Oh, right. We’re Still in Training

Howdy from Cameroon! Things here are going, overall, splendidly. I’m still enjoying my time here very much. My French is seemingly plateau-ing but yet still strong for only having studied it and been immersed in it for two months. I am proud of the French that I am able to conjure up and speak. I am a bit worried I am progressively losing the Italian that I am able to speak—my father cautioned me not to worry. It  sounds like sage advice. Thanks, Dad.

 Last night I chatted with my host-family during and well after we had finished dinner until about 11:30pm or so. I know, to you Western folks that does not sound late at all but I cannot remember the last time myself, or anybody else here, was awake that late. It’s tre’ tre’ rare. (That means it’s very very rare in French, FYI).

My conversation with them further solidified my belief that they are totally exceptional in many ways—and totally awesome none the less. Our conversation was flighty but focused. Considering the slight language barrier we managed to communication so efficiently. We came pretty damn close to solving world hunger, actually.  We spoke to cultural differences amidst Cameroonian’s, disparities both here and in the States, money as an intoxicating entity, the idea of family and cultural regards concerning families. Brilliant. The more our conversations diverge from the ordinary, ‘How was you’re day?’ the more we’re all intrigued. We seem eager to hear and listen.We seem to come some much closer as a family. And as we delve into such matters it seems it we are both further confirming our foundational beliefs that we are all humans in this quasi crooked world. Nous sommes ensemble. It’s wholesome goodness. 

Training is going well, considering all of the obstacles. When I say obstacles I truly just mean one obstacle in particular—but it seems grave enough that it deserves the ‘s’ to make it pluaral because it’s dragging on us enough to be considered (and dealt with) as more than one singular problem. Chiefly it appears to be that we are not at post yet. The post post-site atmosphere has been interesting, to say the least. It’s been about two weeks since our site visit and the momentum of our group has most certainly diminishing. Our tenacity during our training classes has barely been lingering if even present at all. It seems, overall, the question of the hour is; ‘Why aren’t we at site yet?’ We’re all quite eager to travel the long roads to our respective posts and get a move on with this whole Peace Corps thing. It’ll be quite lovely to have much more control over our meals, because now we are at the mercy of our host families and lunch ladies—per se. Also it’s simply something new and exciting—that doesn’t involve language lessons and trainings about TB and its common co-infector HIV. Though this is all true, we as a group seem almost hesitant, in a sense, to leave because we’ve created a nicely functioning family here.                                            

AGAIN, LET’S CHANGE THESE PARADIGMS. (Post-Colonial Cultural Commentary)

Based on many books I’ve read and countless conversation I’ve been engaged in over the past six years I began to learn a tremendous amount about the realities of the ‘Western’ world’s colonization. At times I feel I’ve exhausted this dialogue. And at other times I subsequently feel exhausted from the dialogue itself. After all, the subjects of theft, exploitation, denigration and rape, on a mass scale, are tiring. Reading about the travesties of slavery and colonialism are one thing, but being able to bear witness first hand of its aftermath is another thing. It sometimes feels as daunting as my first ride into a post-Katrina New Orleans. Utter mess, mixed with confusion but with a sort of seeming  knowledge/idea of what exactly went wrong and why. Frustrating, essentially. Ill-regard of my perceptions and the feelings of countless historians, or local Cameroonians for that matter, it is overtly evident that the French colonization period has managed to leave a lasting legacy. Wretched.

Colonial Language

It’s just like that old saying, ‘Those who win the war write the history books.’ Well, just know that they were sure to write it in their own language too.

French is one of two official languages here in Cameroon—English is the other. As I’ve mentioned before there are over 200+ ethnic groups in Cameroon, each with their own languages and a handful of creoles that serve as patch for any language gaps between communities. It is so amazing. There are a total of ten regions here in Cameroon. Eight Francophone regions and two Anglophone regions. While the Anglophones are the numerical minority their regions offer a tremendous amount of natural resources yet—they’re obliged to at least understand, if not be fluent, in French in order to do business and travel. Interestingly (I say this smugly) not many Francophones learn English. I’m digressing.

The French language, in effect, is a tool that further propagates the colonial legacy. Sure, it is wonderful that there is a common language which is able to connect a good majority of the country. However, the language itself manages to continue cultivate colonial ideas. French manages to do this do to is strict and, at times, meaningless (or one could maybe argue meaningful) vocabulary. The language is quite limiting in a Cameroonian context—I would argue purposefully so. Let’s get explicit: when one asks a Cameroonian how many languages they speak the answer is usually one or two (French, English). I’ve yet to have a Cameroonian count their native tongue as a language. However, if I press and ask if they can speak their parents ‘patwa’ the answer is usually yes. In French the indigenous Cameroonian languages are referred to as patwa’s—not languages.  Do I need to open up this conversation or is it understood. For the sake of time I will imagine those reading this understand my fury.

More discussion on the French denigration of many things having to do with the first-peoples of Cameroon—let’s chat about religion. It is an interesting subject. Cameroonians, by and large, are quite religious. The country has many Christians and Muslims and a scattering of traditional (mainly animist/ancestor worship) belief systems/cosmologies.  Overall, there are few religious tensions here if any at all. There seems to be a cultural paradigm that generally accepts others beliefs and views—contingent one has a religion of some sorts. It is quite interesting what is and is not considered a religion—much like our conversation about language. When I ask many Cameroonians about their ethnic religion I almost always get a puzzled look in return as a response. Their faces reflect a clear tone of confusion; something along the lines of, ‘What? My people’s traditional religion?’  After further questioning I am normally left with, ‘Oh, we did not have a religion before the missionaries or colonizers.’  Oh, really? That is my usual respond—at least in my head. It is difficult for me, seeing my positionality here in Cameroon, to say—‘Well, I think—and almost know—you are indeed incorrect.’ But as our conversation reluctantly moves ahead I can usually find what I am looking for. Cameroonians, at least thus far in the conversations I’ve had, will only refer to traditional cosmologies as their ‘traditions’ or ‘cultural practices’—not employing the word religion and hence neglecting the reality that the original people here did indeed have a religion.

Back to the language—and its intersection with religion. There are plethoras of first people religions here and all over the continent that are comprised of ancestor worship. While they are all materialized in many different fashions there are a good amount of commonalities; traditional medicine men/healers, ethnic elders/chiefs, sacrifices, gifts etc all seem to be part and parcel of these religions. Regardless of all of the difference belief systems that still remain in many rural villages here in Cameroon Francophones seem to use one sweeping word to classify them all, together. ‘Sorcery’—if I am not mistaken this is the same word in French as English. It is not a very encompassing word and one could argue that it is a slightly charged and pointed word. I’m not sure I need to unpack this discussion any more than I already have.

Let’s make some bullet points:

-There was, and still are, plenty of religions here on the continent other than Christianity and Islam.

-This religion was here before the arrival of West Asians and/or White folks.

-There are many languages here in Cameroon—not many ‘patwa’s’

So once again, let’s work together to begin to change this paradigm and world-view on what is ‘African.’

Thanks!!!

If you’ve any questions—please e-mail me them! I loveeee email. I’ve wretched internet so Facebook’ing me questions/comments may be better, actually.

Nothing but love and smiles from Bafia, Cameroon!

PS: Don’t forget about our other blog—http://cowboysofcameroon.blogspot.com !

Fundong. Wait, isn't this cheating?

Hello! Currently, I am writing from my future living room in Fudong, Cameroon! Last Wednesday I discovered where I will spend the next two years living and work. It was decided that I will placed in the English-speaking town\city of approximately 40,000 people. After deciphering the journey consisting of a sort of bush taxi relay, winding hills, good laughs, new friends, new foods and broad horizons I found myself tucked into the mountains semi-deep inside the Northwest Region of Cameroon. Now, after being here for a few days, it appears it is destiny.

After the standard Cameroonian greeting, consisting of a long serious of unorganized hand shaking, finger snapping and wandering but yet engaged eye contact, new comers are certain to hear their Cameroonian conversational counterparts exclaim, “You are welcome! You’re welcome to Fudong—you are welcome to Cameroon.” Actually, you’re more likely to hear it at least three times before you finish your meet and greet.

So perfect, trust me. Even without the repeated affirmations of how welcome you may be you feel it. From the moment our bush taxi entered the Northwest I could feel the energy change. It is so vibrant. So many of the people, at least the one’s I have met so far, are incredibly warm and open. It is interesting to begin sifting between the many pronounced cultural differences and practices between here (Fudong) and the place I presently call home (Bokito). First difference—among an almost infinite—is language. The Northwest and Southwest regions are entirely Anglophone. While there are, without a doubt, many differences I’ve only been here a few days (and in Cameroon for a few weeks) so my feelings are just that, feelings. I’ve nothing concrete to truly write home about in regards to comparing Anglophone and Francophone Cameroon.

SO! Fudong! It’s a divisional capital city. It get a bit confusing so let me ‘break it down’ (Sherry, remember last time I tried to break it down? Ha!). Cameroon is organized into regions. There are two Anglophone regions—the Northwest (soon to be home!) and the Southwest. Every region has a capital city. In this case it is Bemenda. Every region is broken up further into Divisions which, too, have their own capitals.

My new city, Fudong, is the divisional capital of the Boya. It’s population is approximately 45,000 people—but this includes the many neighboring villages. I was in the planning division of the health clinic\hospital today and discovered 2011 Health Area Epi Statistics—it was said that the Fudong health area was approximately 22,000 people. While it’s population seems quite big it’s really approachable and not intimidating in the least. 

There are several ethnic groups here in Fudong—chiefly the Kom people and a heavy scattering of Fulani’s. Fulani’s are Muslim Cameroonians who are usually herdsman and shop owners—though many Kom own many shops too. Because of these two influencing groups there are many languages here in Boya division—English, Pidgin (hybrid-Creole type English), Kom and Fulani—not to forget about some French because of those people who’ve migrated from other regions and many government officials sent to work in the Northwest. So many languages to learn! It’s a language bonanza—every day! For instance, while meeting and talking with some Francophone military man my counterpart greeted the men outside waiting in Kom, I followed suite in English. Spoke English to the military man while he answered completely in French and occasionally chatted with two Fulani men in Fulfulde. I jumped in with some French and pulled out my English crutches when necessary. Before you knew it my counterpart involved the Fulani men in the conversation all together—but this time while speaking in Kom because they spoke that too. All this in one office. I’m ready for more.

Speaking of counterparts! So much of my excitement has to do with my community host, Simon. Firstly, a community host is just that—a person who is very familiar with the community who is a key contact person to help us PCV’s becoming acquainted with our new homes. He has also worked in the past as some PCV’s counterpart—meaning a community member who PCV’s pair up with to work. Simon is amazing—simple put. He has as much energy as I do—maybe even more. I know, imagine that! He is the director of the Better Family Foundation (a local NGO), a teacher, student, pastor, husband and father of three. The man wears many hats! He is like his own think tank and is constantly coming up with new fresh ideas and approaches to make his community better—if only he had more hours in the day. His organization tackles things like community water projects, STI\HIV training, family planning and anything else local communities are willing to address. Totally awesome. Word on the street, too, is that there are many community groups who are established and ready, able and willing to do some good work which is always exciting. So it appears the possibilities are almost endless here!

Onward with the beauty! Look for some photo’s of the Northwest region—particularly Fudong—it is soo beautiful. Firstly, the climate is much much more temperate than the rest of the country. It is cool here in Fudong. We’re nestled in some lovely looking hills and mountains; which often make travel quite difficult. For example, Alissa, lives a mere 55km away. It takes 3-4 hours on a motorcycle taxi when the roads even permit the ride. Here we go. It is so incredibly green too, with the awesome contrast of the red dirty, ::sigh:: It reminds me a bit of Tuscany, Switzerland and Ireland rolled into one. Hiking around here is great and seemingly never ending!

My new house—unspeakably unbelievable. I live in the ‘Teacher Quarter’ in what Cameroonians refer to as a compound—which is essentially a cluster of houses. My neighbors are all professionals—principles, doctors, nurses, business people etc. They’re children are all darlingly adorable and kind. I have three bedrooms, one larger than the other. In my master bedroom I even have an exposed brick wall! Two bathrooms, one with HOT WATER! (Most volunteers are lucky to have steady access to water and electricity let alone a hot water heater—this is actually unheard of. I am the only volunteer in country with one!)

Not to mention I’ve got a stellar host here in Fudong—Stephanie. Who has graced me with delicious dinners and great introductions to my neighbors and future friends. (Thanks, Steph!)

All of these fortunes and goodies simply leave me wondering; wait, isn’t this cheating?

I’ve so much more I want to share but it is getting really late.

As always, nothing but love and smiles!

So...I ate a snake.

So, I ate a snake. (8/10/2011)

(Firstly, I am working diligently on pictures! It is tricky to take them here in Cameroon-- particularly in my village. Compound that with wretchedly slow 
internet it is tough).

Reporting live from Bafia, Cameroon. Bafia is a small/medium sized city about twenty-two kilometers away from Bokito, the village us Health volunteers  complete the majority of our training. It is a beautiful day and I am sitting outside in the shade with my shoes off-- perfect.

My training here in Cameroon, thus far, has been really nice. Getting to know my fellow Peace Corps Trainee's (PCTs) has been maybe the most enjoyable  apsect. Our group is pretty awesome. I feel we've an awesome balance of personalities and world-views. Ranging from the mildly deranged clown types (like myself) to steadfast seriousness. Sometimes finding time to spend together outside of the classroom setting is a bit difficult seeing our curfew is when the  street lights come on. Those are the hypothetical street lights of course. It gets dark here quite early-- by 6:30pm the moon wins the daily dance battle with the sun. Our official curfew is 7:00pm, at which point it is completely dark.

I am finding myself at a loss for words. I truly want to recount all the wonderful things I see and feel-- but quite honestly I don't even know where to  begin. And, at the same time, all of this is becoming a lot less romantic to me; no less wonderous, just a little less romanticized by the day. I am really 
comfortable here in Cameroon. Maybe not in YaoTown-- but out in the country in Bokito. Who would have imagined I've become a rural bumpkin?!

I am, officially, going through guitar withdrawal. This is a true fact.

Ma Famille:
I live in quite a bustling household. We are a total of ten (10), nine (9) exlcuding myself! There are four bedrooms in my family's house; one of which is  exclusively for me. I feel a bit selfish about this at times but have literally no choice in the matter. This is like one of those 'just deal with it and 
move on' realities. I find myself coming across a good amount of them as I stay here longer-- but have a burning to change each and every one of them. I am  convienintly, and not coincidently, located very close to the school where we do our training six days out of the week's seven. My family is comprised of a 
mother and father (both who rock in so many ways), as well as 7 siblings of sorts. The ages range from 5 (maybe 6) to twenty. The eldest is Marcel, a twenty  year old cousin from Yaounde who has come to Bokito for school. All of the children go to school and study a good amount-- among a barrage of other household 
chours. If anybody reading this is thinking, 'oh, I did a ton of chores growing up too' let me take this moment to promise you not like these Cameroonian children. Not even close. Every morning everybody is up and awake by 6:00am-- the latest. Washing, washing, washing and washing. Sweep all the floors, water 
them down, clean the entire kitchen top to bottom, begin prepping the day's food, washing clothes and shoes etc. This is all before school even begins! We Americans do not do a thing in the morning. My host-siblings are totally awesome. They have a huge chalk board in the dining room where they practice English 
and math after school. Rock and roll.

My host-parents are quite expectional in many ways as well. Firstly, they seem not to perscribe themselves to traditional Cameroonian gender roles despite 
their lack of education. (It seems a large divide between traditional gender roles and worldviews in general is education). I posit this difference to the 
fact that they are not only married but business entrepreneurs together. They own a fish store next to their house, sell cooking oil in the Bokito Monday 
Market, as well as a variety of other neighboring markets, and also find time to head over to the plantation to work the fields for macabo (a Cameroonian 
root delight-- imagine potato, meets yam, meets cassava ?).

Daily Life:
I eat lots of fish. Just last night I ate some snake. This came about because I found myself laughing everytime they were surprised I enjoyed the food they 
prepared for me. I continually tell them I eat 'tot!' (everything!). So two nights ago, I reminded them of this and they laughed and said 'Ok, then we're 
eating snaking this week.' Well-- I ate it! It is a delicacy here in Cameroon-- it is also a man's food. Women in Cameroon do not eat snake. So it was 
Stephen's various of cross cultural immersion, male bonding and Bizzare Foods rolled into one diner episode. Pretty sweet. As for my loving of snake-- ehh, 
not bad. If you find yourself with it in front of you at your next meal-- may I suggest being weary of the skin.
As I mentioned-- training is quite long and seemingly ever present. For example, this morning (Saturday) I was awake at 6:00am in order to catch the Peace 
Corps bus to Bafia for a session on Cameroonian gender roles followed by some lanaguage instruction. We usually do our training sessions in Bokito however 
some sessions are joint with the Youth Development and Agroforesty PSTs---another fine group of individuals if I may saw so myself. Right, training. It is 
going well. We talk a good amount of capacity building and grassroots organizing-- seeing those are some of our chief responsiblities. Reinvigorating stuff! 
Peace Corps also peppers in a good amount of tangiable knowledge regarding diarrhea, malaria, water, community mobilization etc.
Thus only being here for about two full weeks I've seemingly archives of observations-- particuarlly around water, hygiene and sanitation. This discussion 
could go on forever so I will give the bold highlights.

--Many MANY people here rely on open wells for their water. Meaning a good old fashion hole in the ground-- drop a bucket in and pull it up for your water. 
Do I need to even go on about this? Health, safety, hygiene disaster. It is amazing to see what a means (capital) translates to.
--The cleaning ethic here in Cameroon is present, pervasive present and well. A tremendous amount of people shower at least two times per day. My family 
thinks I am a savage (not truly savage though) because I do not shower every morning-- though I shower every night. Another vast difference is in appearance. 
Appearance here in Cameroon, like many post-colonial nations, is of paramount importance. People spend a tremendous amount of time assuring their clothes are 
ironed and prestinely clean-- this includes shoes. I was sent back inside the house so I could change because the soles of my Converse's were a little dirty. 
And I when I say a little dirty I mean not even close to dirty as per American standards. In Cameroonian standards, however, they were utterly filthy. Oh 
cultural differences! Though the cleaning ethic is here this does not always translate to incredibly hygienic surfaces. It is an interesting tight rope to 
walk and a seemingly dauntingly task to adjust behavior change surrounding hygiene-- specially in regards to hand washing and water hygiene. As my mantra 
goes, 'here we go.'
--I have had NO gastrophenomenons. I haven't even had a sniffle since I've been here! Within the end of the first week a fellow PST had came down with 
ameboas. That. is. crappy. As for myself-- my theory has been continually proven correct; I've the stomach of a billy-goat. I have an on-going joke that I 
will NOT get sick ONCE and CERTAINLY will NOT have diarrhea. I wish I could share the bold laughs I get when I say that with you all.
--It is not overwhelmingly hot.... in the shade. I honestly do not know the daily temperatures-- but I assure you not crippling. However, the sun is indeed 
much stronger down here closer to the equator than say, Tampa or New Hampshire. The sun is what will get you- at least here in the rainy seasons in Bokito.
--I have already witnessed evidence of what I would call 'Jack-ass volunteerism.' This involves a lack of foresight and knowledge about how to affectively 
implement productive community development projects. The elementary school ( simple a collage of buildings with no electricity or ammentities) was given a 
well by some 'kind' Americans. These folks failed to create a water committee to manage the well and/or train community members about the well. They, 
evidently, placed the well in a less than optimal spot (or failed to drill deep enough) because it dried up in less than a year. This is a common theme 
throughout the developing world and especially here in Cameroon. Reading about instances like these and yielding the advice by countless professors is one 
thing-- seeing the skeletons of development projects gone a muck is another entirely new enraging experience I'm trying to navigate.
--My host-family's house is worthy of Bokito's version of MTV Cribs. Seriouslly. I've a flush toilet and a shower head! Indoor plumbing! Electricity! I am in 
the lap of luxury. Niether of these ammenities worked upon my arrival and the electricity only just came back on yesterday or so.
--We've been told that Cholera is present in neighboring cities and even in our village. Truth? Questionable. Cholera itself is indeed endemic here in 
Cameroon. They have been experience a few outbreaks over the past few years. Hopefully this is just something that blows over. Don't worry. I treat my 
already respectably clean tap water like there is no tomorrow and my family does a great job (Cameroonian standards) preparing meals. I'm in the cholera 
clear. Don't fret, America.


On a Conceptual Note: Where AM I?! Help me change this paradigm.

'Africa'. This word immediately evokes a slew of both imagery and emotion-- both negative and positive (depending on your experience and/or education it 
seems). When you read this word, Africa, what are some of the things you think of and envision. Seriously, what do you?
I imagine your thoughts regarding this continent were quite bad, huh? The discourse surrounding Africa is horrific. The word 'Africa' is most often used very 
pointedly to describe a place that is riddenly destitute, decrepit and dysfunctional among other things. When people say, 'Oh, that's Africa for you' it is 
not harping on Africa's beauty and omniscience. This is maybe understandable seeing main brunt of the Western world only hears about the famines, the 
disease, the war through their  respective media outlets. The continual broadcasting of negative imagary only builds upon the already polluted and shaky 
post-colonial paradigm that is 'Africa'. This mold is overwhelmingly homogenizing-- when we know there are over 50 countries on the continent comprising of 
thousands of distinct cultures, languages, cosmologies and ways of life-- not even to mention the fact that there is more gene diversity (within human 
beings) here on this continent than anywhere in the entire world. Actually-- I am more likely to have more DNA similarities and commonalities with one of my 
Cameroonian language trainers than one of my fellow Irish-American neighbors. Chew on the for a moment.
The biggest tradegdy I've come across thus far is hearing Cameroonians, Africans, telling us PCTs that 'this is Africa' when attempting to reason why 
something goes wrong, late or not according to planned. Breaks my heart. So, every breathing human being, please challange yourselves and help us change the 
dialogue surrounding 'Africa.' If you've something unsavory to say regarding something that happened on this land that is the size of three continantal 
United State's, at least mention what country it was in as not to further taint the rest of this place. If you don't know much about Africa, sure the unkown 
can be 'exotic, romantic and different, but embrace the unkown-- no reason to fear the unknown. If somebody asks you where I am, please don't say Africa. I 
rather you say you didn't where I was. Tell people I am in Cameroon. And my experience, while it may echo other Sub-Saharan African volunteer's experiences, 
is Cameroonian-- and part African. Reserve the word for what it is, beautiful, wonderous and bountiful.
As always, nothing but love and smiles.

Soooo Good!

BONJOUR de Cameroon!!!

First thoughts, 'it's so good!'

I embarked on this adventure from Philadelphia-- sort of. Our 'Staging' event was based in Philadelphia where I was in the lap of luxury at a lovely hotel in downtown. Unfortunately could not find the time to grab a Roast Pork sandwich from Tommy DiNics-- the line was mediocrely long and the services was painfully slow-- worse than Dunkin Dounuts in the South. So I settled for the best cheese steak I've ever had in my life yet, complete with broccoli rabe! Bonus!

Our actual staging meeting was nice-- simple talk about anxieties and aspirations, Peace Corps information coupled with glorious ice-breakers where my soon to be colleagues continually left me under the bus feeling like a ravishly outspoken clown. But, soon enough I would come to find they too are a bit worried about the heat and excessive sweating. Haa! Felt soo good to fecisciously thank them for standing in solidarity with me while I made a blatant fool of myself. Onward!

Plane rides-- eh. Simple. American carriers tend to be in so many vast ways so incredibly inferior to European carriers. I'd like to take a moment to not only thank, but applaud, the cultural and business customs of the entire country of Belguim. Merci beaucoup.

Arrival-- landing, deplaning, gathering, customs clearing, bag grabbing, bag moving, bus loading-- was easy as smiling-- and there was a LOT of smiling! This whole process was actually shockingly easy-- to our delight! Thank you, Peace Corps.

Yaounde! (I may sometimes refer to it as YaoTown-- though nobody else does).

Driving through Yaoudne was an experience to say the absolute least. Our first vistas from the airport's front window was spectacularly green-- absolutely beautiful. So incredibly lush and full with high full peaks in the near distances. The sun is even lazily setting to add to the pictureque atmosphere. Tres’  jolle!

As the 45 volunteers piled into the mini busses, four at a time, cab drivers jostled to talk to the Peace Corps directors assure they'd cut them good deals. Bienvienue a Cameroun! It all begins.

As we quickly ascended and descended the small hills towards Yaounde proper we enter Cameroon. This is Africa. Where people live along side mini highways in shanty town like huts, clay roads climbing the steepest of hills connect communities while children traverse barefoot, tiny wooden stands selling anything and everything from cell phone credit to whiskey in a bag, the nearly ridiculously outrageous unsavory driving that would leave even the most native New York driver a bit anxious for the return trip home. I'm in love.

This is raw. No sidewalks, no blanc's, no orderly 'order' is appearant (though of course there is a serious ebb and tide to this chaos), taxis and motorbikes and foot traffic EVERYWHERE. I'm intimiated.

Street vendors with shoes on top their heads indicating they're selling Cameroon's latest fashionable shoes. Stares, peering stares right into our bus's open windows unpuzzled, unnerved and quite honestly, uninterested. I'm amazed, slightly confused and certainly enchanted.

Staging!

This is the portion of Peace Corps that puts our ducks in order. It officially started in Philadelphia as mentioned above and carried over into Cameroon. Paper work, French crash-courses, proficiency tests, interviews, indoor hotel lockdown, collecting money, giving us money, buying us our necessities and questions-- lots and lots of questions. This is also where I begin to truly learn my fellow PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees)--I'm not a volunteer yet. It seems we've a great group. There were ten folks actually here already who were pilot testers for a new 'French immersion' program. Everybody's 10's all around. We share laughs, questions, concerns and sweat. Speaking of sweat! During our initial meeting in Philadelphia we, in groups, were to draw out in picture style our aspirations and anxieties. Obviously I said one of my anxieties was sweating profusely. At which point I enthusiastically ask the group-- 'Who else is worried about the heat and sweating?!"Crickets. Absolute crickets. 'Is this thing on?!', I think to myself.

Once we all reach Cameroon and realize it is, presently, quite cool (!!) (It's rainy season) many MANY volunteers, matter of fact maybe even ALL of them, at ONE POINT or ANOTHER, came up to me and agreed that they too were worried about the heat and sweat. PUNKS! Leaving me underneath the bus infront of everybody?! Come on, people. So, for this--I'd like to thank the ENTIRE Cameroon September Staging Crew (## to be determined).....So, again, thank you: Sarah, Laura, Eric, Joe, John, Lesley, Samantha, Emily, Kate, Stephanie, Jeff, Kyle, Reilly, Sean, Krystal, Alissa, Sophia, Mildred, Suzie, Amanda, Chisten, Mike, Luke, Lauren, Penny, Cynthia, Abagail, Brian, Ryan, Ryan, Sharon, Emily, Katie, Will, Laura, Chris, Ryan, Katie, Sarah, Andy, Laura, Shonna, Molly and Georgia. I believe I may be missing a few--do let me know.

So, more on this 'lock-down' here in Cameroon. Unfortunately none of us are permitted to leave our hotel during these first few days. Safety is of paramount importance to the Peace Corps, rightfully so. This is not to say our area of YaoTown is necessarily more 'rough' than other parts-- it more a matter of our exposure. We know little to nothing of Cameroonian culture, social mores, market talk (or any talk for that matter), we have no cell phones and (by and large) we're simply a bunch of blanc's (whites). (Though we all know I am not white, but Pale-- that'll be for another evening). Normally, I'd be chomping at the bits to get out. I haven't felt too trapped by this all. I'm taking this experience as it comes, moment by moment.

Cameroon Dancing and Wedding!

After dinner yesterday evening's (September 24) dinner we were treated to an amazing ensemble of dancers accompanied by drummers. So amazing. I literally cannot begin to describe how entranced we were by their performance. I shot some videos on my FlipCam, hopefully I will find fast enough internet to upload them. Stunningly beautiful, fun and invigorating. WOW! Toward the end a select few of us were pulled into the circle to have mini dance-off's. Luckily my New Jersey battle dancing skills were sharpend this past summer-- I did quite well.

We heard, as incoming PCTs, that a  Cameroonian wedding is an event not to be missed! Coincidently there was one last night only two floors down from where we are staying. It was an all-night affairs-- literally. 8:00PM-5:00AM. Awesome! Quite late, as a few of us stragglers we retiring to our room we were invited by two enthusiastic young men who spoke little English to the wedding. Phenomenal. I ran upstairs, put on my best outfit and trucked right on into the wedding dance party. We need to create a bold new word in the English language to encompass the audaciously jubilant atmosphere of weddings here. Fun is pathetic word to describe this dance floor crowd. Upon entering we blanc's were received by smalls bursts of cheers, clapping and laughter. Smiles and high-fives were at an all time high. After dancing for about ten minutes a middle aged man approached me jumping up and down to the music with CFA (Cameroon's currency ((pronounced 'say-fa')) and stuck it to my forehead. This is a MASSIVE compliment and honor. This signifies that your dancing and presence is thoroughly enjoyed. It was a shame I didn't have many many CFA's on me to slap on everybody's forehead.

Training starts tomorrow. While my internet access may improve come Tuesday-- my days will become much more busy! But I should have a Cameroonian cell phone number up and running come tomorrow (Monday 26/9/2011).

Merci! Buon Nuitt! Nothing but love!

The Storm of Pre-Departure

::Warning FREE-THOUGHT zone:::

Preparing to leave is becoming seemingly much more of a disaster than I had ever imagined. The sheer logistics are mind-boggling. This summer has been so great and with it coming to a growingly rapid (and therefore potentially turbulent end) here is a little piece of the whirlwind in my mind:

The social aspect of this planning typhoon is pretty serious. Uprooting your life and moving across the sea for two plus years is an endeavor of sorts-- or at least many people seem to believe. Ehh, it is. I can see it. Ill-regard, with this move to Cameroon comes what seems like (logistically speaking in one month) too many already long-overdue reunions between myself and old the many many dear old friends-- reunions that have been terribly delayed and/or thwarted due to a myriad of circumstances that life throws our way-- all of which are truly unaccountable and unfaultable. There are so many wonderful, amazing people who pull me to every corner of the country. I wish I could just pack up and go see every single one of them in any which corner.  I've a tenacious imagination and an even more amitious sense of hope-- I was only sure on my way back North from Tampa that I'd be able to see everybody before I left. Is the grim reality that this is not possible? Please help me prove myself wrong.

Packing? Please, I have not even chosen which bags I will take-- or how I will pack more delligently to allow myself the space to accomadate for my guitar. Now speaking of guitar, I need some strings and a tuner. I still need to buy a phone (Blackberry--so get your PINS ready! And hope I find a reliable internet connection so we can BBM for free). I need to switch laptops with my mother, who so graciously offered her smaller, more compact laptop so I do not have to spend [WASTE] $600. Load up that Kindle, baby! (Any book recommendations?) Peace Corps (PC) recommends I bring comfortable 'good quality' underwear. Ou vey. Do I buy the solar charger here and bring it with me? Do I find one there? Do I need the thing? Won't I feel 'cool' if I come prepared-- or even more like a Western when I'm way over prepared.

(I found myself going on and on, so I just stopped and backtracked.)

Where does my sanity fit?

Essentially. There is so much going on I feel like my 'MIND is dismembered from my BODY, completely.' (Name that quote!!, Quick!).

So, if you are reading this--chances are I've got love for you and want to see you/talk to you/catch up with you before I go. So let's get together and make it happen.
Nothing but love and smiles.

Stephen