22/12/2011-25/12/2011
Greetings from Fundong, Cameroon!! I have finally made it to post! I am so excited to truly begin this new chapter of learning. Before I delve into the past few days—allow me a moment to backtrack.
Swearing-In Ceremony
I’ve ‘graduated’ the Peace Corps training program and am now, officially, a Peace Corps Volunteer. Quite exciting! Our swearing-in ceremony was quite nice. It was held in Bafia not far from one of our training house and many folks were in attendance. We managed to write a song in French for our host families and, somehow, sang it to them—it’s amazing what a group can pull together with no practice what-so-ever. Following the ceremony we had a delicious dinner under a Cameroonian style coco cabana motif—it’s also amazing what some banana tree leaves and some spare ply wood could create. After the final good-bye to my host parents we had ourselves a little party and slept in a luxurious (ehhhhh…) hotel. For about the first time in this country I was cold—the air conditioning in the room I ended up in worked really well, but I didn’t have a blanket or running water—you can’t win them all.
Come Experience this With Me!
I find myself wishing I was not the only person witness and experiencing what it is I am experiencing. I feel like I tend to find myself in so many unique situations that are simply amazing. It is these moments that I truly cherish and wish I could have shared with all my family and friends. It seems almost unfair that I am so fortunate to come across such amazingess (and often ridiculousness) in my day to day. This has always been the case with me—being in Cameroon does not change this too much, it just makes it that much better. So, I will try to relay the past few days.
HOW I’VE PASSED THESE LAST TWO WEEKS:
Get Acquainted—Get Relaxed.
It’s been quite relaxing, actually. My first three months here in Fundong ( my post ) I am to simply become acquainted while conducting a needs assessment. This basically consists of many meet and greets, lots of sitting down and listening and mainly me working on me—in relation to Fundong. Things work, as you may imagine, a bit different here in Cameroon. The notion of ‘time is money’ is not a paradigm most people like by. Time is quite flexible and there always seems to be more of it—no matter where/when you are. For example. Today is Christmas. I went to the market and allotted myself one hour—knowing the trip could actually take 25 minutes tops I allow for plenty of small talk and banter. I told a few shop keepers of my plans to go back to my house quickly so I can prepare some cookies for some friends because I am going to their house shortly. They enjoyed the idea and told me how my counterpart and friends would be quite happy. But, before I knew it was I invited to Julius’s compound—the brother of one of the shops I popped into—and I was on the back of a moto-bike heading over for some food and wine. It was actually the best wine I’ve had in country. It was a gift to him, a temparnillo from 2006. They didn’t even have a cork screw so they were forced to push the cork into the bottle. Mind you, it’s not even 9:45m. Hospitality here is unmatched.
Visit a Friend, Dance Juju at a Cry-Die, Go Deeper into the Woods for a Guitar:
This is a good tale. I was invited to go and see a vaccination day for infants at a neighboring town’s hospital. My friend Kristen, a fellow PCV, works there and invited me to Njinnikom. Perfect. It was the town half way between my town and the Belo (the town I was eventually going to buy a guitar). It was also nice to take a taxi through the mountains (there were 4 grown men in the front seat, myself and two women in the back seat with three children—the car was comparable to a Geo smaller than a mini cooper). The vaccination day was fantastic. It was a baby festival complete with clapping, songs, crying babies and a gorgeous view—as Njinnikom is tucked in a valley between mountains.
Kristen’s counterpart, Emelda, is a powerhouse of amazingness. She is a very fun and loving woman who is the head nurse of the Fontua Health Center in Njinnikom. Just keep in my head nurse is essentially the chief of the hospital because the doctors are so over worked here they’re rarely around every day. So she’s the big momma. When we first met Emelda a few months ago in Bafia during a workshop she was quite quiet and only spoke of eating the Northwest staple Fufu Corn and Njamma Njamma. I, at first, did not love the dish but after seeing her pure excitement and pride of her region’s favorite I can safely say its now on my top 15 things to eat—which is pretty amazing because, as you know, I love to eat.
So, seeing this passion for Fufu corn Njamma Njamma was so furious it was a joke between Kristen and I for quite some time. Upon seeing her I offered to go get the meal for lunch—she happily obliged. However, like all plans in Cameroon, it was subject to change without reason or explanation.
Dance Juju.
Emelda’s seemingly second favorite thing in the world are Cry-Die’s. Kristen, Emelda and I were on our way to a cry-die—not to eat fufu corn. A cry-die is a sort of death celebration—similar to a wake/funeral. I am not entirely sure if a viewing of the corpse is protocol, at this cry-die I did not see a body—but I also did not enter every house where it was taking place. Cry-die’s are, generally, community affairs. We trekked further into a few different villages decently deep into the woods and stopped at a few different houses along the way—all part and parcel of the procession. We were fed and offered drinks at the first then made it up to the compound where the person who died had lived. Here there were plenty of treats for sale, little bags of whiskey and wine, puff-puffs, peanuts—almost anything you would want to snack on. We were just on time for the Juju’s! Juju’s, similar to the juju’s in New Orleans, are dancers who come to almost any type of celebration. They are dressed in ‘country clothes’—pidigin for pagne (or traditional clothing)—have plenty of shells around their ankles and wrists and their faces are always covered with either a wool covering or a mask. And, of course, they’ve got some seriously amazing head pieces. Dancing is always barefoot and forceful. I was summonsed with the head juju’s stick—which means I must got dance in their circle and then ‘dash’ them—or tip them—for the show. What an experience. The cry-die nearly all died themselves when I got up to’ shake skin’ (pidgin for dance). The town seemed to love it—as did I. I like to think all those years of battle dancing finally may have paid off.
After the fun Kristen and I returned to her house to enjoy some delicious sugar cookies she fashioned together, quite well I may add, and a nice cold beer—which is difficult to come by sometimes (she’s got a fridge!). After a little R & R I hopped back into a taxi to head down to Belo—the next town down the only paved road around. Here is where I planned to meet a British lad to buy his guitar. Upon arriving it had already passed dark and I discovered the gentleman was on the move to a neighboring village to see some friends. After a quick phone conversation with the logistics on how I would find him it was said, ::Insert Brit accent:: “Well, Steve. Hop on a bike, give the man 600 CFA {which is a lottt} and tell him to head up the road towards XXXXXX {forget the name of the place} and look for four white bloaks, one wielding a guitar—see you soon!”
Do I even need to go on—obviously this ended awesomely. After a long long bike ride winding up a dirt road I find these fools with the guitar and a big pot of rice. I planned to pee, pay him and go right back to Belo to find a taxi back home—but it was pitch black and was having second thoughts. They gentlemen invited me to their friends house where they were having dinner just up the road about 15 minutes on foot. Why not?
Come to find it was a fellow PCV, Laura, who is an agroforestry volunteer. She was surprised to see me and a few of the other gents in our posse, but cordial none the less. Dinner was delicious and it was understood it was a bit to late to find my way back to Fundong so I’d spend the night. Laura did tell us we have one stop before the evening is over so put our shoes back on. We walk down the pitch dark road only with the help of the moon and our cell phone’s flashlights to find some large corner room of a house that once resembled a bar, maybe. We were among the first people there—though supposedly two hours late—and we finally got it out of her what exactly we were getting ourselves into: a record release party.
Let me take a quick moment to help substantiate the ridiculousness of this right now. I am about a twenty minute moto bike ride up a wretched dirt road during a power outage (water evidently never works) into a village that cannot have more than 500 people—and I’m at a record release party?! Only in Cameroon.
Luckily the power comes back and the room has, at least ,one 30 watt light bulb to offer—which is then covered partially with duct tape—I did not even ask. A few folks are enjoy warm beer, everybody is speaking Kom and we are amongst the oldest folks there. After two hours of chit-chat with a slew of different folks in a great mélange of English, Pidgin and French I find my new friends tired and done with waiting—we leave before the CD is even release. Touché.
Upon waking up at a brazen 6:10am—because I have a meeting in a village that neighbors Fundong—I step outside to use the lavatory and am finally able to see where I am. I’m in a compound off a small small dirt road pinched between two impressive mountain ranges tucked tight in the valley that they make. Amazingly beautiful. I want to stop everything I am doing and climb. But not, I must get a hastey move on it in order not to be too late to this meeting because I’ve at least an hour commute to my town then another 15-20 minute moto ride to Meli. Here we go.
I’m, again, blessed with Cameroonian hospitality as I walk down this fridged and moist dirt road in a short sleeve shirt seeing my own breathe while carrying a guitar. I was picked up by a gentleman in a 4X4 Toyota who took me down the path into town saving me at least 200CFA and lots of time. Thank you-OO!
Upon arriving to Fundong I rush home to eat something quick, do not even change my clothes and am out the door to see Olga, a member of the organization which is hosting me, and hop on the back of yet again another moto bike. I’ve barely the slightest idea of our goal today so I am just moving with the flow. Come to find, about twenty minutes later, I am meet with the chief of the village (here known as the Quarter Head) and his panel of elders and other prominent community members who are actively trying to make Meli a better place. I am so incredibly welcomed by these gentlemen and they felt sorry they had not prepared any food for me—so as a concession they gave me wine (again it’s not even 9:35am) and before I left they supplied Olga and I with 5000CFA (10 USD—which is a HELL of a lot of money here, a TON actually) for food and drink in town seeing they did not prepare anything. Again, unparrelled hospitality. After arriving in Fundong Olga and I stopped into a chop house through the back door because it was Clean up Fundong Thursday where the stores are supposed to stay closed until at least 11:30am or so. I finally was eating some delicious Fufucorn and Njamma Njamma—I even splurged for a Fanta!
Today is Christmas, Back to Christmas.
Happy Christmas! So Christmas is a very beautiful holiday here. I’m not sure it feels like Christmas for me, personally, but it is most certainly awesome. I am just trying to take it all in.
Christmas here in Fundong is like having a grand dose of Cameroonian hospitality, but on steroids. Most people seem to prepare food all morning and then have their friends and family come over for a quick meal and drink and then go hop from place to place themselves. It’s quite nice. There seems to be some presents exchanged and even fewer Christmas trees and decorations—I’m guessing this all has to do with access as do many cultural differences around the world. The Christmas music here is the same music we have in the States—however it is all re-recorded to suit the musical palates of Cameroonians. It’s fun.
As mentioned in the beginning of this—while at the store grabbing some butter to make some cookies to the first (well now second) gathering I will be attending I was summonsed to somebody’s house for a meal at 9:40am or so. Wine was included, of course. I ate yams with cati-cati (a chicken dish) and endole (a bitter leaf dish). Delicious. Worse part was the gentleman who was feeding me—I was not even sure of his name. How and when would this happen in the States?! He even paid for my moto ride there! Amazingness.
The final batch of banana cookies are almost complete and then I will go eat with my community host’s, Simon, family. I wanted to make some chicken soup seeing everybody enjoys it, but the gas for my stove has run out yesterday and I have an odd-ball gas tank which can only be replaced in Bamenda—two hours away. Ashia (a pidigin word which has a plethora of meanings ranging from ‘Sucks to be you’ to ‘So sorry’ to ‘Keep working hard!’).
So! Time for me to soak in the rest of this Christmas! Enjoy! Hope everybody is smiling! Nothing but love
PS: I've eaten grasshoppers too.
