A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Manyu Division

Travel from my village is done by hitchhiking. To go from my village to any of the surrounding villages or to town, I head out to the road and flag down any car or bike that passes.

There are bush taxis that go back and forth from the outlying villages to Mamfe and make drops from village to village. Bush taxis in my area are just everyday sedans. The extraordinary thing about them is just how many people, animals, and belongings they can fit. Imagine a Toyota Corolla; the trunk is packed with anything from petrol to bushels upon bushels of plantains. And obviously the contents are stacked to the point that the trunk lid is straining on its hinges. Now for the seating situation: Three places in the back? Pssh, no way! Four, even five passengers! What about the front seat? Place for one? What?! And waste all that space? Two passengers! Some drivers are kind enough to have a flat pillow that they’ll place on the center console for your “comfort.” Surely the driver gets his own seat, right? Don’t be ridiculous! What does he need all that space for? Some lucky passenger gets to sit half on the driver’s seat, half on the center console and in between the driver and the stick shift. I mean, I can’t think of anything more appealing that having a stick shift rammed into my thigh each time a gear change is needed. It's a cozy way to get your daily dose of adrenaline, all while meeting locals in semi-intimate scenarios. And you will figure out all kinds of new and interesting ways to fold your body as small as it can possibly go.

Not all passengers are human

One thing I’ve learned: never be in a hurry to get anywhere because things will never go as planned. Once in a blue moon you might get where you’re going no problems or unexpected stops, but the last time I checked, the moon is still white.

Here are a few scenarios that are bound to happen as you try to get from Point A to Point B:

A mama holding two babies will get in the car and hand you one. The best part of this scenario is the baby is just as shocked at the situation as you. It will stare at you with wide eyes and then start to cry. You will eventually calm him and he will put his sticky hand in your mouth.

As you’re waiting by the road, some well-intentioned (rather intoxicated) person will grab your belongings and drag you to a bar to take a drink while you wait. You will sit there missing all the cars that pass on the road as the people you’re sitting with half-heartedly yell your destination at them.

You get in the car clearly saying your destination. You will then get dropped at a location that was not your intended destination. The exciting part of this scenario is that you get to pay for two rides, your ride to said strange location and your ride to where you actually wanted to go. That is, if you can find a ride to where you actually wanted to go…

Sometimes after a trip to town, you’ll be waiting at the car park for hours. The drivers, most of whom are jovial and welcoming, will quiz you on what Cameroonian dishes you know. You may even get a free meal of whatever they’re having! This is a fantastic way to get to know the drivers and it certainly doesn’t hurt to be friendly with the people responsible for picking you up on the side of the road or making sure you get home.

Birds-eye view of the Mamfe carpark

Travel here is like trick or treating. Sometimes you get the king size candy and sometimes you get… raisins. Either way it’s already too hot here to sweat the small stuff so take it in stride.

All in all, Cameroonians are a hospitable, easygoing people who aren’t in a rush to get anywhere. Pull up a chair, grab an Export, and join in.

The Bible verse on the back will keep me safe, right?

Swinging Back Into Your Lives

Me swinging back into your life

This past Monday, February 8th, marked six months at post. Six months ago I arrived in Nchemba II, my new home for the next two years. If you're looking at a map of Cameroon, find Bamenda. Now look for Mamfe. There's a road connecting the two. Find where the Manyu River crosses that road and you've found me! Here's some little tidbits to catch you up with my hippyhaps. 

How is my life 6 months after moving to post? Well, my house is still mostly unfurnished but I do have a bird nest chair! My mattress is still on the floor. My clothes are still hung across my room using a piece of rope. I do have bowls and cups now so I’m no longer using measuring cups (sierra cup-style). I still not the nester I wish I was.

My rat problem is solved(ish). For six months, I battled rats. Nothing like a rat falling onto your head from the bathroom door in the middle of the night or waking to the sound of rats fighting next to your head (since your mattress is on the floor). What’s really upsetting is when you come home and find not one, not two, but three of your bananas with little rats holes in them! Why three? Why not just munch on the one?! But after duct taping the holes in my screens and waiting for the last of the rats to run out from under the six-inch gap under my front door, I am rat free for two weeks. Do they make chips for that?

School started in September. I teach Biology and Chemistry to Form 1, Form 2, and Form 3 students, roughly the equivalent of 7^th, 8^th, and 9^th grades in the US. I say roughly because my students' ages as well as their learning levels range widely. Some of my youngest students have difficulty reading and writing. I try to make my classes student-centered and hands-on, making learning fun rather than a chore but I never knew how hard that would be when you can’t just call up Carolina Biological for some nifty organisms. But we manage. My kids hold hands and act as an amoeba, developing pseudopodia and “ingesting” things like the flagpole or the Discipline Master’s motorcycle.

In my six months at post, I’ve traveled some. I've hiked here and there, catching fun as Cameroonians say. I’ve spent beautiful, cool evenings in Bamenda, the city closest to my post. I huffed and puffed up Mount Cameroon, the highest mountain in West Africa. I’ve relaxed on the beach in Limbe, eating fries for every meal. 

Hike through Mbingo in the Northwest

Waterfall in the Batibo area

Waterfall cave in Guzamg

I've spent some quality time with people in my village. I’ve experience the incredible kindness and generosity of those who don’t have much. I’m gifted food on a regular basis. People will ask me to grab a seat and take a beer with them just to chat. The village mamas teach me everything from cracking Njansa (a spice) to grinding pepe to plucking and dressing a chicken.

How am I emotionally? I’m actually starting to love my post. Don’t misunderstand that as everything is hunky dory. I have some really dark days where I’m sitting in the middle of the floor in a puddle of sweat and tears, but overall, I’m managing. So even though I find myself dreaming of biscuits and gravy, crunch wrap supremes, and Dr. Pepper, I know they’ll be there when I get back. Even though I find myself homesick and missing my family and friends, I know that will make our reunion that much sweeter. Even though transportation here is a nightmare, I know that will make my coach flight home that much more luxurious.

My Blog is Running on Cameroonian Time

I'm guessing you've figured it out by now, I'm not very good at keeping up with a blog... It doesn't help that to find internet in my house I have to twirl three times while saying the magic words and then do a headstand.

For now, here are some tasty morsels from training. Which ended in August... Better late than never!

Training in a nutshell: We "paid attention" to "interesting" and "informative" sessions. We broke into "collaborative" groups to "facilitate the exchange of ideas." Basically we did a lot of sitting and sighing. To be fair, I did learn a handful of things, one being that Peace Corps is so sure that we'll all contract schistosomiasis, a blood fluke found in freshwater they'll treat us all for it before we leave. So if I come home and find a tumor it's probably just a schisto cyst. Comforting, right? Oh, and I learned of the existence of mango flies. They lay eggs in clothing hung out to dry. The larvae then burrow into your skin where they'll grow until they eventually erupt Ridley Scott's, Alien-style.

A life lesson learned: If they mudfish tastes funny, stop eating it.

Spaghetti Omelet Sandwiches. Need I say more? Probably. You take spaghetti noodles, toss them in with eggs, tomato, onion, piment, fry it up in a omelet, then toss it in some french bread with some mayonnaise and voila! If you want to get a little creative (and I strongly suggest you do) add some avocado. Delicious.

Enjoying Spaghetti Omelet Sandwiches and cold(ish) beers

Swearing in Ceremony at the US Embassy

My Soul Sister

I’m sure every volunteer has hated on training. Seemingly pointless sessions, and repetition while you wait for your experience to “start.” Just wanting to be unleashed on the world so you can do what you came to do. Now a few months out of training, I find myself thinking back to those boring sessions with fond memories, not because of some content learned but because of the camaraderie that existed between 21 stagemates. The fellowship with those 20 other people is what I got out of training and I couldn’t wish for anything more.