Sunday, August 2, 2009
For Joya
My older sister, Joy Miyoko Fujii married Edward James Holcomb on Saturday, August 1st in a civil ceremony in Georgia. I am so happy for the them and just wanted to take this moment to congratulate the two of them. It is also moments like these that I feel very far from home. But I love you both very much and am glad you are waiting on me for your real ceremony in Hawaii. Ill see you in 2011.
Pre Peace Corps
Growing up with parents who were anything but conventional, my life has been a constant adventure. And it is largely because my parents have always encouraged trying new things that I have similarly sought a variety of experiences. Last March, I was entirely uncertain what I would do post graduation. For the longest time I had talked about going to Africa but seemed unable to find a suitable way to go that did not include raising my own support or paying for a volunteership. I applied for Peace Corps on a whim after being encouraged by other friends who had recently started the process but was uncertain where it would take me.
After meeting with a recruiter and reading more about Peace Corps’ (PC) small business development program, which is largely microfinanced based, I realized how fitting an opportunity this would be. Having spent the past year researching microfinance for my thesis, there was no better way to supplement this learning than through actual field work.
Further, PC appealed to me on several levels. I wanted to go to a part of the world that I would unlikely ever live in on my own while I was young enough and crazy enough to embrace the unknown. On top of that, service has always been an important component of my life. But it’s not just any type of community service work that I am interested in. For me, projects that are more rewarding are those that are sustainable and truly community need based. While many donations and projects are well intended, they often are misguided because they fail to understand the importance of local context. By contrast, PC encourages projects that are locally grown. And lastly, on a personal level, PC would force me to confront different fears (like public speaking!) and challenge me in ways that nothing else would be capable of doing.
Madagascar
When I first applied, I never anticipated the mountain of paperwork that would stem from an application nor how frequent a visitor I would be to my doctor’s office. For those of you considering PC or in the process of applying, a word to the wise, do not choose your medical history evaluation as a time to check every yes box you can. I did and paid a heavy and long price for that. Unless it’s serious and/or life threatening, just check NO. It is a miracle I made it through medical clearance with the amount of red tape I created for myself.
But a part from the medical setbacks, I did not anticipate the other obstacles. Long story short, I would’ve received an invitation in September for a December departure to Guinea had I not shot myself in the foot with my medical confessions. I did not receive an invitation and due to the madness that generated from that mess/confusion, I was ready to abandon ship when I unexpectedly received an invitation to Madagascar for February. Though 3 months past my initial departure date, I did the math and figured I could wait the additional 3 months. So I waited. I extended my job, apartment and a relationship. In January, two weeks after I had quit my job and a day after moving out of my apartment, news broke in Madagascar. Riots had erupted and several protesters were killed. Riots ensued. I read the news with great trepidation knowing that this would inevitably impact my service. PC in Washington dodged questions. Finally, on February 2nd, 10 days before my departure, we received word that our assignment was postponed till March 9th. Having already fought a long battle w/ PC medical, I was ensure whether I should continue to press on or just give up. I ultimately decided that it would be silly to throw in the towel if it just meant waiting a month. After all, I had waited a year by that point. Nonetheless, caught entirely off guard by our postponement, February proved to be an emotionally difficult month for me. I had emotionally prepared to leave and a month’s delay, while only a month proved to be harder than expected. I had no job or home at that point.
Throughout February, negotiations were ongoing. People were hopeful that the situation would improve. Over the next month, I followed the news almost hourly as the situation continued to develop. The riots died down and then flared again. The situation, while not particularly reaffirming, was not currently violent. As a result, Washington was still prepared to send us. So, I packed my bags and donated my belongings. I finally threw out my bed after holding on to it till the very last day as a precautionary measure. As I was printing off my boarding pass that night before my departure, I checked the news as usual. Staring me in the face, BBC’s headline read “MADAGASCAR: ARMY LAUNCHES MUTINY.” My heart sank. I knew that if the army was involved, it was a done deal. I checked my email and phone. No messages from PC. It was 7pm and my flight took off in less than 12 hours. I said my goodbyes anyway and moved forth.
I arrived in Philadelphia for staging where I met my fellow volunteer class. As we waited in line to check in, rumors circulated that a current volunteer had notified us that PC had decided to close the post. Considering the amount of rumors that had circulated and the continued state of uncertainty we had experienced over the past month, if our assignment really was canceled, we wanted to hear it from the horses’ mouth. Once the whole group had finally gathered, in walked the assistant director of PC. She greeted the group and went on to say, “I’m here sending my best from Washington. Unfortunately, I cannot send your best home with me. None of you will be boarding a plan for Madagascar tomorrow.” The room sat in stunned silence. I wasn’t sure what was the appropriate reaction. I was so drained by that point; I could neither cry nor scream so I laughed in disbelief. PC explained to us that if minimal security measures are not in place – and in this case, the gendarme had refused to accept orders from the President, PC could not send us anymore and our service was effectively canceled. We were then told that because we had not submitted any signed paperwork, we were also out of the PC network and therefore PC was not required to provide us with anything. We were all effectively jobless, homeless and without insurance. With family overseas, my situation was all the more complicated. I truly had nowhere to go, and had just ended a relationship 6 hours prior. PC did do what they could to assure us that Madagascar stagees would be a top priority for reassignment.
Less than 48 hours after leaving, I arrived in Chicago, so emotionally, physically and mentally drained. I was neither sad nor mad. I was too tired to think. Embarrassed, I did not tell anyone beyond a couple friends that I was home. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was sick of it. The next day, I spoke to my recruiter and was told that I had received a new invitation for Cameroon for an assignment in June. I was assured that that was the soonest departure I could receive. I reiterated that I did not have a home, my bags were packed and that Costa Rica, which had left the day before, would be a fine assignment for me. My recruiter didn’t budge. I was given additional time to think over the offer. I did my homework first this time and read about Cameroon’s political and social history. It was not reaffirming but I figured I would accept. Unconvinced I would actually go, I started looking for jobs again. As fate would have it, an internship I had interviewed for as an interim job during my month of delay led to an interview for a full time job. I gladly accepted and began to think about seriously staying. I had dreamed about working for this organization. I moved forth with the rounds of interviews hoping that either the job prospect or Cameroon would fall through so I wouldn’t have to make any of the hard decisions myself. Unfortunately for me, that did not happen. As I stared a job offer in the face, I had to seriously sit and consider what it is I wanted. If I moved forth with Peace Corps, there was no guarantee that there would not be political upheaval in Cameroon. After all, a coup in both Guinea and Madagascar did not set a good precedent. I also could not predict my health or whether I would even like Cameroon. In spite of all the unknowns, after much contemplation, I decided to take a leap of faith and rejected the job offer.
Its difficult for many to understand why I still wanted to go to Africa so badly and would end a strong relationship and forego a job with an organization I long wanted to work for. Declining the job and following through with my application to Peace Corps was not an easy decision, but it was a critical choice. I knew that if I did not have the courage to follow my heart now, I would likely never find the strength to do the unconventional thing later. While I had the luxury of making that choice, I knew if I did not give Peace Corps a shot, it would not only contradict everything I’ve ever said about living a life of conviction, but even worse, I’d eventually regret it.
Cameroon at Last: June 2009
I apologize for the prolonged delay in writing: I terribly underestimated the internet situation here. Judging from the fact that other volunteers seemed to blog regularly, I figured I would be able to access a decent internet café at least once a week. While at my current training site I do have access to a few internet cafes in town, they are anything but reliable. I spent a whole hour waiting for one page to load and 30 minutes waiting for my e-mail to actually open. When the 2 line e-mail was actually ready to send, the screen closed and ended my session. It has been a lesson in patience to say the least.
I have been in training for the past month and a half in a small town called Bangante which is located in the western region of Cameroon. It is a quaint town that is blessed with rolling hills, red mud roads (which aren’t a blessing when it rains) and weather that is refreshingly cool for Africa. It even gets kind of chilly. The rich geography has provided the perfect backdrop for running. Another volunteer and I run daily. My 6 am runs in Bangangte as the town is just rising is my favorite time of day. Bangangte at 6am is picturesque. In many respects, the geography of the west resembles that of Hawaii.
In spite of some of its geographical similarities, Africa is a whole different animal. I assumed that living and traveling in developed countries would give me a sense of what Africa may be like but I think it is those experiences that misinformed me most. Because everything runs differently here. Water and electricity outages are the norm in Bangangte even though Bangangte, and the western region of Cameroon is comparatively wealthy. Traffic and travel is crazy. I visited my host mom’s village the other day and didn’t know what alarmed me more, that my cab driver – and I use the word cab loosely - was drinking bootleg whisky out of a bag or that his car was so dilapidated that I wasn’t sure which would likely kill me first, his car or his driving. I luckily made it to village in one piece.
What people say about intense ups and downs in Peace Corps is absolutely true. Since being here for a month, I am fortunate to have had very few lows but know that on any given day my emotions frequently fluctuate. Everything you seem to experience you experience with such intensity. On days like those, the other stagiaires, who are an awesome group of individuals, are a huge source of support.
During training, I have been staying with a host family. The Fotso family is a family of 7. I have a great relationship with my host mom and host brother and sisters. My brother is 19, and my 4 sisters are 17, 15, 11, and 5 in age. They have become a source of great comfort and relaxation for me. Alternatively, I am a source of entertainment for them as they watch me awkwardly figure out how to wash my laundry by hand, struggle getting water from the well and fumble around in the darkness of the frequent blackouts. I enjoy spending evenings with my family after a long day of classes and feel like I can be myself around them. The family dynamic in Cameroon is interesting. Cameroonian’s respect traditional gender roles which is common in many a developing country. My host father is largely absent and I have very little interaction with him.
I also have the privilege of living with their 5 year old. It has been the most trying part of my home stay, and I’m being absolutely serious. It should suffice to say that before coming to Cameroon I didn’t know exactly where I stood on children, but after being terrorized (I have bite marks to prove it) I am pretty convinced that I never, ever want children if there’s any possibility I would ever end up with a child like this one. This, by the way, is the diluted version of the story that will not get me in hot water.
As far as culture goes, I love the football culture here! I saw my first Cameroonian football match with my family a few weeks back. Bangangte played and beat a rival club team from the capital, Yaounde, to advance to the finals. It was a really exciting match. Cameroonian football matches come equipped with menacing guards wielding AK-47s, and lively fans who love to sing and dance. Everything about Africa is so animated. I love it. It was also at a certain moment during that game, smashed between 4 other people in a seat designed for one, with a loud horn blaring in my ear that I realized how incredibly happy I was to be in Africa. Looking out at a dirt field with a lively crowd it seemed just like a picture out of National Geographic’s – and the way I imagined Africa to be. It is the Africa I’ve dreamt of for a long time. At that moment, I realized how truly fortunate I am to be here. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought this day would have been possible back in March.
Nonetheless, I miss the US and Chicago more than I had expected. It’s a lot of the little things that make me nostalgic like riding the L into the loop every morning, walking to the Lake or going to the Park. I also really miss American food. Cameroonian food relies heavily on a high carb diet - rice, lots of potatoes and bread - that is largely saturated in palm oil. I’m learning to stomach the food but am looking forward to making my own food with about 1/20 the amount of oil. I figure I can manage for another month but then again, I did eat my reserve 3 bags of chocolate in 2 weeks. I also miss the news and feeling like I’m in tune to what’s going on in the world. I have no idea. Entertainment news never interested me much before and hardly interests me now. Its pretty indicative when the only piece of news other volunteers received from back home is news of Michael Jackson’s death. I guess that’s not what I really meant by news updates. Having the economist, regardless of how many weeks old it may be, gives me a refreshing sense of what’s happening in the world.
My terrible underestimation of the internet also extends to other things. Cameroon is just a lot more poor and underdeveloped than I had anticipated. And Cameroon is still relatively wealthy compared to its neighboring countries. Inflation is a major problem in Cameroon. The stipend can be hard to stretch. When toothpaste, toilet paper, and eggs cost almost as much if not more than what it does in the States, but the level of development severely lags behind, it suggests the poor state of the economy. There are only raw goods here and very little western brand influence. For example, if you want pepper, you have to go to the open market and buy it from a sack. Packaging or processed goods do not exist here. For our 4th of July party, we had to visit the butcher, pick out our meat and visit each stall separately to buy onions, garlic etc. Even in the big towns, a supermarket at most has the selection of a 7-11.
Cameroonian’s are obsessed, and I mean obsessed with having “clean feet” and shiny shoes. Perhaps I failed to mention that Bangangte is a city that is known for its red mud which has permanently colored its building and streets. No matter how lightly I tread, my shoes will be caked in mud by the time I get home. Nonetheless, my family insists that my shoes be clean when I leave the house. Culturally, I’ve found that cleanliness means different things. I’ve learned to just not look around too much or ask too many questions.
One thing that has been frustrating about training is how volunteers use the word American and white interchangeably. The problem is that it perpetuates that stereotype in Africa that all Americans are white. I find it ironic that Peace Corps mission includes teaching others about Americans and the diversity of Americans when Peace Corps volunteers themselves seem incapable of conquering that misnomer. The problem with this assumption is that minorities invariably are treated differently in Cameroon. Continually referencing examples of how white Americans are treated and given a position of privilege in Cameroon is terribly unhelpful to minorities who will not and are not regarded the same way. Let me just tell you, when the gendarme pull over my bus looking for a bribe, the bus driver did not point to me as his get out of jail free card. If anything its, does that Chinese migrant worker have her papers?
But by the same token, there are some things that are really funny about being Asian here. Like, take for example, the first time a cab stopped for me so that the driver could yell “HEEHAW” at me while making a donkey face (supposedly, some singer got it wrong when he sang a song saying hello in different languages). In a million years I don’t think I ever expected that greetings. Or, for example, while getting my photo taken for an id card at the police station, the photographer stopped suddenly and firmly instructed me to open my eyes. Don’t worry folks – they were wide open, or as wide open as Asian eyes do get. The “Chinoise!” doesn’t bother me, the being followed and aggressively screamed at does, but for the most part, just laughing about it seems the best option.
July 8–ish
Assignment
If I make it through till the end of training, I will swear in as small enterprise development (SED) volunteer on August 20th. The work of a SED volunteer is varied but largely consists of developing the capacity of local businesses as a consultant. Unlike foreign aid that physically constructs schools, roads, buildings etc the idea of a SED volunteer is dynamic where the emphasis is really on developing the capacity of local entrepreneurs through skills transfer. What is so appealing about this is that it ensures that development is sustainable, locally driven and empowerment oriented. Do I have qualms about my work? Absolutely. I feel poorly equipped to go over income statements and feasibility studies.
Posting!
Throughout the first 5 weeks of training, trainees nervously anticipate their post assignments for the next 2 years of their service. SED trainees had no idea where each post was much less what each posts’ needs were in order to deduce where we might possibly spend the next 2 years. In a geographically diverse place like Cameroon, the anticipation mounts. The west is beautiful and rich in vegetation. It is also the most developed region of Cameroon. Fruits and vegetables are bountiful and cheap here. The north, by contrast, is dry, dessert like, extremely hot – about 120F and lacking in diverse agricultural produce but culturally rich. Because it is even more underdeveloped than the rest of Cameroon ( or possibly as underdeveloped as East region of Cameroon) and the culture is decidedly Muslim in many parts, the working conditions for many volunteers is difficult. For some reason, I had a strong sense that I was going to the north. Part of me wanted a post in the west, but for reasons I recognized were wrong. I did not come to Africa to lead a life that was particularly comfortable or that tried to resemble what I had at home. In fact, I didn’t even know it would be an option but training in the west has made me very comfortable with its amenities. Before coming to Cameroon, I wrote in my aspiration statement that I believed Africa would be a shock to my senses and would challenge me in ways that I did not perceive. The west would not provide that type of environment in the way that other areas could.
Nonetheless, as we received our post one by one, I’ll admit, my heart sank a bit as a pinned my location on the map, second furthest away, straddling the extreme north. Staring at the cluster of SED volunteers in the west, I felt immediately alone as the only female among 3 other male volunteers in the north. Talking with the staff about their decision helped reassure me that they had a lot of confidence in me, but did not entirely convince me that I would be able to withstand the north. Access to credit is critical in Cameroon. Microfinance has been particularly effective in other regions of Cameroon but has struggled/failed in the North. The hope is that I’ll be able to work at a very grassroots level to improve the system. Though we weren’t given even a days time to reflect on this before meeting our counterpart institutions whom we will work with at our sites today, I know that this experience will be highly rewarding in part because it resembles what a lot of sub-Saharan African is like. But more importantly, I’m reminding myself that if I am truly here to serve, then the needs of my community come above and beyond my own personal demands and comforts.
I reached my French level here and have begun studying Fufulde which is the language of the North. French in Cameroon is different and at first difficult for me to understand but I am able to hold my own with my family and assigned company. Some days are more trying than others. Learning Fufulde in French is also an added challenge. Some days I feel like I do not speak anything well. I managed to utter a sentence that was neither French, Thai or English. Training has kept me busy from 8 till 5 everyday and then some with homework and projects. There are days where my brain is just on overload but being busy has been better than being idle.
July 9, 2009
I met my counterpart today, which is a microfinance bank. My counterpart seems nice but it is hard to gauge what he will be like in a work environment. For many female volunteers, how we will be treated/ the level of legitimacy we are given by our counterparts is a major preoccupation. Particularly in the north where social attitudes are much more conservative and rigid, the environment for a female volunteer is difficult. I will be leaving Sunday morning for my site visit. Since it will take me roughly 2 days travel, I will not be spending much time at site unfortunately, but it will be exciting to see nonetheless. I am replacing a current volunteer there who will be closing service at the end of August. I am a mixture of nervous and excited for the adventure ahead.
Growing up with parents who were anything but conventional, my life has been a constant adventure. And it is largely because my parents have always encouraged trying new things that I have similarly sought a variety of experiences. Last March, I was entirely uncertain what I would do post graduation. For the longest time I had talked about going to Africa but seemed unable to find a suitable way to go that did not include raising my own support or paying for a volunteership. I applied for Peace Corps on a whim after being encouraged by other friends who had recently started the process but was uncertain where it would take me.
After meeting with a recruiter and reading more about Peace Corps’ (PC) small business development program, which is largely microfinanced based, I realized how fitting an opportunity this would be. Having spent the past year researching microfinance for my thesis, there was no better way to supplement this learning than through actual field work.
Further, PC appealed to me on several levels. I wanted to go to a part of the world that I would unlikely ever live in on my own while I was young enough and crazy enough to embrace the unknown. On top of that, service has always been an important component of my life. But it’s not just any type of community service work that I am interested in. For me, projects that are more rewarding are those that are sustainable and truly community need based. While many donations and projects are well intended, they often are misguided because they fail to understand the importance of local context. By contrast, PC encourages projects that are locally grown. And lastly, on a personal level, PC would force me to confront different fears (like public speaking!) and challenge me in ways that nothing else would be capable of doing.
Madagascar
When I first applied, I never anticipated the mountain of paperwork that would stem from an application nor how frequent a visitor I would be to my doctor’s office. For those of you considering PC or in the process of applying, a word to the wise, do not choose your medical history evaluation as a time to check every yes box you can. I did and paid a heavy and long price for that. Unless it’s serious and/or life threatening, just check NO. It is a miracle I made it through medical clearance with the amount of red tape I created for myself.
But a part from the medical setbacks, I did not anticipate the other obstacles. Long story short, I would’ve received an invitation in September for a December departure to Guinea had I not shot myself in the foot with my medical confessions. I did not receive an invitation and due to the madness that generated from that mess/confusion, I was ready to abandon ship when I unexpectedly received an invitation to Madagascar for February. Though 3 months past my initial departure date, I did the math and figured I could wait the additional 3 months. So I waited. I extended my job, apartment and a relationship. In January, two weeks after I had quit my job and a day after moving out of my apartment, news broke in Madagascar. Riots had erupted and several protesters were killed. Riots ensued. I read the news with great trepidation knowing that this would inevitably impact my service. PC in Washington dodged questions. Finally, on February 2nd, 10 days before my departure, we received word that our assignment was postponed till March 9th. Having already fought a long battle w/ PC medical, I was ensure whether I should continue to press on or just give up. I ultimately decided that it would be silly to throw in the towel if it just meant waiting a month. After all, I had waited a year by that point. Nonetheless, caught entirely off guard by our postponement, February proved to be an emotionally difficult month for me. I had emotionally prepared to leave and a month’s delay, while only a month proved to be harder than expected. I had no job or home at that point.
Throughout February, negotiations were ongoing. People were hopeful that the situation would improve. Over the next month, I followed the news almost hourly as the situation continued to develop. The riots died down and then flared again. The situation, while not particularly reaffirming, was not currently violent. As a result, Washington was still prepared to send us. So, I packed my bags and donated my belongings. I finally threw out my bed after holding on to it till the very last day as a precautionary measure. As I was printing off my boarding pass that night before my departure, I checked the news as usual. Staring me in the face, BBC’s headline read “MADAGASCAR: ARMY LAUNCHES MUTINY.” My heart sank. I knew that if the army was involved, it was a done deal. I checked my email and phone. No messages from PC. It was 7pm and my flight took off in less than 12 hours. I said my goodbyes anyway and moved forth.
I arrived in Philadelphia for staging where I met my fellow volunteer class. As we waited in line to check in, rumors circulated that a current volunteer had notified us that PC had decided to close the post. Considering the amount of rumors that had circulated and the continued state of uncertainty we had experienced over the past month, if our assignment really was canceled, we wanted to hear it from the horses’ mouth. Once the whole group had finally gathered, in walked the assistant director of PC. She greeted the group and went on to say, “I’m here sending my best from Washington. Unfortunately, I cannot send your best home with me. None of you will be boarding a plan for Madagascar tomorrow.” The room sat in stunned silence. I wasn’t sure what was the appropriate reaction. I was so drained by that point; I could neither cry nor scream so I laughed in disbelief. PC explained to us that if minimal security measures are not in place – and in this case, the gendarme had refused to accept orders from the President, PC could not send us anymore and our service was effectively canceled. We were then told that because we had not submitted any signed paperwork, we were also out of the PC network and therefore PC was not required to provide us with anything. We were all effectively jobless, homeless and without insurance. With family overseas, my situation was all the more complicated. I truly had nowhere to go, and had just ended a relationship 6 hours prior. PC did do what they could to assure us that Madagascar stagees would be a top priority for reassignment.
Less than 48 hours after leaving, I arrived in Chicago, so emotionally, physically and mentally drained. I was neither sad nor mad. I was too tired to think. Embarrassed, I did not tell anyone beyond a couple friends that I was home. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was sick of it. The next day, I spoke to my recruiter and was told that I had received a new invitation for Cameroon for an assignment in June. I was assured that that was the soonest departure I could receive. I reiterated that I did not have a home, my bags were packed and that Costa Rica, which had left the day before, would be a fine assignment for me. My recruiter didn’t budge. I was given additional time to think over the offer. I did my homework first this time and read about Cameroon’s political and social history. It was not reaffirming but I figured I would accept. Unconvinced I would actually go, I started looking for jobs again. As fate would have it, an internship I had interviewed for as an interim job during my month of delay led to an interview for a full time job. I gladly accepted and began to think about seriously staying. I had dreamed about working for this organization. I moved forth with the rounds of interviews hoping that either the job prospect or Cameroon would fall through so I wouldn’t have to make any of the hard decisions myself. Unfortunately for me, that did not happen. As I stared a job offer in the face, I had to seriously sit and consider what it is I wanted. If I moved forth with Peace Corps, there was no guarantee that there would not be political upheaval in Cameroon. After all, a coup in both Guinea and Madagascar did not set a good precedent. I also could not predict my health or whether I would even like Cameroon. In spite of all the unknowns, after much contemplation, I decided to take a leap of faith and rejected the job offer.
Its difficult for many to understand why I still wanted to go to Africa so badly and would end a strong relationship and forego a job with an organization I long wanted to work for. Declining the job and following through with my application to Peace Corps was not an easy decision, but it was a critical choice. I knew that if I did not have the courage to follow my heart now, I would likely never find the strength to do the unconventional thing later. While I had the luxury of making that choice, I knew if I did not give Peace Corps a shot, it would not only contradict everything I’ve ever said about living a life of conviction, but even worse, I’d eventually regret it.
Cameroon at Last: June 2009
I apologize for the prolonged delay in writing: I terribly underestimated the internet situation here. Judging from the fact that other volunteers seemed to blog regularly, I figured I would be able to access a decent internet café at least once a week. While at my current training site I do have access to a few internet cafes in town, they are anything but reliable. I spent a whole hour waiting for one page to load and 30 minutes waiting for my e-mail to actually open. When the 2 line e-mail was actually ready to send, the screen closed and ended my session. It has been a lesson in patience to say the least.
I have been in training for the past month and a half in a small town called Bangante which is located in the western region of Cameroon. It is a quaint town that is blessed with rolling hills, red mud roads (which aren’t a blessing when it rains) and weather that is refreshingly cool for Africa. It even gets kind of chilly. The rich geography has provided the perfect backdrop for running. Another volunteer and I run daily. My 6 am runs in Bangangte as the town is just rising is my favorite time of day. Bangangte at 6am is picturesque. In many respects, the geography of the west resembles that of Hawaii.
In spite of some of its geographical similarities, Africa is a whole different animal. I assumed that living and traveling in developed countries would give me a sense of what Africa may be like but I think it is those experiences that misinformed me most. Because everything runs differently here. Water and electricity outages are the norm in Bangangte even though Bangangte, and the western region of Cameroon is comparatively wealthy. Traffic and travel is crazy. I visited my host mom’s village the other day and didn’t know what alarmed me more, that my cab driver – and I use the word cab loosely - was drinking bootleg whisky out of a bag or that his car was so dilapidated that I wasn’t sure which would likely kill me first, his car or his driving. I luckily made it to village in one piece.
What people say about intense ups and downs in Peace Corps is absolutely true. Since being here for a month, I am fortunate to have had very few lows but know that on any given day my emotions frequently fluctuate. Everything you seem to experience you experience with such intensity. On days like those, the other stagiaires, who are an awesome group of individuals, are a huge source of support.
During training, I have been staying with a host family. The Fotso family is a family of 7. I have a great relationship with my host mom and host brother and sisters. My brother is 19, and my 4 sisters are 17, 15, 11, and 5 in age. They have become a source of great comfort and relaxation for me. Alternatively, I am a source of entertainment for them as they watch me awkwardly figure out how to wash my laundry by hand, struggle getting water from the well and fumble around in the darkness of the frequent blackouts. I enjoy spending evenings with my family after a long day of classes and feel like I can be myself around them. The family dynamic in Cameroon is interesting. Cameroonian’s respect traditional gender roles which is common in many a developing country. My host father is largely absent and I have very little interaction with him.
I also have the privilege of living with their 5 year old. It has been the most trying part of my home stay, and I’m being absolutely serious. It should suffice to say that before coming to Cameroon I didn’t know exactly where I stood on children, but after being terrorized (I have bite marks to prove it) I am pretty convinced that I never, ever want children if there’s any possibility I would ever end up with a child like this one. This, by the way, is the diluted version of the story that will not get me in hot water.
As far as culture goes, I love the football culture here! I saw my first Cameroonian football match with my family a few weeks back. Bangangte played and beat a rival club team from the capital, Yaounde, to advance to the finals. It was a really exciting match. Cameroonian football matches come equipped with menacing guards wielding AK-47s, and lively fans who love to sing and dance. Everything about Africa is so animated. I love it. It was also at a certain moment during that game, smashed between 4 other people in a seat designed for one, with a loud horn blaring in my ear that I realized how incredibly happy I was to be in Africa. Looking out at a dirt field with a lively crowd it seemed just like a picture out of National Geographic’s – and the way I imagined Africa to be. It is the Africa I’ve dreamt of for a long time. At that moment, I realized how truly fortunate I am to be here. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought this day would have been possible back in March.
Nonetheless, I miss the US and Chicago more than I had expected. It’s a lot of the little things that make me nostalgic like riding the L into the loop every morning, walking to the Lake or going to the Park. I also really miss American food. Cameroonian food relies heavily on a high carb diet - rice, lots of potatoes and bread - that is largely saturated in palm oil. I’m learning to stomach the food but am looking forward to making my own food with about 1/20 the amount of oil. I figure I can manage for another month but then again, I did eat my reserve 3 bags of chocolate in 2 weeks. I also miss the news and feeling like I’m in tune to what’s going on in the world. I have no idea. Entertainment news never interested me much before and hardly interests me now. Its pretty indicative when the only piece of news other volunteers received from back home is news of Michael Jackson’s death. I guess that’s not what I really meant by news updates. Having the economist, regardless of how many weeks old it may be, gives me a refreshing sense of what’s happening in the world.
My terrible underestimation of the internet also extends to other things. Cameroon is just a lot more poor and underdeveloped than I had anticipated. And Cameroon is still relatively wealthy compared to its neighboring countries. Inflation is a major problem in Cameroon. The stipend can be hard to stretch. When toothpaste, toilet paper, and eggs cost almost as much if not more than what it does in the States, but the level of development severely lags behind, it suggests the poor state of the economy. There are only raw goods here and very little western brand influence. For example, if you want pepper, you have to go to the open market and buy it from a sack. Packaging or processed goods do not exist here. For our 4th of July party, we had to visit the butcher, pick out our meat and visit each stall separately to buy onions, garlic etc. Even in the big towns, a supermarket at most has the selection of a 7-11.
Cameroonian’s are obsessed, and I mean obsessed with having “clean feet” and shiny shoes. Perhaps I failed to mention that Bangangte is a city that is known for its red mud which has permanently colored its building and streets. No matter how lightly I tread, my shoes will be caked in mud by the time I get home. Nonetheless, my family insists that my shoes be clean when I leave the house. Culturally, I’ve found that cleanliness means different things. I’ve learned to just not look around too much or ask too many questions.
One thing that has been frustrating about training is how volunteers use the word American and white interchangeably. The problem is that it perpetuates that stereotype in Africa that all Americans are white. I find it ironic that Peace Corps mission includes teaching others about Americans and the diversity of Americans when Peace Corps volunteers themselves seem incapable of conquering that misnomer. The problem with this assumption is that minorities invariably are treated differently in Cameroon. Continually referencing examples of how white Americans are treated and given a position of privilege in Cameroon is terribly unhelpful to minorities who will not and are not regarded the same way. Let me just tell you, when the gendarme pull over my bus looking for a bribe, the bus driver did not point to me as his get out of jail free card. If anything its, does that Chinese migrant worker have her papers?
But by the same token, there are some things that are really funny about being Asian here. Like, take for example, the first time a cab stopped for me so that the driver could yell “HEEHAW” at me while making a donkey face (supposedly, some singer got it wrong when he sang a song saying hello in different languages). In a million years I don’t think I ever expected that greetings. Or, for example, while getting my photo taken for an id card at the police station, the photographer stopped suddenly and firmly instructed me to open my eyes. Don’t worry folks – they were wide open, or as wide open as Asian eyes do get. The “Chinoise!” doesn’t bother me, the being followed and aggressively screamed at does, but for the most part, just laughing about it seems the best option.
July 8–ish
Assignment
If I make it through till the end of training, I will swear in as small enterprise development (SED) volunteer on August 20th. The work of a SED volunteer is varied but largely consists of developing the capacity of local businesses as a consultant. Unlike foreign aid that physically constructs schools, roads, buildings etc the idea of a SED volunteer is dynamic where the emphasis is really on developing the capacity of local entrepreneurs through skills transfer. What is so appealing about this is that it ensures that development is sustainable, locally driven and empowerment oriented. Do I have qualms about my work? Absolutely. I feel poorly equipped to go over income statements and feasibility studies.
Posting!
Throughout the first 5 weeks of training, trainees nervously anticipate their post assignments for the next 2 years of their service. SED trainees had no idea where each post was much less what each posts’ needs were in order to deduce where we might possibly spend the next 2 years. In a geographically diverse place like Cameroon, the anticipation mounts. The west is beautiful and rich in vegetation. It is also the most developed region of Cameroon. Fruits and vegetables are bountiful and cheap here. The north, by contrast, is dry, dessert like, extremely hot – about 120F and lacking in diverse agricultural produce but culturally rich. Because it is even more underdeveloped than the rest of Cameroon ( or possibly as underdeveloped as East region of Cameroon) and the culture is decidedly Muslim in many parts, the working conditions for many volunteers is difficult. For some reason, I had a strong sense that I was going to the north. Part of me wanted a post in the west, but for reasons I recognized were wrong. I did not come to Africa to lead a life that was particularly comfortable or that tried to resemble what I had at home. In fact, I didn’t even know it would be an option but training in the west has made me very comfortable with its amenities. Before coming to Cameroon, I wrote in my aspiration statement that I believed Africa would be a shock to my senses and would challenge me in ways that I did not perceive. The west would not provide that type of environment in the way that other areas could.
Nonetheless, as we received our post one by one, I’ll admit, my heart sank a bit as a pinned my location on the map, second furthest away, straddling the extreme north. Staring at the cluster of SED volunteers in the west, I felt immediately alone as the only female among 3 other male volunteers in the north. Talking with the staff about their decision helped reassure me that they had a lot of confidence in me, but did not entirely convince me that I would be able to withstand the north. Access to credit is critical in Cameroon. Microfinance has been particularly effective in other regions of Cameroon but has struggled/failed in the North. The hope is that I’ll be able to work at a very grassroots level to improve the system. Though we weren’t given even a days time to reflect on this before meeting our counterpart institutions whom we will work with at our sites today, I know that this experience will be highly rewarding in part because it resembles what a lot of sub-Saharan African is like. But more importantly, I’m reminding myself that if I am truly here to serve, then the needs of my community come above and beyond my own personal demands and comforts.
I reached my French level here and have begun studying Fufulde which is the language of the North. French in Cameroon is different and at first difficult for me to understand but I am able to hold my own with my family and assigned company. Some days are more trying than others. Learning Fufulde in French is also an added challenge. Some days I feel like I do not speak anything well. I managed to utter a sentence that was neither French, Thai or English. Training has kept me busy from 8 till 5 everyday and then some with homework and projects. There are days where my brain is just on overload but being busy has been better than being idle.
July 9, 2009
I met my counterpart today, which is a microfinance bank. My counterpart seems nice but it is hard to gauge what he will be like in a work environment. For many female volunteers, how we will be treated/ the level of legitimacy we are given by our counterparts is a major preoccupation. Particularly in the north where social attitudes are much more conservative and rigid, the environment for a female volunteer is difficult. I will be leaving Sunday morning for my site visit. Since it will take me roughly 2 days travel, I will not be spending much time at site unfortunately, but it will be exciting to see nonetheless. I am replacing a current volunteer there who will be closing service at the end of August. I am a mixture of nervous and excited for the adventure ahead.
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