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.

Koki

So, last week my host mom decided to teach me the art of cooking koki, a dish that her village is known for. As soon as all the kids saw I was cooking, they demanded my camera so they could take pictures of me. (Yes, I know my outfit doesn't match at all, I wasn't planning on being photographed) They said it was so my family in America could see what I was doing, so here goes:

The first step is to grind up a ton of cow peas. Usually, you would use a grinder, but the electricity was out, so we did it the old fashioned way (on the grinding rock). About half way through, you grind some pimente (hot peppers). The cow peas are a pale tan, but as soon as my host mom added the peppers, you got an outstandingly brilliant red-orange color. I tried to get a photo, but she was too fast to get a good one it before it was all smashed together.


I am not very good at grinding, my host mom kept correcting my technique, as shown here.


You line the wine boxes with oil (to prevent sticking) and then fill it up part of the way with the Koki mixture. After that, you add it to a large pot with water in the bottom (this simulates an oven).


After we put the Koki on the fire, we had to peel unripe bananas. They then cook these to form a side dish of sorts. There is a special technique for peeling the bananas so that the peel comes off easily. This is harder than it seems when the bananas are unripe.


Finished with everything