begins to pour. At first a light sprinkle and in what seemed like seconds a raging storm. The problem was that there was nowhere to shelter this giant pile of stuff, so we blazed on through. All of a sudden I hear a crack and every single items has fallen out of the pus pus and into the mud. I forfeit my umbrella and help the guy pick up the scattered pieces. Immediately I see that the screens on the door have been sliced and he starts to stack items on top of each other in a completely disorganized and leaning tower of Pisa manner. So I pick of several pieces, but we are a few blocks from home and I have taken way too much and can barely lug them a few feet. I look around for help and not a soul can be found. At this point the rain is so strong I can barely see the guy with the pus pus in front of me and he has no idea where he is going. My thoughts are to just bulldoze through it all, but he keeps stopping at every door on the street and barely speaks French. After what seemed like hours we made it to my front door and we are soaked. In the end nothing was broken terribly and not badly damaged since the pieces were partially lacquered. It made the furniture all the more worth it!<br /><br />Well, that’s it for this installment. Evenings are pretty slow here in Meiganga so I think of you all nightly. I miss you and hope none of you went to Mexico lately. Every now and then I catch the French news at a friends house. Lots of people wearing masks and not just in China.<br /><br />I continue to get packages and thank my lucky stars for every morsel, thanks so much. Keep on with the random bits of news and Americana. I miss it more than ever.<br /><br />Much love,<br />AlAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-69105805725623532452009-03-18T09:34:00.000-07:002009-03-18T09:49:23.827-07:00Me Against the GrasshoppersNot to worry, no news is good news here in Cameroon. I have almost six months here and I hate to say it but it doesn’t feel like it. The days have blurred together and it feels like less. It has been the longest time since I have seen my family and good friends. It often feels like the rest of the world is frozen in time and waiting for me while I am figuring things out here. I have officially decided to go steady with Meiganga. I have pledged my commitment, gone to first base and tried to meet all the parents. It is a pretty good fit and I see a bright future full of kids, birthdays and twilight strolls home. <br /> The real love affair is with my garden. Now I might be the last to figure it out, but gardening is quite the exhilarating act. Each morning I jump out of bed to see what new development has taken place during the dog-howling night. It kicked my ass to get started, but since the moment I saw the first green head pop up, I have had my nose in my gardening book and have declared war against grasshoppers. All of my friends and neighbors are so supportive. My “future sister-in-law” even brought some sproutings of a spinach-like vegetable from her garden, to share with me. Everyone has some tip and wants to show me their own. As a community largely based in agriculture, with almost every family maintaining a garden on their own, it has helped me to fit in here. I can’t wait until things are ready and I can show all the new products I brought over from the States.<br /> Mango season has begun and my eyes are glued to the sky. Way before they are ready to eat, they are plucked from above. It is the post-school activity to pillage the trees. The tactic: throw rocks or punch the branches with a long stick. Either way, my computer students can’t wait to get out of class and chase them down. It is raining mangos. I have a tree right outside of my garden, but none seem to be ready yet. I am hoping to leverage free reign on the fruit with neighborhood kids to get them to do the grunt work. <br /> The international day of women just passed. There are several national holidays per year celebrating youth, teachers or women. I would large the largest component of them is matching pagne and marching. I was warned several weeks ahead of time that the pagne is a necessary purchase. So I jumped on the bandwagon and crafted a stylish frock. The fabric has pictures of women doing different tasks, with words honoring their presence in Cameroonian society. The day of the holiday I took a motto to my friend’s house. Although it was somewhat early morning, to my horror not a single female was sporting the blue, pink or green fabric. My first thought was oh man they played a prank on the new white chick. Fortunately, heading to the main stadium in the center of town I found myself in a sea of matching ensembles. Different women’s groups marched past the town’s officials, really just showing off how creative Cameroonian women get. There were some dogs sporting the pagne and several groups of cross-dressing men which even coming from San Francisco was quite delightful. Then the real party began in bar row. These women know how to celebrate! I joined some friends for a drink around noon and the place was busting with dancing, drinking, singing, eating, breast-feeding and general noise. The women who usually rest at home had their day in the sun and it was great to observe. I had to cut out early however, feeling like quite the lame duck. Surrounded by the energy of the women, I felt like the little sister sipping her glass of milk.<br /> Work can feel like an uphill battle. Just figuring out where to work, what do with them and communicating it all can leave a girl exhausted. I started training on how to evaluate and plan for development projects with several community groups I became connected with. It is something that volunteers usually just do, but I wanted to teach it to a few members, who would then complete the exercises with their groups. Without the help of my counterpart explaining everything over again after I said it, it wouldn’t have gone over so well. But I think everyone grasped the importance of it. Now I have started meetings where they teach the material. It is quite interesting to see the translation. I have continued work at the hospital, pre-natal consults and organizing the pharmacy. I have been teaching a computer class at the women’s center. I tried to pair it with a life skills/future-planning class, but discussion based/critical analysis with the girls didn’t go over well. I have to change things up somehow. No idea. But they seem to really enjoy the computers. I am sure much like English, teaching something that I grew up doing can be extremely difficult. How to use the mouse and open and close windows is a whole new ballgame. Especially being quite the computer illiterate person I am. Exploring some options working with a radio station and there will be new volunteer here in August for small enterprise development, so hopefully we can collaborate. <br /> Walking over to use the internet today I was again used a tool of fear. It is a common practice here, next to the smiling faces and children running to greet me, people will sometimes bring their small toddlers over to me, causing an incredible sensation of fear. They start to cry and squire to get out of it. It is odd to be so feared, even with the friendliest smile.<br /> I have probably mentioned the love of female hair styling here before, but it can often completely change the identity of someone. On a monthly, sometimes weekly basis, women will change their weave or wig. Long hair becomes short, purple becomes blond. This renders them completely unrecognizable and I often take second looks just to spot a good friend. I don’t know how they do it, or where they get them from, but you never know what version of your friend will show up at your door.<br /><br />Guess that’s all I can come up with for now. The dust is begining to settle, welcoming the rains, which I can't wait for. I will have a new roomate soon. A new kitty will join me after our in-service training in Maroua. Ideas for names? I waiting to see what I can channel upon our meeting. I will post some photos soon. I miss everyone so much and look forward to everyone’s news, even the smallest bits.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-12143660190914283672009-01-26T06:30:00.001-08:002009-01-27T00:12:37.020-08:00A little taste of lifeSo now that I am wasting time in Yaounde, here are pics from actually a long time ago.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnUv0ykafEev0sFeQapl9ejotu28_Q2VdxmpvBpnwoGjBb-VcINtSuwabNLJnq6zLTJmonZ-KLfNs976_srjx4jxS1GGsxneTifpcSpJWtv6CzFbeaKMhd-U_GZ3mni-iB7UuJkVGHa8s/s1600-h/IMG_0480[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295623928288648594" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnUv0ykafEev0sFeQapl9ejotu28_Q2VdxmpvBpnwoGjBb-VcINtSuwabNLJnq6zLTJmonZ-KLfNs976_srjx4jxS1GGsxneTifpcSpJWtv6CzFbeaKMhd-U_GZ3mni-iB7UuJkVGHa8s/s320/IMG_0480%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />My homstay mother wanted to take pictures with the ancestors, I evidently thought it was histerical.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4RiSPCWhrtCQdPqljN3kuWLO3mKatL-2kQqBYy01y0p2xnAKts0iRPl0zaGarGDCbnCrQvxxYjtk0nmwhlMFAAmtA5SSDS1capkbJYYhdx8aaiQfCUGWIwf2dnMMowhMOpIcVEqoch7d/s1600-h/IMG_0476[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295621924628780802" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4RiSPCWhrtCQdPqljN3kuWLO3mKatL-2kQqBYy01y0p2xnAKts0iRPl0zaGarGDCbnCrQvxxYjtk0nmwhlMFAAmtA5SSDS1capkbJYYhdx8aaiQfCUGWIwf2dnMMowhMOpIcVEqoch7d/s320/IMG_0476%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Damari<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWzMUFNFFmyNjTjt34u1JfzdfNcTQR5vvN6k6Tfcv4M7Xh09wN_r6EHjCdIDCjp5RCALKJp6Lmju0ehlWBUuwN1AgGiFRtjNBkFM3mkDfZL1Tb6XAaokrumUQUcfz1dojAvHDUAl6qG0A/s1600-h/IMG_0463[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295620632796301026" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWzMUFNFFmyNjTjt34u1JfzdfNcTQR5vvN6k6Tfcv4M7Xh09wN_r6EHjCdIDCjp5RCALKJp6Lmju0ehlWBUuwN1AgGiFRtjNBkFM3mkDfZL1Tb6XAaokrumUQUcfz1dojAvHDUAl6qG0A/s320/IMG_0463%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My stylish family getting ready for a church event<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtsS_p7EYgFGCUHD9ajKaejZL3WKhfjJDr9aamkp_r_NMjykLGeAeipAkrMi_9gaozn-3zzRq_1zc_SPTaMF8He0vhUUbfNCtDKZ1f2ovd4TVV6nnxRBOG4hIda_yOTwpMlF_q5P2q8-g/s1600-h/IMG_0438[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295620088739363570" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLtsS_p7EYgFGCUHD9ajKaejZL3WKhfjJDr9aamkp_r_NMjykLGeAeipAkrMi_9gaozn-3zzRq_1zc_SPTaMF8He0vhUUbfNCtDKZ1f2ovd4TVV6nnxRBOG4hIda_yOTwpMlF_q5P2q8-g/s320/IMG_0438%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I mean come on.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG4IYuyah1y4T1J8jZbhvWG3IPoD9Knp8RizmcF3U2GgXJ-2SAAzryB1JvBO8VaYCcVjQ69DGjsq6NCdPnjPwjGB1F_LDAhXWDT7sQ1SAkHUmbJux9JwAoZLnB56GnEVezxPwJz_uEcN2/s1600-h/IMG_0424[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295619549748911330" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAG4IYuyah1y4T1J8jZbhvWG3IPoD9Knp8RizmcF3U2GgXJ-2SAAzryB1JvBO8VaYCcVjQ69DGjsq6NCdPnjPwjGB1F_LDAhXWDT7sQ1SAkHUmbJux9JwAoZLnB56GnEVezxPwJz_uEcN2/s320/IMG_0424%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8N9ld-fX1IYghPgDGQGGjtG_8j1WTYZ_Mruz7xeZ5dVbhfOhD8nhXSSFDeVParTkOZ7vz6un0I_wDSM76bFXf1P0w2C3On0AILBZBDqSm648j2kdomneX137-sH7y2W3S7yBFBVgOGVe/s1600-h/IMG_0423[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295618571915665842" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ8N9ld-fX1IYghPgDGQGGjtG_8j1WTYZ_Mruz7xeZ5dVbhfOhD8nhXSSFDeVParTkOZ7vz6un0I_wDSM76bFXf1P0w2C3On0AILBZBDqSm648j2kdomneX137-sH7y2W3S7yBFBVgOGVe/s320/IMG_0423%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Edith and I<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02cv9G7mMkYfkpQ9ibhFHeFPqaaZXKT8jPDfXycCMiNZH-VfGszJfyym5RamDnH6sA1_MkxCDgy2Lk_vADNwCbLGKw1qi0ynEX7g1gZfmku0cH-J3jPjTUvAk_mZ50jNDkW1Gakqqd4Ao/s1600-h/IMG_0373[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295617375587833858" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02cv9G7mMkYfkpQ9ibhFHeFPqaaZXKT8jPDfXycCMiNZH-VfGszJfyym5RamDnH6sA1_MkxCDgy2Lk_vADNwCbLGKw1qi0ynEX7g1gZfmku0cH-J3jPjTUvAk_mZ50jNDkW1Gakqqd4Ao/s320/IMG_0373%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Deviled Egg Judgement, taken very seriously, cued by caitlyn's sweaty back and ashley's hand on heart<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrutqdLX6tXxhNJlNP9dEUaNMrUkTMekwV2kuaqW5PkMC6mTOoORYt_4Dp9RSwMGQU2h3qqEUm5bnVKnChBk6DVuZOVVAcorrT2IX7K6FR1bAlqLvVz1WiO1YudPIQVw8z_nK58QXqgji/s1600-h/IMG_0378[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295616304233207026" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrutqdLX6tXxhNJlNP9dEUaNMrUkTMekwV2kuaqW5PkMC6mTOoORYt_4Dp9RSwMGQU2h3qqEUm5bnVKnChBk6DVuZOVVAcorrT2IX7K6FR1bAlqLvVz1WiO1YudPIQVw8z_nK58QXqgji/s320/IMG_0378%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />More scary fruit cutting on concrete with Aubrey, Thea, Jessie and Katie<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQJ5K59ziHmhZPtyG4L1xQ5jc0CVv-3hjlZVY97zve-_SC0Q9aCdO0ifVconKIPwFdme-uGhFL8miNapRNskvR0hrRWqGd9KgEgrBM4NQJrtEEqfw_l0Q1WEbdhWQQImOx6VBWSKSy3hl/s1600-h/IMG_0358[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295615040731743826" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPQJ5K59ziHmhZPtyG4L1xQ5jc0CVv-3hjlZVY97zve-_SC0Q9aCdO0ifVconKIPwFdme-uGhFL8miNapRNskvR0hrRWqGd9KgEgrBM4NQJrtEEqfw_l0Q1WEbdhWQQImOx6VBWSKSy3hl/s320/IMG_0358%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Breanna and Brad warming up Thanksgiving<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38RDkRea7PmpK5jVf9PhZE3KPG1r5JK-ANhnqjrZTpqWfCtBNwoFbbcQxHhuXcfHXjby9cePLIUYt126IKKvk4UvlUeOBvYk5XQQSiVuhqf0LShjrgWrQnzlS7fWhbQai58glZeH-Kyuh/s1600-h/IMG_0460[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295614440166596082" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38RDkRea7PmpK5jVf9PhZE3KPG1r5JK-ANhnqjrZTpqWfCtBNwoFbbcQxHhuXcfHXjby9cePLIUYt126IKKvk4UvlUeOBvYk5XQQSiVuhqf0LShjrgWrQnzlS7fWhbQai58glZeH-Kyuh/s320/IMG_0460%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Classic Phil<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEUG99d5snBwYj381-mlGmRocYbZ3YtLUABLK69OWAp7TR08uzFjxXiwWO3UVFA3Cdcp6vKLBn4v5XsuL8CgwSVi7-Mpm3nuBB9LDCLCB-8bca3rN7TeENwv5XddrorCqRhNmIQeEG7gR/s1600-h/IMG_0365[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295613551436452786" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEUG99d5snBwYj381-mlGmRocYbZ3YtLUABLK69OWAp7TR08uzFjxXiwWO3UVFA3Cdcp6vKLBn4v5XsuL8CgwSVi7-Mpm3nuBB9LDCLCB-8bca3rN7TeENwv5XddrorCqRhNmIQeEG7gR/s320/IMG_0365%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Anitha, Ashley, Emily<br />Serious Deviled Egg competition<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe_Bs_yOf16Ihox9ksU-Odp58mazJuYn5F9Ol8tylVGsfke-H_qinwAee6xC3Dfbh5Okt0GW4QZy6jOsZrXoVCTKL88UPlmp4JyAw5wuo0kyqnkDqF9Je-peKuS0GpmOYJDQxX5chdl8D/s1600-h/IMG_0305[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295612803922199394" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe_Bs_yOf16Ihox9ksU-Odp58mazJuYn5F9Ol8tylVGsfke-H_qinwAee6xC3Dfbh5Okt0GW4QZy6jOsZrXoVCTKL88UPlmp4JyAw5wuo0kyqnkDqF9Je-peKuS0GpmOYJDQxX5chdl8D/s320/IMG_0305%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Le couple, Brian and Jessie. Brian looks quite good in pink, better than Jessie anyway.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsg3dGXuyghJ3Mim-D4cWjUL5YgQ4OZ9-_dF7sgjE9EMLVyplFCahxOcj_FfM0bwzanIBa_5FCfigYcNlxLlzelIr2jTakbY8GmHvmPjdEevLpQuQ53KEUZUocrNdl0x0IdJJOST5_jwO/s1600-h/IMG_0350[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295612096497898274" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsg3dGXuyghJ3Mim-D4cWjUL5YgQ4OZ9-_dF7sgjE9EMLVyplFCahxOcj_FfM0bwzanIBa_5FCfigYcNlxLlzelIr2jTakbY8GmHvmPjdEevLpQuQ53KEUZUocrNdl0x0IdJJOST5_jwO/s320/IMG_0350%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Cara and Kauleen's sweaty back(sorry)<br /><br />Making some sort of squash dish for Thanksgiving and basically slicing their hands up with the makeshift concrete cutting board.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfIPb27pOm2Jiu2LNvNSV5iSTfVvynJxUa4XVU6jPIecO-Zl4eFvYuoUFlGK_HHR2GI78tp_IPmDfD0AEpaf38XJAoQLHlGQrVwVAMR6a2JdkV2Up2L0KoNvR7cxFIASa-Wql6iz7mdEi/s1600-h/IMG_0338[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295611280865072674" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfIPb27pOm2Jiu2LNvNSV5iSTfVvynJxUa4XVU6jPIecO-Zl4eFvYuoUFlGK_HHR2GI78tp_IPmDfD0AEpaf38XJAoQLHlGQrVwVAMR6a2JdkV2Up2L0KoNvR7cxFIASa-Wql6iz7mdEi/s320/IMG_0338%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Phil, Jessie, Brad, Kauleen, Aubrey, Brian, Adam, Thea<br />Pool party after site visits, some happy and not so happy campers.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOVwUlxdar9kpvSvfBvkHILW_xlYrijIW2ZQA6XxqubMfEtRE6b590vpnGXcg9npptnFwVdlUufQJs6RLtcmS-8zVF9XxteOcyFm-q6zvIpvCrVbkeBchmA-lAoU_pcHJuuJ-xRzl-v1y/s1600-h/IMG_0321[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295610434577222962" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOVwUlxdar9kpvSvfBvkHILW_xlYrijIW2ZQA6XxqubMfEtRE6b590vpnGXcg9npptnFwVdlUufQJs6RLtcmS-8zVF9XxteOcyFm-q6zvIpvCrVbkeBchmA-lAoU_pcHJuuJ-xRzl-v1y/s320/IMG_0321%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Halloween:costumes were a little hairy, but we have charlies angels(Cara, Katie, Aubrey), fanta girl(anna), cara lookalike(caitlyn), sarah palin(breanna), chiquita banana(me) and hula girl(Kauleen). At one point I had live, rotting bananas in my hair wrap.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-8645444946132149392009-01-26T05:55:00.000-08:002009-01-27T00:10:19.220-08:00White Picket Fences<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rvsxnvKR_Zd83gAXOcdgyKPePmoCC80V5T1lrAj9zepw7gBc8YxmuhZORTjomI3NQG-uh3E02NyZZaG0oP-PNAkDUw1ozf0ytfHE_LHLi6mhbVXov9U2v0gbFs0thtXUKi_h-bJps3y-/s1600-h/IMG_0331[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295608221190740098" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rvsxnvKR_Zd83gAXOcdgyKPePmoCC80V5T1lrAj9zepw7gBc8YxmuhZORTjomI3NQG-uh3E02NyZZaG0oP-PNAkDUw1ozf0ytfHE_LHLi6mhbVXov9U2v0gbFs0thtXUKi_h-bJps3y-/s320/IMG_0331%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Here is a sampling of my house in Meiganga for the parents. I worked hard, but I just want to warn others that I live in the lap of PC luxury. I guess they just realized how special I was and that a queen deserves a palace.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ucAS-Q_IS7Ll9oKpZ8Mkpe4uOiXKhqe3kkhM61nrFwOQwdkPzbGFXNS1jwRaC2al3_Yg9EsoxFGxWuM9_y1wKJelJa1mOHCyl_UCaMOgIK4fSFC53W52vdk2k4xVLmtFMyOlnOj7jASm/s1600-h/IMG_0503[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295606520936832002" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ucAS-Q_IS7Ll9oKpZ8Mkpe4uOiXKhqe3kkhM61nrFwOQwdkPzbGFXNS1jwRaC2al3_Yg9EsoxFGxWuM9_y1wKJelJa1mOHCyl_UCaMOgIK4fSFC53W52vdk2k4xVLmtFMyOlnOj7jASm/s320/IMG_0503%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-0A-K08HSe2yJe8h01BzhdW6mFGmsYGcA8j5M1nrfbcf_B1yuj6YpN6bhec9hHJqN2F-f2ZgiEMVNthjL3c1DVy1NQAbrHbJAATqDgug-3bIq0DlEcn7R9qkwk9XyHCmMzMyR_iDSR7f/s1600-h/IMG_0501[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295605924296095074" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-0A-K08HSe2yJe8h01BzhdW6mFGmsYGcA8j5M1nrfbcf_B1yuj6YpN6bhec9hHJqN2F-f2ZgiEMVNthjL3c1DVy1NQAbrHbJAATqDgug-3bIq0DlEcn7R9qkwk9XyHCmMzMyR_iDSR7f/s320/IMG_0501%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />My pride and joy.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODKqOO-Mxqw1eevA2Q-6OaP3Ee8hxbKDyQslAuK7_jytE17ghPrCrbhPF8iTXF5CzlhgAeyUiB5VefJicdSNnzKmE_IRZNKfWh6PNkdU0917i-__aOOXrWhfDdarCbnct9CtlSAVaUpPg/s1600-h/IMG_0502[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295605076893298034" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODKqOO-Mxqw1eevA2Q-6OaP3Ee8hxbKDyQslAuK7_jytE17ghPrCrbhPF8iTXF5CzlhgAeyUiB5VefJicdSNnzKmE_IRZNKfWh6PNkdU0917i-__aOOXrWhfDdarCbnct9CtlSAVaUpPg/s320/IMG_0502%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiWybLYQ0B6w_bfcfd8HVrnEcO8GdXiF3_krR9npEZebS0MlgNLhNJ2s6C_rqCPrDMKTPDhHPgQvct_zf-7aLQ6PH13KNtfuKA7d68ZDu0_9Za63zvt5djTR0ZY57oXBXt7ZHxlqHQkF7/s1600-h/IMG_0500[2].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295603152229408898" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiWybLYQ0B6w_bfcfd8HVrnEcO8GdXiF3_krR9npEZebS0MlgNLhNJ2s6C_rqCPrDMKTPDhHPgQvct_zf-7aLQ6PH13KNtfuKA7d68ZDu0_9Za63zvt5djTR0ZY57oXBXt7ZHxlqHQkF7/s320/IMG_0500%5B2%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvU3JWKvXdgqTtivk1vQZRlOEem2veLYeyYUONkjzu-LCBtOL3VZiUuwfjBVKVGWTTBEpeZw4Nw2ze01gR82xydQnja8QPCa8dxUSS_o4g61A_MtZjlSp_5O7CSi1KKgbeh73ew-9EPUD7/s1600-h/IMG_0499[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295602693841025906" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvU3JWKvXdgqTtivk1vQZRlOEem2veLYeyYUONkjzu-LCBtOL3VZiUuwfjBVKVGWTTBEpeZw4Nw2ze01gR82xydQnja8QPCa8dxUSS_o4g61A_MtZjlSp_5O7CSi1KKgbeh73ew-9EPUD7/s320/IMG_0499%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-13894428203830016972009-01-11T02:50:00.000-08:002009-01-11T02:57:30.256-08:00Bobble Head Babies and Environmental SustainabilityI am settling in nicely to life in Meiganga. The house is pretty settled, although I constantly have house repairs to complete. But I feel like I have nicely fused my old ways of life with new tips I have picked up from the Cameroonians. I am making some friends and the children in my neighborhood are sort of starting to learn my name. The part that still makes me smile is the look I get from the 2-3 year old children. As I walk by, they freeze in their tracks, their eyes widen to a moon shape and in bobble-head fashion their heads follow my movement. It always makes me laugh and well generally feel like an alien. Such interactions incite a “ketchup on your face” sensation. The children constantly amaze me here. They could not be more adorable especially when they repeatedly yell out “white lady” after you have passed them half a mile down the road. I think I have seen maybe two stuffed animals here, but besides that toys are not a commonplace. Instead, in the most environmentally sustainable manner, they craft toys out of leftover parts and trash. The old tire and a stick bit still reigns. They make wooden cars and push them all around the quartier. Sometimes they put other little bits of trash in them, to carry around, give some purpose to their play. A few days ago I noticed a group of boys huddled around outside my house. I thought maybe they are plotting the overthrow of terrorism, or maybe just looking at porn. But no, in the ground they dug out holes in the ground to create an all-natural Mancala game. It was genius and although have yet to play, I am confident I will kick some butt.<br /><br /> So babies and children here at SO completely different than those found in the US. I know some people have “great babies” but not like here. The best example can be found in the terrible bus rides through the Adamoua region. The types of bus called “prison cars” have no windows, basically metal benches and always squeeze in one more extra person into each row. The roads are unpaved and quite bumpy and dusty. Already an unpleasant experience, but during the latest ride of seven hours, a maybe one and half year old was placed in the lap of another stranger as his mother already had three others to deal with. So the women’s lap he is placed in was well not “thin”, the man in front had no backrest and he kept falling asleep and therefore into our laps. So basically this baby is being smooshed into a tiny little crevice from all sides and angelically sat in silence or sleep for the entire ride. At various times during the trip his mother would pass back some water or food and strangers would help feed him. If I weren’t sitting next to him, I wouldn’t have known he was there. This is common with all the other bus rides I have taken. You barely hear babies cry and these are long, dusty and bumpy trips.<br /><br /> When I moved into the house, the side door that connects to the garden and water pump was broken. So before I went out to buy a new lock I tried to unscrew the old to make sure I got the right type. Well after a good two minutes of trying, genius realized it was welded to the door. Which is a common place in Cameroon, so the next realistic solution is to have them take the door away. So this morning a man came, took the entire door, put it on a motorcycle and returned five minutes later with a new lock on it. I took advantage of this open hole in my house to do some dishes outside. A single part of the lock was broken and so the entire door is taken away. It couldn’t have taken more than 8 minutes and cost maybe 4 dollars. If that is not efficiency, I don’t know what is.<br /><br /> I was hanging out in the yard of some friends yesterday and all of a sudden a young boy appeared from nowhere yelling something carrying a sack over his shoulder. Like sharks to blood, young children from every nook and cranny of the neighborhood emerged to gather around the boy. The family erupted in laugher and encouraged the young man of family to join in. Turns out that these kids can bring their broken shoes to this boy and he will give them small candies in exchange. It is sort of like the Cameroonian version of the Goodwill, but instead of tax write-offs you get a bon bon. I can be halfway around the world, but life here can be so familiar.<br /><br /> I started what I consider my first week of work here. I spent each morning at the private hospital basically shadowing the staff. It is a small facility, with maybe six staff members. Monday and Tuesday I observed pre-natal consultations, Wednesday was infant vaccinations, Thursday I worked in the pharmacy. I just wanted to get an idea of what goes on there. All in all, an eye opening experience. I got to feel where a baby was positioned in a pregnant woman, hear a baby’s heartbeat through the belly and weigh dozens of skinny, fat and generally adorable babies. It is popular here to decorate your baby in knitted cotton sets. As if your grandmother made an outfit for every single Cameroonian child. At one point during infant vaccinations I was helping a nurse weigh and register babies, she plopped a baby on the scale and just disappeared. After ten minutes, the mother was understandably starting to get irritated and I looked out at a sea of mothers and babies waiting. I searched the entire hospital (which isn’t very much, there are only about four rooms) only to find her in the last room, well, delivering a baby. No one said anything. I didn’t hear any screams-being four feet away. It was the strangest thing.<br /><br /> I have a feeling I will settle in nicely here. I just have to figure out exercise and some sort of routine. If anyone was worried, I had my dose of grilled fish again. Really you all should visit just for the fish. I miss everyone dearly and erupt in joy with every letter, email, package. The only thing missing from this place is lox and you.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-58617082074908709572008-12-31T00:20:00.000-08:002008-12-31T00:46:40.443-08:00PICTURES!!!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NRgsezMfBfNpgGvRJOdUIrMr9Ch0SJB9mthiswLyKZ8PVQSppp16KLfbId6BDFFsxS09fFA3XqgVPqH5NWfffILXD3Y5Gx52zOK0EV_430IaiKjqMkeOP5fpZKW5FjSObO58ytg1BFRr/s1600-h/IMG_0445.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NRgsezMfBfNpgGvRJOdUIrMr9Ch0SJB9mthiswLyKZ8PVQSppp16KLfbId6BDFFsxS09fFA3XqgVPqH5NWfffILXD3Y5Gx52zOK0EV_430IaiKjqMkeOP5fpZKW5FjSObO58ytg1BFRr/s320/IMG_0445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285872571118139314" border="0" /></a><br />A dimly lit shot of the living room in Pitoa<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIn-Pi9QvhqAdWtCmn1SdM5CUDD5h9-DyXmEgo9SSkLHBdURdSTGCvjpxc3bguevKNPoOehsfpTsO7VRq1aXSv0kh2bqL-3gTwc-Xpe6JeMsBC0He4wsWZAC1DlKSdDvrmHErhsYykbdLv/s1600-h/IMG_0444.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIn-Pi9QvhqAdWtCmn1SdM5CUDD5h9-DyXmEgo9SSkLHBdURdSTGCvjpxc3bguevKNPoOehsfpTsO7VRq1aXSv0kh2bqL-3gTwc-Xpe6JeMsBC0He4wsWZAC1DlKSdDvrmHErhsYykbdLv/s320/IMG_0444.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285872043402102802" border="0" /></a><br />Familial Pit Latrine<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TPMbTZ5MkXpX-5-eQ37ZZ8RiznoPKvDVbgrrjq5TBBQ7LVabkvXhCza9JNEQ09hwIzoBhdWn9RfJvqFHIcrJuGhvvZWWEljdLY4LqJQB-ZhC1czuZzINn-kCvmgF8fe1MCZNYVGvn9o9/s1600-h/P8310552.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TPMbTZ5MkXpX-5-eQ37ZZ8RiznoPKvDVbgrrjq5TBBQ7LVabkvXhCza9JNEQ09hwIzoBhdWn9RfJvqFHIcrJuGhvvZWWEljdLY4LqJQB-ZhC1czuZzINn-kCvmgF8fe1MCZNYVGvn9o9/s320/P8310552.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285871108534157682" border="0" /></a><br />Practicing being a health volunteer with the youth group<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsRHGBO40Z7B84fVFWcnJaY8yQbbVWVI8NmDT6Yc8GsCGtx7KT4voeyZMjI8CaD2ZQ5_YEuKnRXx7aOQA7MwvjUPJH44BR3eS66fP_to-5XmX6VrTosbbex5gcUk7Oe9350qRBolNU_gl/s1600-h/IMG_0493.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsRHGBO40Z7B84fVFWcnJaY8yQbbVWVI8NmDT6Yc8GsCGtx7KT4voeyZMjI8CaD2ZQ5_YEuKnRXx7aOQA7MwvjUPJH44BR3eS66fP_to-5XmX6VrTosbbex5gcUk7Oe9350qRBolNU_gl/s320/IMG_0493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285870405992024018" border="0" /></a><br />Me, Caitlyn, Sonia(taught me french), Cara in our matching Swearing-In pagne<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQG_i76927SHwW1VTEw1hx8pvBYs3trvEtO8Y1Q6w7M9eh7J4dL5JYuqfOFe610VOkMfg41IR1Ul1IhyphenhyphenMDGEf6q7BkQljZqWcifrPVDid_Lc2PBdUxr6u-bD5xeE-Vsz9LzpIjpiUurRy/s1600-h/IMG_0492.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxQG_i76927SHwW1VTEw1hx8pvBYs3trvEtO8Y1Q6w7M9eh7J4dL5JYuqfOFe610VOkMfg41IR1Ul1IhyphenhyphenMDGEf6q7BkQljZqWcifrPVDid_Lc2PBdUxr6u-bD5xeE-Vsz9LzpIjpiUurRy/s320/IMG_0492.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285869843233287890" border="0" /></a><br />The language and tech trainers at Swearing-In Ceremony<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB2mDVI4j1ArFW4NqP6u029MwD0uSwTp4AxYKo36nu6DKuRbAxS0XAwwRPhllmbMvt98XVW79EJ8IlXkhIkHjJ0DeWQi58NgSBisRpCwV1ttgeySRzpvoc4wC3qbG3vbGvOhvHDF2_5pD/s1600-h/IMG_0481.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB2mDVI4j1ArFW4NqP6u029MwD0uSwTp4AxYKo36nu6DKuRbAxS0XAwwRPhllmbMvt98XVW79EJ8IlXkhIkHjJ0DeWQi58NgSBisRpCwV1ttgeySRzpvoc4wC3qbG3vbGvOhvHDF2_5pD/s320/IMG_0481.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285869289058338530" border="0" /></a><br />Love it<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7egphWQyss0ymrcXuGWJEoDcgcYcTss-REKaluNvyeboX9UuivQp_ZImPb0ARQixcZPqeYd8IVs2SMbpitjKCLSrn8tPsIzRGhKf7BLzomWrZ_e6vjwbZz3LdTA2qv2RCjs8c0R-OPYHh/s1600-h/IMG_0472.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7egphWQyss0ymrcXuGWJEoDcgcYcTss-REKaluNvyeboX9UuivQp_ZImPb0ARQixcZPqeYd8IVs2SMbpitjKCLSrn8tPsIzRGhKf7BLzomWrZ_e6vjwbZz3LdTA2qv2RCjs8c0R-OPYHh/s320/IMG_0472.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285868369922444226" border="0" /></a><br />The famdamily-Edith, Me, Diane, Cedric, Flo, Damari, Hassiya<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFKlXCRGsNMEULkzG3iTwlHINbTL_BNw0BnoyqSEq8DCZm0b18jjDioBFNKCgRGs8eHBSAKaZ-3pNIJbTBUS9Ae9zTDrFTuu7z3SZjkPvSnexsHRkrZQi8oCjwLHIi0oXaB74MkRWZiiU/s1600-h/IMG_0449.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFKlXCRGsNMEULkzG3iTwlHINbTL_BNw0BnoyqSEq8DCZm0b18jjDioBFNKCgRGs8eHBSAKaZ-3pNIJbTBUS9Ae9zTDrFTuu7z3SZjkPvSnexsHRkrZQi8oCjwLHIi0oXaB74MkRWZiiU/s320/IMG_0449.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285867650528582370" border="0" /></a><br />My beautiful sisters(and baby) Damari, Flo, Cedric and Edith<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQntbPqs6v-KMS8cWX2CAM-XVIb9Z_Iw4wkhlfO0AEbnUviVWEkeT37rjsfBRCx3SQOg8-QKUZCJalxXWj6C3dzGPdyxU5NZ9wC-E09T_z_nb3fPlD5mbWR0XkTNNNtLdqbg23eQjG05Rv/s1600-h/IMG_0403.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQntbPqs6v-KMS8cWX2CAM-XVIb9Z_Iw4wkhlfO0AEbnUviVWEkeT37rjsfBRCx3SQOg8-QKUZCJalxXWj6C3dzGPdyxU5NZ9wC-E09T_z_nb3fPlD5mbWR0XkTNNNtLdqbg23eQjG05Rv/s320/IMG_0403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285866919911744050" border="0" /></a><br />My quaint room during training in PitoaAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-46331444169016302722008-12-30T23:42:00.000-08:002008-12-31T00:49:03.144-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRrqRE4auDG68pmjpFhFYhtUv6BpZjTnvVuLWFjcDIjpAJ75elBSAhqFwJvr4H9aqAobLbzlFgvbENAy_dgPdbTFxzdaYfEWLbcodXBvg5uCPv3417kUOezPhB-jGOWaiZdINkBU3GlfY/s1600-h/IMG_0429.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjRrqRE4auDG68pmjpFhFYhtUv6BpZjTnvVuLWFjcDIjpAJ75elBSAhqFwJvr4H9aqAobLbzlFgvbENAy_dgPdbTFxzdaYfEWLbcodXBvg5uCPv3417kUOezPhB-jGOWaiZdINkBU3GlfY/s320/IMG_0429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285866066601045538" border="0" /></a><br />Cedric the best baby<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjDrCDm5NnRFgTEJC3QDHKTTwztU7KVItdlJr-OXlMYckvtYP8_4mYqHv6yiTi_IO9uWW1ihjxzQOte9Q8JMlifXjQVxOTk4BY14O-3Em4Ep7XqzQvD5z9pY0ki4-CRw1UfN-W79HV01b/s1600-h/IMG_0411.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjDrCDm5NnRFgTEJC3QDHKTTwztU7KVItdlJr-OXlMYckvtYP8_4mYqHv6yiTi_IO9uWW1ihjxzQOte9Q8JMlifXjQVxOTk4BY14O-3Em4Ep7XqzQvD5z9pY0ki4-CRw1UfN-W79HV01b/s320/IMG_0411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285865196804566898" border="0" /></a><br />Flo next to our newly built Foyer Ameliore-improved cookstove<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3Z4K-Qu8k7vU_yfg-DzCFDTmFZCABGAvRnKtvAR7rcTyNa9Z9JV0MlpLdGnFanYWiAPWe5MTFViKtNQ8pNFdwTJFuYD0G8gAwe9QpER13LtzHkzzcsBxZ4O3itFCw0vK_Nl0CO_l5oAl/s1600-h/IMG_0402.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3Z4K-Qu8k7vU_yfg-DzCFDTmFZCABGAvRnKtvAR7rcTyNa9Z9JV0MlpLdGnFanYWiAPWe5MTFViKtNQ8pNFdwTJFuYD0G8gAwe9QpER13LtzHkzzcsBxZ4O3itFCw0vK_Nl0CO_l5oAl/s320/IMG_0402.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285863850712594114" border="0" /></a><br />Diane and my husband in our courtyard<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uaiuz-Vu2F1rqllvmKBQF7GQXdz4HqvkTsDLXYCNFKObHqEHZsfNfZRSb_qs7dOy3JAe24UxZpEbkmGYoUiJrVKhLEUOCIRNNqKEbEeGHsjAC3wSZ-Qs8xl_Kf4VMIisKsN1kYoVmS-d/s1600-h/IMG_0396.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uaiuz-Vu2F1rqllvmKBQF7GQXdz4HqvkTsDLXYCNFKObHqEHZsfNfZRSb_qs7dOy3JAe24UxZpEbkmGYoUiJrVKhLEUOCIRNNqKEbEeGHsjAC3wSZ-Qs8xl_Kf4VMIisKsN1kYoVmS-d/s320/IMG_0396.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285863294581805538" border="0" /></a><br />My homestay sister Damari(i think between Edith's legs)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ_pEJeSY5GGMos_eiJk1zdamnDX8ibCcY6zaHJ_l6bjQAgbFeSGABHTkNmN1yTQ8dadoTQ0RyyFbdjtAqsZL1tfveRKvofPyd7IkbFQaW5oad4kB-2cFa2bJwr_GGCPmZ8HbLP6k_ZFO/s1600-h/IMG_0308.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZ_pEJeSY5GGMos_eiJk1zdamnDX8ibCcY6zaHJ_l6bjQAgbFeSGABHTkNmN1yTQ8dadoTQ0RyyFbdjtAqsZL1tfveRKvofPyd7IkbFQaW5oad4kB-2cFa2bJwr_GGCPmZ8HbLP6k_ZFO/s320/IMG_0308.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285862685671549890" border="0" /></a><br />Theo our tech trainer, Cara and Brianna showing the wonders of latex<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1IL24WGKcy-2t-vCpJegc085bYgpwajrUZo1m6BAF2VRVEUVsw1V9jfo8vxNeqHlwiKP5h2l9iMrmljVB8GpGhR0F4W6CNe2iBNuLjJ1LcpDzb1WmIl62eUVCSt2NxO06nhqwBu0_9o5/s1600-h/Booya+328.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1IL24WGKcy-2t-vCpJegc085bYgpwajrUZo1m6BAF2VRVEUVsw1V9jfo8vxNeqHlwiKP5h2l9iMrmljVB8GpGhR0F4W6CNe2iBNuLjJ1LcpDzb1WmIl62eUVCSt2NxO06nhqwBu0_9o5/s320/Booya+328.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285861773635843986" border="0" /></a><br />Garou Soccer Game-Mike is in the background leading a wave.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegwB9RBxwvTx47CGvi_Xc5cuAXbNkOqkv5B9eCh1LOjFiPDkcfVskWXw3Eq0r7d0PxHwD7F4qf1cqbY_y7J9c-6PhOuIvhQIKkdmqzg4TWk2BgLjSJIl0ne1gSMJw94Qqx3r67cxV3TCV/s1600-h/Booya+153.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegwB9RBxwvTx47CGvi_Xc5cuAXbNkOqkv5B9eCh1LOjFiPDkcfVskWXw3Eq0r7d0PxHwD7F4qf1cqbY_y7J9c-6PhOuIvhQIKkdmqzg4TWk2BgLjSJIl0ne1gSMJw94Qqx3r67cxV3TCV/s320/Booya+153.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285857713681725938" border="0" /></a><br />Pitoa Health Training Center-End of Rainy SeasonAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-87470613077232624842008-12-30T23:35:00.000-08:002008-12-30T23:42:38.542-08:00Settling into the Nest<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">So a lot of time of passed since I last wrote, but it has been a bit of a whirlwind since training ended and I got to post. The entire process of moving from one stage to the next was a bit abrupt. Saying goodbye to my family was especially difficult. Right before we left we built a “foyer ameliore” together. It is an improved cookstove which creates more of oven than the fire they typically cook with. It helps reduce smoke intake, uses less wood and looks nice! It was great to get my hands dirty and do something truly productive for the family. I walked to the fields with my mother to collect dry grass and she was so proud of what we were doing together. Neighbors kept stopping by all day and my sister and brother were able to really show off their skills as they go to the masonry high school. It was the most productive day I had in Cameroon.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">So I just spent the first week alone at my post. I tell you putting a house together in the states is a challenge, but with language barriers, bargaining and lugging everything around on motorcycles and what are basically wheelbarrows, I am exhausted. I think have created quite a scene this past week lugging giant plastic bowls and wooden beds around town. I spent two days painting the living room and kitchen. Although it was a bit of a herculean feat, it was quite hilarious to have people come by the house and watch with wonder my act of painting inside. Some young guys earnestly asked “do girls/women in America do this often?” But it opened a great door to come by the next day and help some new friends paint their place. It felt good to be of some use, even if it didn’t have anything to do with development or health work! But after eating crackers and peanut butter for a week, I have proper stove, gas tank and table to cook on. My first meal I think I ate in 20 seconds because it was so great to eat food I really wanted to eat. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">So typically Cameroonians just burn their trash here. In my neighborhood if you throw something out the neighborhood children sift through it all. It is actually a pretty environmentally sustainable process, well except for the burning of plastic in the same vicinity where small children play. So the day the previous volunteer moved all of her stuff out of the house, I assume some of her Cameroonian family members helped throw things out and left some toilettries in a pile. So a half hour after the house has been purged and I am alone, three small girls return with a display of goods on the porch.<span style=""> </span>There are a few bottles of contact solution, some lotion and well, a bottle of vaginal cream. The oldest girl asks in French that her mother wants to know what all these things are for. So here I am with an audience of neighborhood children staring wide-eyed. I explain the contact solution is medicine for your eyes but you can wash the bottles out and use them for something else, the lotion for your skin and then I am speechless. I can’t find a way to explain the vaginal cream, even if the mother was to use it for something. I also don’t want to ignore it and have the girls spread it on their faces or something. So I quickly take it back and burn it immediately. I like to think they were none the wiser.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">I have a great marche in town open everyday. There is also a smaller marche only with food products at the end of my street. But the first time I went there I was the only shopper at the time and truly felt a million eyes on me, so now I go to the big show. Generally veggies and fruit are sold at small fruit stalls, there are always tomatoes, garlic, onions, peppers, bananas, oranges, herbs and dry goods. Lately I have seen green beans and eggplants so I am pretty content with my options. My new obsession is the grilled fish here. They are typically carp or capitaine fish, which are rubbed with a salt spice mixture and grilled. Then they give you some mayonnaise and a chile sauce with these battons of maize, which when I first ate thought they were rubbery sticks of starch, but have come to love. I could eat this fish everyday. I am in love. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">For Christmas Cameroonians dress in their new clothes and basically just saunter around town visiting friends and family. So I did the same. I went to a party at the pastor’s house with filled with soda, tons of food and Spaceballs in French. Although it was a bit chillier than normal, but really it didn’t feel a thing like Christmas. I had to keep reminding myself, well that and cheesy Christmas carols being played in between Ne-yo and Usher songs and a few tinsel trees sold in the marche. I guess New Years is a big deal here too, well have to see if it can live up to epic years past. </span></p>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-16688036666732157082008-12-30T07:40:00.000-08:002008-12-30T08:18:05.980-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4qVRnmE_c7AG_w4eY9iTEZkXPIeaUQVTbFSiwcEvlYe2uqVHGGpqoUS6w9HdKSfxBj62vUWvtv7RhdaS3UxuyjNmGgIQRpw4I8FnA5nMvg65U2_VLHgjllLeQczL0egBTIy7f8TEGuqJ/s1600-h/Booya+057.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4qVRnmE_c7AG_w4eY9iTEZkXPIeaUQVTbFSiwcEvlYe2uqVHGGpqoUS6w9HdKSfxBj62vUWvtv7RhdaS3UxuyjNmGgIQRpw4I8FnA5nMvg65U2_VLHgjllLeQczL0egBTIy7f8TEGuqJ/s320/Booya+057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285616657224059922" border="0" /></a><br />1st week-traveling on the train to the North from Yaounde<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdp76viw8BvLoyAkBRboz82ZahOzxhws8Uep1JpxloCXFywg6A_J6dmRZiheT9p9_fHXBTzdsVkai0ccnBvxmEgSCvb2P3iSUwx5_fnSxe4P8Z38VoJ2uftOxYyzNK0ubjtEZJyIccAhI/s1600-h/Blog+1.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirdp76viw8BvLoyAkBRboz82ZahOzxhws8Uep1JpxloCXFywg6A_J6dmRZiheT9p9_fHXBTzdsVkai0ccnBvxmEgSCvb2P3iSUwx5_fnSxe4P8Z38VoJ2uftOxYyzNK0ubjtEZJyIccAhI/s320/Blog+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285614630316916370" border="0" /></a><br />Group Picture in Philly before flight<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHT_KoBSl79NcatjGtecj_2LQYgl0UJ1oUf82riwi6EOqdpI27Ef4Uy4rghmWKqxZvhVGxSvDOPLooJeIM0iXBHxxD9xEufSvLOPoDu0tPPTt0u4HeoaGErcRCK2OcwSCi_DJ5NvKfs-7b/s1600-h/Booya+086.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHT_KoBSl79NcatjGtecj_2LQYgl0UJ1oUf82riwi6EOqdpI27Ef4Uy4rghmWKqxZvhVGxSvDOPLooJeIM0iXBHxxD9xEufSvLOPoDu0tPPTt0u4HeoaGErcRCK2OcwSCi_DJ5NvKfs-7b/s320/Booya+086.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285610713143914146" border="0" /></a><br />Ride up north, women selling yogurt and local dishes<br /><br />I am trying to post more pictures and a blog entry but it is painfully slow, so patience!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-78558607005269120562008-11-09T03:34:00.000-08:002008-11-09T03:56:28.447-08:00Meiganga: say it anyway you likeBefore ANYTHING ELSE: Thank all that is holy for our newly elected president. Words cannot express. Lets hope he is all I want him to be and more.<br /><br />So I am looking down the barrel site visit week and equally exhilirated and terrified. To sum it all up: overwhelming. I had a nice volunteer to show me around and live with. She really was helpful with everything and I can't thank her enough. One night she made the comment "I thought coming from training you would have a lot more energy" and realized that I was just overwhelmed by it all. I mean I was meeting all these people, running around a new town, walking around this house, getting a glimsp of my LIFE for the next two years. I mean my french isn't up to par, there is more work that I know what to do with and I was seperated from these people who have become like a family for me the past 6 wks. With all that said, ultimately I think I am incredibly lucky.<br /><br />My house: PC luxury, they really don't tell you about some of these houses in the pc interviews: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, electricity, running water, a water HEATER, flowers all around the front of the house. It doesn't really feel like pc in that place. But its a-okay by me, i'll learn to adjust.<br /><br />My postmate: super mellow, really nice guy from Ohio. He is an english teacher at the local high school, has a good sense of humor and a general go with the flow guy.<br /><br />One of the bummers of my post is that my province is pretty isolating, due to the terrible conditions of the road. So seeing other volunteers often isn't much of a reality. The closest large town is about 4 hrs on a bumpy dusty road, but it is the train stop to the south so a lot of people will be traveling through. I have got "le couple" in the next major town over, so things are looking up.<br /><br />So the town of Meiganga is pretty big with a bit of a bordertown feel. We are right on the border with the <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1226230432_3">Central African Republic</span>, so lots of refugees and people moving through. The downtown isn't a sight, but the region surrounding the town is gorgeous right now, green mountains, with waterfalls and lakes. I can't wait to explore the region. The climate is quite cooler than the north, there were even some nights where I needed a BLANKET. There is a larger diversity of food available, so of course I am happy. Plus I have a mango tree outside the house and a avo tree down the street. AYO! things are looking up for miss "I am going to tempt volunteers to my post with culinary wonders barefoot contessa would ponder." I had the most incredible grilled fish the first night. I was sitting in this dingy bar, totally exhausted, but man was I happy. This lady grilled it straight on the street, rubbed a little salt on it, put some mayo on the side(who would have thought so good) and spicy chili sauce, some onions and toms. God, I craved it all week.<br /><br />But the work, OH the work! I am SO excited and motivated, I can't even express it. So I have these two counterparts I am set up to work with. One works with a local NGO that basically serves as a community connector to the large intl. NGOs here like <span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1226230432_4">UNICEF</span> and the cammeroonian gov't. My counterpart is absolutly wonerful, really motivted and smiley. He speaks the local languages(there are two in meiganga!) and couldn't be nicer. The other is this powerful and warm women who is from the west but her husband and her run the small private hospital in town. They need me to help with organizing the pharmacy, pre-natal/nutrition consults, and much more. Then there are three women's centers in town. One I am going ot work with to help get a little more organized and work generating some more money to expand the services of the center. The big work at the center is teaching income generating and language classes to young girls who have dropped out of school. So I am hoping to do some cooking classes with them and maybe some self-confidence/business classes. (Let me just previce this all with this is what I think I will be doing, things could completely change after the first three months)<br /><br />I also stopped by this other women's center that was built only a few years ago, 14 empty rooms with signs above the doors, signifying what they are meant for "infirmiry, classroom, midwives, sewing room, kitchen, ect" but nothing is going on there. So it is my pet project to try to get some action into that place!<br /><br />There are small projects with a library run by catholic nuns, computer labs for a church and the ngo, i might get involved with UNHRC in town, but I wasn't able to meet with them that week. Then the last day I stopped by the meetings of these two GICs, which are basically women's groups. It was fascinating. One has been around for a few years and is extremely organized. They managed to get some loans from banks and have a weekly fund to pay it back. They time it so that each woman can take out money right before the school year and therefore send their kids to school. They also rent out a room and teacher for classes in reading and writing, income genreating act. and health. They are trying to get birth certificates for all the orphans in town so they can go to school and what not. The second just started,but are really motivated, they mostly do work in the fields together and then sell the products. I hope I can do a lot of organizational work with them.<br /><br />HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY! Hopefully my french, fulfulde, baya will be up to par and I can help this community out some more. A major part of my work the first three months will be conducting evaluations of the community and their health issues to see what work is most needed and learn about the community at large.<br /><br />Quick funny story: so Halloween was a blast. It was exhilarating to stay out past dark and listen to some American music. We had our counterpart workshop all day and didn't get finished til late so I was running around trying to get my costume together and get to the party where everyone already is. So I have a typical colorful pagne outfit already made, but my plan to fufill the chiquita banana role was to tie real bananas to my matching pagne wrap. So it is about five and the marche is basically shut down, two fellow volunteers have mercifully agreed to help me find these bananas. Man I will do anything for a good halloween costume. So only one guy is selling bananas at this point, they are moldy and way overpriced but it felt like salvation. I was only able to keep the entire outfit going for the first 15 mintues of teh party, but it was a mild sucess for me!<br /><br />So one special thing about Meiganga is this red dust. The cars you take out there are what people call "prison buses" they basically just stuff you in there and everyone has themselves covered with some wrap, because this red dust gets EVERYWHERE, and i mean everywhere! It didn't seem that bad one the ride, but when I took a shower later that night, I found it in places I didn't even know dust could exist. When I took a shower yesterday, after washing my body, I shaved my legs and the water was still running red. So all who plan to visit and I assume that is most of you, keep your whites at home!<br /><br />Okay, time is running out. I will write more later. I still miss and think about you all on this side of the planet. Write, call, send packages with spices and magazines. I have a new PO box in meiganga<br /><br />Allison Sander<br />B.P. 89<br />Meiganga, Cameroon<br /><br />still follow all those notes on sending stuff.<br /><br />Much loveAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-49672680874186522602008-10-26T05:35:00.000-07:002008-10-26T06:50:56.837-07:00Baby Chickens, Baby Cats, Baby CamerooniansNot much changes in my life here in Cameroon, so I decided to give a play by play of a "typical day for Ali" in Cameroon.<br /><br />I wake up at the crack of dawn, wrestle my mosquito net, slap on some sandels, and open my bedroom door to the most refreshing, invigorating air of my life. There is a special way my bedroom traps humidity, stale air and light. Walking outside in the mornings is like being born again, not the Christian type. First thing, help my ten year old sister with the dishes. My family has a well cordinated plan of morning chores, where everyone is doing something, thereby finishing it all by 6:30am. I scrub away, much of the time using the sand underneath my feet as that special bristly part of the sponge to scrub the dishes,which is an entirely sustainable and natural process. A family of newborn chickens usually scavenge the leftover bits of couscous and our new baby kitten hides under my feet. Sometimes it feels like charlottes web or something, life both animal and human in the morning is indescribably delicious. Once all the dishes are done I typically take a bucket bath. They are quite refreshing and I have come to love them, well except for the smells coming from the toilet. I usually return to my room to find my 10 month old brother proped up on a small bowl in the middle of the courtyard. I have yet to, but most definietly will, take a picture of this sight. There are few other things so completely adorable. Much like an Anne Geddes photo, this tiny baby fits perfectly, in this tiny mixing bowl, a majority of the time completely alone while the rest of the family prepares for the day. It is their form of potty training, but most of the time he starts peeing before he gets to the bowl, or in his underwear. Before learning french, before mastering the Cameroonian public health system, it is my goal to get him to take his first steps. We have the most fun together racing around the familial compound. Sometimes when the family is spitting off in Fulfulde or at times french, I like to just watch him and all his facial expressions. He makes each day a little bit better. That and the rest of the family. I am so happy with them and really fallen into a grove with my life at home.<br /><br />After filling up my water bottle with so clean you could drink it filtered water I stop in for a quick breakfast. My family seems to pick up on the slightest of cues and always have a piping hot cup of tea and these incredible rice beignets for me. I am not a breakfast eater and they comprise a perfect nibble to get me through the morning. Most of the family has left for school by this time, as school tends to be a good thirty minute walk. Sometimes there is an aerobics class on tv, very entertaining, but mostly I like to just sit in the peace and quiet, a real rarity in my house. But I love the energy. There is always neighbors and friends over, watching tv, eating peanuts, discussing some action that happened in the market. Some nights the girls all sit around and just tease and make jokes at one another. It reminds me of home, in the best way possible. It is filled with so much good humor and love, and is equally dispersed throughout the whole family.<br /><br />On my eight minute walk to school each morning I pass the local elementary school. Five or six women sit out everyday with peanutes, fried potoates and other snacks to be sold. Various circles of girls playing the infamous "anteka" is the way i think it sounds, a beloved game of odds involving hopping and clapping. I am terrible at it, but I am positive it is endlessly entertaining to my family watching. I love watching all the kids reactions as I walk by, so curious, so shy, calling out Nasarra, white person, because well they really don't know what else to call me. I have picked up a few greetings in Fulfulde and they always seem to go over well. I finally reach the training center and give a nod to our training's mascot, a massive cow with horns that span a good six feet, who has found a home all on his own in the field across the street.<br /><br />Our center is kept behind a large wall, which makes it feel all at once protected and intimidating. But behind those metal doors is a beautiful garden. There are usualy some morning French tutoring sessions going on. I like to get there early and chat in English a little, before the entire center becomes a zone of "immersion" where we can only speak in french. I hate it and love it both. I think it really helps you to learn french, but so frusterating to not be able to say exactly what you want to. Each day we have one or two sessions of french in classes of three or four. It is mostly conversation based, blah, blah, blah. Boring i know. Then we typically have technical sessions that focus on the type of heath work we will be doing at post. Most of the time a volunteer comes and does a few sessions with us. The topics have been interesting, but seem to go a little slow. I feel confident in my skills to convey these public health messages, but want more of the factual, science-based goods. We have had a few field trips, one to the local hospital and the aids testing clinic in the main city. Both have been extremely interesting learning about what works and what doesn't in these centers. It seems to be mostly routed in a lack of funding and organization.<br /><br />Lunch is an exciting puntuation in our day. Our lunch lady, who honestly doesn't seem to like us very much, although she completely overcharges us for the exact same meal every day. It is a chance to drink cold sodas, the most I have ever had in my life, and talk about our lives back home. It is always so odd to make friends when you are abroad. You have them in this very narrow and isolated enivornment and so a life back home with family, friends, boyfriends is almost non-existant. Walking to the home of our lunch lady can be quite the feat of endurance, under the brillance of the sun and the large trucks that create windstorms of dust. There is this one elderly lady who we always find along the route, sitting in her doorway, shaking her fists at us and saying something in Hindi. At first we thought she wanted money, then we thought she was cheering us on, now it is back to the begging, but we just smile and wave as if it is the more preferable option. On our way back to the center, we typically find our cheery and plump peanut lady, with these little sacks of roasted peanuts, to which I have formed a serious addiction to. She always tries to expand our Fufulde repitoire past hello, which I thank her kindly for. My face hurts from all the smiling I have done here.<br /><br />One of the highlights of the week for me is our community group meetings. All the trainees have split into four groups, each working with a different community group. Mine is the youth group, a collection of mostly male 18-28 year olds who can't seem to find work from the government and so have begun cultivating land for a small profit. We are supposed to find a few health topics they are interested in and present four animations for them. In french. They are extremely patient with us, always show up on time and in large numbers. It is a great "throw you right in" opportunity of what post work will actually be like. I always get incredibly nervous beforehand and flow on a natural high cloud after it is finished. I love it. The first two meetings we just got to know them and made seasonal calenders which map out what type of work they do certain certain parts of the year and when certain illnesses hit certain seasons, ect. Last week we did our first animation on Malaria. It went great, we went over the lifecycle of maleria in the body, to explain and often difficult to catch symptoms. We showcased different techniques of prevention with two giant drawings of what not to do and what to do. It seemed a bit infantile, but a good hands on exercise. They started asking really complex questions, that took us about twenty minutes to translate in french and then ultimately couldn't answer. That made us feel a little stupid, but we got past it with shrugging shoulders and laughs. There are only three women in the group and although they are quite outspoken, I worry for them sometimes. When we were picking topics to do animations on, the men explained that maternal health wasn't important to them. Our wonderful Bradley jumped in trying to explain the imortance of male particpation, but it seemed like a futile attempt. I think we are doing it anyways, coupled with sexual health to keep the attention of the men.<br /><br />In the evenings, we have taken it upon ourselves to grab A SINGLE BEER at a local bar in our town and unwind the day. Then as the packs of bats start to fly over us and the sun sets, the call to prayer, really just calls us home. I come home to my family, throw off my chacos, pull out the french grammar books and plop down on the mat with the rest of the family. I eat a dinner of couscous and a spinachy-peanuty sauce or spaghetti and tomatoe sauce with fish. My homestay sister is a wonderful cook in our partially falling down kitchen. She cooks my dinner in complete darkness, over a wood-powered fire, cutting tomatoes in her hands. I don't know how she does it, my very own superwoman. I am schemeing to come up with some type of plan to make her life easier, or at least healthier. Then my favorite Brazilian soap opera(in french) comes on, where somebody who loves somebody else, but can't be with them because of money, the baby or he is a "sheik". I typically crawl into bed several hours before the rest of family. They must wonder what I am doing with all this sleep and close my eyes to the wonder that is my ipod.<br /><br />Well I am boring myself now. Things here are really just to difficult to explain on the computer. I am still incredibly happy and fitting in nicely here. You will all just have to come visit.<br /><br />Next week on Thursday we get our POST ASSIGNMENTS. This is a really big deal, as it decides our home for the next two years! Then we meet our counterparts, the Cameroonians who will partner with us for all of our work at post. Then it is a week of site visits, where we go stay with the current volunteer at the post, if there is any, and get a feel for the place. This is all after our very exciting Halloween party we have got planned. I am going as Chiquita Banana, as the local outfit here, pagne, is a perfect picture for ms. chiquita and I plan to wrap banana in my matching head wrap.<br /><br />So hopefully the next time I write, I will have much more exciting news. I still miss everyone and will love to hear back tidbits from people. I hate to turn into one of those volunteers who always talks about packages. But if you want to send something, I would love crayons or other coloring materials for my future work at post, really thick, deep novels you can only read in the middle of nowhere and of course some candy.<br /><br />I don't think I can watch the election coverage as I will be at the site visit during that time, but my every thought will be on it. I hope this next post will be in a bright new shiny light!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-30012725120814770152008-10-11T04:36:00.000-07:002008-10-19T05:24:33.226-07:00Getting My Toes WetHello All!<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />I begin, well at the beginning:<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />One day the US Ambassador came to meet us, she gave us American candy bars. I think I ate my whole.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1942916621023847050.post-1425108034466079002008-09-13T18:39:00.000-07:002008-09-13T18:45:55.640-07:00Pop the Champagne!Let me commence the first of hopefully many posts. I have always been a critic of such blogs, but to correctly convey my experiences the next two years, I thought it necessary. I have included my address for the first three months on the side. I will also be checking my email for a bit more personal connection. Things are awfully crazy right now, so I have no words of reflection or inspiration. Hopefully next time your eyes meet this page, I will have some thrilling story from CAMEROOOOOON!!!!!!!!!!!!!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15033326576794992951noreply@blogger.com2