One Year Anniversary

Well, it has been difficult to keep my blog going while living in village with no electricity, but I am currently in the city and enjoying electricity, internet, hot showers, and sleeping in. I just picked up 6 packages from the post office and had one little package waiting for me already at the PC house. Wow, I have some great family and friends. Just enjoyed some M&M’s and Top Ramen soup; my fellow PCV’s appreciate the M&M’s as well. They are going fast!

Life is good here. I have been homesick and missing all you great people back home, but I do enjoy village and the people there, as well. I am continuing to “work” at the Health Center in village and going out on Polio Vaccinations every so often. I do a lot of observing and stepping out of rooms as to keep from puking or passing out at the Health Center. I am learning a lot about health care in the village, and just how strong people are. There were two births the other day, and the only screaming and crying was from the newborn baby. Women are crazy strong here. The same week, I showed up to the Health Center around 9 am and there was a woman who had given birth that morning before I got there. She was packing up her things and getting on a moto with her newborn child wrapped up in her arms to go back to her nearby village. I often tell my coworkers at the Health Center how amazing women are here.

There was a some recent cases of Polio found among the Central African Republic refugee’s here in Cameroon. Since we, in the Adamawa, are one of the regions that border CAR, we are one of two regions who have to do three rounds of vaccinations within a month, for all kiddos aged 0-10 years (it used to be 0-5 years). It has been a little tiring, but I always enjoy getting to see the houses, people, and different villages “en brousse” (in the bush). It is rainy season, so it can be a little scary and slippery when we take the moto out to the small bush villages. But I wear my helmet, jeans, keens, and long sleeve flannel despite being told I look like a man when I go en brousse. And, they think it is hilarious when “nasara” falls in the mud, on the moto, which can get annoying, but no burns or injuries, so I try to laugh it off when we do fall.

While out on vaccinations this past week, Ebola was the hot topic. It has been concerning with it creeping closer. People out in the middle of the bush know about it, were worried, and were asking for the vaccine. My Cameroonian friend/counterpart/neighbor explained there is none and we are only giving the vaccine against Polio right now. From what I could understand in Fulfulde, she explained there is no treatment and no vaccine and it is not in Cameroon, yet. I’ve been doing my fair share of reading and research on the virus and have been pushing for a short little session on how to protect oneself, but it hasn’t been accepted or put on anyone’s priority list as of now. There is a one new small poster in the health clinic about symptoms, who to call if you suspect Ebola, and how to protect yourself. But, it is small, it is only one, and it is in French. For a village of people who speak Fulfulde and has an estimated literacy rate of 40%, that is not sufficient.

Reading the news and the problems with Ebola in nearby countries, I can imagine how impossible it is to control. Seeing how people deal with illness here in village, in the bush, and at the health center is extremely disheartening to imagine the ability to control something like Ebola. Traditional remedies are almost always tried before going to the health center, if they have the money to go to the health center. I try to share the information I have, but it is limited and we can talk all we want but it’s going to require some serious dedicated behaviors to deal with it. People are told to protect themselves from any loved ones who have symptoms, but when you sleep in the same bed, eat from the same plate, how realistic is that? Can you imagine not having the protective equipment needed to take care of your sick loved ones and therefore not touching them, helping clean them up, prepare their bodies for burial? I can only imagine the suffering of those in these other W. African countries affected by Ebola.

It is easy to forget about things when we live in the good ol’ USA. It is easy to distance ourselves from things going on around the world when we live in a developed country. Sometimes I look at the world news here and I wonder is the news always like this? Does it affect me more now, here in Cameroon, because I can empathize with these stories on these struggling developing countries? Or, is this what growing up feels like?

It is humbling to live here. It is not always easy. Sometimes I think about coming home. But, also, it’s not always difficult and I wonder what it would be like to live here forever, not to have a year left until I go back to my country. Yes, if Ebola becomes a concern here in Cameroon, I can go home to Montana. But, what about my friends and my Cameroonian “family”? Those in Tourningal and Mayo-Darle can’t pack up their things and leave the country. They will be fighting for their lives as those in multiple West African countries are struggling to do.

Peace Corps has definitely showed me that you truly cannot take anything for granted. We should appreciate the development in our country, the access to health care, the support from the government in disasters, and just the basic security we have in our country. Of course, we have our fair share of problems in the States, and people even asked before I left for Cameroon, “why not stay here and work on our own problems?” It is a fair question and I don’t have a good response. I just know this is truly a life changing experience and makes me realize how much I have taken for granted all my life.

There are people here who don’t understand why an American would leave the US to come suffer in Africa (their words). It is also difficult to explain and sometimes I think, “yeah, what am I doing?!?” But there are amazing things here amongst the suffering. People are genuine here. They are welcoming. And they love to laugh.

It has been a wild ride, but I’ve made it one year here in Cameroon. I can’t believe it has already been one year. Looking back, it has gone fast, but I don’t have much to show for my time here. I am half way done; I have one year left to work. And, about three months until I will spend Christmas with my loved ones. On the hard days, that is what keeps me going.

Here’s to another year of more “firsts”, learning new things everyday, and realizing the more I learn, the less sure I am of what I know.

"You have an African accent when you speak French"

Well, I did it. I spent a month in village, without leaving, without electricity. My fellow villagers seemed to appreciate it since I kept hearing, "you're not traveling?” "you haven't traveled lately, that's good", and "you have been in village for more than a week!"

When we are first posted in our villages, we are supposed to spend three months in village, without leaving, except going to our banking city for a night or two. I understand that better now. I was traveling a lot in my first few weeks at my new post and it made it difficult to integrate and enjoy my new home. After spending a month solid in village, I appreciate my friends, neighbors, and my house. Even though the kids drive me crazy and make my house dirty, I do miss them, and I do love them. They are so dirty but so cute. I get mad and annoyed but then I hear them calling my name and asking me where I'm going and what I'm doing, and with a deep breath, I can smile and laugh with them again.

It has been a while since I’ve written a blog, and there is a lot to catch up on. June was a busy and exciting month. I got to see three out of four sisters, my dad, and meet my new nephew. Meaghan and my dad came to Cameroon for a week. It was wonderful. It was a lot of traveling, but they were troopers. We spent a night in Yaoundé (the capital) at the Hilton Hotel. It was a vacation from reality for me. We took the train overnight up north to Ngaoundere and then went out to my village. After waiting for the car for hours, we left in the rain, but made it to village a couple hours later. When we arrived, all my neighbors came and greeted us. Dad was called “grandpere nasara” or “white grandpa.” I think he liked it. Meaghan was my “adda” (big sister in Fulfulde) and many people told me how beautiful she was. People are still asking about them.

We spent two nights in village, exploring the area and meeting many neighbors and friends. I did my best at translating between French, English, and Fulfulde, but there were some conversations, which were definitely lost in the wind. Dad was worried about breaking the cultural gender norms, and even stressed himself out about it! You can ask him for the story! Let’s just say, between Dad and Meaghan, I didn’t sleep through a night outside of the Hilton. Guess that just shows how nervous they were about coming, but they came anyways. I appreciate they came on an adventure with me.

We spent one night in Ngaoundere, my banking city and the regional capital. It is a very calm and nice city, with some good food. Meaghan and Dad ate some grilled fish and baton, and really loved it. After a good day in the city, we took the train back down to Yaoundé and went back to Hilton Paradise. We all had a solid night of sleep. We explored Yaoundé, a little, but I’m a small town girl and I am far from comfortable in Yaoundé. After swimming in the pool, blended coffee drinks, yummy pizza and a relaxing day, we took off for FRANCE!

I was watching movies, drinking free red wine, and actually enjoying most of the airplane food they gave us. Funny how your perspective changes after a few months of cous cous and sauce. Our flight arrived early in the morning and we anxiously waited for more sisters and my new nephew. They all looked exhausted after an overnight flight with a baby. We found our bags and headed to our hotel for the night. After a little relaxation, we set out to see a little bit of Paris. I was shocked at how expensive everything was. I would say everything was three times, or more, than Cameroonian prices. But, it was also so beautiful and clean. We ate some yummy French food and drank mojitos and red wine.

Even though we were all exhausted, I think we were all happy to be together and we wound up walking around Paris the entire afternoon. At dusk, Dad, Ann and I went up the Eiffel Tower; sad Mom was not there to see it with us. We made our way back to the hotel and found some to-go pizza next door. We found some red wine and M&M’s and had a feast with the World Cup playing in the background.

The next day, despite French Traffic Strikes, we found our train to Bordeaux. It was amazingly fast, smooth, and fancy.

I have a lot more to say about France, and my recent time in country, but I my neighbor and friend from village is waiting for me to go back to village and prepare for the Grande Fete de Ramadan! It has been so long since I posted on here, I felt the need to give something to my dedicated fans out there, aka my loved ones in MT. Miss and love you and I will add more when I come back to the city. All you need to know is I am here, alive, and happy. Village life gets better with time, and I am seeing potential for projects and work in the area.

For now, au revoir! Or, if you prefer Fulfulde, bahaouji (no clue how to spell it)! Or, as the kids are learning in village, see you later!

Pictures from Tourningal

Different Village, Different Life

I am in Tourningal, my new post, and it is beautiful. My neighbors are very nice and have fed me nearly every meal since I’ve arrived. I got here May 1st; today is the 5th. I have already taken a break and gone back to Ngaoundere (my new banking city) for two nights. I basically spent two nights in my new home, unpacked a little bit, and then left for Ngaoundere. I bought 15 rolls of toilet paper, some drapes, a gas lamp (or what we would call a kerosene camping lamp), and some cheap plastic shelves to try and organize this mess. I took running water (one hot) showers, again, and drank cold drinks. Not to mention, I charged nearly all my electronics.

After 6 weeks or more of living out of a suitcase and staying in crowded, dirty Peace Corps houses, I am happy to have my own place again. It is so difficult to restart, though. My house is full of cockroaches and not "Maureen" clean. Thank goodness for very kind neighbors and random village people. They helped me move all my stuff and set up my bed and unpack a little. It was very much appreciated. When I finally told the kids and adults I wanted to take a little break, they told me they would come get me for dinner later. I shut my door and let the tears of total exhaustion and fear fall quietly (don’t worry, just for a few minutes). Then I tried to push that feeling of being completely overwhelmed and called some of my friends from Mayo-Darle. After a couple of calls about how Mayo-Darle is definitely not "en brousse" I heard a soft knock on the door. It was a young boy bringing me water from the well. The people here are so helpful and welcoming (here and in Mayo-Darle). My neighbor lady came over to ask if I'd found my lamp yet. I couldn't remember for the life of me where I packed it in that hurried and blurry three-day evacuation. I found some candles and she seemed to be able to accept that as my form of light this evening.

I don’t know how to live without electricity. Imagine there is no way to turn a light on when it gets dark at 6:30 pm. If you have to get up during the night to go the bathroom, you need to take a flashlight into that scary dark, cockroach-infested latrine. If your computer, cell phone, or camera is dead, there is no way to charge it, unless you have a solar charger or give it to someone with a generator. It is something we definitely take for granted in the States. It is an amazing amenity that I miss dearly. So, for those of you back home, enjoy it, but take a moment to imagine what it would be like to live without it. Back in Mayo-Darlé, we didn’t really have electricity but we had a big generator for the town and there was electricity for 4 hours in the evening, from 6:30 – 10:30 pm. It was perfect, and now I am realizing how much I relied on that precious time with electricity.

After all that, I should tell you, I am sitting in my house with a flickering light bulb on and my phone and camera are charging in my living room. When I first got here I noticed there was wiring and lights for electricity in my house and I thought to myself, “what a mean joke” because there is no electricity here. However, this evening my neighbor came over and said I can charge my phone in my house today. I thought he was joking. He came in and switched the light switch on; nothing happened. And I said, “ca va” because I thought he was still messing with me. He didn’t give up and soon I noticed the welcomed hum of a generator. I let him work for bit and right when it was getting too dark to see, the light in my living room came on. I was so happy! I could barely control myself. I said “merci, merci, merci” and they started laughing at me for how happy I was to have electricity, even if only for a couple hours, one day.

Miscarriages

This is something I don’t talk about often, or very openly. So it seems odd to write about this and post it on my blog. I guess I don’t really have a good reason to share this now. I imagine only my family and friends reading this, but maybe there are others out there, and I guess I’m okay with that. It is not something I am proud of, but it is my history, and it has helped shape me to be the person I am today.

I am a mom with no child.

It happens in every country and in every culture. The cause is blamed on a variety of things, ranging from sorcery to bad maternal health. It can happen to any woman at any time during her childbearing years. For me, it happened when I was 19. Even after an autopsy, there was no solid explanation for it. Which almost made things worse. I needed to know why. What did I do wrong? Did I not take care of my unborn child? Did I not take care of myself? Would I have been a bad mom? What was the reason that perfect little baby boy couldn’t breathe and live after being born? Why did I have to go through such a hell? Why give me a false belief of becoming a mom? Why let my milk come in if there was no baby to drink it? What would life have been like if the doctor’s would’ve saved him when I begged them to? Would I still be married if he survived? Would I be happy? Would he be healthy? Would I be a mean mom? So many unanswered questions. So many “what if” questions.

More women than you think have miscarriages. Once you ask, or once it comes up in conversations, you will be surprised how many women have suffered such a painful experience. I mean painful emotionally and physically. It is giving birth but there is no happiness afterwards. Instead, you have to leave your baby in the hospital. You have a child to bury. You have to get a headstone for his gravesite. You have to accept the unimaginable. You have to answer “no” to the question “do you have kids?” You have to hear your parents say they have four grandkids, not five. You have to accept that your sisters have nieces and one nephew, not two (all these numbers are old). You have to take flowers, toys, and balloons out to the cemetery when you want to talk to and “see” your child. You have to miss his birthday when you’re not near his grave. It is a terrible feeling to be such an empty and unattached mom.

Friday, April 25, 2014, will mark 8 years. Anthony would be 8-years-old. How can it feel like so long ago and, yet, I remember it so vividly? I still feel guilt. I still feel sadness. I still feel a sharp pain when people ask me why I don’t have kids. I still struggle to laugh at jokes about giving up your firstborn. I still perk up when I hear “Anthony.” I pity myself on Mother’s Day, when a few people awkwardly wish me a “Happy Mother’s Day.” I still want to go out to the cemetery and talk to you, sometimes cry, or just sit on the grass in silence next to you. I still get upset when I can’t take you flowers on your birthday. I’m sorry I can’t come clean off your headstone. I know no one thinks of you like I do; even your father has a child of his own now. There are many who love you and wanted to meet you, but there is no one who would have loved you like I do. You are on my mind often. You will always be my firstborn. I will never forget what you taught me. I will never forget the amazement of hearing and seeing you inside of me.

I don’t know how to move on. How will I ever become pregnant again without thinking of you? I don’t think it is possible. I will never again try to starve myself. I will never again only eat because I have someone growing inside me. I will never take for granted a child’s heartbeat. I will never be able to be pregnant and nurse without thinking of Anthony. Anthony, you are my baby boy. Perfect, tiny, strong. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to keep you alive. I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve done anything to keep you breathing, to keep that tiny heart beating.

Many say, “it was for the better” or “it happened for a reason.” When I have no scientific reason on his autopsy report, what reason was that? Who decided? Why him? Why didn’t he deserve a chance? Why didn’t I deserve a chance to be a mom? Why let me hear that fast heartbeat if he was never going to walk or talk?

I know I may not be where I am today if I had an 8-year-old child. But, I would have an 8-year-old Anthony who I would love dearly. Maybe I never would’ve gone back to college. Maybe I never would have gotten my college degree. I may never have gone to graduate school. And, I certainly would not be in Peace Corps at 27 years old. Maybe it was a “blessing in disguise” like some tell me. But I can’t help but cringe at that saying. Why should I get to go on and better myself when this helpless little child never even got a chance? I’m sorry, Anthony. I wish I would’ve taken better care of myself, and of you. If I would’ve eaten better, would you be here with me now?

I do feel lucky to be where I am today, in my life. So, I can accept the sayings like, “it happened for a reason” or “it was meant to be” a little easier. I understand I would’ve struggled like hell to take care of that little guy and be a happy, healthy mom. It would’ve been hard to get a divorce with a child to think about. I am fortunate to have had the chance to finish university and graduate school and join Peace Corps. I know if I had a child, life would be stressful, difficult, and very different. It is just hard to accept losing him and embrace this part of my past. I still think of him when I see a pregnant lady or when I see a newborn.

While this is not about my experience here, in Cameroon, it is a constant battle for me, especially working with kids and women here. Cameroonians love to ask how old you are, if you are married, and if you have children. I hate comments about how I don’t know what it is like to be pregnant. I want to scream every time they ask me why I’m not married or why I don’t have kids. I WAS married; I HAVE a child. My husband and I chose very different paths. My child died the same minute he was born. He flinched in my arms before I asked the doctors to save him. I left my child on a counter in the hospital, wrapped in a blanket, motionless. What kind of mother does that? I just left him there. I don’t even know who took him off that counter after I left. I couldn’t take him home. I couldn’t feed him when my milk came in. I could only cry and sit in shock as the flowers and cards arrived from family and friends. I could only think of everything I did wrong as people told me they were sorry for my loss.

My loved ones were the reason I was able to continue my life after losing Anthony. I have caring sisters, understanding parents, amazing girlfriends, and very compassionate extended family. While the specifics are mine only, this experience is not unique to me, and I don’t write for pity or to make you sad. I write to get this out of my head. And, maybe if someone has experienced a similar pain, they can have some comfort in knowing they are not alone. It is difficult to talk about this when I don’t have my family and close friends here with me. Usually someone understands why I’m a little down on the 25th of April. Here, I can choose to stay quiet and say “I’m fine” or I can choose to share it with people and have to tell a long story.

It is difficult to see sick kids and hear about young children passing away. I guess I feel like the struggles we deal with in America are more in my face and more common here in Cameroon. There are strong women back home but the women here have a whole different kind of strength within them. In both countries, women go through things you can’t even imagine. While Anthony’s father lost a child too, he didn’t have the responsibility of being unable to keep the child healthy. Women suffer miscarriages; they live through the loss of their children or husbands. I don’t know how they do it. I barely survived the loss of a child I never even got to know. I would never wish such a terrible pain on anyone. A pain that lasts years. And, while it is true, time makes it easier, it definitely doesn’t make it go away. There is not a week goes by without thinking about my baby boy. I wish I were there this week to take care of your headstone and bring you flowers, balloons, or a toy. Happy 8th birthday Anthony, you are on my mind often. Your caring Grandma will come and check on you.

“I fought for you the hardest, it made me the strongest. So tell me your secrets, I just can’t stand to see you leaving, but heaven couldn’t wait for you.” ~ Beyoncé’s new song “Heaven” about her miscarriage (aka my new obsession)

Grandparents are the best

April 19, 2014

I just found out that tomorrow is Easter. Missed that one in the midst of traveling, moving, “vacationing,” and being overwhelmed. I just got to Ngaoundéré – the capital of the Adamaoua region – and my new banking city. There was a pile of mail waiting for me. I got a small care package from the Cole’s and many cards and letters from my friends and family. THANK YOU! Made my day, as always. And, I’m sorry I haven’t been writing any letters lately.


In two days I will move to my new house and new village, Tourningal. After a month or so of moving around, living out of a backpack, and living in “cases” (Peace Corps transit houses) and hotels, I am looking forward to getting settled back in. But, that’s about all I’m looking forward to. I have a small table, 2 chairs, and a bookshelf for furniture because there wasn’t enough space to bring everything. I need to at least buy a mattress before Monday. I don’t want to start over. I am not excited to have to integrate all over again. (Also, I don’t know how to integrate into a community without eating couscous at nearly every meal, which results in instant weight gain.) People who came to country at the same time are starting projects, doing real work, and here I am at square one, again. It is so frustrating and too overwhelming to think about. I know there are many positives or small silver linings to this situation, but I can’t see those right now. I need a serious attitude adjustment.


One thing that is keeping me going is my parents and Meggie are coming to see me in 7 weeks. Yep, I’ll have 7 weeks to integrate, make friends, and explain to my new village that my family is coming before they arrive. Let’s hope it goes by fast! After a week of Cameroon, we will go to France and I get to see two more sisters and meet my new nephew! This is what’s been driving me lately.


Also, I felt very rejuvenated after being on the beach for a week. Peace Corps put on a conference for young girls and women and I got to bring a young girl and young woman from my old village. It was their first time swimming in the ocean. When I floated on my back they screamed and said it was sorcery. As we stood on the beach and looked out on the ocean, they asked me where the water ends. They took salty water and black sand back to Mayo-Darlé and told me they were going to give it to someone to drink. I couldn’t help but think of bringing sand back to Montana from Hawaii as a teenager. Their per diem for food was 5,000 FCFA ($10) and they never spent more than 2,000 FCFA ($4) on a meal and that was when they told me the food was too expensive. They wanted me to keep the money for them because when I tried to give them the money for all three days, they refused to take it. Needless to say, I sent them home with a lot of leftover money they never used. They are very frugal and it is very humbling. It was a good few days with them. It was a very educational experience for them and for me. After they left, I stayed with my friends and we found a beautiful beach. I truly didn’t want to leave. If I had more money, I would’ve stayed longer. I didn’t have a house yet and I didn’t see the point in rushing back. Probably a good thing I was running out of money.


After the beach, I went to Yaoundé, the capital of Cameroon. Peace Corps has an amazing new office and “case” there. I took the longest running hot water shower in a long time. I froze my water bottle and chomped ice like crazy. I washed my clothes in a washing machine; I forgot how clean clothes feel.


After spoiling myself and running out of money, I took the train up here to Ngaoundéré. It is a night train and it is a long journey. It’s been an average of 15 hours the two times I’ve taken it. Another PCV said she took it the day before and it took them 20 plus hours because a second-class car caught on fire and everyone had to get off the train. I realized I shouldn’t complain about my relatively smooth 15-hour trip. And I decided I would never take second-class.


During the train ride, I made friends with a grandma and little girl sitting next to me. The grandma was so kind and caring to her granddaughter. The girl was maybe 3 or 4 years old; she was so chatty and not afraid of me at all. A few hours into the trip they started calling me “tantine” and “grande soeur”. The little girl had many questions for me. Some examples include: “where’s your dad?” “where’s your mom?” “who hurt you on your chest? (referring to my scar)”, and “where are your kids?” I told her my mom and dad are far away and she thought that was odd.


When I took the last swig of a juice I had with me, she said, “You drank all your juice and didn’t give me any.” All I could think was, “uh oh”. I offered her the basically empty bottle and she sucked out the last drop and was content with that. We shared our cookies while her grandma said she didn’t want any because they are for kids. Honestly, I would’ve done the same if I hadn’t already bought and eaten some cookies in front of her because she was giving me partially eaten pieces of cookie that were slobbered on and I wasn’t too interested in putting that in my mouth. I tried to refuse but she pushed it in my face. I finally took it and was planning on throwing it on the floor but she was watching me intently, telling me to eat it.


She was very curious about the picture of a baby on my phone, I explained it was the baby of my big sister. She, of course, asked where they were. I said they were far away, also, but that my family will visit me soon. She told me her mom was sick and in the hospital. I didn’t understand what her mom was going through in the hospital, she spoke better French than I did, but I could tell she wasn’t happy about it.


She and her grandma were sharing a seat and eventually Mimi (the young girl) came and joined me in my seat after she told me her butt hurt. Her grandma fell asleep for a bit and I told her she is making her grandma tired. When her grandma woke up, Mimi told her grandma, “grandma close your eyes, you are tired.” Her grandma laughed and followed the instructions of the very assertive young girl.


Mimi talked until the second she fell asleep. In the morning, I kept closing my eyes and Mimi would tell me, “ne ferme pas tes yeux” (don’t close your eyes!). I couldn’t help but laugh, and although I tried to keep those eyes open, she repeated that every time I tried to sleep. There was an old man across the aisle who commented, “Grandma is suffering with the child but it is good you have a nice white next to you.” (It is hard to translate but people here don’t like to see anyone suffering and often comment about suffering.)


Her grandma and I kept asking each other, “Do you know which village this is” when the train would stop and every time we would tell each other “I don’t know”. I couldn’t help but laugh when she told me she was just waiting until everyone else gets off to know when she should get off. I told her that was my plan too.


I enjoyed being Mimi’s big sister and aunty for the night. Kids always make life seem lighter and happier. Mimi helped me relax a bit and be a little more positive about life here. Her little smiling face and sarcastic remarks still make me laugh to myself. You can see the funny little girl, and the beach, below.


And to my patient and loving grandparents back home, I love you and miss you tons. Thanks for "suffering" with me throughout my life. I couldn't ask for better grandparents.

I misspelled words and my French is terrible, but a little something for my village.

Hate that I had to leave.

You can copy and paste this into the search bar: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOjjZpwCLIo

April 4, 2014 Today was one of the hardest days in country, and in my life. Probably makes one of the top ten. I had to leave Mayo-Darlé because of rumors of terrorist activity. I never felt in danger and never wanted to leave MD. There are so many people in MD who thought it was a joke when I told them; they laughed when I explained the situation. After two weeks away, waiting to know if I could go back or not, the people understood it was not a joke. My whole cluster got evacuated; there were six of us. We got driven back to our villages by Peace Corps and got three nights in our homes to pack our houses and say goodbye to everyone. Simply explaining the situation to everyone would take more than a week. Having to pack up an entire house AND telling my closest friends in three days seemed impossibly overwhelming. (I don’t know how another volunteer did it with only 24 hours.) I have never been forced out of my house or town against my will. It is a bizarre feeling, and that was only after four months. Can you imagine living in a place for years and having to leave? I sure can’t. Also, what kind of image is Peace Corps promoting when there is one little rumor and they take the volunteers out of the village? We are supposed to be so integrated and trusted members of a community but when there is something that is a possible threat they take us out of the village and leave the community members behind without a thought. They don’t ask the volunteers for their opinion or for their advice, even though they expect us to be completely independent while in country. Day by day, I am trying to calm down, accept the situation, and be excited about starting over. It is extremely trying and somedays I’m not sure I can do this. I want to go home, back to the States, where life is easy. I know we have our problems and challenges back in America, but for me, I’ve never had such a challenging day-to-day life. Maybe that is because I’m blessed with such a good family and caring parents, but I also think it is because I was lucky enough to be born in a stable country. I keep thinking how unfair it is for me, for my village, and for Cameroonians. Then, I remember my dad telling us girls, growing up, “Life isn’t fair.” I couldn’t agree more. Why do some people get to grow up with parents who think women can do whatever “their little hearts desire” while other kids grow up with parents who think they aren’t valuable enough to go to school? If you aren’t “smart” enough they will take you out of school to work on the farm, or with the cattle, or take care of the younger siblings. Why do some women get to become whatever they want; doctor, lawyer, engineer, while other women are forced to marry at 14, have kids at 15 and obey their husbands demands every day? Life certainly is NOT fair. At 27, why am I able to pay my neighbor woman (who is in her thirties or forties with more than 5 kids) 5,000 FCFA a month to wash my dirty Western clothing? She has certainly worked harder than I have ever worked in my life. If I could give her and her family everything I certainly would. The least I could do was give her bracelets for her and her kids, and take her oldest daughter (who lives at home) to a conference on women’s issues. That seems like nothing. Okay, I could go on for ages about the unfairness about life here, about life for us Americans and the Cameroonians here. We are so lazy, entitled, and don’t know what it is to struggle. Cameroonian women work from 5 am til 6 pm and never complain. I am upset that I had to leave my village, that I have to start this whole process over, but what upsets me more is leaving my friends behind in a “dangerous” area without any protection. Why are they less important than I am? Ugh, it is terribly frustrating. It is extremely difficult to understand and explain in a way for people back home to understand. I can only hope that my village, and many of the good people in Cameroon, are safe and are not displaced or affected by the terrible people in neighboring countries. I will know more on Monday, but for now I know I am going to a village called Tourningal. It has about 1,500 people (my old village had about 7-8,000 people). There is no electricity there; Mayo-Darlé had 4 hours of electricity that seems so precious now. It is mostly Muslim, like my old village, with mostly Fulani people. I am hopeful that I can use my minimal French and Fulfulde skills there. I am afraid that they fact “they speak both French and Fulfulde” means only Fulfulde. As they say in Cameroon, “On va voir” (we will see). Wish me luck while I start this whole integration process over again

March 29, 2014 Well, I am in the process of accepting my situation. I am still in Bamenda – an English speaking city in the North West Region. We finally got some word on the next steps. It has been a rollercoaster of emotions with lots of varying information. At first, we were going to be able to go back to post for 10 days, at any time before April 12. Now, some of the rumors were actually confirmed, so we will go back for 3 days to pack up our houses and tell all our friends, co-workers, and neighbors goodbye. I told all my friends back in village I would be back for 10 days and then had to call them all again and explain it will only be 3 days. I wanted to scream. I am not sure they all even understood what I was telling them. I am still struggling with French and it is even more difficult on the phone. I think my friend thought I said I would be back in 10 days, for good. I just let her think that in the hopes someone who actually understood me will explain it to her better. One of my friends said he hates BH more than I do, not sure that’s possible right now. All because of these people, not even from Cameroon, our villages don’t get to have the opportunities and benefits of having a development volunteer there, maybe ever again. To clarify, I haven’t done any type of super helpful things in village yet, but I do believe having a volunteer in their village can be a good opportunity. However, I think I got more out of my 4 months at post than I gave. I get very sad thinking about the people I may never see again. I don’t want to leave like this. I don’t want to leave at all, honestly, but it seems like a legitimate threat now, so it is easier to accept Peace Corps’ decision. However, it doesn’t make it any easier to say goodbye and leave my new home. I finally called my counterpart, the guy who has taken time out of his studies and personal life to work with Peace Corps for many years now. I think I was putting it off because I felt so bad. He has lost the opportunity to continue his work with Peace Corps and can only continue if they decide to re-open the post, which seems unlikely now. He really cares about his village, he wants to do good there, and he works hard. He always answered my calls, he would always accompany me when I was too scared to do something alone, and he always helped translate things in Fulfulde so I could understand. He was so patient and had such high hopes and expectations for the next two years. Although there were days that overwhelmed me, I feel like I let him down. I let down the village. After I pack up my house, sell/give away everything I can’t bring, and say goodbye to Mayo-Darlé, Peace Corps will drive me up to Ngaoundéré, the regional capital for the Adamoua region. I am happy to be able to stay in the same region, at least. Each region is very unique and different from the others. There are two Anglophone regions, the rest Francophone. There are regions with mostly Christians and there are mostly Muslim areas. Cameroon is extremely diverse. It will be nice to be able to take a little of what I’ve learned in Mayo-Darlé to my new home. I still don’t know where I am going, and will probably wind up waiting in the “case” (Peace Corps transit/flop house, and what I’ve been living in for 2 weeks now) in Ngaoundéré for a while. By the time I get my own house, I will be so happy to have a little privacy again. I thought I didn’t have any privacy in Mayo-Darlé, but case life is everything but private.

March 26, 2014 Well, I just got the bad news that they are closing the West Adamoua area. All six of us volunteers are being evacuated and have to find new villages, towns, or cities for our service. There are five of us who can go back to our villages for up to 10 days to pack up our houses, say goodbye to all our neighbors, friends, and work partners. The volunteer from the village with the rumor about terrorists will only get 24 hours to say goodbye to everyone and get her things together. It seems impossible to complete all those difficult tasks in 24 hours. I am grateful I will at least have some time to try and explain this situation with my mediocre French skills. It will be difficult since I have no more information than the day when the Peace Corps car came and took us out of our villages a week and a half ago. Still just a rumor, still no incidents, still not informing us about what has been done to investigate, and no information on the reasoning behind abandoning our new homes and our villages, who were counting on us. I have no idea how to deal with this. I know to people back home in the States it is difficult to understand. Why be so upset if it’s dangerous there? I know it is better if I move to a safe village. The thing is Mayo-Darlé is so calm and safe. I love my neighbors; they worry about me if I am sick and don’t come out of the house for a day. Sometimes it would annoy me, but now I am being very nostalgic about it. I feel safer in Mayo-Darlé than in any other city or town I’ve visited here in Cameroon. People know where I live, they know my name, they protect me; I am there for them and they understand that. Now, I am just going to pick up and leave after 4 months of only learning languages, making friends, and integrating. I haven’t done any productive work for my village yet, and now I won’t even have an opportunity to. Yes, I am close to the Nigerian border, but it is south Nigeria and the weekly terrifying news stories come from northern Nigeria. If there were terrorists in my village, everyone would know, and they would chase them out of town (literally words from a friend there). They would tell me if there was a real threat and then I would have something to worry about and a reason to leave. Right now, they think it is laughable because there is none of that happening there. They don’t understand why the Peace Corps is making me leave. What can I say or do to help them understand this unfortunate situation? Soon, I will have to say goodbye to the children, women, and young men I have made friends with and who have become my family in Mayo-Darlé. My neighbor who brings me dinner after a long day of travel. My neighbor who I make tea with nearly every night. My neighbor who has a television and lets me visit any evening I don’t want to be alone in my house. My neighbor who has two kids who come visit me and speak English, French, and Fulfulde with me, then refuse to leave my house without a bon bon. The neighborhood kids who come over and ask for the soccer ball, draw, and play with my singing greeting cards. The three widows across the street who always have a full house and lots of food to share with me. My Anglophone family who shows me how to cook, braids my hair, and brings me along to any type of meeting I could benefit from. The kids who scream my name on my way home from the market. My friend who has a boutique in the market; we talk about religion, tradition, culture, and just simply pass time watching people and playing with telephones. The boutique owners who I have come to like and who teach me a new Fulfulde word every time I buy something from them. My counterpart who has invested time and energy into getting me integrated into the community and has missed school to attend trainings for Peace Corps with me. The people from the small bush village I just helped create a youth association in, who invited me in with open arms, and high expectations, to assist them. All of this is in the past now. All the energy I spent making friends, trying to discover what Mayo-Darlé wants/needs, down the drain. When a post is closed, as mine is now, volunteers cannot even travel there. I will not be able to see the women, who never even leave their compounds, unless I can go back to my village. The children who are still growing and learning will forget me. The kids who love to come into my house and do gymnastics, draw, play, and talk will not be able to do that anymore. I will disappear without a good explanation of why. It wasn’t me who decided this, but it is me who will be remembered as the girl who deserted Mayo-Darlé. The village will not get another Peace Corps Volunteer, maybe ever again, even though there is lots of work to be done. I know it would not look good for Peace Corps if they let us go back and then something happened, but they could have at least asked for our opinions on our villages. They give us the power to be our own supervisor, worker, doctor, pharmacist, everything, but they don’t let us give our two cents on what our village is really like. To some of them, it is just a far away small bush village close to the Nigerian border. Some have never even been there. Some don’t even know how far away it is. They don’t know the people of Mayo-Darlé and how badly they want to work for the development of their town. If you put us out in the middle of nowhere to fend for ourselves, we deserve the respect that accompanies that type of responsibility. We are young adults who have left our loved ones for two years. We have painstakingly learned the language and local dialect to integrate and become a part of our communities. We work towards, and our encouraged to, be in solidarity with our community but after one rumor we are taken out like the foreigners we are. It is encouraging the exact attitude Peace Corps tries to combat. We are foreigners, but we are Peace Corps Volunteers, it is something to be proud of. We live in our villages for 2 years to become a member of our community and really understand what the community members want. I know this frustration, sadness, and anger will pass, but right now it is difficult to understand why I have to leave my village. I love Cameroon and being here, but right now it is a real struggle to stay positive. I was terrified of Mayo-Darlé when I first heard I was going to live there, but I overcame those fears and I was happy there. I have friends there. I wanted to work there. I wanted to be a part of that community for at least 2 years to come. I guess I need to let that idea go now. The next step in this process is going back to Mayo-Darlé, packing up my house, saying goodbye, and finding a new home. I don’t know where yet, but I think I would like to stay in the Adamoua region in the hopes the culture would not be too different, and I wouldn’t have to relearn a ton of things. It is hard to imagine a new village, home, and friends when I have just put all my energy, for the past 4 months, into my current home. I don’t want to do it but I don’t want to come home to the States. I haven’t done anything for my village or for Cameroon. I need to do something worthwhile here. I It has been a rough day, as I’m sure you can tell by my writing. I know it will pass and I know things will calm down, but right now I am processing all of this bad news and trying to understand what this means for my service here. Hopefully, this process of finding and moving to a new home doesn’t take too long. Living at the “Case” (basically a flop house for volunteers in this area) is getting old and dirty. Also, as it is I will have 4 months less than normal at my new post. Although, I may need a little time to regain the strength and energy to start this whole process again. I am not naturally an extrovert and every day in the first days at post were draining. I don’t know how I will do that again. Ugh! For those of you who have sent packages or mail, I will try to get them all before leaving Mayo-Darlé for good, or have them forwarded to me somewhere. Until I have a new home, I would just hold off on sending any mail or packages. I hate to say that because I love getting mail and packages from you all.

March 16 I am just realizing I may have jinxed myself with my last blog post. I mentioned I want to go home, but it was a passing thought. I still have a lot of work to do here before I can go home to the States. My standards have gone downhill. I just flicked mouse turds and crumbs, from who knows what, off the bed I'm laying in. Pretty nasty but this is life now.  This morning I woke up thinking it would just be another day in Mayo-Darle. Man was I wrong. I woke up to 2 missed calls and a SMS from Peace Corps. I read the SMS in a daze and woke up quickly. It said I was being evacuated from my post and a car from Peace Corps would be there to get me later in the day. I shot out of bed unsure what that meant. I went to the bathroom and got a backpack out to pack. I started throwing stuff in my backpack in between wandering my house, still in my birthday suit because it is so hot in Mayo-Darle, all the time. I decided clothes were a priority because if I close my window all my light is gone and I can't pack in the dark. I splashed some water on myself to get "clean" and got dressed. Finally dressed, I continued throwing things in my bag and on the floor around it. What does the Peace Corps mean when they say "only bring the essentials"? I got my money, passport, and anti-malaria meds, but I'll need clothes too, right? How long will I be gone? Where am I going? Why do I have to leave? When I'm finally put together enough, I open my door to my village. I start hot water for coffee and realize I need to do dishes and take my garbage out before I leave. When will the Peace Corps car arrive to take me away? I forget about coffee and go wash dishes at my neighbors well. As I start washing dishes I decide I need to tell everyone I'm leaving since I don't know when, or if, I'll be back. How will I explain this in French? I don't even have all the information.  I start my goodbyes with my neighbor in a mode of shock and denial. She looks like she may cry. I tell her I hope I can come back. I take my clean dishes home and continue my goodbyes with my other neighbors and friends.  One neighbor is like a family to me. The mom is so sweet and real with me and the kids are so happy and forever helpful with whatever I'm doing. The dad is not in the compound a lot but when I see him he is always kind. He even plays with the cats and gives them food.  I continue with the "men's quarters" next to my house. It's a compound of young men and boys with one older "mama" and a daughter, often with a random baby I don't know. I don't find anyone and walk back out on the road. I find a few people there and then walk across the street to explain to the "Hadja's". They are three widows (all of the same man) who live in a large compound with many helpers, kids, and young men and women who come in and out. My friend - a young woman - lives there with her 4 kids after losing her husband last year. I struggle to form correct French sentences while explaining the situation. They are all talking to each other in Fulfulde and they ask if I'm already going back to America. I assure her I'm not and try hard to stress I want to come back but it's not me who decides. I walk to my anglophone friends house and tell the husband and the two wives. The second younger wife is not super upset - or at least doesn't look it - but tells me there will be a lot of angry people and that it is better if I come back. I agree and ask to see the first older wife who has been so kind to me since the moment I met her. She's shown me how to make some food here, she takes me along to her women's group, and she is happy and easy to talk to. I tell her and she doesn't know how to take it. She grabs my hand and leads me back into the house and sits in silence for a few moments. The second wife brings me fish and rice and the first wife gets a bottle full of yummy coated peanuts for me to take on my voyage. I can't eat the fish. The first wife tells me I have brought her very bad news and there are tears in her eyes. I explain more and more that I want to come back, especially because I haven't even started doing real work yet. I can't leave my village like this. I finally get up the guts to tell them I can't eat right now after taking a couple bites and give the first wife a Cameroonian style hug/kiss thing. It's like you're shaking hands and then touch cheeks one, two, three times. It was my first time initiating it but I just wanted to give that mama a big hug so I settled for the next best culturally appropriate option. I make it home while reality sets in. I start to get sad and realize I need to come back here. I can't just leave like this. My friend and community host are waiting for me outside my house. We just sit outside and talk about Nigeria and me coming back. Soon there are 5 or 6 of us just sitting outside talking solemnly about what this means.  I remember I need to go to the market to get my water bottle my friend borrowed. I walk there with my community host, trying to discuss any unfinished business we need to take care of. I grab my bottle and explain to the owner of my regular boutique what's happening. While in there, Peace Corps calls to tell me they have arrived. I'm not ready, I can't leave yet. I stop their car in the market and explain they can go get the other nearby volunteer and come back for me. They don't seem bothered by that and drive me to my house so they know where my house is. I guess my hand drawn map to my house wasn't good enough. I get out of the car and run in my house to make sure I have everything I want. They say they will be back in an hour. I sit in my house for a bit, talking with neighbors and friends until I get a call from Peace Corps, much too quickly, that they are waiting outside. I tell my friend to go tell the women neighbors the car is here so they can peak outside their compounds to wave goodbye. There is no need. By the time I reach the car the neighborhood has gathered around it to send me away, after just 4 months. I say goodbye to everyone one last time and I'm doing okay until I reach the group of kids. The youngest kiddo who is at my house often is handed to me and I give him a little hug goodbye and then put him down on the ground and say "bye bye." He grabs my skirt and says "uh uh." I feel myself tearing up and force myself not to pick him up again. My neighbor picks him up to hold him away from the car. I slowly climb in and wave goodbye and say "see you soon" in Fulfulde. The car starts driving off and I feel immense sadness. This place I just worked for 4 months at making a home in is suddenly behind me. All my friends and neighbors and potential work partners are standing in the dust of the car. I can't believe it's happening. I'm in shock and just think, I'll be back, I have to be back. I haven't done anything productive for my village yet.  We are silent in the car as we drive to the next two villages. Holding tears back and unsure what to say or talk about. We take two more volunteers away from their homes and dogs. It is a sad and gloomy trip. No one tries to speculate that we won't be back, even though that's on all our minds. Maybe if we don't say it out loud it won't happen.  Eventually we loosen up a bit and enjoy the comfort of each others company. We listen to music, take calls from worried friends, locals, and Peace Corps administrators. We are safe but have two days of travel ahead of us.  We stop in a city for the night. Eating and drinking cold beer. We all debate if we are calling our families or if we are waiting to know what is going to happen. I decide I need to at least tell my sisters because I'd be mad if it was them in another country, keeping information from me. I wait to call my parents because I don't want to rain on their vacation. By the morning my older sisters have over ruled that and I call my parents to inform them before someone else. Everyone takes it surprisingly well and I am impressed by the empathy from them. Did they get some kind of training on what to say? How do they know what to say? Would I be as gracious for them if the situation was reversed? The night in the hotel on the way here (Bamenda) is restless and full of anxiety. I turn the light off and try to ignore the fact I'm sleeping in the house of a mouse. I'm back up in a few minutes, lights back on, pacing in my room. A few minutes of that and I try again to shut the light off and lay down in bed. I leave the bathroom light on in hopes it will let the mouse know I'm taking the bed tonight. I'm only asleep a couple hours when I wake up thinking about my situation. I force myself not to get up since it is only 4 am. I wake up at 5 and 6 with the rooster alarm. Shortly after 6, I give up on sleeping and take a cold bucket bath, shivering and gasping in the cool morning air. I go downstairs and order some Nescafé and find another volunteer has been struggling to sleep also, even though we all went to our rooms exhausted.  We eat some beans and beignets for breakfast and hit the road again. We are finally safe in Bamenda. We have no news of future plans. We are enjoying Internet, electricity, running water, and the anglophone region.  I hope within a week we will have more information and answers for all our questions, but it is not unheard of for volunteers to live in limbo like this for a month or two. After two days, I know I can't do a month of this. I want to go home, back to Mayo-Darle. I am motivated to work and hope I can prove that.  This life will get old fast and walking around the city is limited by my leg. It starts aching quickly from my burn. I am trying to stay positive but some moments it is difficult, near impossible. 

March 14, 2014 I want to go home. I've been here 6 months - now I would like to go home and see my new nephew, family, and friends. I know the feeling will pass but for a couple days now all I think about is how annoying the men are, how overwhelmed I am, and how much I miss my family.  One of my neighbor girls came over this morning and told me someone beat a cat so bad it died. It wasn't one of my cats, but he was a neighborhood cat who often came to my house to eat and drink. She said it so matter of factly I had to repeat what she said to be sure I understood correctly. People really don't value animals, especially pets, here. I'm glad it wasn't my cat, not that I'm super attached to them, but I would've been upset.  Today I'm going to talk to a tutor about teaching me Fulfulde. I'm nervous but hopefully it will help. I probably need to find a French tutor too.  I decided to get my ceiling re-done. I hate it so much, it's so disgusting. I'm sure I've written about this already, but it is like a thick table cloth material that is weighed down with dirt and who knows what else. It sags so bad and when you push it up and let it go you can hear the stuff up there. There are mice and bats and I'm sure cockroaches that live and die up there. So, finally yesterday I had my neighbor call a contractor to ask him to come look at it. He got off the phone and told me he'd be right back, I thought he was going to run to the bathroom or something. After a minute he came back with the contractor to show him my ceiling. They talked about how much it would be and how much material they'd need. I had an estimate after a few minutes of talking. No measuring, nothing. It was so informal and fast. I'm very much looking forward to getting it done. It will be real wood that keeps things out of my house and it won't sag with the weight of the dirt. I'm going to get some screens replaced and hopefully a new or another mattress. My house is going to be awesome. I think a lot of my motivation is coming from the fact my mom, dad, and sister are coming to stay here and I don't want them to hate my "hut" as they call it. Soon the whole village will know my family is coming! March 15, 2014  Well I stayed up late last night since it was Friday night. I watched tv on my computer and ate M&M's (thanks sis!). It was nice until cockroaches started falling from the gaps in my ceiling. It was raining outside and raining cockroaches inside. The real rain outside was a welcome sound. It's been a while and it is so dusty here, we could use the rain.  I got up feeling like I could do a market run and hang out with some neighbors. I put a small pot of water on my cooktop for some mocha coffee (thanks Alli!). I also started a large pot of water to bathe. I drank my coffee and went to the kitchen to get my bath water. I turned the stove off and grabbed my dirty burnt towel to grab the large pot of water to pour into my bath bucket. I don't know what exactly happened but the pot slipped out of my hands and boiling water spilled down the inside of my calf and my ankle. I instantly put the pot down on my concrete kitchen floor and swore back and forth in my entry way, unsure what to do. It burned instantly, then there was a couple seconds of nothing - I thought maybe it wasn't going to be bad. I was wrong. The pain quickly returned and I went into my latrine and got a washcloth wet with well water. I put it on my leg and started to whine and cry to myself. Eventually I just put my whole leg into my water container I keep in my latrine for bathing. It felt better for a second. I found some acetaminophen and over did it on that. I brought a large jug of water (similar to the container in my latrine) to my living room and have been sitting on my couch since, with my leg in the tepid, dirty well water all day. My poor foot is one big wrinkled white raisin.  I tried waiting for a decent hour to text back home to my sisters. One I just whined to and the other is a doctor who I feel more comfortable asking than the doctor here. Plus, when the hospital has no running water or electricity (except for the occasional generator) I don't think they can do anything for me. I am my own doctor, nurse, and pharmacist.  Thank goodness I can ask my sister for some directions. Also, thank goodness I have this Internet set up, although I'm not sure it's always a good thing. There's something about feeling far away and just whining to yourself; things pass and life goes on. But when I can complain to people back home I get sympathy and I make them worry. Not always helpful. I guess I need to be careful just how "connected" I am. I mean, I'm in a small village in Cameroon and figure I can have some luxuries - like talking to people back home - but I may need to cool it on the complaints. Back in the states we can always text someone and tell them all our problems and sometimes it's helpful but sometimes it makes things worse. More drama, more complaining, and maybe takes longer to move past it.  I just tried leaving my house but it lasted 2 minutes because my leg was burning so badly. It's not a good feeling to have a burn in sunny hot weather. I'm back on my couch, leg in the water, waiting until I can take more Meds. I am fine, but wow, I have new empathy for people who get large burns. This is the biggest burn I've ever gotten and it is terribly uncomfortable. Oddly, this is already my second burn in country - I burned my other leg on a moto a month or two back. That was nothing compared to this. Anyways, enough complaining. Hopefully my burn responds well to ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and tepid clear-ish well water.

March 8, 2014 – International Women’s Day! Let’s start with how I got home to Mayo-Darlé from Bamenda. I was not feeling well and nervous about traveling with an if-y stomach. I took too much Immodium and brought tissue and water with me in the bus. I started with a bus from Bamenda to Bafoussam (my banking city). I left around 2 pm and arrived a little after 4 pm, not bad. I often choose the seats next to the windows with the thought I can open it the whole trip and I don’t have to feel the heat of the 18 other people. This is not a big vehicle. It could be compared to our family’s 15-passenger van, with 4 bench seats, except less roomy and more uncomfortable. There are 19 full grown adults crammed in there and it is often way too hot to handle. This time there was some shorty next to me who kept nodding off, which is fine, but he kept laying his head on my shoulder. I was swearing every bad word I knew silently, to myself. I kept trying to sit up straighter to get his head off my shoulder, didn’t work. Every bump and corner I would force him further away from me, very subtly of course. Finally, I realized if I forced my arm between us, his neck couldn’t bend that far sideways to hit my shoulder again. I was so happy to not have his sweaty, creepy little head bobbing on my shoulder. I was praising myself in my head over and over. “Ha ha, sucker no more sleeping on the white-y,” “no more taking advantage of this quiet little white girl, you ***&^%%$$,” “gotcha good you little stinker,” and “gosh this will be funny when I think back on it, but right now I want to freak out.” I had a whole conversation with myself during my travels. At one point I couldn’t help but think of Elaine, on Seinfeld, when she is taking the subway and it keeps stopping and there is something touching her leg, and someone who isn’t wearing deodorant, and she keeps swearing to herself. God, I love that show.  When I got to Bafoussam, I took a moto to a different travel office to wait for a small car to go to MD. I walked around a little bit, buying apples (precious food for those in village who never see them there), and my last share of cold drinks. I sat in the office for a while, talking with a very nice lady. Then, I sat in the car for a while, watching the inside of my eyelids while they loaded the car. I know I sound lazy, but it’s strongly opposed when I try to help. (Little do they know I carried 2x4’s and plywood back home, granted with a lot of effort and help.) Around 7 pm we finally left, I think it was 7 but now that sounds so late. We aren’t supposed to travel at night, but to be fair I started my voyage during the daytime. Right before we left there was some sort of loud discussion going on around me, it sounded like an argument but it is hard to tell sometimes. I was anxiously trying to count how many men would be in the car with me while I attached my pepper spray to my purse for easy access. Of course, there were four of us in the back seat but only three up front. The driver actually had his seat to himself. Unfortunately, there were me and one other guy who are normal size (despite what my village may tell me) and then two men in between us who were large and sweaty. It was a terrible ride. I have come to realize flat tires are an expected part of the trip here and they are pro’s at changing them; they could be in the pits at Nascar, seriously. I have never been so happy to get a flat tire. I was out of that car so fast; I was dreading getting back in and for once wished it would take them longer to change the tire. I was literally sitting with my back against the side of the car, my head awkwardly forward, trying to avoid the window and the guy’s head next to me on every bump. And, my karma from earlier in my day came back for me. This guy was also tired and doing the head bob, but he was taller and our faces were too close. He hit me in the face THREE TIMES with his forehead. Twice, my glasses came off. Ugh, I wanted to freak out. He kept moving and squishing me against the side of the card and making sounds like he was annoyed with ME. I was like, “hello, you think I am comfortable here?!?” (If you haven’t noticed, my internal conversations keep me going through these hellish trips. I hate traveling to and from my post.) I guess a few head knocks are what I get for being so smug about the guy on the bus. Thankfully, it was one of the fastest trips home I’ve ever had. I was home around 11:30 pm and couldn’t have been happier to have that huge guy off of me. I crawled out of the back seat to a warm welcome from people I couldn’t even recognize in the dark. I thanked the driver and my friend took me home. I have never been so happy to be home but so sad to not be at the fancy hotel. I came home to two living cats (yeah!) and many dead cockroaches around my house. There were some living cockroach/grasshopper/spider crossbreeds jumping around my living room. As I grabbed my RAID, my friend grabbed them with his bare hands and threw them outside. I lit my gas lamp and went to get my broom to get rid of all the dead creatures. My friend kicked them out of the way and told me to do it tomorrow. I accepted and sat on my not so comfortable couch chatting with my friend for a few minutes. When he left, I inspected my bed for creatures, used the very scary latrine, and turned off my lamp. I crawled into bed and was surprised it was as comfortable as it was. I was dreading it after 2 weeks of a real bed at the hotel. It definitely is not the same. I miss the toilet, the bed, the bath, the 24-hour electricity, the running water, the English, and the cold drinks. OH, and I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned this already, but I got to EAT ICE for the first time in SIX months. My mouth and body was so content. I know, it sounds weird, but I have an odd addiction to ice and could eat it all day, every day.  After sleeping very late on Friday (yesterday), I went to greet all my neighbors. Of course, they fed me cous cous and sauce (first time in 2 weeks) and came back to my house to sleep again. After that, I went to the market to pick up my new clothes for Women’s Day and then went to a Round Table for Women’s Day. That was the most women I’d ever seen in a formal government meeting. It was great, but still difficult to understand. After 2 weeks of speaking mostly English, my French and Fulfulde are suffering. I went home for a bit with my friends and then went back out for a “Soirée Culturelle” where the women danced and the audience screamed and cheered them on while placing money on their foreheads. I was exhausted and only lasted a few minutes. I came home and fell asleep almost instantly.  That brings me to today. Today is the Day of the Woman and the Girl Child. I got an outfit made with the cloth for today, it is awfully tight and, as my neighbor says, “sexy.” Just what I DON’T need here. I delivered apples to all my neighbors and told them “bonne fête.” Apparently the Muslim population here doesn’t like or doesn’t celebrate the fête. The Muslim girls or women who don’t have a husband or have a husband who allows them to go to the celebration can attend. If they have a husband, it usually means they can’t go. So, the day I was so excited to see was hampered by the fact the majority of the women here can’t even enjoy their one day. I shouldn’t be surprised since women are viewed as lesser than men here, but it was a little discouraging to find out my Muslim friends wouldn’t be there. Regardless, I put my scarf over myself and went to join the festivities. There were still a good amount of women there who marched and celebrated, and it was so neat to see all these women in unique dresses made out of the same cloth.

February 28, 2014 I’ve been away from village for a week now. I am thoroughly enjoying it, but surprisingly I do miss “home” back in Mayo-Darlé (MD). I have nearly two weeks of training in Bamenda, an Anglophone city not too far from my banking city. I am here with my counterpart, the guy from my community who has shown me around MD, and all my fellow volunteers who came to Cameroon at the same time. There are 53 of us volunteers who are so happy to see each other and have real beds, and Internet. Last night we danced til I couldn’t dance anymore. I was so tired today. I rolled out of my comfy bed and arrived late for training. I slept during our lunch break and arrived late after that break too, with sleep lines on my face both times. Multiple times people asked me, “are you okay”, “what’s wrong”, or simply just laughed when they saw me. Apparently I looked pretty disheveled today. I knew I felt exhausted, just didn’t realize everyone could tell. It was amusing. March 2, 2014 In another 10 days, I will have been in Cameroon for 6 months. I can’t believe it! I keep telling myself 3 months because that’s how long I’ve been at post in Mayo-Darlé, but truly 6 months! I have made it half a year here, sometimes I can’t believe it. Pretty awesome, just a year and a half left. I don’t count down the days like this often, but some days I enjoy the comfort in knowing I’m ¼ of the way done. We had the weekend off of training, except for Saturday morning, and it was much appreciated. I went shopping in Bamenda, which has a huge market. I bought some souvenirs from a tourist shop and some clothes from what we call the “frip.” The frip is rows of people selling western clothes street after street. Have you ever wondered what happened to the clothes that don’t get sold at the second hand stores in the U.S.? Well, they somehow wind up in Cameroon (and I’m guessing many other African countries) and are sold in piles on a tarp on the ground or on a table anywhere from 50¢ to $4. It is bizarre to dig through clothes that we, as Americans, discard without thought. It was interesting to see and shop like that for the first time in my life. There was a rainstorm today and we got stuck in a shop while the rain passed. It was exciting to see rain for the first time in months. My fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and I talked for a while, patiently sitting and watching people with umbrellas walking through the muddy market. She commented on how she has definitely learned how to pass time without doing anything while here. I couldn’t agree more. Whether you are alone or with Cameroonians, you can pass hours with minimal conversation. Sometimes it can get uncomfortable, but usually I enjoy the people watching, relaxation, and occasional words, usually all accompanied by food. After a day of shopping, people watching, and walking around Bamenda I got some time to speak to loved ones back home. I took a wonderful hot running water shower and got dressed up for a night on the town. I have recently run out of daily wear contacts, which I don’t wear often but use for occasions like a night out. After I put a little eyeliner and mascara on, I finished with my glasses and realized I’d never seen the point in wearing BOTH makeup and glasses at the same time. But, my friend informs me, “you can still see your eyes!” It was humorous. March 5, 2014 Tomorrow I am headed back to my toilet-less, tub-less, Wi-Fi-less house in village. It’s been two days now of lying in bed with the worst runs of my life. I’ve never been more grateful for a toilet, running water, and a real bed to whine myself to sleep in. It was a miserable couple of days. I missed days of training, but thankfully my fellow volunteers filled me in on all the topics. Now, I am just soaking up the last of Wi-Fi and loving every minute of it. I’m hoping my stomach will hold up for the rough journey home tomorrow, or I may be spending the night somewhere along the way. I loved my break from real life back in village, but I am looking forward to going “home” and getting back on my French, Fulfulde, and integration. Let’s hope my village stops calling me fat and I can gain a little self-confidence in my abilities here. It may be a little up and down, but hopefully mostly up.

Okay, I'm so technologically intelligent that I'm not sure how to label the photos I just uploaded, so I will do it here. From top to bottom: 1. Umi pouting because I wouldn't give her my camera 2. Ousmanou and adorable little girl I don't know at a dowry party 3. 3 Neighbor kids with soccer ball sent from US (Thanks Fam!) They ask for it daily 4. Little boy who cries when I get too close 5. Fish lips from Habou 6. Jumping picts with the boys 7. Some young girls with babies. Kids take care of kids on the daily. The one in the red and white striped shirt was just eating rocks/dirt. 8. Waterfall near my post with volunteers in nearby towns. I fell on timer-shot number 1, it hurt. 9. Girl at Youth Day, she is always working. She is always selling food from her tray on her head (oddly missing in this picture) and always knows my name and sadly I don't know hers. 10. Youth Day crowd, I thought this girl with the pink and white, one shoulder dress, with her head scarf and market bag was too cute. 11. Umi posing for me in front of my door, all dressed up. 12. Umi with neighbor boys. It's a random sampling of pictures, I was just taking advantage of good, fast, reliable internet!