Northern Exposure

I am from the Midwest where we have four distinct seasons: snow, rain, hot and awesome.  Coming into this experience I had done only a little bit of research about what Cameroon had to offer by way climate, geography, culture, etc.  As such, I came away with what can accurately described as the poor man’s understanding, which has been advertised by locals as ‘Africa in miniature.’  This travel agent-esque description is the most efficient way to say that Cameroon offers the mountains, the sea, the savannah, the rain forest, and the dessert.  And of the ten different regions, eight of them are Francophone, while the remaining two are Anglophone.  Given the varying opportunities offered by the Peace Corps in a country that is roughly the size of California, I would certainly choose to live in a region that spoke French (for the challenge of learning a new language), that also had moderate temperatures.  Although the Anglophone regions are in the Northwest and the Southwestern regions, I would most certainly have selected either of these regions (or the Francophone West) above where I was eventually placed --- the Grand North --- strictly based on these superficial measures. 

After much speculation amongst the trainees, most of which was based on rumors and misconceptions, I have been assigned to a post that I thought was going to be desert living amongst an overwhelmingly Muslim population --- which would have been interesting in and of itself.  However, after traveling North for almost 48 hours aboard several buses and a train to cover a distance of which is less than traveling from Los Angeles to San Francisco, it appears as though my initial reactions were based on a lot of misinformation.  After five days of visiting with countless generous and overwhelmingly courteous people, while seeing unquestionably picturesque scenery (with moderate temperatures), it is hard to be anything but excited about having the opportunity to live and work in Guider over the next two years. 

Five of us departed for the Grand North, each of us with our community hosts, which is the Peace Corps’ name for the local person who will help us integrate into our new community.  To say that the local infrastructure is only slightly different than that of the United States would be a gross understatement.  While each of us was fortunate enough to have a bed on the overnight train, we were advised that the travel time on board can vary greatly for a number of reasons.  In our case, we fell slightly outside the 10-16 hour range due to a six hour stop between 2am – 8am where the train did not move at all.  During this time, the only confused passengers seemed to be the handful of Americans on board.  Either that speaks to a Cameroonian’s seemingly carefree ability to ‘go with the flow’ or their familiarity with travel-related delays.  Or both. 

After talking about my site visit with the other trainees, it doesn’t sound like mine was all that much different than everyone else’s --- although there was decidedly more ‘celebrating’ going on in the other parts of the country.  Meet the Mayor, visit the hospital, and walk through the market are the standard activities during a visit.  However, one of the more interesting experiences during the trip was preparing dinner for a couple of new friends I met through my community host.  I had previously planned to take a moto ride 30 minutes into the bush (also known as ‘en brousse’ to PCVs) to spend a night with the nearest volunteer, but an afternoon rainstorm quickly made the matrix of dirt roads rather sloppy, and thus, it was more convenient to stay in Guider to prepare the food with all of the (mostly) modern conveniences available at chez moi.  With the help of that volunteer, as she arranged to have all of my predecessor’s furniture, cookware, books, refrigerator (!), etc. moved into my two bedroom-two bathroom house, I didn’t have much trouble getting together the first Mexican food experience for my guests.

Aside from their obvious unfamiliarity with how a tortilla, ground beef, salsa, and beans can be arranged into a delicious food that you eat by hand, they were initially skeptical of the role I played in preparing the meal altogether --- as this is strictly women’s work in Cameroon.  This is not particularly surprising given that they are in their early twenties and come from big Muslim families.  Although gender roles are very well defined in Cameroon for both Christians and Muslims, the main distinction I see in the family structure between the two faiths is that polygamy is legal here, and very many Muslim men exercise their right to have up to four wives (however, some traditional chiefs are known to have as many as 44 of them).  As a result, Cameroonian men are exceedingly dependent on the women in their lives to do the things necessary for their safety, comfort, and well-being.  Whether it is fetching water from the well, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, or preparing all the meals (amongst many other things!), there is little doubt that a Cameroonian household would be in shambles without a woman at the center. 

The conversation ranged from their current level in school to the nuances of their Muslim faith to their favorite sports, it was certainly an interesting cultural exchange --- although my ability to effectively and efficiently ‘exchange’ in the French language have a long way to go.  Regardless, I am encouraged by their willingness to come back to learn how to make tortillas when I return, in addition to their willingness to include me in their celebration at the end of Ramadan --- which will occur soon after I get back into town after training. 

In what I also consider to be a distinct cultural experience, I visited a small village en brousse to introduce myself to a small group of farmers that had originally been organized by one of my predecessors.  The trip to this small village consisted of a 35-40 minute moto ride on one of the many dirt roads sprawling outwards from the busy streets of Guider.  Along with a moto driver and my translator, Amadou, the three of us jumped onto one moto and headed out of town.  Sadly, I don’t have any pictures to show how funny it looks to have three grown men on the same moto.  However, as this is the most frequent mode of transport here in Cameroon, the only strange-looking thing to the locals was the goofy white guy hanging onto the back while wearing a huge helmet.  Buzzing through the fields on a dirt road with scattered pools of rainwater, it was quite a site to pass by one field after another, most of which were tended by two or three diligent Cameroonians. 

As for the group to which I was introduced, there were about ten to twelve of them patiently waiting for us as we pulled up.  After briefly introducing myself to them in French, which was quickly translated to their local language by Amadou, the village Lawan (or chief) briefly came out to shake my hand and to express his gratitude for whatever I may be able to do for them in the next two years.  While greeting any local leader often increases a new PCV’s chances of making a bad first impression – as you can shake hands with some, but not all of them based on their local protocol – my guy offered a handshake where he extended his right hand and grabbed his own right forearm with his left hand, which is considered a sign of respect to me.  As I was able to mirror his efforts, I give my effort 8 out of 10.  Not bad. 

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, I was curious to know how I could help this small village that appeared to have no more than 15-20 mud-brick houses.  As is common for PCV’s, his response was mostly centered around needing my help organize an effort to construct a school that was less than the hour-long walk for the children, in addition to seeing whether it was feasible to have local politicians appropriate funds to help them construct a forage (which would provide them with a cleaner, more reliable source of drinking water than their well).  Typically people think that we can bring a lot of money to the table through our work as Americans, which can be true at times, however much of what we do is focused on the transfer of knowledge and to provide an avenue for cultural exchange.  Without making any commitments to bring money to the table, I thanked him for providing me with this information and told him I was looking forward to coming back to work with them at the end of the following month (all through my translator, of course).  Another four-handed handshake later and he went back to his business.

As there wasn’t much else to learn from this group after my introduction, and since the entire group hadn’t received sufficient notice about the upcoming meeting and couldn’t undertake regular meeting activities, they offered the three of us a taste of two different local fruits.  One tasted very similar to a cherry, while the other had the appearance of a small lime, but not much flavor at all.  However, these were people from a very small, very poor village and they were willing to part with some treats they bought with the little money they had for the sake of hospitality.  Very Cameroonian, very awesome.  And with all of this activity set amongst a combination of a surprisingly flat landscape peppered with hills and rock formations that will make for a number of great thirty minute climbs to the top, it was well worth the 1.500 CFA (about $3) I paid the moto driver for the two hours round-trip.