Well, the game was relatively uneventful. Amadou scored about 10 or 15 minutes in from a shot a third of the way down the field that just lofted in over the goalie's head (he was too far out). Mogode equalized at the start of the second half and I came in on the right wing a little bit after that. I fed a near-perfect ball to the president of our club, who was playing forward, but he bobbled it a bit and couldn't get a proper shot off. With about 5 minutes left to go, we took off two of our players and put in Rachel and Flo, the wives of two of our members, and the crowd went nuts. "Women playing on a man's soccer team? Incredible!!" I got moved around the field a bit as we frantically tried to see if we could knock in a winner. With a few minutes left (and the sun almost below the horizon) one of our defenders tripped up a Mogode striker who was on a fast break. Since he was the last defender and the only person left between the striker and the goal would have been the goalie, it should have been a red card. Thankfully, the ref just gave a free kick and to Team Mogode's complaints he said, essentially, "You're here for the brotherhood and to make friends! Not just to win!" Wise words.
So the match was a 1-1 tie. After the game we split up and went back to our respective houses to clean up. I took a bucket bath and Mbirama, the man of the house and my host, insisted that the water be heated up over the fire first. I tried for a while to persuade him that it wasn't necessary and I could shower with cold water with no problem. After a while, though, I just gave up. Sometimes it's better to accept the hospitality and be grateful, even if it's really not necessary. To top it off, the water was actually too hot! It wasn't necessarily burning but I was kind of uncomfortable at how hot it was.
Me and Mbirama wandered around Mogode a bit because I wanted to buy him a beer. Well, we went over to one bar and walked in and it looked like there was a little community group meeting happening. Everybody stared at me so I said "bonsoir." I could have broken the ice a little better with Fulfulde if we'd been somewhere else but this was Kapsiki country and people don't speak Fulfulde too much around there. We sat down and after some discussion we realized the bar was out of beer. Well fantastic. So we went to another bar down the street where they did have beer and a few other veterans were hanging out. Well, I didn't get to buy him a beer because he immediately paid for it. So much for trying to be a good guest, this guy was bending over backwards to be a good host.
We wandered over to the restaurant/community center/main bar in town where we were holding our party that night and eventually things got started. Mbirama was drinking beer like a fish and kept tagging along with me the whole time. I guess it was fine but I was enjoying talking with my friends and other members of the Mogode community as well. He even jumped right into my conversation with the Commandant of Yagoua (the general in charge of the troops in a big city in the extreme north) who was visiting his family here for the weekend by saying, "Hey, do you know me?" I kinda tried to keep my distance from Mbirama and circulated around to the other tables which was too bad because the Commandant I'd been talking to was really interesting. He even thought I was Canadian at first. I asked him if that was supposed to be a compliment, but he didn't get my joke.
Eventually we ate, some standard Cameroonian fare: shish-kabob style meat, grilled fish, ndole, rice, plantains, etc. It was pretty decent but by the time all of the food got out, some of it had become pretty cold. Naturally, because I'm a nasarra, I was one of the first people asked to go up and grab my portion. Again, this is a time where it's best to just accept it and move on, if you argue people will think you aren't grateful.
By this point it was beginning to get pretty chilly. Mogode is up at a higher elevation and gets pretty cold at night at some times during the year. This was one of those times. I was only wearing a short-sleeve shirt and my jeans. I got Amadou to let me wear this sleeveless hoodie he had which helped a little bit. Around 11ish, we did the standard thing where all the members get introduced and line up in front of everyone. "Et maintenant, nous avons Monsieur Harley, avec le Peace Corps." (And now we have Mr. Harley with Peace Corps.) It's pretty funny that certain people don't use the French translation of Peace Corps (Corps de la Paix) but instead on not only using the English name but also pronouncing the P and S at the end. C'mon guys, it's a French word to begin with.
I stayed for the first two obligatory dances and then Mbirama and I headed out, after I'd given him my free beer tickets so he didn't have to pay for the ones he'd been tossing back. I think I told people I had a headache (partially true) but really these types of Veterans parties get really boring for me and I was freezing. I went back and immediately hopped in to bed and went to sleep. I was a bit cold that night because I only had a sheet covering me but I managed and woke up a little after sun rise.
I went for a walk with Mbirama who wanted to go visit one of his friends who had been sick. Well, we got there and the guy immediately offered me a beer. As it was 8 AM I turned it down and instead asked for some tea. Mbirama took the beer and I was given a bit of tea and bread. After a few minutes Mbirama got up, left the room with his beer and left me with his friend who was just getting over malaria. That was a little bit awkward for a while because I think both of us felt obliged to make conversation. we were somewhat constrained because I was having some difficulties understanding the accent and he was having a hard time mustering the energy to speak after his bout with malaria. After about 10 minutes Mbirama came back and we took off back to his house.
We hung out for a little bit there, and I was getting impatient because the previous night I was told to arrive back at the restaurant place at 8AM for breakfast and then loading up for the long ride back to Ngong. Well, by now it was about 9. He kept insisting that I wait, be patient, he wanted to give me some breakfast. I was very grateful but the dude did not want to understand that I wanted to get back to where I was supposed to be. I know how bad this sounds, but his hospitality was starting to turn into a bit of a weight on my shoulders. Eventually I just said screw it, if the veterans need me, they'll call me, and I'll just wait here. Well, we had some meat in an oil-tomato sauce with bread and then they even got me a nescafe. Finally after that was done, I had some pictures taken with him and his family, and then we hopped on his moto to go to the restaurant. After we pull out a few feet he stops and says, I forgot something. Fantastic. Well, he went back into his compound and comes out with about a 10 kilo bag of unshelled peanuts. "It's a gift for you from me!" he told me.
I had some more breakfast at the restaurant and the veterans were slowly trickling in. Some were already on their second beer (it was about 10 am). I bought myself and Amadou a couple Djinos (like a fruity soda) and then for good measure I tried to buy Mbirama one too, but he asked to trade it for a beer. He had been so hospitable to me, even when it annoyed me, that I didn't really have the heart to tell him no. We gave some speeches to the Mogode members present about how grateful we were for the good time and how much we appreciated it. The president of the club said that we would actually be taking two buses back to Ngong, one for us and one for all of the babies they made that night. Holla.
So we loaded up the bus, hopped aboard, bid adieu to Mogode, and headed off to Rhumsiki, about 10 k down the road and a big tourist spot in Cameroon...
Monday, January 17, 2011
Friday, December 10, 2010
Trip to Mogode, Part II: Open again for more Happiness!
Well, it was pretty smooth sailing after we left the old principal. We kept continuing north and a little bit before Maroua, we turned off onto the road to Mokolo. At that intersection, though, we stopped for a bit to wait for Baudouin, a French NGO worker who lives in Ngong and another fellow veteran, who was doing some work in Yagoua, a city in the Extreme North, but finished the day before so he could meet up and come with us. Well, I walked a little bit and grabbed a coke with Amadou and by the time we got back, Baudouin had arrived and we were ready to roll.
We hopped back in the car and took off. The next stop was Mokolo, a little over an hour from the turn off. The further west we drove, the more the scenery started looking like New Mexico’s. The vegetation became more sparse, the hills and mountains became a bit more jagged, and I started seeing some plants that looked incredibly similar to Mesquite trees. Maybe I was a little homesick, but I almost felt a sense of déjà vu from the sights of everything around.
In Mokolo we stopped for about 15 minutes to grab some street meat to tide us over until we got to Mogode. I didn’t see a whole lot of Mokolo but for some odd reason it reminded me a bit of Santa Fe. There was nothing incredibly nice or Santa Fe-y about it but for some reason I felt reminded of the city I was born in. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that the scenery around it was so similar and the cities are about the same size (Mokolo might be a little bit bigger, actually).
The road after Mokolo was rough. The pavement ended with the town and so after that we had about 35 kilometers of beat, uneven dirt road. Also, it was getting pretty hot so we had the windows open, but that also allowed the dust to come streaming in through the windows. I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt but I was really wishing I had brought a handkerchief with me. Amadou, always the fashionista, kept his head and torso covered with a jacket and kept brushing the dust off so he wouldn’t get, or rather stay, dirty. Finally the president of the club turned around and said “Leave it Amadou! You’re just going to keep getting dusty, wait until we arrive!” At one point we were driving along the road and there was a shallow valley off to our left and a small mountain on the other side of it. Somebody turned to me and said, “See that? It’s Nigeria.” I answered with something like, “you mean those mountains a ways off?” “No,” he replied, “The bottom of that valley there.” I was literally a stone’s throw away from Nigeria. Literally.
Well, we pulled up to the outskirts of Mogode, a fairly small town (maybe around 10,000-15,000 is my guess) and some members of the veterans club met us there. We got out and took some photos and boy was the scenery pretty. Volcanic plugs and jagged mountains shooting up out of the arid landscape. Eesh it was nice. We drove into town and made a big convoy/tour with all the motos accompanying us. We drove all over town and then got to the sous-prefet’s (government official’s) house where we said hello and introduced ourselves.
After that, we went to the house of the president of the Mogode Veterans Club. We had a pretty decent lunch there and the mood was very festive. One veteran, Alioum, even busted out dancing randomly for a few seconds. I had a sprite (from Nigeria as we were so close) and underneath the cap it said “Open again for more happiness!” Drink more, Coca Cola says, Drink more.
At this point we all got our assignments for the night of where we were going to sleep. I got assigned to this Elementary school teacher’s house and so we left, hopped on his moto (with my helmet of course), and zipped over to his house. His accent was a bit hard for me to understand as he slurred his speech quite a bit, and I actually don’t think he was too terribly strong with French. As we were going over to his house I kept having to tell him I didn’t understand what he was saying and so when we got there he stumbled a bit in broken English and said that somebody had come to his house on Monday (it was a Saturday, remember) while he was at school and burned it down. His concession was the type with a number of separate small one and two-room huts and the only thing left of his were some scorched mud brick walls. All of the guy’s clothes were in there, along with his identity papers, bank papers, moto documents, in short: just about everything of material value of his, save the clothes on his back and his moto. It was at this point that I noticed a faint scent of whiskey of him. Later, somebody explained to me that the fire wasn’t an accident, somebody came and specifically burned it down. The guy told me that he had two wives and somebody guessed to me that one of the wives, or maybe a girlfriend, got jealous and came and burned it down. He did talk about the burning of his house quite a bit but he always came back to saying, “I have my health and my family is safe, so I thank God.” I guess it’s good to always keep a positive attitude.
Well, I put my stuff in the room I was going to stay in, and then headed over to the soccer field. A few people were already hanging out and stretching. I started warming up a little bit and people slowly started trickling in. It was starting to get kinda late, and we weren’t sure we’d have enough time for the game so rather than do a full warm up, we did a couple sprints across the field and then a few stretches. And then the game started….
We hopped back in the car and took off. The next stop was Mokolo, a little over an hour from the turn off. The further west we drove, the more the scenery started looking like New Mexico’s. The vegetation became more sparse, the hills and mountains became a bit more jagged, and I started seeing some plants that looked incredibly similar to Mesquite trees. Maybe I was a little homesick, but I almost felt a sense of déjà vu from the sights of everything around.
In Mokolo we stopped for about 15 minutes to grab some street meat to tide us over until we got to Mogode. I didn’t see a whole lot of Mokolo but for some odd reason it reminded me a bit of Santa Fe. There was nothing incredibly nice or Santa Fe-y about it but for some reason I felt reminded of the city I was born in. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that the scenery around it was so similar and the cities are about the same size (Mokolo might be a little bit bigger, actually).
The road after Mokolo was rough. The pavement ended with the town and so after that we had about 35 kilometers of beat, uneven dirt road. Also, it was getting pretty hot so we had the windows open, but that also allowed the dust to come streaming in through the windows. I covered my nose and mouth with my shirt but I was really wishing I had brought a handkerchief with me. Amadou, always the fashionista, kept his head and torso covered with a jacket and kept brushing the dust off so he wouldn’t get, or rather stay, dirty. Finally the president of the club turned around and said “Leave it Amadou! You’re just going to keep getting dusty, wait until we arrive!” At one point we were driving along the road and there was a shallow valley off to our left and a small mountain on the other side of it. Somebody turned to me and said, “See that? It’s Nigeria.” I answered with something like, “you mean those mountains a ways off?” “No,” he replied, “The bottom of that valley there.” I was literally a stone’s throw away from Nigeria. Literally.
Well, we pulled up to the outskirts of Mogode, a fairly small town (maybe around 10,000-15,000 is my guess) and some members of the veterans club met us there. We got out and took some photos and boy was the scenery pretty. Volcanic plugs and jagged mountains shooting up out of the arid landscape. Eesh it was nice. We drove into town and made a big convoy/tour with all the motos accompanying us. We drove all over town and then got to the sous-prefet’s (government official’s) house where we said hello and introduced ourselves.
After that, we went to the house of the president of the Mogode Veterans Club. We had a pretty decent lunch there and the mood was very festive. One veteran, Alioum, even busted out dancing randomly for a few seconds. I had a sprite (from Nigeria as we were so close) and underneath the cap it said “Open again for more happiness!” Drink more, Coca Cola says, Drink more.
At this point we all got our assignments for the night of where we were going to sleep. I got assigned to this Elementary school teacher’s house and so we left, hopped on his moto (with my helmet of course), and zipped over to his house. His accent was a bit hard for me to understand as he slurred his speech quite a bit, and I actually don’t think he was too terribly strong with French. As we were going over to his house I kept having to tell him I didn’t understand what he was saying and so when we got there he stumbled a bit in broken English and said that somebody had come to his house on Monday (it was a Saturday, remember) while he was at school and burned it down. His concession was the type with a number of separate small one and two-room huts and the only thing left of his were some scorched mud brick walls. All of the guy’s clothes were in there, along with his identity papers, bank papers, moto documents, in short: just about everything of material value of his, save the clothes on his back and his moto. It was at this point that I noticed a faint scent of whiskey of him. Later, somebody explained to me that the fire wasn’t an accident, somebody came and specifically burned it down. The guy told me that he had two wives and somebody guessed to me that one of the wives, or maybe a girlfriend, got jealous and came and burned it down. He did talk about the burning of his house quite a bit but he always came back to saying, “I have my health and my family is safe, so I thank God.” I guess it’s good to always keep a positive attitude.
Well, I put my stuff in the room I was going to stay in, and then headed over to the soccer field. A few people were already hanging out and stretching. I started warming up a little bit and people slowly started trickling in. It was starting to get kinda late, and we weren’t sure we’d have enough time for the game so rather than do a full warm up, we did a couple sprints across the field and then a few stretches. And then the game started….
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Trip to Mogode, Part I
I recently took a trip to Mogode in the Extreme North with my soccer team. Here is the story…
I.
I woke up at 4am on this particular Saturday and, after hitting snooze a few times, I got up and finished arranging my bags and getting everything together for the quick, whirlwind trip to Mogode, a town in the Extreme North region of Cameroon. A few weeks back, one of the government officials from Mogode invited us, the Veterans Club of Ngong, to come play a friendly match. Naturally, we said okay and after raising the money for transportation (10,000 cfa/person) we were ready to go.
Several people told me the day before to get to the sous-prefet’s office at 5am, no later, as it was a long trip and we needed to make good time. Well, I got there a few minutes after 5 and, in typical Cameroonian time-management fashion, I was probably the fifth person there. I sat around and talked to a few other veterans for a bit as people slowly started trickling in. One person asked me what was wrong because I looked sad. No no, I said, I’m just sleepy, I want to be back in my bed. Well, he replied, Wake up! We don't sleep on this bus! Oh, and that bus that was supposed to be there by 4:30? Well, it showed up around 6. Around 5:45, a few people started opening their first beers of the day. I abstained, but it was at that point that I knew what kind of day this would turn out to be.
We loaded up the bus and I sat next to my friend Amadou, a flashy guy with dyed blonde/yellow hair, a pretty spiffy man purse, and a really good soccer player. He even told me once that when he was younger he played for a time in the Cote d’Ivoire leagues. Anyway, we sat together making jokes and screwing with each other. We were also doing little pranks like tapping somebody’s shoulder and then pretending to be asleep or tickling somebody’s neck with a piece of grass. Real mature stuff, I know.
We had to stop in Garoua to wait for the president of the club who had to take care of something at the Catholic Mission there before we left. Well, it turned out to be about an hour stop so, naturally, as the people who had been drinking beers were out, they went for a quick run to a beer store. I tried to get some people to kick the soccer ball around with me but nobody really wanted to. Interesting, seeing as the supposed purpose of the trip was to play a soccer game. Anyway, the president finally got there and we took off.
On the bus, everybody was laughing and joking around about how they were all going to have newborns the next day after the party tonight, and it seemed that half the people on the bus were playing music with their cell phones…at the same time. Well, somebody had the bright idea to put one of the memory cards into the stereo on the bus so that cut down on the number of songs playing at once, though there were still multiple going on. But as things seem to happen here, the memory card would quit working after a song or two so the vice president in the front seat would skip songs, people would yell at the “DJ” about missing a song, and eventually the card would be changed. (“C’est les cartes chinois!” It’s those Chinese cards!)
About an hour and a half out of Garoua, we stopped in a town called Figuil for breakfast. Figuil is a dusty city on the main road to Maroua and its main claim to fame is that there’s a gas station and a huge cement factory there. Well, breakfast consisted of bread and some beef in a bouillon sauce. Pretty tasty, but all-in-all a pretty standard Northern Cameroonian breakfast. I also had a glass of sweet tea (“Shai” in Fulfulde) and the wife of one of my friends gave me a can of orange juice because she said I looked tired and needed the energy. When another volunteer saw me drinking both at the same time, he told me “Harley! how can you mix the hot and the cold!” I replied, “I’m not! I take a drink of one and then a drink of the other later… it’s not difficult.” He shook his head in disbelief.
We had been making pretty good time before Figuil but, unfortunately, after Figuil the nice, new, pot hole-free road that the EU built ends. After that it’s still pavement but we were frequently swerrving around pot holes, driving on the other side of the road and, a couple times, almost coming to a complete stop to maneuver through some tricky dips and holes in the tar. As we kept driving north, the scenery kept getting drier and browner, with less trees and more yellow grass. In the dry season (which we just started about a month ago) the North region (where I live) is pretty hot, pretty dry, and pretty desert-y. I get the impression the Extreme North region is like that most of the time, and has a legit claim to being in the Sahel desert.
About an hour outside of Figuil we saw a little green sedan on the side of the road with a smashed up front end that continued to a caved in windshield. A couple people were standing by it, one person in a Red Cross-logoed vest, and I realized the wreck had happened shortly before we got there. Somebody shouted out “That’s the principal’s car!” I wondered what the principal from Ngong was doing in the Extreme North until I remembered he was affected up here over the summer. The president of the club talked with the guy in the vest and apparently the principal’s wife had been driving with one other person in the car, not the principal. He wasn’t sure how everyone was. We got a move on again and a few minutes later when we had some service the president called the principal and he said that nobody was too terribly hurt, but we decided to stop by his town (about 20 minutes later) to visit for a short time with them.
We met the principal at the hospital and I think he appreciated all of us visiting. Then we visited with his wife and a younger man who might have been his son (I wasn’t exactly sure) in a hospital room. The younger guy looked to be in some pain and had a taped up wrist and some blood on his shirt. The wife didn’t seem to be injured, though it was hard to tell for just a short amount of time because I didn’t linger.
Outside of the room, one of the veterans Noele was sitting on the steps with his head in his hands. A few months ago, Noele had been in a pretty bad car accident—the car had rolled several times though, luckily, he wasn’t seriously hurt. I’m sure seeing the car wreck and the boy who was hurt was just bringing back memories. A couple other veterans were sitting with him and then got him up to walk away, holding his hands and with their arms around him. Cameroonian camaraderie.
We loaded up the bus again and hit the road.
I.
I woke up at 4am on this particular Saturday and, after hitting snooze a few times, I got up and finished arranging my bags and getting everything together for the quick, whirlwind trip to Mogode, a town in the Extreme North region of Cameroon. A few weeks back, one of the government officials from Mogode invited us, the Veterans Club of Ngong, to come play a friendly match. Naturally, we said okay and after raising the money for transportation (10,000 cfa/person) we were ready to go.
Several people told me the day before to get to the sous-prefet’s office at 5am, no later, as it was a long trip and we needed to make good time. Well, I got there a few minutes after 5 and, in typical Cameroonian time-management fashion, I was probably the fifth person there. I sat around and talked to a few other veterans for a bit as people slowly started trickling in. One person asked me what was wrong because I looked sad. No no, I said, I’m just sleepy, I want to be back in my bed. Well, he replied, Wake up! We don't sleep on this bus! Oh, and that bus that was supposed to be there by 4:30? Well, it showed up around 6. Around 5:45, a few people started opening their first beers of the day. I abstained, but it was at that point that I knew what kind of day this would turn out to be.
We loaded up the bus and I sat next to my friend Amadou, a flashy guy with dyed blonde/yellow hair, a pretty spiffy man purse, and a really good soccer player. He even told me once that when he was younger he played for a time in the Cote d’Ivoire leagues. Anyway, we sat together making jokes and screwing with each other. We were also doing little pranks like tapping somebody’s shoulder and then pretending to be asleep or tickling somebody’s neck with a piece of grass. Real mature stuff, I know.
We had to stop in Garoua to wait for the president of the club who had to take care of something at the Catholic Mission there before we left. Well, it turned out to be about an hour stop so, naturally, as the people who had been drinking beers were out, they went for a quick run to a beer store. I tried to get some people to kick the soccer ball around with me but nobody really wanted to. Interesting, seeing as the supposed purpose of the trip was to play a soccer game. Anyway, the president finally got there and we took off.
On the bus, everybody was laughing and joking around about how they were all going to have newborns the next day after the party tonight, and it seemed that half the people on the bus were playing music with their cell phones…at the same time. Well, somebody had the bright idea to put one of the memory cards into the stereo on the bus so that cut down on the number of songs playing at once, though there were still multiple going on. But as things seem to happen here, the memory card would quit working after a song or two so the vice president in the front seat would skip songs, people would yell at the “DJ” about missing a song, and eventually the card would be changed. (“C’est les cartes chinois!” It’s those Chinese cards!)
About an hour and a half out of Garoua, we stopped in a town called Figuil for breakfast. Figuil is a dusty city on the main road to Maroua and its main claim to fame is that there’s a gas station and a huge cement factory there. Well, breakfast consisted of bread and some beef in a bouillon sauce. Pretty tasty, but all-in-all a pretty standard Northern Cameroonian breakfast. I also had a glass of sweet tea (“Shai” in Fulfulde) and the wife of one of my friends gave me a can of orange juice because she said I looked tired and needed the energy. When another volunteer saw me drinking both at the same time, he told me “Harley! how can you mix the hot and the cold!” I replied, “I’m not! I take a drink of one and then a drink of the other later… it’s not difficult.” He shook his head in disbelief.
We had been making pretty good time before Figuil but, unfortunately, after Figuil the nice, new, pot hole-free road that the EU built ends. After that it’s still pavement but we were frequently swerrving around pot holes, driving on the other side of the road and, a couple times, almost coming to a complete stop to maneuver through some tricky dips and holes in the tar. As we kept driving north, the scenery kept getting drier and browner, with less trees and more yellow grass. In the dry season (which we just started about a month ago) the North region (where I live) is pretty hot, pretty dry, and pretty desert-y. I get the impression the Extreme North region is like that most of the time, and has a legit claim to being in the Sahel desert.
About an hour outside of Figuil we saw a little green sedan on the side of the road with a smashed up front end that continued to a caved in windshield. A couple people were standing by it, one person in a Red Cross-logoed vest, and I realized the wreck had happened shortly before we got there. Somebody shouted out “That’s the principal’s car!” I wondered what the principal from Ngong was doing in the Extreme North until I remembered he was affected up here over the summer. The president of the club talked with the guy in the vest and apparently the principal’s wife had been driving with one other person in the car, not the principal. He wasn’t sure how everyone was. We got a move on again and a few minutes later when we had some service the president called the principal and he said that nobody was too terribly hurt, but we decided to stop by his town (about 20 minutes later) to visit for a short time with them.
We met the principal at the hospital and I think he appreciated all of us visiting. Then we visited with his wife and a younger man who might have been his son (I wasn’t exactly sure) in a hospital room. The younger guy looked to be in some pain and had a taped up wrist and some blood on his shirt. The wife didn’t seem to be injured, though it was hard to tell for just a short amount of time because I didn’t linger.
Outside of the room, one of the veterans Noele was sitting on the steps with his head in his hands. A few months ago, Noele had been in a pretty bad car accident—the car had rolled several times though, luckily, he wasn’t seriously hurt. I’m sure seeing the car wreck and the boy who was hurt was just bringing back memories. A couple other veterans were sitting with him and then got him up to walk away, holding his hands and with their arms around him. Cameroonian camaraderie.
We loaded up the bus again and hit the road.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Some greetings in fulfulde
When greeting somebody in Fulfulde, it’s proper to ask a series of questions, essentially about how the other person is. This can range from 2 or 3 questions to 5 minutes of questions, depending on how much you know the other person or how much respect you have for them. The response to each of them is almost always one of three things: “Jam nii,” “Jam koodume,” or “Koy dum nii.” The first and last mean “fine” and the middle response means like “really fine.” The answer depends on how the questions are asked and also how you answered the last question. Usually Jam koodume isn’t used multiple times in a row, though Jam nii or Koy dum nii can be. Also, one other thing used from time to time is “al hamdu lillaahi” which is Arabic and means “Thank God,” or “Thanks be to God” or something like that. The questions can go back and forth, sometimes with each person asking and responding at the same time; sometimes one person asks for a while and then switches; and still other times a chief or lamido will just sit there and the other person will ask him the questions. It can get quite confusing. Here are a few of my favorites, in Fulfulde and then with a rough English translation…
(Note: most greetings in fulfulde don’t use verbs, so I’ll put the direct translation and, if necessary, what it actually means)
Sannu! Hello/good day!
Mi hofni ma. I say hello to you.
Jam. Fine/hello.
Jam na? Fine, yes? (Are you fine?)
Jam bandu na? Body fine, yes? (Is the body fine?)
Jam saare na? House fine, yes?
Jam saare ma na? Your house fine, yes?
A don habda, na? Are you managing? (Can also be translated as “Are you defending yourself?”)
Jam bikkon na? Children fine, yes?
Noy? How?
Noy guldum? How heat?
Noy peewol? How cold?
Noy nange? How sun?
Noy kuugal? How work?
A don saati na? Are you hard? (I kid you not, they use this.)
Noy saati? How hard?
Noy comri? How tired? (How is the tiredness/fatigue?)
Noy sukle? How work?
A hirti jam na? You passed a good night, yes?
Noy ndiyam kadi? So then, how rain?
Noy laawol? How road/path? (This one is usually used if you’ve just come from/to somewhere)
A wari na? You have come, yes?
A nyalli jam na? You passed a good day, yes?
(Note: most greetings in fulfulde don’t use verbs, so I’ll put the direct translation and, if necessary, what it actually means)
Sannu! Hello/good day!
Mi hofni ma. I say hello to you.
Jam. Fine/hello.
Jam na? Fine, yes? (Are you fine?)
Jam bandu na? Body fine, yes? (Is the body fine?)
Jam saare na? House fine, yes?
Jam saare ma na? Your house fine, yes?
A don habda, na? Are you managing? (Can also be translated as “Are you defending yourself?”)
Jam bikkon na? Children fine, yes?
Noy? How?
Noy guldum? How heat?
Noy peewol? How cold?
Noy nange? How sun?
Noy kuugal? How work?
A don saati na? Are you hard? (I kid you not, they use this.)
Noy saati? How hard?
Noy comri? How tired? (How is the tiredness/fatigue?)
Noy sukle? How work?
A hirti jam na? You passed a good night, yes?
Noy ndiyam kadi? So then, how rain?
Noy laawol? How road/path? (This one is usually used if you’ve just come from/to somewhere)
A wari na? You have come, yes?
A nyalli jam na? You passed a good day, yes?
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
the train ride...
Well, it's been a little while since I last posted anything and I think it's probably because of several reasons, one of which is that I've been busy travelling (back up to post after the training workshop) and then back down a few days ago to Bafia, a city about two hours from Yaounde where the new training group is. I'm here doing a few sessions on infectuous diseases and food security. anyway, I figure I'll write a little bit about my journey down, as it was definitely a different experience than anything else I've had in this country.
I had a reservation to take the train on saturday with another volunteer, Kim O. We got to the train station in Ngaoundere at a decent hour on that morning to pick up our tickets but unfortunately they were all out of the two-person sleeper car rooms so we had to get spots in a four-person one, and split it with a cameroonian couple. We kind of lounged around for most of the day, I grabbed lunch at a decent restaurant down the street, watched some Office episodes, and then at about 2:30, Kim and I went across the street from the peace corps house and hung out at this restaurant/bar to watch the cameroon-congo soccer match which is a qualifying match for the 2012 african cup of nations. I'm going to take a step back and first say that the match was in Garoua that day. Garoua, the city 35 minutes from my post. I was pretty pissed when I found out that the game was going to be in Garoua because I HAD to take the train on the 9th in order to be in Bafia on time to help with training. anyway, Kim and I had a beer or two and watched the game. While we were sitting there, I started chatting with this chain-smoking Lebanese guy who lives in Ngaoundere now and he was a pretty interesting guy. We talked a little about religion and language and then about the conflicts that have been going on there for a while. Around half-time he got up and left and paid for our beers which was pretty awesome. Kim and I ordered some food, I got a meat sandwich that I ate there and then a hamburger that I was planning on eating on the train. I called a volunteer at the game and expressed my extreme disappointment at his lack of getting a wave started. Less than five minutes later, the TV cameras were focussed on the wave circling the whole stadium. Kudos to you, Mike.
After the game (a disappointing 1-1, own-goal tie) Kim and I got our stuff together and made our way down to the train station and got there at about 5. The train is normally supposed to leave at 6 but when we pulled up, we didn't see it there. We heard an announcement which I thought said something along the lines of "the train will leave an hour and a half late" but kim thought said something about 1:30 in the morning. Anyway, I ordered a beer and said "well, if the train's leaving soon then I'll have to finish this quickly and we'll hop on." I asked our bartender if he had any news on the train and he shrugged and said "nothing. It hasn't come yet." Normally, the train gets in at around 10am, so I thought he meant it hadn't come back from being serviced yet, but he clarified and said "no, it hasn't arrived from Yaounde yet." Merde. About that time I got a call from Brian, the volunteer in Ngaoundere who said he'd just got a call from another volunteer, Anais, who was on the train and stuck about 3 or 4 hours south of Ngaoundere because the engine was broken and they were waiting for another one to come and pick them up. After this, I called Anais and I said, "so you think it'll be about 3 or 4 hours 'till it gets here?" to which she replied, "try 8 or 9 hours." Merde.
So I went into the train station and talked to a woman who gave me her phone number, said to go home and call her in two hours and she'd let me know the news. So Kim and I gathered up all our stuff, headed back to the peace corps house, ate the food we'd bought for the train, and then I went to grab a beer with Brian and one of the guards for a business next door. We sat around for a while and around 8 I called the woman again and she said "it's still not here, call back in two hours." I didn't mind too much, though, because I was having a decent time shooting the shit with Brian and his friend. Around 10, I tried to call her again and she didn't answer. Being overly optimistic, Kim and I thought maybe the train had arrived and she was too busy to answer her phone. So we went back to the station and, my god, it looked like a refugee camp. Hundreds of people crammed into a small waiting room, sleeping on the floor, fluorescent lights glaring down. We found the woman who said, "train's still not here, call back in two hours." So (for the third time that day) we went back to the peace corps house. We watched an episode of the office, though I started falling asleep during it. We started another episode when Jessie, one of the volunteers at the house came out and said "you guys came back?! I thought I just heard the train whistle." Then, we called the woman again and couldn't really make out if the train was leaving in an hour and a half or if it would arrive in an hour and a half. I called this guy Brian knew and he said "the train will arrive in 13 minutes." So, it being about midnight, Kim and I gathered our stuff again and made our way over to the train station.
The train had just pulled up when we arrived and so we put our stuff down out front of the station and sat there for about an hour, during which time the train pulled away to be serviced and cleaned. There were so many people inside that we couldn't really see the doors so around 1 we moved inside, pretty close to the front. Needless to say, I was getting a little grouchy. The German girl standing behind me who's backpack kept hitting me in the head wasn't helping. Kim and I sat on our moto helmets, backpacks between our legs and essentially took turns dozing off until the train finally came back from being serviced around three. Everybody stood up and the porters started coming through pushing people aside and carrying bags around. One guy in front of me pushed a porter who was trying to get through and yelled at him "there's no room here! Go back and around!" then the porter tried to go past me and I did essentially the same thing, which really pissed him off. He started yelling at me about how we're not at "Chez les blancs" and how he doesn't like "les blancs" in his country and how if he dropped that bag, I would have to pay for it. I then used some of the nifty French my French friend in Ngong taught me to tell the guy to piss off and find someone else to bother. When he persisted I increased my profanity and was actually quite proud at how in my tired state I was able to express myself how I would in the states when some jackass is judging you based on arbitrary reasons. When the guy kept muttering things about me as he was walking away I loudly said something about how if he wasn't drunk he could probably walk straight and stop bumping into everyone. Those who weren't too tired laughed at the idiot walking away.
The doors opened a few minutes later and Kim and I made it to our cabin, claimed the top bunks, and then discovered out window didn't open. Shiiiiit. I was too tired really to care, so I just went to sleep and then I think we left sometime after four. Around 8, I woke up because an annoying guard came in and demanded the two Cameroonians in the room pay him money for some onions they had in a box. Then, after 10 minutes of arguing and they paying him, he finally started to leave. As he was closing the door, though, he started bothering them again about something and I sat up in bed, looked at the guard and said "We are trying to sleep. Get out of here and stop bothering us." He started apologizing and explaining to which I said, "I don't care. You can't see I want to sleep? You talking is not helping." Well, I didn't really get back to sleep after that as it was too hot in the room so I went out to the front of the car where a couple guards were hanging out and had the doors of the train open. In the US this would be against quite a few safety regulations but here, well, one of the doors didn't even latch closed. So I sat there, on the floor, next to the bathroom, between two open doors and two guards and let the cool wind blow over me. I talked with one of the guards for a while and then found out he was Congolese. A little later I found out he was actually a UNHCR (UN human crisis relief) Refugee who'd been in Cameroon for a few years. Really nice guy and for the next three hours I spent sitting with them and talking. Kim and I split a plate of chicken and fries and then she came out to sit with us too. Around 3ish, (keep in mind the train normally arrives at 9 or 10am) it started raining, and the cool mist wafting in the doorway felt so soothing and relaxing after all the heat and grime. I stood a little behind the doorway at one point and let my head get wet. Then I went back to our room and tried to sleep, which I accomplished for about an hour and a half before the heat because too much again. When I woke up, I looked down at the lower bunks at the food the Cameroonians had purchased and seeing that it was baton de manioc (a very stinky cassava concoction) I decided it was time to go hang out with my guard buddies at the front again. Well, Kim and I ended hanging out there until we got to Yaounde, about another 1.5-2 hours. Finally, a little after seven we got in to the train station. By far the worst train ride of my life, and one of my worst experiences here, so far, but there are a few silver linings. And they are...
I wasn't alone so I had someone to commiserate with.
I didn't have to quickly finish my beer at the Ngaoundere train station.
At least there was a cool place at the front of my car, albeit next to the bathroom.
I wasn't stuck on it for 36 hours like the volunteers who had been on their way up.
Well, maybe bronze linings is a more accurate description. Hopefully the train has recovered and isn't so shitty on the way back up on thursday.
I had a reservation to take the train on saturday with another volunteer, Kim O. We got to the train station in Ngaoundere at a decent hour on that morning to pick up our tickets but unfortunately they were all out of the two-person sleeper car rooms so we had to get spots in a four-person one, and split it with a cameroonian couple. We kind of lounged around for most of the day, I grabbed lunch at a decent restaurant down the street, watched some Office episodes, and then at about 2:30, Kim and I went across the street from the peace corps house and hung out at this restaurant/bar to watch the cameroon-congo soccer match which is a qualifying match for the 2012 african cup of nations. I'm going to take a step back and first say that the match was in Garoua that day. Garoua, the city 35 minutes from my post. I was pretty pissed when I found out that the game was going to be in Garoua because I HAD to take the train on the 9th in order to be in Bafia on time to help with training. anyway, Kim and I had a beer or two and watched the game. While we were sitting there, I started chatting with this chain-smoking Lebanese guy who lives in Ngaoundere now and he was a pretty interesting guy. We talked a little about religion and language and then about the conflicts that have been going on there for a while. Around half-time he got up and left and paid for our beers which was pretty awesome. Kim and I ordered some food, I got a meat sandwich that I ate there and then a hamburger that I was planning on eating on the train. I called a volunteer at the game and expressed my extreme disappointment at his lack of getting a wave started. Less than five minutes later, the TV cameras were focussed on the wave circling the whole stadium. Kudos to you, Mike.
After the game (a disappointing 1-1, own-goal tie) Kim and I got our stuff together and made our way down to the train station and got there at about 5. The train is normally supposed to leave at 6 but when we pulled up, we didn't see it there. We heard an announcement which I thought said something along the lines of "the train will leave an hour and a half late" but kim thought said something about 1:30 in the morning. Anyway, I ordered a beer and said "well, if the train's leaving soon then I'll have to finish this quickly and we'll hop on." I asked our bartender if he had any news on the train and he shrugged and said "nothing. It hasn't come yet." Normally, the train gets in at around 10am, so I thought he meant it hadn't come back from being serviced yet, but he clarified and said "no, it hasn't arrived from Yaounde yet." Merde. About that time I got a call from Brian, the volunteer in Ngaoundere who said he'd just got a call from another volunteer, Anais, who was on the train and stuck about 3 or 4 hours south of Ngaoundere because the engine was broken and they were waiting for another one to come and pick them up. After this, I called Anais and I said, "so you think it'll be about 3 or 4 hours 'till it gets here?" to which she replied, "try 8 or 9 hours." Merde.
So I went into the train station and talked to a woman who gave me her phone number, said to go home and call her in two hours and she'd let me know the news. So Kim and I gathered up all our stuff, headed back to the peace corps house, ate the food we'd bought for the train, and then I went to grab a beer with Brian and one of the guards for a business next door. We sat around for a while and around 8 I called the woman again and she said "it's still not here, call back in two hours." I didn't mind too much, though, because I was having a decent time shooting the shit with Brian and his friend. Around 10, I tried to call her again and she didn't answer. Being overly optimistic, Kim and I thought maybe the train had arrived and she was too busy to answer her phone. So we went back to the station and, my god, it looked like a refugee camp. Hundreds of people crammed into a small waiting room, sleeping on the floor, fluorescent lights glaring down. We found the woman who said, "train's still not here, call back in two hours." So (for the third time that day) we went back to the peace corps house. We watched an episode of the office, though I started falling asleep during it. We started another episode when Jessie, one of the volunteers at the house came out and said "you guys came back?! I thought I just heard the train whistle." Then, we called the woman again and couldn't really make out if the train was leaving in an hour and a half or if it would arrive in an hour and a half. I called this guy Brian knew and he said "the train will arrive in 13 minutes." So, it being about midnight, Kim and I gathered our stuff again and made our way over to the train station.
The train had just pulled up when we arrived and so we put our stuff down out front of the station and sat there for about an hour, during which time the train pulled away to be serviced and cleaned. There were so many people inside that we couldn't really see the doors so around 1 we moved inside, pretty close to the front. Needless to say, I was getting a little grouchy. The German girl standing behind me who's backpack kept hitting me in the head wasn't helping. Kim and I sat on our moto helmets, backpacks between our legs and essentially took turns dozing off until the train finally came back from being serviced around three. Everybody stood up and the porters started coming through pushing people aside and carrying bags around. One guy in front of me pushed a porter who was trying to get through and yelled at him "there's no room here! Go back and around!" then the porter tried to go past me and I did essentially the same thing, which really pissed him off. He started yelling at me about how we're not at "Chez les blancs" and how he doesn't like "les blancs" in his country and how if he dropped that bag, I would have to pay for it. I then used some of the nifty French my French friend in Ngong taught me to tell the guy to piss off and find someone else to bother. When he persisted I increased my profanity and was actually quite proud at how in my tired state I was able to express myself how I would in the states when some jackass is judging you based on arbitrary reasons. When the guy kept muttering things about me as he was walking away I loudly said something about how if he wasn't drunk he could probably walk straight and stop bumping into everyone. Those who weren't too tired laughed at the idiot walking away.
The doors opened a few minutes later and Kim and I made it to our cabin, claimed the top bunks, and then discovered out window didn't open. Shiiiiit. I was too tired really to care, so I just went to sleep and then I think we left sometime after four. Around 8, I woke up because an annoying guard came in and demanded the two Cameroonians in the room pay him money for some onions they had in a box. Then, after 10 minutes of arguing and they paying him, he finally started to leave. As he was closing the door, though, he started bothering them again about something and I sat up in bed, looked at the guard and said "We are trying to sleep. Get out of here and stop bothering us." He started apologizing and explaining to which I said, "I don't care. You can't see I want to sleep? You talking is not helping." Well, I didn't really get back to sleep after that as it was too hot in the room so I went out to the front of the car where a couple guards were hanging out and had the doors of the train open. In the US this would be against quite a few safety regulations but here, well, one of the doors didn't even latch closed. So I sat there, on the floor, next to the bathroom, between two open doors and two guards and let the cool wind blow over me. I talked with one of the guards for a while and then found out he was Congolese. A little later I found out he was actually a UNHCR (UN human crisis relief) Refugee who'd been in Cameroon for a few years. Really nice guy and for the next three hours I spent sitting with them and talking. Kim and I split a plate of chicken and fries and then she came out to sit with us too. Around 3ish, (keep in mind the train normally arrives at 9 or 10am) it started raining, and the cool mist wafting in the doorway felt so soothing and relaxing after all the heat and grime. I stood a little behind the doorway at one point and let my head get wet. Then I went back to our room and tried to sleep, which I accomplished for about an hour and a half before the heat because too much again. When I woke up, I looked down at the lower bunks at the food the Cameroonians had purchased and seeing that it was baton de manioc (a very stinky cassava concoction) I decided it was time to go hang out with my guard buddies at the front again. Well, Kim and I ended hanging out there until we got to Yaounde, about another 1.5-2 hours. Finally, a little after seven we got in to the train station. By far the worst train ride of my life, and one of my worst experiences here, so far, but there are a few silver linings. And they are...
I wasn't alone so I had someone to commiserate with.
I didn't have to quickly finish my beer at the Ngaoundere train station.
At least there was a cool place at the front of my car, albeit next to the bathroom.
I wasn't stuck on it for 36 hours like the volunteers who had been on their way up.
Well, maybe bronze linings is a more accurate description. Hopefully the train has recovered and isn't so shitty on the way back up on thursday.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Work update
I'm in Yaounde (again), and I've been here for over a week now. Man, I am ready to get back to post. There's really not much to do in Yaounde except spend money on expensive western food and/or drink beer. But there's only so much money you can drop before you start to feel your soul drip out through your wallet and evaporate into the pockets of the wealthy Yaounde-ites who cater to the tastes of westerners who miss the culinary traditions of their homelands.
Well, it's been awhile since I updated anything about my work life so I'll go ahead and give a brief update. Before I left Ngong I was doing demonstrations about 4 times a week on various health topics from Malaria to nutrition for mothers and babies to the importance of vaccinations. The first day I did my nutrition presentation to pregnant mothers I mentioned the importance of eating meat and getting lots of iron because pregnant women are at a high risk of anemia in our part of the country. Well, when I went in the next day all the nurses told me that about half of the women bought anemia-prevention medicine which definitely shows that at least I had an impact and got through to the women--if not necessarily in regards to how they can naturally prevent anemia through diet.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm in Yaounde right now and I'm here because I've been selected to help out with training for the new group of agro and health volunteers arriving in a couple weeks. I'll be coming down and presenting the technical sessions on Diarrheal Diseases, Water & Sanitation, Malaria, and Food Security. The last one I'll be doing with my friend Patrick, an Agro who lives in the Northwest. I'm really excited, though, because I will also be in Bafia (the new training city) when the groups find out their posts. Not only will I be able to see who'll be the new kids around me but I'll be able to give information on a lot of the northern posts and calm some of the unavoidable fears of the trainees going to the grand north.
On the back burner right now is my trash collection project. I've been green-lighted for funding, the only snag right now is that I don't have all of the prices down for the plaques I'd like to have made for our sensitization campaign. Hopefully I'll be able to find those out before I head back up north on Wednesday night.
One other project I'm working on right now is getting a pump fixed with Chris, a SED (small enterprise development) volunteer about 22 k from me. The pump is in a small town called Rabingha, 4 k south of me. Chris is going to do some savings and general money-managing classes with the members of the water committee there, and I'll be doing some water sanitation sessions with whoever wants them.
I also did a short jam-making project a while back. It started out pretty well, but I definitely started the project too late into the mango season, so I wasn't able to teach as many people as I wanted to and I doubt the women I taught had much time to practice before the mangoes were all gone. Oh well, next year I'll have to start when the mangoes arrive.
There was an outbreak of cholera in my health district back in July but, as it stands, we've only had seven cases (none in Ngong proper) and no deaths. The last case was also over a month ago, so we're pretty sure that this specific outbreak in our district is done. Knock on wood. Who knows when another case will slither on down from the Extreme North and infect more people, though. I went out to the town where the first case was and, let me tell you, I have no idea how there weren't 100 cases. The latrines were uncovered, dirty dishes were laying around everywhere, and the well where people got their water was horrible. It was about 200 meters from the big river in the North (the Benoue) and the water table was only about a foot below the surface. The water was so cloudy and dirty that I couldn't see more than five or six inches below the surface. It looked like the water in my buckets after I get done washing my clothes. Anyway, the authorities treated the well (LOADS of chlorine in it, closing it off for a couple days), and made everyone who lived nearby start boiling their water and using chlorine when washing their dishes.
Well, guess that's about it for now. I'll probably be pretty busy in the next couple months, what with traveling back down here for training and working on the pump and trash projects.
Until next time....
Well, it's been awhile since I updated anything about my work life so I'll go ahead and give a brief update. Before I left Ngong I was doing demonstrations about 4 times a week on various health topics from Malaria to nutrition for mothers and babies to the importance of vaccinations. The first day I did my nutrition presentation to pregnant mothers I mentioned the importance of eating meat and getting lots of iron because pregnant women are at a high risk of anemia in our part of the country. Well, when I went in the next day all the nurses told me that about half of the women bought anemia-prevention medicine which definitely shows that at least I had an impact and got through to the women--if not necessarily in regards to how they can naturally prevent anemia through diet.
As I mentioned earlier, I'm in Yaounde right now and I'm here because I've been selected to help out with training for the new group of agro and health volunteers arriving in a couple weeks. I'll be coming down and presenting the technical sessions on Diarrheal Diseases, Water & Sanitation, Malaria, and Food Security. The last one I'll be doing with my friend Patrick, an Agro who lives in the Northwest. I'm really excited, though, because I will also be in Bafia (the new training city) when the groups find out their posts. Not only will I be able to see who'll be the new kids around me but I'll be able to give information on a lot of the northern posts and calm some of the unavoidable fears of the trainees going to the grand north.
On the back burner right now is my trash collection project. I've been green-lighted for funding, the only snag right now is that I don't have all of the prices down for the plaques I'd like to have made for our sensitization campaign. Hopefully I'll be able to find those out before I head back up north on Wednesday night.
One other project I'm working on right now is getting a pump fixed with Chris, a SED (small enterprise development) volunteer about 22 k from me. The pump is in a small town called Rabingha, 4 k south of me. Chris is going to do some savings and general money-managing classes with the members of the water committee there, and I'll be doing some water sanitation sessions with whoever wants them.
I also did a short jam-making project a while back. It started out pretty well, but I definitely started the project too late into the mango season, so I wasn't able to teach as many people as I wanted to and I doubt the women I taught had much time to practice before the mangoes were all gone. Oh well, next year I'll have to start when the mangoes arrive.
There was an outbreak of cholera in my health district back in July but, as it stands, we've only had seven cases (none in Ngong proper) and no deaths. The last case was also over a month ago, so we're pretty sure that this specific outbreak in our district is done. Knock on wood. Who knows when another case will slither on down from the Extreme North and infect more people, though. I went out to the town where the first case was and, let me tell you, I have no idea how there weren't 100 cases. The latrines were uncovered, dirty dishes were laying around everywhere, and the well where people got their water was horrible. It was about 200 meters from the big river in the North (the Benoue) and the water table was only about a foot below the surface. The water was so cloudy and dirty that I couldn't see more than five or six inches below the surface. It looked like the water in my buckets after I get done washing my clothes. Anyway, the authorities treated the well (LOADS of chlorine in it, closing it off for a couple days), and made everyone who lived nearby start boiling their water and using chlorine when washing their dishes.
Well, guess that's about it for now. I'll probably be pretty busy in the next couple months, what with traveling back down here for training and working on the pump and trash projects.
Until next time....
Friday, September 3, 2010
The revolving door of peace corps
Peace Corps is a unique and interesting organization for innumerable reasons, though the one I'd like to look at now is how it affects the relationships between people.
I thought of this pretty early on after I arrived in country but Peace Corps really is like a revolving door of people. When we first got here, most of the volunteers we met and got to know left before we even finished training because their two years of service were up. After that, a few people I got to be good friends with left again back in June-July, with a new group in to replace them. Throw in the people who have to randomly go home due to family illnesses or other reasons and you can see how there's constantly people filtering in and out of my life around here. Now, a good number of my friends and volunteers around me are going to be leaving in November and December and I think that's going to be pretty tough on me. Sure, I've still got some friends around me, as well as the rest of my training mates who I'll see when I come down to Yaounde, but I feel like I slipped in pretty well to the health/agro stage before mine and it's going to be a sad day for me when they're all leaving and off to bigger and better things. I know that might sound like an egotistical thing for me to say but I guess I'm just saying that I'm going to miss everyone when they leave.
Peace Corps also does an interesting number on personal relationships. During training, friendships and relationships are on a hyper-accelerated pace as we spend 8+ hours a day together. This isn't necessarily a bad thing as you get to know people pretty well in those short 11 weeks. Since training, though, I haven't really seen much of the others from my training group as I am pretty far away from them all, so many of these friendships have kind of fallen to the side. Somebody warned me that it would be hard to stay involved with their lives being, at the least, a 2 day journey from 90% of them. With a few exceptions, it's turned out to be pretty true. So I became good friends with the people around me in the North region, a good number of who are leaving in the next 3 months.
Another volunteer nearby me who has been here for close to 3.5 years now has said it's hard seeing people you trained with go, and while I didn't train with the people leaving soon, I definitely became good friends with them. I might take a couple days of vacation and go hang out with him in the Extreme North in December before the new volunteers arrive, to get away from all the empty posts.
Maybe this blog has been a bit of a downer. I hope not, but it's been something on my mind a lot lately.
I thought of this pretty early on after I arrived in country but Peace Corps really is like a revolving door of people. When we first got here, most of the volunteers we met and got to know left before we even finished training because their two years of service were up. After that, a few people I got to be good friends with left again back in June-July, with a new group in to replace them. Throw in the people who have to randomly go home due to family illnesses or other reasons and you can see how there's constantly people filtering in and out of my life around here. Now, a good number of my friends and volunteers around me are going to be leaving in November and December and I think that's going to be pretty tough on me. Sure, I've still got some friends around me, as well as the rest of my training mates who I'll see when I come down to Yaounde, but I feel like I slipped in pretty well to the health/agro stage before mine and it's going to be a sad day for me when they're all leaving and off to bigger and better things. I know that might sound like an egotistical thing for me to say but I guess I'm just saying that I'm going to miss everyone when they leave.
Peace Corps also does an interesting number on personal relationships. During training, friendships and relationships are on a hyper-accelerated pace as we spend 8+ hours a day together. This isn't necessarily a bad thing as you get to know people pretty well in those short 11 weeks. Since training, though, I haven't really seen much of the others from my training group as I am pretty far away from them all, so many of these friendships have kind of fallen to the side. Somebody warned me that it would be hard to stay involved with their lives being, at the least, a 2 day journey from 90% of them. With a few exceptions, it's turned out to be pretty true. So I became good friends with the people around me in the North region, a good number of who are leaving in the next 3 months.
Another volunteer nearby me who has been here for close to 3.5 years now has said it's hard seeing people you trained with go, and while I didn't train with the people leaving soon, I definitely became good friends with them. I might take a couple days of vacation and go hang out with him in the Extreme North in December before the new volunteers arrive, to get away from all the empty posts.
Maybe this blog has been a bit of a downer. I hope not, but it's been something on my mind a lot lately.
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