Week 7: In which my gaming partner deserts me and my amoebas start getting a bit uppity

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Week 7: In which my gaming partner deserts me and my amoebas start getting a bit uppity

Saturday was a day of rest and revelry. Matt and I whiled away several hours at the local café, guzzling coffee and other wise indulging ourselves. In an exciting diversification of our time wasting options, I learned to play backgammon on Matt’s newly acquired, custom-built backgammon board; quite possibly the only one of its kind in all of Cameroon. Though I managed to recapture my lead in our running cribbage tourney after a rather unjust skunking received the previous night, Matt, in what can only be an example of the underhanded cheating of a most devious mind, trounced me in backgammon 13 games to zero.

Our gaming reverie was somewhat interrupted by the occurrence of a moto accident in the street right in front of us. Two motos collided, and a woman passenger and one of the drivers were injured, not gravely but still rather seriously. A large crowd soon gathered, and only grew as fight soon broke out from unknown causes. And in the truest testament to the Cameroonian entrepreneurial spirit, not long after the accident, an aspiring businessman was taking advantage of the assembled crowd to hawk his wares, baseball caps at 3,000 cfa.

Later that evening I set off for the N’joco’s to join them in a party they were hosting to celebrate the scholastic achievements of 3 of their children and the birthday of a fourth. It was a lovely party, with at least 20-30 guests. A tasty buffet dinner was introduced with speeches by the eldest son (who just graduated from high school) and proud father, and a short prayer by the honored guest and bon vivant Officer Wabo, chief of Dschang’s Commisariat. Officer Wabo also took it upon himself to start up a celebratory bottle of whiskey with an African tradition (new to me) where the first person to open the bottle pours whiskey into their hands and goes around clasping the hands of everyone else who is sharing in the drinking.

Sunday morning I woke up late and took of for morning run to sweat the previous night’s festivity out of the system. Now this will be news for my audience, but for the past 3 weeks I’ve been carrying a small colony of amoebas around in my lower intestine. Having amoebas isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a guy, as they manifest their presence only sporadically, with painfully acute cramping and some unfortunate intestinal activity. Maybe once a week for the past several weeks I’ve found myself afflicted for periods of several hours at a time.

As the treatment is supposedly rather harsh, and with side effects of fatigue and body aches, I’ve been roughing out what spells have come, thinking of my amoebas as something of a temperamental ant colony. But that was before the amoebas attacked viciously outside the Commisariat Centrale, 1.5 clicks into a 3 k loop. Methinks I’ll be paying a small visit to the pharmacy on Monday.

Week 6: A second wind and a rosier perspective

Week 6: A second wind and a rosier perspective Sunday, July 20, 2008

Saturday

As is so often the case, a restful night’s sleep can have amazing recuperative effects. I found some good deals on some kitchen and lab supplies and spent a recuperative couple of hours just hanging around at the Nana’s house and soaking in the good will. Valerie’s cousin had been visiting and was now preparing for his departure. To honor the occasion they were taking some rather hilarious photos of themselves. I happened to come into possession of these photos as my computer is serving as a temporary storage medium until Valeria can buy himself a memory stick, and I’ve included some samples:

Valerie...

and his cousin Partou striking a pose

This kind of seeming narcissm/innocent self-infatuation is typically Cameroonian and always amusing. Traveling foreigners are expected to be taking pictures at nearly every opportunity and small children are constantly demanding “filmez-moi”( take my picture) followed immediately after each shot by cries of “montrez-moi” (show me). I find one of the most amusing examples to be the mirrored walls that are present in every single dance club, where it is not at all unusual to see people blatantly dancing with their own reflection, like the dance floor is empty except for a couple of people who just stand in front of the mirrors checking themselves out while they bust their moves.

This interest in personal appearance is of course not at all unique to Cameroon, but still manages to manifest itself in all kinds of novel and amusing ways. For example, everyone washes their shoes and feet religiously, and to leave the house with dirty shoes will definitely catch one a subtle rebuke. Shorts and tank tops are also relegated to the backyard and immediate neighborhood; and when on a particularly hot day I decided to hell with convention and donned the outfit below, my house brothers were shocked incredulous that I would be going into town dressed like that and attempted an intervention.

Here I am, dressed with a rather scandalous priority on comfort

A viewing session of these photos combined with all the photos taken by Matt Clarke did wonders for my spirits and I will be doing my best to go back through past entries and stick in relevant images. Seeing the photo documentation of my stay so far in Cameroon allowed me to take it in from an outside perspective, and I realized that despite my current and past difficulties I have seen and done some incredible things. Cameroonian bureaucracy is not going to defeat me so easily, and I am feeling newly able to make the best of my situation.

Sunday
Nathan Spence, the newest Breaking Ground volunteer, has recently arrived in Cameroon and came to visit us in Dschang today. Together we went again to see the bridge project, and after an initial scare where we were stopped by the gendarmes (I had left my expired visa at the apartment), we got off with a warning and were sent out on what turned into an incredibly scenic back country motorcycle ride and delicious lunch at the chefferie or chief's palace of Fosson Wengtcheng. I picked up a few potentially useful contacts and some leads on local water issues and patterns of typhoid outbreak. This evening I will try and hit up the cyber or internet café and get in touch with David to solicit his help in the second wave of my attack on Yaoundé.

Monday saw me engaging in a nice long conversation with David, the result of which was a decision to call the American embassy in Yaoundé to see if they can’t help motivate the Cameroon office to actually investigate my claim. Monday was also grande marché; so with some assistance from Mama Nana and the eldest daughter Rosine, I undertook my first real shopping trip, and that night cooked my very first meal in the apartment. It seems I got a bit carried away during my shopping venture (it's hard to resist when the local produce all looks amazing and is incredibly cheap0; so it looks as though I will be eating spaghetti with red sauce for the next week or so.

Tuesday was Lindsay’s last day in Dschang before heading back up north to help Sarah move out. We scrambled a bit to put together some final paperwork. With a selection of letters snazzily certified using the new BG stamps, Lindsay took off, though not before infecting my laptop with a rather irritating virus picked up at the local cyber, a lovely farewell present. I also placed a call to the US embassy where I was given promises of a call later in the week from someone with actual authority.

View of the local high point from my apartment

Wednesday.\, Matt and I went on a lovely little hike in the neighborhood to the north of town, checking out a local high point and generally just mucking about. It was great to stretch the legs a bit, and was a pleasant enough hike to convince me into trying to make it a more regular affair. It’s really kind of silly how little time I’ve spent just exploring to the local neighborhoods, though I suppose without a solution to my visa issues I’ll be getting to know the immediate area quite intimately: 5 months in a 5km radius. We headed back into town in time to watch the final stretch of the day's stage in the Tour de France (we’ve become Tour watching regulars at the local bar containing what has to be the city’s largest TV), and frittered away the rest of the day playing cribbage using a board we constructed out of a piece of 2x4, a hammer and nail, and 4 match sticks.

The most awesome cribbage board ever

Early Thursday I set out with Mireme to work a little more actively at soliciting the support and cooperation of some local institutions. Wearing my swankiest outfit, we set out on a tour that included stops at the University, central hospital, and water utility. At the University I spoke with the biology department head again and was able to get him to pledge a letter of support for me and my project, which should go a long way in gaining the support of additional institutions. I was also able to follow up on the incubator, the use of which is unfortunately going to turn into more of a project than I had hoped, while still remaining feasible.

An additional stop on our University visit included a tour of the Geography department. Here I was introduced to a graduate student, Richard, who is studying industrial water usage in the city of Bafoussam. He was able to provide me with some decidedly more useful maps of Dschang and was courteous enough to scan for me portions of what has to be the only topographic map made of the entire region. Good maps are hard to come by, but my commitment to tracking down the best of what’s available has been reaffirmed with this visit to the Geography department. Though of course I can’t help but return to the rather unfortunate realization that knowledge of the surrounding area is only useful in combination with the ability to travel in the surrounding area…

After passing through the University, we stopped in the central hospital, where I was able to speak with the head doctor about examining their records to track the origin of water borne illness in Dschang and her environs. I will be returning Monday with some official letters from BG and hopefully the University so that approval can be granted and work gotten underway.

After a full day, Mireme and I returned to the apartment for some R&R and took up a game of checkers using buttons we had purchased earlier for this express purpose. In Dschang there is an average of 3 checkers games occurring on every block, and I figured it was about time I brushed up on my game. Mireme an I were a good portion into the game before realizing that we were each playing two games with very different rules. In Cameroonian checkers, your pieces can (an must if able) jump your opponent’s moving backwards, and the king is able to move unlimited squares along the diagonal, taking pieces all the while. Needless to say, I was a bit set back by this discovery and soundly lost the next 3 games.

Friday I returned to the University on my own to drop off my project description to aid in the formulation of a letter of support. I also took advantage of the opportunity to sit in on a lecture I had heard about yesterday on the transport of material through the hydrologic cycle. The lecture was being given by a visiting researcher, a Frenchman, who works with the office of France’s national development organization in Yaoundé. It was a bit basic, covering a wide variety of topics at a fairly introductory level. This topical redundancy plus the hour late start time and language barrier saw me sneaking out after only an hour and change. Still, it was a worthwhile experience and I’m glad I took the trouble.

Nathan Spence also happened to be visiting Dschang, so together Matt and I taught him cribbage and I received some much needed assistance in finishing off the last of the spaghetti. I also learned some valuable lessons regarding the proper storage and utilization of foodstuffs here in the land of no refrigerators: While cooked food can be near infinitely reheated with little ill effect, raw meat has a rather limited shelf life of 24hs or less. My recommendation: immediate vinegar marinade, cure that sucker and cure it good!

Week 5: In which my illusions are further shattered and I purchase an extraordinary couch

Week 5: In which my illusions are further shattered and I purchase an extraordinary couch

Taking a night time bus from Yaoundé back to Dschang brought me home shortly after day break. The past few days’ efforts plus the sleepless night had taken their toll and I was feeling rather ill. So Saturday was spent resting up, though I did manage to make it into town to order a couch built for the new apartment, which was scheduled to be ready for me on my return from Yaoundé.

Sunday I was feeling decidedly better, and as it was the Grande Marché in Dschang, I couldn’t have picked a better day to be up on my feet and exploring around town. Today was also the day that the new Peace Corp trainees were scheduled to arrive as part of an exploratory tour of the area. The apartment next to mine is rented by the Peace Corp, meaning that one of these individuals will eventually be my neighbor. Early in the morning we met up with a full fledged volunteer named David who is already 9 months into his stay and working with a small health clinic out in the hills about an hour or so from Dschang. He was met by Ben, a trainee who will be working in agriculture and business, and Kat, a micro finance and business specialist who will be my eventual neighbor.

The trainees still have one month of a three month regimen of course work and home stay immersion before they are inducted as full volunteers and sent off to work independently. The two-thirds milestone sees them sent off for preliminary week-long visit to their eventual work sites with a small scavenger hunt type assignment to complete. My future neighbor is quite nice, and in a stroke of good fortune (as those that know me well can assuredly avow), she also happens to be a rather shrewd and enthusiastic card player!

With Lindsay drafted yet again into the role of tour guide, we set out into the bustling market to buy panya and otherwise soak in the sites; all in all a fairly relaxed day. Monday I contacted the concierge of my apartment to check in on the progress. Turns out he was also away on business and all preparations came to a stand still. I was certainly disappointed by the delay, and my spirits only worsened upon my discovery while shopping for various furnishings that I had come into possession of a counterfeit 10,000 franc bill.

10,000 cfa is no small chunk of change, and is in fact the largest denomination of Cameroonian currency. For this reason it is impossible to receive it as change, and in tracing the history of this bill it is clear to me that it came from an ATM. When I brought my problem to the bank I’ve been using, in a fairly livid state, they of course denied any responsibility. In a fit of temper I shredded the bill, which I now kind of regret as it could have made an amusing souvenir. An expensive lesson but one certainly well learned, I now check all the bills I receive and am seriously considering investing in a 2,500 cfa counterfeit marker.

The next two days were spent hounding the concierge to finish painting and cleaning the apartment, and bouncing back and forth between the water and electric utilities to get my services turned on. Of course once the water and power came on, I find that there are broken power outlets and faucets that can’t turn off so plumbers and electricians had to be called in. I’m judiciously saving all receipts and it's come to the point were my first 3 months rent is already paid for, as with the landlord absent it falls on me to pay all these expenses.

Wednesday evening I picked up my couch and by Thursday I was moving into the apartment, attracting some funny looks as a travel from the Nana’s house with my entire luggage in a pushcart I was bringing myself. Working as a “pousieur” is not the most typical activity for visiting foreigners. Now I’ve got the bare bone essentials and even had a few friends over for a drink to break the place in.

The COUCH!

But the expense and difficulty of moving is only compounding my visa related stress, and on Friday when my government friend David placed a direct call to the director of the DBF only to be given the counsel that I return to the US, I must admit I hit an all time low. Desperate toned emails were sent and whiskey was consumed. Confronted by rising costs of a money trap apartment and the apparent loss of my host family and disgusted with the constant market place price fixing, the ineptitude of the public utilities and the visa situation above all, I am really questioning my mission here.

Week 4: In which I travel to Yaoundé

Week 4: In which I travel to Yaoundé Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Sunday evening saw us back in Dschang at long last (home sweet home!). Yesterday I passed the day attempting to contact Madame Panka to rent her apartment in between naps and meals. Today was much more productive as I finally got a hold of the concierge and hired a painter. In addition, last night I discovered that Mireme is not a history but a biology major, so today he took me on a tour of the University and introduced me to some professors including a microbiologist and the head of the biology department! These meetings were very promising; it seems that actual water analysis has been conspicuously absent during the development of Dschang’s water infrastructure and everyone is very interested in the work I will be doing.

A professor in the agriculture/husbandry school has assured me that he has an incubator I can use (the most essential piece of equipment I couldn’t bring with me) and has promised to make some inquiries with a friend who works with the water utility as well as arrange a meeting with the University president, huzzah! I think the University will be a great resource. Tomorrow I’m off to Yaounde to extend my visa, and by the time I’m back my apartment should be ready so I can set up my lab and start working in earnest. Exciting times ahead!

Week 4 continued: In which I lose my innocence Saturday, July 19, 2008

It has been a trying past week, and though things have been quite difficult for me, I definitely feel as though I am coming out on the other side of a rather discouraging storm cloud. My voyage to Yaoundé involved a rather painful couple of days attempting (without success) to renew my visa, followed by the ordeal that has been moving into my new apartment. During this time I’ve left a considerable portion of my naïveté behind, and come face to face with the reality of Cameroonian corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency that is commonly acknowledged with a shrug and a “that’s just Cameroon.” But let’s rewind a bit…

The voyage to Yaoundé involved an all-day-long bus ride with a scheduled departure of 10am, and actual departure of 1pm, one flat tire and an eventual arrival in Yaoundé 8 hours later. My first hour in Cameroon’s capital involved catching a cab to my rendez-vous point with Sara and Lindsay, and eating an incredibly expensive and decidedly mediocre slice of pizza, but oh the CHEESE!!! That Wednesday night we slept at the home of the Peace Corp chief coordinator for all of Cameroon. The man himself was absent, but his lovely wife Georgette and three beautiful children made us feel incredibly welcome for the duration of our stay in Yaoundé.

Thursday morning we set out first thing for the Delgation de la Sùreté Nationale, i.e., visa headquarters. With the help of an young officer named Vincent I wrote my request for a visa extension, went downstairs to get it certified, came back upstairs to bring it to the office of the Secretariat Générale, and was obliged to rewrite my request one more time in English before being told to comeback at 8am the next day. All and all not so bad, things appear to be going swimmingly even. Vincent and I exchange numbers and it seems that he will be able to serve as my semi-official guide to the visa process.

The rest of the afternoon was spent meeting up with Sara and Lindsay and indulging in a rather exorbitant shopping spree. Our main objective for the day was a trip to the Marché Centrale for some quality time with a friend of Lindsay and Sara’s named Usman. Usman owns a men’s clothing boutique and I immediately found myself spending too much money on western dress shirts and fabric for what will eventually be some ridiculously flash dress pants. After hanging with Usman for a bit, the ladies and I parted ways, they to return to the house for a rest and myself to continue exploring the nation’s capital.

I was not long on my own before being taken up by an unofficial market guide who helped me find a few items including some pretty snazzy dress shoes for which I almost certainly overpaid. I left the market in pursuit of ice cream, which was delcious(!) and hamburgers and fries. The hamburger joint wasn’t very good, but I came to realize how much I missed ketchup and pretty near licked my plate clean.

The remainder of the day passed fairly uneventfully, save for a highly satisfying trip to one of the city’s biggest super markets and a minor altercation on my way through one of the street markets. I caught a guy unzipping the exposed pocket of my back pack. He unzipped it lightening quick and when I whirled around he was jetting off like nothing had happened. I chewed him out and gave him a shove as he pretended not to know what I was talking about and swiftly got myself out of the open. Everyone had of course warned me of the dangers (most especially the Nana family who would have you believe the entire city is populated by thieves and cutthroats), so the most anyone was going to get out of my back pack was toilet paper or deodorant. Still, I was a bit unnerved by the experience as well as decidedly pissed off.

Returning to the house, we had a nice swim with the kids in the neighbors’ pool followed by a lovely dinner prepared for us by Georgette and a restful night’s sleep. The next morning saw me off to the visa office for my 8 am appointment.

Now for those of you who are familiar with the adventures of Asterix and Obelix (books my siblings and I grew up with), you might recall the story of the Twelve Tasks of Asterix. In this tale Asterix is presented with 12 Herculean challenges he most surmount in order to obtain some or other worthy goal, the details of which escape me. These tasks included familiar contests of physical stamina including field events like the javelin throw and endurance eating competitions.

But you also might recall a decidedly unique task where Asterix is pitted against the Roman bureaucracy, sent to an administrative building where he must get a specific form signed and certified. What ensues is a scavenger hung through a jungle of red tape and forms in triplicate, highly uncivil servants, and a veritable labyrinth of endless corridors and staircases leading nowhere. The real challenge for Asterix is mental, as he must complete the task without giving way to madness. In the end he simply falls back to form, downs some magic potions and crashes through walls until he finds the necessary office.

Oh how I wished I had some of that potion. Somewhat out of breath after mounting 4 flights of stairs (no working elevator of course), I arrived bright eyed and flushed to my 8am appointment at the front office of the Secretariat Générale. After asking after the status of my visa, I’m told it’s still being processed and I should come back at 1pm. Not what I was expecting. Pressing for more details as to the actual physical location of my application got me a terse answer followed by the straight up silent treatment, like I’m talking to the officer, asking to confer with the office head who told me to return at 8am, who is of course sitting right behind the guy in plain view and both men are pretending not to hear me despite the fact that I’m three feet away.

I descend the 4 flights feeling somewhat set aback, so I call in for reinforcements. Vincent, my unofficial official guide says he will be in to the office shortly. Considering that its Friday and I need this visa before the weekend, my second assault has to come in heavy, so I also call in the big guns, i.e., the Lindsay Clarkinator. Lindsay arrives and uses her white woman instant access card to get the office head to come down the stairs himself and point out the building where my application is being held hostage by a separate department in charge of immigration, the soon to be dreaded DBF.

With a slip of paper given to Lindsay by the office head containing only the name “Paul” and my application number, Lindsay is granted access to the office. I’m waiting outside for a healthy dose of time until Vincent shows up. Vincent is able to take my registration number and actually make sure my application is in the DBF directors office. He and I wait together for a while until the time is deemed right to actually enter into building and begin waiting in the office itself.

After a briefly joyous reunion with Lindsay and another interminable wait, we are eventually ushered into the director's office to be told a tourist visa (which I have) cannot be extended into a long stay visa (which I need to legally stay in Cameroon). Upon explaining that I was given a tourist visa by the Cameroonian embassy in the US with assurances that I could obtain my long stay visa in Yaoundé, Lindsay is told that she needs to write a letter for the director describing the situation she has just explained to his face, and get it certified and approved by the Secretary General himself.

At this point it's getting pretty late in the day so we rush back up to the department of the Secretariate Generale, write the letter, rush back down to buy a certification stamp, then back up to inveigle the last remaining employee in the front office to certify the letter. We are subsequently told that the Secretary General has gone home already for the weekend. Totally unphased by this response, Lindsay leads us to his office where we begin pestering his secretary. At first he tells us the Secretary is out, but when it becomes clear we aren’t going anywhere, it is revealed to us that the Secretary is in fact wholly present but in a meeting, and we can wait for an audience in the windowless waiting room if we would like, “though an audience is certainly out of the question.”

So we wait, and then we wait a bit more, but the windowless aspect is making us nervous, so over the strenuous objections of the secretary we take our waiting to the hall way to be better situated for an ambush should the Secretary sneak out to use the bathroom or something. Finally, Lindsay decides to head back over to the DBF office to see what she can’t accomplish while I stand guard. No sooner is she down the 4 flights of stairs than what do I espy but the Secretary escorting two gentleman out of his office. After an emergency call to Lindsay I prostrate my self before his mightiness and stutter in my awful and assuredly incomprehensible French will he please review this application and accompanying letter.

Lindsay comes galloping up the 4 flights just as the Secretary disappears back behind his curtain. Shortly after my application emerges with an indecipherable note and NO APPARENT CERTIFICATION SEAL!! Eventually we find someone to decipher the note as a message marking the proposition for further “study” by the DBF office. Soooo, back down we go, and across the courtyard to resume waiting in the DBF director's office. To cut a long story short, he grants us an audience in order to tell us he has to, you guessed it, “study the proposition.” We leave visa-less and dejected, with vague instructions for us to solicit a letter from the Cameroonian embassy in the US confirming our situation.

Turns out, everyone at the embassy works for the director, and none see how it fits into their job description to advise their boss on visa policy via a technically unsolicited communication. But the boss wants them to initiate contact and the embassy can’t initiate anything without the boss’ say-so, so a week later and several 1000 cfa of phone calls (including one to the director himself by my friend in local government) finds me still visa-less, but plotting a renewed assault in a week's time. During this next week I will be amassing an armada of letters from local government and university officials as well as (hopefully!!) the Cameroonian embassy, all avowing how much they desperately want me to stay in Cameroon. I shall be bringing this assault to the director’s door in the company of my government employee friend with renewed vigor next week, woe to those who would oppose me, woe indeed.

Week 3: In which I travel to the North and contract the flying green death

Week 3

Catching some shade at the train station

Friday was spent in transit to the north, through Bafousam, one of the largest cities in Cameroon and future work site of ground coordinator Nathan Spence, to Yaounde, the national capital. From Yaounde it was naught but a twelve hour train ride through the night to N’goundal. N’goundal is the small village where Sara, the previous BG ground coordinator worked with one her students to build a bilingual nursery school. We arrived, crashed for a few hours and headed to the school for the reception ceremony. The mayor and prefect and chief were all there with a number of other notables. Several speeches and a number of adorable performances by the ~5 year old students found us feasting and schmoozing comme standard operating procedure.

The new school and opening ceremony with local notables

The students themselves

After all the ceremony I wound up cruising the main drag in N’goundal where I managed to capture myself one of those genuine Cameroonian experiences that can be hard to find as a tourists. Sitting at a bar I was invited to join a few locals who promptly bought me a drink as their guest. So of course I bought a round for everyone, and soon we found ourselves debating the merits of globalization and foreign development in broken French.

It is through this conversation in combination with a couple other remarks garnered throughout my stay that I’m coming to appreciate the Cameroonian sense of a market economy. In what is perhaps a more socialist bent the Cameroonian concept of price is somewhat removed from our American dogma of supply and demand, rather reflecting a combination of intrinsic product value and that which an individual can afford. While foreigners are subjected to this idea on a regular basis in the shops, this was the first time I had the concept articulated to me by a Cameroonian. Though on paper the concept of paying in part according to one's means seems fair and even charitable, I find myself amused with the extent to which I instinctively rebel against this rather un-American concept, adamantly persisting in the belief that there is only one “true” price for a given product, and damn it all if I’m going to pay more than that.

N’goundal is a bit of a one horse town, but Sunday we took off for N’goundere, the seat of the Adamoua province. Sara has been teaching a women’s entrepreneurial class from which she selects worthy initiatives for funding through Breaking Ground. Throughout our stay we met her success stories, including a chicken farmer, a fish seller, a seamstress, a fried pastry vendor, a homemade juice vendor and a part-time farmer.

My idyllic stay in N’gaoundere was interrupted by a 36 hour stint at death's door, courtesy of a vicious bacterial infestation, but aside from incessant reruns of my life flashing before my eyes and a desperate viewing of a bootleg copy of I now pronounce you Chuck and Larry, there wasn’t too much of note going down. Tuesday saw me revisiting the land of the living to the extent that I went fabric shopping with the Clarkes and ordered myself some killer Muslim-style outfits.

Me sporting one of my new bubu

Wednesday we picked up our outfits and checked out some local craftsman before undertaking the 24 hour journey to Limbe. In Limbe we spent three wonderful nights, visiting an animal sanctuary, lounging on the beach and visiting with the Ab’eles before bidding adieu to Mama and Papa Clarke.

Sweet stache on this guy

The Abelles and limbe part II

Week 2: The Clarke family arrives

Week two

Saturday Lindsay took off to meet her parents so I was left on my own in Dschang. I had a really great meeting with Noupa. The man is a French and English teacher so even when we are just talking French he knows how to talk someone like me whose French needs a bit of work.

Sunday Lindsay arrived in Dschang with her family. They've hired this awesome chauffeur Bertrand during the stay and he was ferrying people over to this family compound in the village of Fongo Tongo, used by SIT as a welcome site during Lindsay's time as an SIT student. I went in the first truckload across some ridiculously bumpy roads and as an early arrival got to help the women prepare for the night's feast. As a man helping to prepare a meal I caught some flack, both from the men and women, the latter group were wary of my plantain slicing abilities and wouldn't let me use the sharp knife. At length I left the preparations to the pros and took off with Delmass to climb the local "mountain" and check out the view – beautiful.

A view from Fongo Tongo

Dinner was going to be a big deal, chicken DG (for Director Generale) which roughly translates to VIP chicken. I went into town with a couple of the guys to pick up drinks for dinner at the local general store where we encountered the chief of the neighboring village behind the counter and the chief of the local village drinking in the corner. Once we arrived and picked up what we needed Papa Nana bought us a round, and then I bought us a round, and next thing you know we were heading back to the site in decidedly higher spirits than when we left.

We arrived back at the compound to find that Lindsay had just killed her first chicken! And that preparations for dinner were well underway despite my absence. We feasted on chicken with green beans and carrots and fried plantain chips, and were joined by the chief of the neighboring village/general store manager. A fantastic meal and several speeches later the majority of us were in bed before 11pm.

The next day we took off to see the local sites. First we saw a sacred cave with our guide Jean Side by Side (cool name!). As the site is sacred and used for traditional rituals we needed a guide. It was pretty neat, lots of bats flying around. We got back to the site and hiked up the top of the same mountain. The whole region is volcanic highlands so you hike up the top for a great view and find that there is this awesome plateau region where people have planted crops. We hiked along for a bit above the local countryside.

Then we headed off to see the water fall Mamy wata. When enthusiasm for this site appeared to be waning we were motivated by Lindsay's advice that everyone in Dschang is going to ask white visitors if they've seen the falls at Mamy wata. We drove out there with some of us standing in the bed of the pickup truck which got a lot of grins and waves from the locals, and arrived in the rain to find that it was too slippery to do much more than look down at the falls from the top. It was still pretty cool; these falls are also a sacred site for traditional religious practices and a ceremony was going on during our visit with singing and dancing and sacrifices of salt and palm oil.

After another huge dinner joined by the chief we spent our last night at Fongo Tongo and headed back to Dschang for a hot second before shooting off to the village of Doombu. As Doombu is where Lindsay taught and built her library. We were in for a pretty special welcome. I got designated group photographer which was a clutch move in eliminating some of my awkwardness. The entire village was there to meet us more or less, with a silly hat for Papa Clarke to wear and a nifty bag for Mama Clarke. We toured the elementary school that Lindsay pimped out, had a drink; toured the grounds and had lunch and a drink at the home/mansion of a village elite, then toured the high school, where we were serenaded with speeches and the high school pep squad. It turns out the high school principal held onto all the students' grades until our visit so the kids would turn out, hilarious.

Lots of speeches during the school welcome ceremony

After the school ceremonies were over we went to a funeral type ceremony for Lindsay’s old chief who had passed since her last period in Cameroon. Cameroonian funerals are executed in three parts over the course of a year or more. The first part consists of the initial burial which happens right away for a very intimate crowd. This initial internment often occurs in the New Orleans style for wealthier individuals with a band and street procession. Then several months later there is the doui (doy) which we experienced in Doombu.

This is the lament, where the village turns out for a brief extent of wailing and mass mourning. I’ve seen this in films and on TV but was not prepared for the actual experience. As honored guests they sat us up in front, and while the wailing business had previously struck me as somewhat insincere or put upon, being actually immersed in it I found myself quite moved. The outpouring of emotion by so many people is quite powerful, both Lindsay and Delmass spontaneously broke out in tears. Though Delmass didn’t know the chief, for a child especially I wasn’t surprised that he should be so moved. To actually cry is a great compliment to the chief's surviving sons, and at the official conclusion of the mourning portion they passed by urging those in tears not to cry anymore as the time for sadness had passed. This lament marked the end of the mourning period, and they were setting up tents when we left for something like 6 days of non-stop celebration.

The death ritual/funeral process concludes with the actual funeral, which can follow months to years after the actual death and is more of a memorial service having a celebratory and commemorative atmosphere.

After the funeral we dropped our bags at the home of a village VIP, Monsieur Kensa. Mnsr. Kensa is a very successful business man and one of the wealthiest men in the village. He is actively involved in development work and has his own non-profit; and he is currently trying to expand internet access in the village among other initiatives. It is through his NGO that I hope to extend my visa through December. After dropping our bags we dined at the house of one of Kensa’s neighbors, a teacher who had worked with Lindsay in Doombu. Several of Lindsay’s lady teacher friends joined us, making for a festive atmosphere. These ladies are truly a riot, and they can’t get enough of Lindsay. At some point during the meal Lindsay committed her brother and me to the harvesting of one of the ladies cabbage fields so that should be interesting, though I must admit the details of the arrangement escaped me, perhaps due to the mealtime consumption of yet another beer.

After a restful night at the Kensa’s (with Matt, Lindsay and I all cozied up in the same bed) we breakfasted with the lady teachers before heading back to Dschang where I was able to run a few errands in my efforts to find a more permanent residence/workspace. Martiel and I went together to look at a spacious but rather dilapidated house in the same neighborhood as the Nanas. Throughout the discussion Martiel was constantly tugging at my sleeve and being shushed by the landlord. When he finally had a moment to speak to me, he informed me of the rather dramatic history of the house under inspection. It seems that 6 months ago the previous resident killed her husband and children inside, yikes.

After that surprise I kicked around town for a bit before meeting with Mnsr. N’joco, Alex’s old host father and his chemistry professor friend. Professor Kamgaing was a very nice guy and was genuinely interested in my work. He studies environmental chemistry, and is very much concerned with water quality parameters including dissolved oxygen and BOD (as well as numerous heavy metals) so I got a great chance to mix it up with some shop talk. Together with Mnsr. N’joco we discussed the possibility of my renting an apartment in the university dormitories and Prof. Kamgaing promised to look into it while I’m with the Clarkes up north this next week.

Cameroonians are generally pretty superstitious, and when I returned to the Nana’s later that evening, the first thing out of Mama Nana’s mouth was “Nathan! You cannot live in that house!” followed by a second recounting of the story and further exigencies. Now I’m thinking I can probably get this house for next to nothing, but I guess if I ever want to have Cameroonian visitors I’ll be better off looking elsewhere.

The next day, Thursday, I hobnobbed around town with Papa Nana for a bit in the morning, leaving him pleased as punch but also profiting myself from the occasion in meeting another school official who would be willing to put me up in his house outside town, and in having my first visit to the Artisinat, or artisans' workshop. The workshop has an incredible array of wood sculptures and traditional crafts, plus I got to see them working, which is in of itself a pretty neat process. An assembly line approach is used with an initial carver followed by several sets of sanders and finishers. The final products are quite diverse and exceptionally beautiful. We also headed back to Kelang with the full Clarke posse to feast at the chief’s and talk about the community center.

The Artisinat


Kelang