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!