Seul les montagnes ne se recontrent jamais

--Over two weeks after returning to the US, I realized that I never posted my final Cameroon blog. Because my blog has become not just a window for my friends and family into a different life but also a way for me to archive and document my experiences, I still feel it necessary to post my concluding reflections--

 "Seul les montagnes ne se recontrent jamais."

As I prepared for my departure from Cameroun, a friend of mine invoked a wonderful proverb to remind me that this is not the end. “Only mountains will never meet.” Bittersweet as is usually the case when leaving a special place and people, I am especially marked by the family I am leaving.

I think of each member in my family and how together we make up the unit. My memories consist of the typical ups and downs found between siblings and parents. Now that I’m leaving I glorify my little sisters and brother; conveniently forgetting that only yesterday I scolded the twins for not doing their chores and had a serious talk with Daryl about needing to become more responsible with her money.  At times I felt I played the role of mother, juggling my personal time with the management of all the young ones, reminding me of why most people in the US don’t have so many children. But when I step back and look at how we siblings all interact, I am brought back to my own years in elementary and junior high school and become nostalgic for the future years I will miss as each sister grows a little more, becomes a little more responsible, and starts to realize what amazing parents we have.

I think about the relationship I have with Maman [Solange]. Her welcoming personality, which even my friends notice, is just the start of her warmth towards me. My realization of my inclusion as her daughter has been through the makeup of the small details that create my home life. Being encouraged to discipline as well as love my younger siblings; being expected to do housework and help with cooking; Maman buying me clothes; helping the girls with their homework; having late night talks with Maman; being scolded by Maman; and receiving advice from Maman on all number of subjects. It is incredible to think that we only spent six months together, but that my feelings towards her are nothing less than that of a daughter.

I think about my interactions with Papa [David]. I am blown away by his compassion for others, especially as his childhood was marked with no parents, complete poverty and hard work. Most evenings post-lunch were spent in deep discussion about the school, our family, and Cameroon, and the challenges facing them. While Papa loves to socialize with anyone and everyone, these moments formed the base of my extremely open dialogue with him. With his encouragement, I learned to get past my natural instinct to internalize problems and instead hash them out in the open. Although I realize that our relationship is completely unique: he was to me both papa, boss, and friend, I find it refreshing to think of how our open communication resolved many of our cultural differences, school-related issues, family misunderstandings, and the challenges I faced on a day-to-day basis.

Life in Cameroon was extraordinary, this I know. My goal is to add this part of my life to my growing repertoire of knowledge about Africa, family, and people I love dearly. Moving forward, I will continue to share my experiences in my personal effort to close the gap of ignorance and misunderstanding between our different cultures.

December just got cashed

As I predicted, the past month flew by in a flurry of activities. Now that I’m through it and starting off a new year and decade I am hit by the accelerating speed of my return to the US. With so many events occurring that I want to make sure are archived and remembered, I’m going to copy a former blog during my Senegal year and list the highlights of the month.

December 4^th-8^th: Another trip to Douala; this time for preparation as a Facilitator for our AIESEC (@) National Conference (hosted in Yaoundé). Got to hang out with AIESEC Cameroon’s national staff. Met @ers from around the country. What a cool group.

December 11^th-13^th: JUMP’IN 2009, Yaoundé, Cameroon. AIESEC National Conference. Students from all over Cameroon and Nigeria. As facilitator I gave presentations, mostly on the exchange process and preparation.

December 18^th: Ecole NOULA’s Christmas Party. Watched all the adorable kids present their dances, recite a skit, or lip sync.

December 18^th-20^th: Again to Douala. One of my best friends’ grandma died and so I and another friend went to visit him for the funeral ceremonies. Extremely important to be present as support for a death in someone’s family.

December 21^st-23^rd: Left 16 hours late (this is extreme Cameroonian tardiness) with the caravan to the deep East province to be present at the Christmas party hosted by the first lady’s foundation, Fondation Chantal BIYA. 11 hours after leaving Yaoundé we arrived in Mbang, 400K from the border of the Central Republic of Africa. Watched a mass marriage of over 50 pygmies, checked out the pygmies leaf huts, and watched the traditional pygmy dances. Ate crocodile.

December 24^th: Celebrated Christmas within the family. Opened presents with everyone. Went to a party at my friend Albert’s house. Danced until 4:30AM. Slept one hour.

December 25^th: Celebrated Christmas with Maman Solange’s extended family. At least 50 cousins and more than 25 aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Went to an amusement park with the kids. Crashed and burned by 9PM.

December 27^th-30^th: Left for the West province with Maman Solange at midnight. Arrived the next morning at 5AM. Stayed in Maman’s natal Bamiléké village, located next to Batie. Made the acquaintance of Maman’s father, a man over 100 years old, who lives by himself after having outlived his multiple wives. I tried to learn some Bamiléké, Papa tried to speak some English. This is why I love cultural exchange. Was sent home with a 50 pound sack of food provisions.

December 30^th-January 2^nd: At the transfer point to return to Yaoundé, I met up with another friend, Askan, to continue my travels to Foumban (Maman returned back to the capitol). Went to Mount Bapite, an ancient volcano that now is partially filled with water. Climbed the mountain and then did what no other foreigner successfully accomplished without getting hurt: descended into the volcanic crater to the waters edge. Felt the mystical vibes and returned back to the top. Rang in the New Year at the Sultan’s palace, watching the dances and songs presented for the Sultan. Met one of the princesses and several of the princes in the royal family.

I’m now back in Yaoundé for a couple weeks before hopefully heading off to Limbé and Buea, two well-known cities on the coast (and not far from Douala), and in the English region of Cameroon. These two cities will make up the last of my explorations of Cameroon’s diverse regions.  Needless to say, seeing new places and meeting new people within the country is on my top five list of best memories and experiences.

Learn Bamiléké:

Oy-gilah – Good morning, how did you sleep?

Sou-sou – please

Uhh – yes

Ngay-ping – Thank you

Sopeh pom – Welcome

Chong gai kuh – How are you? Apia-nya - Fine

A year of blessings

Late for Christmas, early for New Years; I’ll get timeliness down one of these days.

I wish all my loved ones warm and joyful celebrations. With a new year upon us I’d like to reflect on things that have blessed my life this past year and make me look forward to what lies ahead.

A brother-in-law. Peter. Skiing. Snowboarding. A bachelor’s degree. A summer in Madison. Living with Katie and Christian. A job at WREN. Living in a new African country. Adding more parents and siblings to my family. The opportunity to work in international education. Caring friends. AIESEC. Those who donated to my school and foundation. Getting through sickness. Maman Solange’s care and love. Papa David’s understanding and compassion. Mom and Dad’s continual support of my adventures. My American family. My weekly sugary beignets (doughnuts) that would be the cause for most people’s New Years Eve resolution to be to work out more. Fresh fruit and vegetables. A good education. Books at my disposal. Dances. African hospitality. Traveling. Seasons. Speaking French. Sharing the real American culture. Learning through doing. Global competency. Eager children. The leaders I have met that are my inspiration.

Love and Peace.

Be thankful for what life brings you. We have much for which to be grateful.

The Oregon Trail comes to Cameroon

Your wagon got stuck in the mud and Sara came down with Typhoid Fever, rest one week.

This literally was what ran through my head two weeks ago when the doctor came in to my hospital room to break the news that, not only did I have a severe case of malaria, but I had tested positive for typhoid fever. "Isn’t that what people got when you played the Oregon Trail computer game?!" It felt rather surreal to be diagnosed with a disease that seems like such a thing of the past; how can people still be suffering from this?

My Symptoms (for malaria and/or typhoid):

Weekend 1 – fever of around 100°F for 2 days. 

Monday – felt better, stayed home and rested.

Tuesday – went to work, massive headaches, weakness.

Wednesday – stayed home, felt better.

Weekend 2 –Visit a gorilla and chimp conservancy site. Go to a village with a friend. Drink water (from the well), eat food, go hiking, get eaten alive by teeny bugs (not the same as mosquitoes). Harvest plantains. Eat porcupine.

Monday – go to work, get home and shovel down plate of food. Cramping stomach. Start throwing up.

Tuesday – still throwing up. Weak and dizzy. Dehydrated. Go to the hospital.

Thank God for my family. Papa David made the executive decision to take me to the hospital instead of just the pharmacy for treatment. Taking care of me and making all the appropriate decisions while I was slightly delusional was a Godsend.

The medical system is one based completely on your ability to pay. Before I was given any treatment I had to pay cash, each step of the way. If I was to be given a medication infused into my IV, I had to pay before they added it (at 2AM this is pretty frustrating information). Shuttled from room to room, first talking to the nurse, and then the doctor I hazily remember thinking how lucky we are in the states to be given one room to sit in, and the medical professionals then come to us. Before my test results had come back, the doctor recommended that I get an IV for fluids. Despite my trust and confidence in Papa David and knowing that I really should be getting rehydrated I was nervous about the quality of care (i.e. sterilization measures) I would be getting. I insisted on seeing the needles they were to use before agreeing. When they brought everything out for me I was reassured by the familiar sealed plastic casings.

I got set up with an individual room for the night, $12, with a personal bathroom and balcony. The water didn’t always run and the pressure for the toilet couldn’t handle even toilet paper, but at least I didn’t have to move far. The room was bare apart from a single sheet and two tables. Papa had to buy me toilet paper, soap, any other essentials. Healthcare also only covers medicine; Maman had to come every day with my food. In the hospital system the families are in charge of providing food, yet another aspect I would say we Americans/Westerners take for granted.

In total I was given 8 IV bags, stayed two nights and three days, and was finally discharged Thursday evening. I was cared for by several nurses and had the doctor come in and check on me once a day. I also became the prime candidate for intern tutelage as every doctor visit was accompanied by 10 interns crowding into my room and listening intently as I took this sole opportunity with the doc to ask how and why I had malaria and typhoid when I had been both vaccinated and was taking prophylaxis to prevent this from happening. Unsatisfied by the doctor’s response (as he dismissed Western medicine and doctors as not having any idea how to treat diseases in Africa) I had to anxiously wait until I got home to internet to do my own research.

Final consensus: I’m unlucky. The typhoid fever vaccination is only about 85% effective and malarial preventatives are around 90%. The double hit probably caused my body to be weakened and allow both diseases to enter. However, in comparison to the stories I’ve heard from others, the actual manifestation wasn’t as intense. Hence, I hypothesize that the vaccination and prophylaxis helped at least in diminishing the potential full effects of both diseases.

Now, I’m on the mend. Two weeks of additional medication and attentive watch over the possibility of a relapse. I thank God it wasn’t worse, that I have a caring family to help keep me healthy, and that the silver lining was that I learned how [those who have it good] the healthcare system works in Cameroon.

I'm looking for a beautiful flower

Going strong with the extremely late blogs. I have yet to talk about the traditional wedding I went to a few weekends ago in Douala.

Again accompanied by Doris, we left for Douala, the economic capital of Cameroon. Situated on a delta with the river emptying into the ocean, Douala is the port city that brings in the money for the country. Noticeably better off by the organization of roads, state of the buildings, and general ambiance, Douala would have been a fun city to live in if not for the sweltering heat and humidity. Reminiscent of Minnesota summers where just sitting in the shade makes you sweat, I was fortunate to be staying at my friend’s cousin’s house with A/C!

Our friend Carol (fellow AIESECer) had invited the two of us to her sister’s traditional wedding, more commonly called the dowry ceremony. Dependant on means and following today’s modern society, Cameroonians usually hold two weddings, a traditional marriage and a “church” or civil marriage.  Last weekend was solely dedicated to the dowry process and took place outside at Nadine’s (the bride) uncle’s house.

Saturday morning we all woke up to help with the food preparations. The house fairly calm for the fact that nothing was set up in advance, the three of us girls joined in with the aunts, cousins, friends, and random relatives outside to prepare. Chatting easily while snapping beans we were filled in on the events for the evening. Having all the family gathered around and helping, I became a little nostalgic for my own family holidays and events where preparations are virtually the same.

The ceremony was to start at 8:00 PM. As the hour approached the kitchen frenzy heightened. The food wasn’t ready in time, so there was about a one-hour delay in getting started. When it finally did, it was quite the spectacle. The heads of the bride’s family sat on an elevated platform to one side and addressed the groom’s family. The uncle guiding the proceedings welcomed the family to his home and for the occasion. Then the theatrics started. The uncle (Papa Antoine) asked the family, “what are you here for?” The communicator for the groom’s father replied, “we are here because we saw a beautiful flower at your house and we want to take her into our home.” The dialogue went back and forth for a while using metaphors to discuss the bride-to-be. Finally Papa Antoine gave in and said, “well we have many beautiful flowers at this house and so you will have to recognize the one you are talking about.” He went on to say that the flowers are very hard to find or are far away, and this was when the money started to fall, with the groom’s family offering compensation for bringing in the “rare flowers.”

Now, the aunts of the bride came into the picture. Finding young women to pretend to be Nadine, they covered them up in African fabrics and paraded them one by one into the courtyard while singing and dancing. Presenting each hidden women to the groom and his family more money and gifts were offered, especially if they guessed wrong. Finally after an hour or so, Nadine herself was covered up. Making even more of a hub-bub, it was clear that this woman was different than the rest. With the aunts pretending that they didn’t want to let her go, the march to the groom was laborious. When the groom responded that this woman was the flower he was looking for, the entire courtyard erupted into hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering. Nadine was unveiled and the aunts of the groom’s family joined into the circle surrounding the couple, dancing and singing a song that everyone seemed to know.

After the general brouhaha, Nadine was taken away again to change into her nice dress. Accompanied by the groom this time as she entered into the courtyard, the aunts surrounded the couple with dance and cheers. The two were led up to the platform with Papa Antoine where they were asked to drink from the palm wine necessary to complete the binding of the contract. In addition, they were asked to share a kola nut, another traditional rite of cementing the marriage. When the whole process was done, the groom got to kiss the bride. A three hour ceremony in total, the buffet started at 12 midnight.

I finally got to bed by 2 AM. Half the party had left, the other half were on their way to the dance clubs to continue the party. I just wanted to sleep. Since everyone was here from all over beds were in short order. The bed that Doris and I had shared the night before turned into an all out girls slumber party of 4 spoons. Somehow I still slept like a babe.

And so ended the first half of a Bamiléké wedding celebration. 

I just landed in a postcard

Two weekends have passed already, both without proper documentation. I spent them discovering new regions of Cameroon and enjoying them in different ways. Since both deserve their own entry I will post each weekend separately. (Look for pictures in the slideshow I put up on the left side of my blog).

My skin finally gave in. I’m peeling like a lizard despite my best efforts to moisturize.

October 23-25^th, two weekends ago, I took my first day off and left for Kribi Friday morning. Traveling with my fellow AIESECer and ex-patriot, Doris (she’s German), we took a bus mid-morning arriving four hours later on the southern coast of Cameroon. Kribi is lauded for its gorgeous beaches and tropical landscape. Catching my first glimpse of the ocean from my tightly wedged position in the bus and taking a big gulp of that fresh sea air, the stress and exhaustion from working so much started to ease.

This weekend was all about R&R for me. Yes, it was an opportunity to see another region of diverse Cameroon, but more importantly, I needed to take some time for myself, stretch my independent wings, and be selfish for a moment. While the sense of encroachment on my independence is less prominent than when I was in Senegal, it has still been an adjustment to be held accountable every day to a family again.

Bee-lining it to the hotel when we pulled into the bus stop, Doris and I profited from the last few hours of sunshine on the beach of our ocean-side hotel. Getting hungry and wanting to use our legs a little, we wandered down a road following the ocean hoping to fall upon a restaurant. By chance a man stopped to ask us where we were going and promptly gave us a recommendation for “excellent fish and not too expensive.” This is the downfall of Kribi, no longer a “best-kept secret,” the tourist trade has shot prices through the roof of Cameroonian standards (and can even be pricey after converting CFAà$$). 3 miles and a bumpy moto ride later, we entered into Tara Plage Hotel and Restaurant. Tucked into its own private bay with no other buildings in sight, we walked into a postcard. Amid exlamations of joy over how amazing of a location we were in, we each ordered a grilled fish. While on the pricey side of $13 a plate, we were not disappointed. Sizable fish with my favorite grilled plantains, and baked tomatoes on the side. We stuffed ourselves to the tune of FRESH fish and spectacular sunset. Ah, the life. Before heading back to the hotel we took a taxi into the central part of town to check it out and get a few provisions: boxed wine and ice cream! Finishing off the night Doris and I took our goodies down to the beach and parked ourselves in the sea-side hammocks, letting ourselves relax to the ocean surf music.

Saturday morning my internal alarm clock of now 6:30 AM woke me. Although wishing I could just enjoy my one commitment-free weekend morning, I took advantage of the cool morning to read my [very] slowly progressing Barak Obama book. Side note: this book with the photo of Barak on the cover has gotten me some serious attention with unanimous support and pleasure over our new President. Later in the morning after Doris got up we took another walk to find food, this time in the downtown direction. On our way we came across a great beach/ocean scene with a nice house/hotel included. We each got a photo in when a local stopped his moto to inform us that what we were doing was very illegal and if the guards saw us we would probably be thrown in jail unless we supplied a large bribe! Apparently the nice house was none other than the second Presidential palace…Of course we choose the one that could get us in trouble. Thanking God for our luck I reflected on this [rather] unimportant imposition on Cameroonian freedoms in contrast to the US. Just another reminder of the type of government people live under here.

The downtown is much better kept than Yaoundé and the other towns we passed through on the way to get to Kribi. Whether because it is so touristy or because the President decided to invest in it, who knows, but the streets were more clean and some parts even had landscaping. Containing all of the same elements as you would find in Yaoundé suburbs, Doris and I meandered through the market to see if we saw anything interesting. Assorted vegetables, endless fruits, new and used clothing, shoes, random cooking utensils, raw meat, and a few tailor shops, nothing changed (except prices) from what we see in Yaoundé.

After buying food for a picnic lunch, Doris and I moved out of our hotel to a better priced and new favorite location…Tara Plage. Our arrival was welcomed by rain. Bummed but not too upset, we took more time to read and lounge around. As we waited for a break in the clouds we were surprised by the arrival of our friend Arthur, another Cameroonian member of AIESEC we are both friends with. We had invited him to join us for the weekend, but he wasn’t sure if he would make it, so when he showed up we were pretty excited. Riding on our new energy Doris and I decided to make the best of the rain and still balmy temperatures and put on our swimsuits to play in the ocean. I’m pretty sure everyone working at the hotel thought we were crazy for being out in the rain, but we had a ball. We went for a long walk along the beach exploring the coastline, finally giving in and returning home when we were fully drenched and shivering from the rain.

 Dinner that night was at a random restaurant, nothing special. Since we are old people we decided not to discover the nightlife and instead did a repeat of Friday night at our new hotel. It was the perfect way to close another day of relaxation.

Sunday morning was another early start. By 9AM all three of us had mobilized and were ready to go to the waterfalls famous in the Kribi area. We had the chance that the falls were within [long] walking distance from our hotel. Sand between our toes and sun shining brightly (as was later attested to by my raging sunburn...oops!), I reveled in my fortune of being in tropical paradise while everyone back in the States was freezing their buns off with the October snow.

Les chutes de lobe (waterfalls) were breathtaking. Not tall and long, but short and wide. The three of us, now nicknamed somehow the “kribi crew,” rented a pirogue (carved out long wooden canoe; the same as the Senegalese fishing boats) to get up close to the falls. We got to climb into the falls where they were less powerful, take pictures and take in the glory of such a work of nature. Following this adventure we went for a quick swim while waiting for our shrimp. Kribi’s specialty is shrimp with a special sauce. Again paying a pretty penny ($13), we dined on 100 fresh shrimp with the necessary fried plantains as the accompaniment. I cannot rave enough over how delicious it was. Crevettes à la Kribienne, slightly greasy and garlicy with a bite at the end. I have to learn how to make it. To top off my vision of a perfect weekend, we passed around a coconut, drinking the milk and scraping out the meat.

To my great sadness I had to leave straight away to get back to Yaoundé before it got too late.

With all of the free time I had over the weekend I spent a lot of time reflecting on my past two months in Cameroon and evaluating how I was doing. I realized that I haven’t been appreciating life as much as I should; the details of this country that remind me of why I will always be passionate about Africa; the people who continue to mark me. I am convinced that I will go back to Kribi at least one more weekend because it was so fantastic. Nothing like taking time to take care of yourself.

Almost to Wednesday

(This was written yesterday, but no internet)

Another Tuesday come and gone. Tomorrow, “hump day,” and already the middle of the week. What makes Wednesdays even better is that class is only until 12 noon. What a nice break in the week!

This morning I rolled myself out of bed at 5:45 AM and went through my carefully strategized morning routine, leaving myself just enough time to steep my coffee and prepare the egg sandwiches for Papa David, Daryl, and myself. Leaving the house at 6:30 (really it’s more like 6:40) we avoid the morning traffic and whiz down the road to arrive at school ten minutes later. To get to Noula School we have a direct straightaway from our house [usually] making the commute speedy.

By 7 AM I was settled into the office with laptop, coffee, and egg sandwich in hand. Today I planned to start writing sponsorship letters to organizations asking for donations for our annual holiday party. Ten minutes in and the usual troupe of nursery kids tromped in to say hi and check out what I was doing. While adorable, it was quite distracting having them jostling around for the place closest to me and simultaneously peppering me with questions: “What does that do? Open that. What are you doing now?” With Papa Jean’s help I finally got them shoo-ed out of the office. Ahh, now I could get back to work.

7:30 AM Denis, the school’s go-to man (he teaches the computer classes for me, fixes the electronics, types documents, and basically is learning to be my right arm), came in to try and fix our “new” printer. The most exciting thing to happen to the office, last week we got a printer/scanner that David had thought was broken to work. Two days later it actually did break down. An hour later we were still stuck on what was wrong so Denis took it to the computer room to work on some more. During this time we were interrupted at least three different times by parents and teachers needing some sort of assistance.

Getting back to my project for the day I did some research on the organizations we are targeting and started to “get organized.”

Interrupted again, our Pedagogic Advisor showed up. Trying to relay the things that needed to be done today and Thursday (the other day he works for us), I got frustrated with his inability/unwillingness to comply with my requests. As a true guru of the field, his years working for the Cameroonian educational system combined with his actual weathered age has given him the “I know best” attitude in all situations. Difficult to deal with when my expectations clash with what he wants to do.

Returning to my project I continue working. Receiving a steady flow of problems and needs from teachers and parents is the norm. I estimate that at least every 30 minutes someone stops in. I have a continual list of things that teachers ask me for: chalk, bathroom cleaning supplies, copies of the first sequence schedule, an advance on their paycheck for the younger brothers’ father-in-law’s funeral, etc. Hard to keep it all straight when we don’t have the means to buy things in bulk.

Next came the sick student. Rifling through the student registration sheets for his grade I couldn’t find his information. Thankfully I recognized his name as being the son of the manager of the Yaounde post office, the man who now makes sure that I receive my packages safe and sound. I had his number on hand and was able to call him up and ask him to send someone to pick up his son. With the number of students who are still not registered 2 months into the school year (around 175), we have had to use fairly creative measures to get parents’ phone numbers for sick/bad children.

Continuing with the letter I start the actual writing. Despite the ever-present visitors, I finished the letter near the end of the day.  Almost directly after, David returned to the school and reminded me that we needed to finish updating the financial records of each student/family in order to start sending out [way overdue] tuition payment reminders. I had spent my entire Monday on this task so I only had a few more additions to the spreadsheet. Talk about complicated: try reconciling the teachers’ class list with the registration sheets, guessing on the names that are spelled based on what the teacher hears; then cross listing this with the list of students whose parents have paid something towards their tuition/registration; then calculating who has paid the full registration cost, and the first payment. To further confuse things we had to make sure parents who made more than two payments were accurately recorded. As my Grandpa Walker would have said, “minor details, minor details.”

My head about to explode by the last hour of class, David and I realized that the teachers meeting we had scheduled last week for today and canceled yesterday had not been announced to the teachers! Feeling terrible for not giving any notice, I notified the head teacher for the week and he informed the others. With so many other things to think about and remember, I am still juggling how to be efficient and stay organized.

Finally I jetted out of the school by 3:45 PM, early for a typical day, and went home.

Life after work is a whole story in itself, so its telling will have to wait for another day.

Thus went a “typical” day-in-the-life-of Sara.