preview of upcoming entry

Its been a long CRAZY time since my last entry.

I dont feel like writing now because the crazyness has yet to end. It should be all settled by tuesday.

Here's a little preview:

Cameroonian baby is born, I am chosen as his God-father (and his parents name him after me which means he is Allen the 4th and I dont have to name my first son Allen!).

Tales from a week spent in the village of all villages

My first experience teaching (involved me teaching and performing a song by Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre to a class of 10th grade Cameroonian village kids)

Watching a mob of people attack some guy, police pull out guns.

Catching a man in the act of pick pocketing me at a train station, screaming at him, and then watching him get attacked by security guards.

Getting scammed for 5000 francs (10 bucks)

Riding in a Cameroonian train.

Thanksgiving CAMEROONIAN style

and last but not least A MAJOR CHANGE IS TAKING PLACE for me (details to come)...

Stay tuned

Adventures in a Far Away Land

I went to FOUMBAN today.

You ask “What is FOUMBAN? And who cares if you went there?” “Well,” I say, “FOUMBAN is a place, 50 miles north of Bafoussam. And I’ll tell you why my going there is a big deal, just relax, OK?”

Yeah folks, I went to FOUMBAN. Let it be known that on November 15th, 2004, I went to FOUMBAN. I’ll tell you about this fascinating destination in a moment. But I want to give you a little background information first.

The day started like any other Monday in Bafoussam. I woke up. I ate some eggs. I drank some coffee. I listened to the radio. At about 8:00 am, Pat and I left the apartment for our 7:30 meeting which usually starts at 9:00. So, as usual, we left a half an hour late for our meeting, which would get us to work 45 minutes early for that same meeting. We are such overachievers, always a half an hour late for meetings that start an hour and a half late. Cameroon.

And, like 3 out of 4 Mondays per month, this particular weekly meeting never happened. Our “counterparts” didn’t show up, as usual, and we sat around. I distracted myself for about an hour with a funny book. At about 9:30 we decided to leave. On our way out, the secretary said that they probably wouldn’t show up today. THANKS for the info.

With nothing else to do, I went to the internet café, a typical Monday morning destination. After that, since I still had nothing else to do, I went to “Sweet Home,” my favorite little neighborhood restaurant. At Sweet Home, they never serve what’s on the menu, but there is always something to eat. Pat and I are regulars there. If we are too lazy to cook and don’t feel like taking our chances with street food, we go to Sweet Home. In the morning, you can eat omelets there, for lunch you can usually get rice, tomato sauce, lukewarm chicken, soggy green stuff, and if you’re lucky, white beans. In the evening, you’re lucky if you can get rice and tomato sauce. Sweet home is the ONLY restaurant that we know of in Bafoussam that consistently has food. In Cameroon, there are many places with signs that say “restaurant,” but nine times out of ten they don’t serve food. The signs are probably left over from a better era in Cameroon when they actually had tourists to fill the restaurants.

After eating my second breakfast (it’s always a good idea to have two breakfasts because you never know if you will be able to find lunch, unless you go to Sweet Home), I went home. On the 1.5-mile walk from Sweet Home to the apartment, you always pass by the “Foumban boys.” The Foumban boys are a group of men that harass people into going to Foumban. “Why would they do that?” you ask. Well, let me explain how travel works here, in Cameroon.

In Cameroon, you travel by “Bush Taxi.” I’ve explained what these Bush Taxis are in previous blog entries (dirty old beat up 15 passenger vans that are stuffed with 25 people). In large cities, such as Bafoussam, there are several “Gare Routieres” (literally, “Road Stations,”). These are departure places for the Bush Taxis. There are different Gare Routieres for different destinations. The Gare Routiere for Foumban and everything North of Bafoussam happens to be down the road from my apartment. At each Gare Routiere, there is a group of men (like the Foumban boys) who fight each other to win customers for the particular travel company they represent. These guys can get pretty aggressive, their competitive spirit often brings them to the brink of all out brawls. I have yet to see them fight, though. In Cameroon, people often seem like they are about to start throwing punches, but they don’t, and five minutes later they are laughing and buying each other beer. These men also like to GRAB your luggage right out of your hand. They fight each other to be the first to GRAB your luggage . I don’t particularly like this luggage grabbing business. On one particular journey to Yaounde, I was forced to bust out a Judo move I learned when I was 11. One of the luggage grabbers wouldn’t let go of my backpack, so I stuck my long leg out behind him, and tripped him, Judo style. He fell backwards onto the pavement and released my bag. Onlookers laughed. I turned away and took my bag to a company OTHER than the one represented by the rude baggage grabber looking up at me from the pavement. Anyway, back to the Foumban story…

So, on my way home from Sweet Home today, I passed the “Foumban Boys” who yell “FOUMBAN?!?! FOUMBAN?!?!” to everyone who happens to pass by. As I passed them, I thought to myself, “today would be a perfect day to give in to these people and go to FOUMBAN.” I figured, “why not see what all the commotion is about?” So the plan was to go home, read a little more out of my funny little book, and then head off to FOUMBAN at around noon. Theoretically, it only takes an hour to get to Foumban. Leaving at noon would have me there by 1:00 with plenty of time to see all the wonderful things the town has to offer.

I went home, read for a while, and then I fell asleep. I didn’t wake up till 12:50, which had me behind schedule already, but I didn’t really expect to leave at 12:00 anyway. At 1:00, I packed my backpack with:
A bottle of water
A funny little book
My CD player
A notebook to take notes about Foumban in.
And some cash to get to Foumban
I left the apartment with a great attitude. “How exciting,” I thought “I’m finally going to Foumban.” I was relieved to be getting out of the sewer of a city I live in to experience the unknown treasures of a faraway land.

I scurried down the street to locate my favorite of “the Foumban boys.” He is my favorite because he is one of the few that knows I live in Bafoussam and that I don’t want to go to Foumban (usually). On most days, instead of grabbing my arm to shove me in the next van headed to Foumban, he shakes my hand and gives me “the snap.” (The snap is the Cameroonian “you’re cool” handshake. It is a classic handshake followed by a snap of the opposing index fingers. Everyone does it. If you don’t know it, you’re not cool.) I figured I would go make my favorite of the Foumban boys happy today by actually going to Foumban for once (the Foumban boys get paid to find passengers). My friend didn’t seem as excited as I thought he would be. Instead of shoving me into the next van to Foumban, he dragged me down the street to a van that didn’t fill up for 2 hours.

2 hours later, I left for Foumban. I literally sat in a hot, sweaty, dirty, smelly van across the street from my apartment for two hours.

I was a little frustrated at this point. I know travel in Cameroon is difficult, but I figured this little trip to Foumban would be a walk in the park (pun intended). I mean, it seems like this whole city is going to Foumban judging from the amount of harassment we get on a daily basis from the Foumban boys. I guess I was wrong.

I arrived in Foumban at 4:00 pm. This is bad because I wanted to leave Foumban at 5:00 to be home before dark. It is unsafe to travel in Cameroon after dark. Actually, its unsafe to travel in Cameroon period, its especially unsafe after dark.
I had fantastic plans to visit the “Sultans Palace” (a supposedly, magnificent palace, home to the king or sultan of the “bamoun” people, the local tribe in the Foumban area). Unfortunately, it was too late for any such visit. I will see the Palace on my next visit. Instead of visiting the Sultans Palace, I visited one of the local “beverage stations.” They serve the same beverages they serve everywhere else in Cameroon, but for some reason they tasted better in Foumban. I also sampled some of the local “Soya.” Soya is Cameroonian bar-b-cued meat. It is usually quite good, but in Foumban it was AMAZING. Delicious, tender, strips of beef. Great qualiy and quantity. In Bafoussam, you get the quality, but the quantity is enough to feed a baby. Foumban has Soya, and plenty of it, mmmmmmm. After the Soya, I motioned for one of the children selling food to come over. This little kid was carrying “beignets” on his little head. “Beignets” are fried dough. Very greasy, unsweetened donuts, basically. Delicious. The little kid was happy to sell to me.

I must say, I was immediately fascinated by the beauty of Foumban. It is clean. It has pine trees. The people are friendly. The streets are paved. Just a great little town. The kind of place to settle down and raise your kids in, you know? I will have to come back to Foumban one day. I have to see that Palace.

I returned to Bafoussam with a full stomach and a tired body. It only took about an hour for the van to fill this time. I had to travel in the dark, but I survived. I am now here, back in my lovely apartment, writing this.

tomorrow is Tuesday. What kinds of adventures await me tomorrow? Will I venture towards another far away land? Will I play tennis? Will I WORK? Only time will tell. Peace Corps Cameroon is an unpredictable day-to-day adventure, full of surprises.

'Tis the season for dying

I had a pretty long blog entry written out, but I have erased it. It was written on Monday, November 1st, it had something to do with my hopes for the election, my optimism for the outcome, but that is all forgotten now. Remind me not be so optimistic next time. I wrote a brief little comment about the elections as my previous blog entry. Its funny how that emotion has worn off so quickly. I felt those feelings immediately after it all happened, but those feelings have all but disappeared in me. In Africa I have other things to think about, I guess. I'm sure I'll get to deal with all the problems this new fundamentalist christian government has to offer as soon as I return home, I can't wait!

Today was a long, Cameroonian day. It was a cultural day. I attended the burial ceremony of the father of the director of the NGO I work with. I never knew the man who died, and I hardly know this director I speak of. That’s how it works here. You go to all kinds of ceremonies for people you don’t know. I think its funny to imagine doing the same thing in the states. Imagine just walking into a random funeral for someone you never knew. Funerals are a lot more exciting here, so I guess it makes a little more sense to do it here. I’ve known about this ceremony for about a week now, but I was not planning on attending. It wasn’t until yesterday (friday) that I changed my plans. Apparently everyone expected Pat and I to be there. In the words of our friend Guy, the manager of one of the banks we “work” with.
“It is important that you attend this event. When the people in the village see that there are white men at the event they will realize that the director is an important man. The director will be very happy. You MUST attend.”
Ok. I guess we are going.
So that’s how the decision was made. I don’t regret going to this event by any means, I enjoy the cultural events and customs that I am fortunate to witness here. I just thought that the reasons for our attendance were interesting and funny. White men, who are these white men and why must they be so damn important? Personally, if I were Cameroonian, I wouldn’t view them as such. But I am glad they do because it makes me feel welcome almost everywhere I go. It can be a little overwhelming though. Sometimes I feel more like a decoration. Peace Corps volunteers are a bunch of fancy American decorations donated to developing countries to make their ceremonies look nicer and more important. That’s one way to look at it.
Anyway, Pat and I were told to meet Guy at the bank at precisely 8am, no later. We arrived, precisely at 8am. I don’t think he expected us to be there on time because we didn’t leave the bank until 10am. We should know better by now, we really should. One two and a half-hour car ride, several u-turns, one flat tire, many dirt roads, one dead snake, and many village children later, we arrived at the site of the ceremony. I must say that this is the furthest into the Cameroonian countryside I have been thus far. It was strange, one minute we’re in the middle of nowhere, seemingly lost, the next minute we’re still in the middle of nowhere, except now, we are surrounded by a few hundred other people. The ceremony was rather brief by Cameroonian standards. Maybe it just seemed brief to us because we arrived a few hours late. We weren’t too late for the buffet and wine and beer, though. It was a good time after all. It took about two hours to get back. Four hours of travel for about three hours of ceremony. Not bad. The ride home was a little less planned. For the first leg of the journey, we shared a bus that was rented out by some rich drunk folk from the capital city. For the second leg, we rode in a BEAT UP station wagon of some sort. I had to share the front seat with Guy who is a big man. At some point during the ride home, the front seat we were sharing gave out. After enduring years of abuse this old seat decided to stop supporting Guy and I. The seat fell backwards slowly, and gently crushed Pat, who was sitting behind us. For some reason, Pat and I found this to be hilarious and we laughed pretty hard. The owner of the vehicle didn’t seem to care.

I am exhausted now, to say the least. It’s not like I did anything exhausting today, I think it’s all the travel that really gets to you in Cameroon. It’s always interesting, and the stimulation really wears on the body and mind. When fearing for your life, enjoying the strange scenery, sharing a broken front seat with a big person, and laughing your ass off at everything, your mind and body wear pretty quickly. Pat and I were invited to ANOTHER burial ceremony tonight in BANA. We are way too exhausted to embark on another three-hour car ride under the cover of darkness. NO WAY, PAS CE SOIR. Not tonight, maybe next time. People seem to be dying quite frequently this time of year, so I’m sure there will be another opportunity in the very near future to attend a ceremony.

Tomorrow, I may have the day to do nothing but read Hemmingway and play tennis. Man, that sounds really snobby and un-peace corps, but that's what Sundays are for, right? What a relief tomorrow will be.

I’ve been pretty tired and kind of sick lately. I’m allergic to something here, every morning I wake up with a stuffed nose, a sore throat and a bad attitude. The bad attitude goes away, but the nose and throat problem persists. Oh, well. As they say in Cameroon “Ashia.” Ashia means “oh, well” or “too bad” or “sorry about that” or “man, that really sucks” or “that’s life buddy, deal with it.” Ashia is great for Cameroon, it applies to many circumstances.

Here’s some incredibly good news (for me, at least): My best friend Blake Nolan is coming to visit! He is coming in February and I can’t tell you how excited I am about this, I’m losing sleep over it. Just so you all know: WE ARE GOING TO HAVE AN AMAZING TIME. I just hope we manage to stay out of trouble for the extent of his stay because we tend to get into trouble when we are together. If anything, we will boggle many people’s minds, which we tend to do no matter which armpit we find ourselves in. Blake also has a blog, and if you want something interesting to do in February, you should read both of our blogs, and compare. Africa: experienced simultaneously through the eyes and minds of two mind-boggling maniacs. Blake is going to take some pretty tiiiiiiiight pictures, too. You see, he is a photographer by trade, and he’s damn good at it too. Check out his blog: http://blakejnolan.blogspot.com/ to see some pictures and read about his adventures in London. He is breaking into the photography scene, and he’s gonna make it. I’m proud of him.

Anyway, we will get to do all the crazy things that this country has to offer:

We will stay in 5 star resorts (peace corps volunteers houses, or whatever we can sleep on). We will cruise the streets in a pimped out, fully loaded ‘05 Escalade (a beat up ’87 Corolla taxi stuffed with 9 people). We will eat caviar and filet mignon (grilled fish and beef on a stick). We will drink copious amounts of Champagne (beer and what have you). We will mingle with celebrities (Cameroonian villagers), and play golf (apartment basketball), all in the company of Beautiful European Super Models (peace corps volunteers). Pretty nice, huh? But WAIT! That’s not all Bob! Blake will be treated to a complimentary six week supply of Mefloquine, to keep those sneaky little Malaria bugs from invading his liver and killing him! WOWZA! All I can say is, WATCH OUT! Seriously, though, this is going to be a great time. When that’s all over, I will be sad, but excited because in November of 2005, my pops will visit, stay tuned for details! I am very happy and very fortunate to be able to share this experience with a best friend and my dad. It will be interesting to see how they react to all the things I try so hard to write about. All I know is that neither of my visitors will EVER forget their experience here. It’s something else, it really is. Most volunteers don’t have friends and family with as much curiosity and bravery to experience Africa. Thanks Dad, thanks Blake.

We are well into November now. In a few weeks I will hit my six-month mark in Cameroon. That’s pretty strange to say. I’ve been in Africa for six months and already I feel somewhat normal here, as normal as a stranger from a strange land can feel here. Sometimes it seems like yesterday that I arrived and sometimes it seems like ages ago. I know I often make this same reference to time, but it really is strange. I have lost my American concept of time here. It’s not a day-to-day life here. It’s one long show. The days blend together. Years from now, when I am old and famous, I will look back at this time of my life and I will think “Wow, that was ONE LONG DAY. What a long day it was.”

I don’t know what to make of it all so far. I’ve learned something, I’ve grown somehow. I don’t know how yet. I probably won’t know how until I return to the States and I compare my Post-Cameroon behavior and attitude in the U.S. to my Pre-Cameroon behavior and attitude. I need that benchmark. There are going to be differences. What will they be?

I spent some time a few weeks ago reading through all of my previous blog entries. I certainly noticed a change in my outlook and my way of relating my experiences here. I feel more realistic about it all now, whatever that means. It certainly isn’t the fantasy world it was when I arrived. I’ve grown accustomed to the scenery, now I am noticing more of the details. Nothing here is as I expected it, nothing ever is, I guess. Reality is a little harsher than my imagination makes things out to be. That has been my biggest lesson thus far. Life is full of lessons, I hope to learn them all someday. Being here is teachiong me a fair share of lessons. I was still a kid when I left the States, and I will still be a kid when I get back, only I will be a really WISE kid.

That’s all for now. Back to Hemmingway and Caviar. Tomorrow it’s tennis and Hemmingway, then on Monday it’s back to Peace Corps. The Show goes on.

Kerry loses, the world loses

John Kerry lost. FEAR wins. What is wrong with my country?

I like being in Africa a little more now.

This isn't a politcal blog, so I will be brief.

Thank you to everyone who faught for change in the U.S. I have several friends there who worked campaigns from California to Florida. I'm sorry your efforts didn't quite payoff this time, but I am always hopeful for the future. Kerry would have been a change in the right direction, it didnt happen. It WILL happen next time, and the change will be a lot more drastic, it's got to be.

I've received many emails from friends, family, and people I dont even know expressing their disappointment. Hard to believe that these people represent a "minority" in the states.

Apparently God himself is now a resident in the White House. george said so himself. That's great, God has picked sides. Apparently he only cares about 51% of Americans. Apparently, He hates the rest of the world. One nation under God? With liberty and justice for all? COME ON PEOPLE!! When will the other 51% start to THINK?????????

I'm writing a more extensive, non political blog entry, and I will post it later this week. Just had to share my DISAPPOINTMENT.