3 Day Weekend

Sunday was the Feast of the Ram. Because there is a large Muslim population in Cameroon, this means Monday was a national holiday. For my three day weekend, I went to the West. Jenny was medically separated about a month ago, and she had come to visit for a few weeks. However, Sunday was her flight back home, so I went to Nkongsamba to say goodbye. This was my first visit to Nkongsamba, and I was impressed by both the city and the scenery, though it did give me a reminder that I need to practice my French.
“C’est quell direction a Bare?”
“I no talk English fine”
“…”

Sunday morning I went to the Chutes d’Ekom Nkam with another volunteer. This waterfall is just outside of Nkongsamba, and is where Tarzan was filmed. I don’t know which Tarzan, but my tour book told me that! We took a taxi to the head of the trail, and then hired a motorcycle taxi to take us down to the waterfalls (about 10 km away). The forest was breathtaking. Because they are attempting to market the waterfall as a touristic attraction, the rainforest has not been cut down for farmland. There weren’t even villages along the trail, only a well maintained dirt road, and the forest.

At the toll house there was a large sign that posted prices, and a man waited for us to pay before he would let our driver pass. We paid him 4500 CFA for two people and a camera, and continued on to the waterfall. There is a small park by the waterfall and a guide met us there. He proceeded to tell us that there isn’t a gatekeeper at the tollhouse on Sundays, and that we gave our money to bandits. We were able to give him a description of the men however, and I had accidentally gotten a picture of the motorcycle driver with them. He said he knew who it was, and allowed us to go to the waterfall. The Chutes d’Ekom Nkam are huge! They are really quite stunning, although quite possibly the most touristy place I have seen in Cameroon, not that there was anyone else there. I recommend anyone in the area to go and see them.
On Monday I went kayaking on the Noun River with some other volunteers. There were some very nice rapids, and we saw wild monkeys! I didn’t get any pictures because I didn’t want to chance losing my camera in the water, sorry!

Election Announcement Day

I have been travelling a lot lately, for various reasons, but it just happened that I would be in Bamenda for the day the election results were announced. For your information back home, Bamenda is the seat of the opposition leader. I arrived last night around 8 PM. Everyone on my bus was handed a piece of paper issued by the Bamenda City Council that called for peace.
This morning I woke up around 8 AM. Muriel and I (both made temporary residents of the Bamenda office because of standfast) went out in search of breakfast. We walked to the usual spaghetti-omelet shack, but they were closed. The second place we went to had an open door, but turned us away (at 9:30 AM) with the excuse that they were tired and wanted to rest. Upon questioning at a third place, we were told that people were afraid because of the election results. I asked that woman why she was still around if it might become dangerous and she just shrugged, saying “what can I do?”

I would estimate half the stores in Bamenda were closed, although there were a few taxis running. I was able to get to my village without mishap, and sat down with a friend to watch the results be announced. 2 hours later, I left his house. In Cameroon, “election results being announced” means a man from the supreme court sits in front of cameras reading the statistics for each polling district. I watched the Minister of Transportation sleep. I watched the men (and women) of the supreme court sit around looking bored, but stylish, in robes and wigs that imitated Great Britain from a few hundred years ago. I heard Garoua’s statistics announced as having 900,000 votes for Biya while less than 200,000 people voted at all in Bamenda. (Bamenda is larger than Garoua).

My second stop in village was the school. It was 1:00 on a Friday, but there were only a few students in an abandoned classroom. They appeared to be practicing for choir, but one student told me they were praying for peace.
After that I went to visit a friend who lived nearby. She praised my bravery multiple times, saying that soon she would “go to the village” for safety. After I told her she was already in village, she said “well, since you are here, we will stay here”.
My final stop was to visit my neighbor and landlady (and to stop by to say hi to my replacement volunteer). She wasn’t home so I gave her a call. She was out at a nearby bar, drinking while waiting for results to come in. I joined her and sat and discussed for a few hours before coming back into Bamenda. (At this point, they are still reading statistics that no one really cares about anymore).
Bamenda at 6:30 was dark and quiet, with only a few taxis and motorcycle taxis to break the silence. I saw a large group of policemen milling about aimlessly.
My impression? Other than the defaced billboards of President Biya, no one will protest over the election. I have been repeatedly told over the past few months that even if they don’t like the president, people will not fight, because at least they have food.
We will see. It is currently 8:30 at night, and the final results have not been announced. They started reading numbers at 11:00 AM.

What I Do

Yesterday morning I got a call from my program director. He asked me to write a blurb describing what I do in country so that it can be sent out to the incoming volunteers. I figured that it could be interesting to you also, while you are waiting for all the posts that I haven't done yet. Sorry!


What do I do in Cameroon? Just like most ICT-Education volunteers, I started by teaching at secondary school. I taught 12 different classes for 12 hours a week with students varying in age from 11 to 20. Mostly I taught basic skills like Word and Excel. After I finished classes for the day I would often open the computer lab to students with free time. During free time I had students who would ask to learn a broad variety of topics, so I was able to cater more to individual skill levels.
My computer lab had 15 computers in various states of disrepair. My principal was supportive in my efforts to maintain the lab, but there often wasn’t money in the budget. Salvaging parts from other computers was usually the preferred method of repairs.

A few days a week I held classes for the teachers at my school. Most of the teachers wrote their tests out by hand and calculated grades with their cell phones, so there was definitely a need to learn. The principal mandated all teachers to attend, but still the attendance varied wildly. Some days I would have two teachers, some days ten – which was still far less than the 70 teachers who worked at the school.
Through my connections with the school and friends in village, I became acquainted with CATTU, a teachers’ union. They wanted a website, but did not know how to start or maintain one. I developed a simple website for them and then ran training classes for their staff on HTML.

After I completed my work I could always find time for a drink with friends in village, or for a quick cooking lesson from my neighbor (when I say quick, I mean for the 3 hours that it seems to take for even the simplest dishes). The taxi drivers who went to my village were always enthusiastic about teaching me the local dialect, and teachers at my school would teach me pidgin in between classes despite the signs banning the use of pidgin on school grounds. I lived close enough to the regional capital that I went into the city once a week to visit other PCVs and go shopping for luxuries like lettuce.

After a year of teaching at secondary school, I received an opportunity to move posts. I went from a small village in the Northwest region to a large city in the Southwest region. I now work with the Delegation of Basic Education (a division of the government) instead of at a secondary school. Instead of teaching kids, now I teach adults. Currently my students are the staff members of the Delegation, but I am organizing seminars that will take me all over the Southwest region. The seminars will focus on teaching teachers and inspectors basic computer skills as well as computer maintenance and how to use the internet.

Coming into country I was a bit intimidated at the thought of teaching, as I had minimal experience in the field. However, the pre-service training that you attend gives you practice and tips and you soon find yourself wrangling kids like the experts. There is nothing quite as frustrating as teaching a class of 80 students with 15 computers, but when they walk 3 miles on a Saturday just so they can use the computer to practice typing, or bring you a present of live grasshoppers, or get so into the topic you are teaching that they stand up and demand homework, you know it is worth it.

Welcome to Cameroon.

Allison Lacker
PCV 2010-2012

An average not-so-average morning

This week at my school we are invigilating (proctoring) the exams for the fifth sequence. School is divided into 3 terms, and each term has 2 sequences (Almost done!). At my school we harmonize tests. This means every subject test will be happening at the same time. For example, today the entire school took Biology, Physics, Computer, and Food/Nutrition tests. Every teacher will proctor a class's tests, so one teacher would give the biology, physics, computer, and F/N tests. I checked the timetable last week and I wasn't scheduled to invigilate at all. The Vice Principal did this for me last sequence also since I have a ton of tests to grade. Anyways, I woke up this morning and went in to school early for a few reasons. One, I needed to hand in my test questions and work in the lab fixing computers. Two, my friend gave me the keys to the main office since she was traveling and I had to hand them off to the other secretary. So I walk my 20 minutes to school, get there a few minutes before 8, and promptly start working. As always, the students start begging to come in. I was hesitant at first since they were supposed to be taking tests, but most of the needed teachers weren't there yet, so I decided to let them in for a bit. Around 9:00, a teacher comes in and asks if I am ready to start invigilating yet. Since I wasn't on the timetable Friday, I am a bit confused, but I kick out all the students and start looking around for a timetable so I know which class I am in. All but one have been taken down and I can see where someone else's name was removed and mine put in (Sometime between good friday and easter sunday. As a side note I was the only one there Good Friday, because I was working on the computers). I was written in for Form 2B, so I waited around with the teacher for Form 2A for the 2C teacher to come. I am trying to give exams on the computers this term, so I didn't have a written test. Form 2 doesn't have a food/nutrition teacher, so that just left Physics and Biology. The 2C teacher had the biology questions, and by 9:30 she still hadn't arrived. So we went ahead and just gave the 30 minute physics test. I accidentally walked into the 2C classroom first (the layout of classrooms is a bit strange) and all the students stood up and cheered that I would be their teacher. My assumption is this means I let them get away with cheating more often than the others. They were very disappointed when I left. After the test I went to get the 1A class to take to the lab. For various reasons I haven't had them at all this sequence, so I was trying to give them some lab time. We wrote letters to American students, which they all loved. I was much more impressed with their work than my other form 1 students. Unfortunately, The power went out right as most were finishing, and most had not saved yet. So, after the power went out, I closed the lab down and went to talk to the teachers for a few minutes before leaving. One of my conversations was interrupted by a chorus of honking. A huge cavalcade of motorcycles and cars made their way down the hill into the school valley, while the school administration ran around getting all the teachers in a row. It turns out that the DO (I don't remember what it stands for - Divisional Officer?) was driving by and decided to visit. The DO and his entourage made a reception line while all the teachers shuffled past -in order of hierarchy of course, although for some reason they put me directly after all the administration. Luckily they were just stopping by and it wasn't a formal occasion, or I would have been stuck there much longer. As it was, I left almost immediately after them so I could go to town. I walked about 30 minutes before the school bus (a large van) passed me, and the bus driver told me to hop in. On one hand, I was appreciative, because it is a free ride to Bamenda. On the other, it means I exit the vehicle with a large group of students. In today's case it was entertaining however, because a large group of form 3 girls surrounded me. When people heckled me in the market ("hey baby", or even just "hello") they would heckle them back ("don't you talk like that to our madam!" "Our madam doesn't want to talk to you!") Their possessiveness was cute. I grabbed another taxi to bring me to the Peace Corps office to check email and type up some things -arriving here about 1:00.

Walking

In Cameroon, kids walk everywhere. Poor people walk everywhere. Old mamis walk miles with trees on their heads. However, when I walk to the city (about 4 miles) I get comments from everyone who sees me. It is not -just- because I am white. If you are of an age that you can make money, this means that you can take a taxi, and everyone (at least in my village) does. Taxi rides are ridiculously cheap (~30 cents to town, less than 40 cents anywhere in the city).

I have been told that many of the teachers felt sorry for the volunteer before me because he almost always walked to town. They thought he couldn't afford the taxi ride, and some even were tempted to offer him money.

some comments I have gotten recently that I thought were interesting:

"You can not walk, because then you will get red, and everyone in America will blame it on Africa and hate us"

"Madam! You are pedesting!"

"Madam, you are so strong, you could walk forever" (right before I went to my house and they continued another few miles)

"I thought Americans were lazy and drove everywhere, but every American I have met walks all the time" -to which I explained that many Americans were lazy, but not all

The concept of saying sorry

In Cameroon, the idea of saying "sorry" is so ubiquitous that in pidgin, the same word is used for "sorry" and "hello". I rarely go anywhere without hearing a flurry of "ashia". "Ashia for work" "Ashia for sport" "Ashia, how you dey?". Earlier this week I brought one of my form 1 classes to the computer lab. I have them the last period of the day, so half of them are wound up, and half are tired, but none of them want to listen. After 15 minutes of rushing around making them close games and trying to get them to open word, I gave up and told them to go back to the classroom. They know that if they don't behave in the lab, I revoke lab privileges, but that doesn't seem to stop them. After I herded them all out, they started begging. "Madam, sorry, madam, forgive forgive" They seem to have little understanding of consequences, and want to go back to the lab as soon as they apologize. I tell them that if they behave, they will go back next week. They stood outside the computer lab for 10 minutes after school singing a song they invented on the spot. The lyrics are "Madam we are sorry -oh". They also wrote on the computer lab door (in chalk) a 3 sentence dissertation on them being sorry. Since we have been through this before, I know they will still misbehave. I know part of it is simply their age, but some of it is the culture as well.

A teacher at my school recently asked for time off, ostensibly to go to a brother's funeral in Nigeria. The principal said he could only approve 3 days leave, so the request was sent higher up, and she was granted a 3 week leave. The secretary at my school agreed to give the students notes for these 3 weeks. 6 weeks later, she has not returned. After the first 3 weeks, the secretary was told not to give any more classes, because she would be responsible if anything happened during the hour. There were rumors going around school that the teacher was actually vacationing in America. This was confirmed when she met with another (retired) teacher who now lives in D.C. and communicates with friends in Cameroon on a regular basis. I asked what would happen to the teacher when (if) she returned. I was told that as long as she goes to the principal and says she is very sorry, she would be forgiven (without being fired and with no dock to the pay)

Dancing with Jujus

I never seem to have my camera with me when I see something awesome. In my defense however, I did not think that a funeral was the place to bring a camera. (This is not my picture but the closest thing I saw in a quick google search)

Last Tuesday I went to the funeral of my pricipal's brother. After a few hours in church, then an hour or two spent eating and drinking, the jujus came out. Jujus are traditional festive dancers that usually come out at large death celebrations. They have giant masks on top of their heads, and they cover their faces. They carry what looks like horsetails, but with handles that are highly decorated. They will throw this at people in the crowd, and if you get hit you are supposed to come and dance with the juju (and give him money). I was standing with a bunch of teachers from my school when a juju threw one. It hit both me and the person next to me. At the time I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I pretended that it hit my neighbor more than me. He went and danced and gave the juju money. I moved further back so that I wouldn't be hit again. A few minutes later however, the same juju threw a very skillful shot that avoided both people in front of me and hit solely me. Since there was no way to avoid it this time I went out and danced with him for a minute before running back to the edges. It was hard to go out in front of such a large crowd and dance, but it was an awesome experience to see and participate in.

Mission: get a cat

During my absence over winter break, my house became the residence of a family of mice. Partly to combat this issue, and partly because I wanted to, I decided to get a cat. Cats are not rare here. Sometimes they wander, sometimes they stay inside a house. I see them most often in small shops, where I assume their purpose is to catch mice because people seem to ignore them. There is a belief here that dogs are dirty, but cats are perceived at least neutrally. Taking all of this into consideration, I didn't think that it would be very complicated to get one of my own.

First, I asked my landlady if she knew where to get one. She just got a new puppy, but it was a from a friend of a friend, and she didn't seem to have any kitten connections. Next, I asked a few Peace Corps Volunteers in the area. Kelly gave me the discouraging response that it took her months to find a cat when she was looking in her village, but Brittney was able to give me the next clue. She had been admiring a kitten in a shop and the owner offered to sell one of the other kittens in the litter. With plans to show me where this shop was in a few days, I left with an optimistic attitude. This visit got delayed twice, first due to a meeting running late (very Cameroonian) and then because Brittney got sick (also, very Cameroonian). Finally Brittney was able to show me where this shop was. When we showed up, the man she previously spoke with was not there, but his little sister was. We asked her about the kittens and she says “they aren't here anymore”. At first this gave me the impression that they were all given away or sold, but further belligerence on my part revealed that “the kittens are in the bush” (meaning, they were running around wild). The girl tells me that they come back to eat at night, so I should return in a few hours. Since it is quite a bit out of my way, I told her I would try and come back, and Brittney and I went to check another place she had seen a kitten. The man at this second shop says he can get me a kitten, if I want to come back on Sunday (current date: Tuesday). This is a distinct possibility, but I decide that I want to try to return to place #1 in a few hours to try and get more immediate satisfaction.

Since I didn't want to spend 400CFA and 40 minutes going back home, just to have to come back out again, I decided to waste a few hours in the Peace Corps office on the Internet. I tried to download programs for my lab at school but they ended up getting corrupted, so those few hours were unproductive. At 5PM I showed back up at the little shack to the extreme amusement of the proprietors. They said that the cats had not returned yet, so I asked if they mind if I wait. The man (who is there at this point) seemed very hesitant, and confided that there is only one left “and it is a black one.” I am not positive if black cats are a superstition here as well, but his attitude conveyed that idea. I reassured him that I am fine with a black cat, so he shrugs and says I can wait if I want to. About an hour later the mother cat showed up, but there was no black kitten in tow. The man, whose name I found out to be Innocent, explains that this is a very headstrong kitten. About a half hour after that, Innocent tried to get me to leave by saying he can catch the kitten if I plan a time to come back. I got his phone number, then waited for about 10 more minutes before agreeing to return Thursday after work.

Thursday at 3 I called Innocent's number to confirm that I could pick up the cat, but a girl answered the phone and for some reason we had trouble communicating. (I don't think I could pronounce “Innocent” well enough, or she was just messing with me, I am not sure). I hesitated on making the trip, but decided that since we had arranged for me to get the cat at 4, I would go. When I showed up the girl manning the store make a quick phone call that I caught the end of “that whiteman is back again”, and once again I settled down to wait. About 10 minutes later Innocent shows up, covered in burrs and dirt, saying that he tried to catch the cat, but it ran into a bunch of rocks and he couldn't get to it. I ask if I should wait and he says yes, it will come out eventually. A few other people try and help out, taking turns chasing the poor kitten around, but they are all outsmarted. I spent an amusing 20 minutes watching an old lady wait outside a door of a locked shed. Every time the cat tried to come out, she would move to catch it and it would run back inside. At one point there were 6 people standing outside this shed trying to catch my kitten for me. Eventually either the owner comes by, or someone went to get him, and the door is unlocked. People swarm into the shed to corner the cat, but he escapes out a hole in the back. Innocent is still encouraging at this point, saying the cat is very intelligent, but they will get it. At this point I have been waiting for about an hour and a half, and have had over 15 people help try and catch this one kitten. They offer to let me buy the mother cat, but I say I want a kitten (“small pussy” in pidgin). The old lady comes to sit by me and wait for a bit. Eventually she stands up and walks off, I assume to go do something else, but she returns with a bag in her hand. Innocent reaches in a pulls out a small kitten and asks if this one will do instead. When I give her money for the cat, she assures me that she has many more in the house if I know anyone who wants one. I don't know why it took her so long to offer me one, since I specified that I didn't have any preference beyond it being a kitten. I think that this one will be a much better house cat than the rambunctious black kitten though. As soon as I picked her up she started purring, and she will happily climb all over me whenever I sit down.

Cricket Season

This blog post is about a month late. I have a new one that I will put up soon (I think) that chronicles my winter break, but this one is long overdue and I thought they should be chronological.

The end of rainy season and the beginning of dry season signals the annual plague of locusts. For a few weeks grasshoppers (crickets? locusts? I don't remember which are different) were everywhere. If I turned my lights on at night, they would find their way inside. If I didn't turn my lights on, they would still end up inside.

A quick run through of cricket hunting, start to finish.

The casual cricket hunter can simply pluck a few off any visible surface. If you are a child it is acceptable to run around trying to catch them from the air a la lightning bugs (but edible). If you are trying to catch them en masse you can either spray a bunch of pesticide in the air or set up a cricket trap like there is in my compound. When I first visited my house (almost 7 months ago now!) I noticed a strange platform of bamboo that looked semi permanent. I was told that it was for catching crickets, but I wasn't quite sure how that would be accomplished. This structure stood, unused except as the occasional overflow laundry line, for months. One day a lightbulb appeared on a pole, as well as several large oil drums with sheets of metal angled in them. It is a simple set up, but surprisingly effective. On nights when the moon is not full, they turn off all the household lights (which you do after dark in cricket season anyways because of the various bugs that are attracted to them). The crickets swarm around the lightbulb, and will randomly hit the sheets of metal. When they fly into the metal they get stunned, and slide down into the giant oil drums. Since the metal is at an angle, most get trapped inside.

During this same interval, all the students who live in my compound run around trying to catch their own stash of flying snacks. I tried to help them but every time I showed them one I caught they would tell me it was the wrong type. They did pick several off me that landed on my clothes (or hair). I wasn't always able to tell the difference between types, but I think it is all stages of development. They have names for every different type. In general, they call them “munguine" (sp?) which is the dialect word for cricket. When they look white and almost translucent they are called “whiteman”.

In the morning they boil the crickets, then set them out on sheets to dry. They are then salted and either deep fried or dry fried in a skillet. I think some people eat them raw, but I wasn't adventurous enough for that. To eat them, you pluck off their wings and legs then swallow. I am told that their legs have tiny barbs on them that can catch your throat, but I often saw people munching unconcerned.

I wouldn't go so far as to say they are considered a delicacy here, but they are definitely an enjoyable snack to Cameroonians. Asking other Americans, I have heard very different opinions. Personally, I find them edible but not particularly enjoyable.

Giving my final exams, one little form one student brought me a present. In America, it would stereotypically have been an apple. I got a bag of live grasshoppers.