February 17, 2014 I’ve noticed the formatting doesn’t come through when I post a blog. I am sorry – it is frustrating for me and I imagine for you as well. I will try to figure it out, but for now, know that I do have separate paragraphs you just can’t see them. Yesterday I hung out at the market for most of the day, except for the hottest hours of the day, which I spent sleeping and reading on my couch. I saw pictures and a video from a Cameroonian truck driver who had spent over a week in Central Africa. It was a train wreck; I wanted to close my eyes and pretend it wasn’t real but it was so horrifying I couldn’t look away. I haven’t had access to much news and I don’t know much about what is going on over there, but from the pictures I discovered it is a bloody mess with senseless killing (in my mind) and soldiers who can still find a smile among all of the bodies laying on the road. The photos were raw photos taken with a camera phone or maybe a poor quality camera. As my friends and I looked at the photos on his computer, I was trying to cover my eyes, but I also wanted to see what was going on in the neighboring country. As he talked about a friend and the situation over there, he was subtly wiping away tears. I may have mentioned already Cameroonians don’t cry, except young children. I have not seen a woman, teenager, or man cry since being here. It was a terrible hour of pictures, one painful video, and piecing together stories going on around me in French and Fulfulde. It is odd being so close to something so terrible. (It’s weird to think I am actually grateful to be close to Nigeria right now.) Don’t worry, mom, I’m not THAT close, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to something so serious in my life. Besides September 11, 2001, I’ve never been near mass killings, or a war, or anything like this that makes me physically ill to see. Even for 9/11 I was on the other side of the country and my family didn’t have a TV. February 11 was Youth Day in Cameroon. There was a big party, with a few days of events leading up to it. I was sick on the 11th and missed the big party. A couple days after that, the governor of the area came to Mayo-Darlé and there was another large event. It was a lot of formalities with speeches and presentations of gifts. While I didn’t understand everything in the French/Fulfulde speeches, I could catch the parts about Boko Haram. It was another example where I’ve never felt so close to something so terrifying. It is close enough that the leaders for the town/area talk about it in their local speeches. It is close enough that it affects parents’ views on school and sending their kids to school. As I listened to the governor encourage parents to send their children to school, despite the views of others who think westernized education is bad, I cautiously watched the guards who stood at attention in the blazing sun without flinching. There were probably less than 10 but certainly made an impression. They arrived in a military truck, all carrying automatic/semi-automatic rifles (I don’t know my weapons, but the type that scare you to be in the presence of). It didn’t seem to phase the locals, but I kept my eyes on them between watching the speakers. It is incredibly intimidating to watch them. I wasn’t sure if I felt safer, or not, with them watching the governor and the crowd with their guns strapped around their torsos. I don’t mean to scare my mom back home or make my family worry. It is just such a different situation for me here. Like I said early, I’ve never been so close to such dramatic events. While I know the photos affected my friends and the man who took them in Central Africa, I’m not sure if it was the same type of shock/fear/uncertainty in my body while I looked at the images we don’t even see on our news when there is a war happening. We are sheltered back home, we are spoiled, and we take so many things for granted. Maybe this is all just the viewpoint of a small town girl from Montana. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt physically nauseous from looking at photos, but I certainly understand that feeling now. Even though I am close to the Nigerian border, I feel fairly safe in Mayo-Darlé. My ears perk up every time someone mentions Boko Haram. I discovered there is a motorcycle with this name also, which makes me relax a little when I hear this in every day conversation. I certainly have learned to not take safety and security for granted here in Cameroon. I know I am lucky to be in a place that is stable, safe, and without conflicts. I have never felt more grateful for this. I can understand a little more why people dream of America; I understand we do have it pretty good back home even though I know we have our problems as well. I had a conversation with someone the other day about poor people in America. He couldn’t believe there were poor people in the U.S., let alone people who didn’t have a house and who lived on the streets. I could tell it was mind blowing for him to hear this, and he seemed to be hesitant to believe my words. It is interesting to think about how they see America in their minds. Just as we imagine Africa, at least for me, it is not accurate and there is so much we make up in our minds because of the images we see and the stories we hear.