I went to one.
Though my last entry was filled with romantic description of the grand north of cameroon, i can now soberly assess the situation. Deserts, like dairy desserts, make me sick. Not sick in the same way exactly but not really that far off.
anyway, the last week in ngaoundere was spent fighting a terrible upper respiratory infection. when i first arrived in the town, a glorious dust storm was blowing through from the Sahara. It added a mysterious haze to anything more than a few blocks away, and apparently, to any lung cells within my body. The result was a charming cough, a runny nose, a gradually increasing fever, and mild insanity.
in the midst of my sickness, it seemed a wise idea to travel to Waza national park to look at giraffes. Though I saw many wonderful beasts, I did it from the top of a metal rack on the top of a metal bus rolling through a hell of spiked trees, dusty air, and blazing sun. It was worth it, but it came with a price.
For example, the abovementioned mild insanity. Were there really mice touching my feet? Why was my mosquito net so intriguing to me? Did my host mom really try to put the moves on me? ...that will, i hope to allah, remain a mystery. Also, were there really children chanting my name as I passed that one morning?
how did they know my name?
anyway, after many strange and wonderful conversations and many strange and terrible nights sleep...it has PASSED. doctor says im good and healthy and i feel the same.
I felt the end as I returned to cosmopolitan Yaounde with its delightfuly moist clean air. With every breath came relief. I never would have thought I would say that Yaounde has clean air until the event happened that I lived in a much smaller place that uses wood and paper for heat, cooking, garbage disposal, etc.
i love feeling normal.
above normal even. I am learning more and more french and can use it in more and more creative ways. for example, consider a situation wherein your host cousin comments that your hair looks like a girls:
"lydia": Your hair looks like girls hair
"ben": do you like the bible
l: yes
b: me too. have you heard of samson?
l: thats a story, whats your story?
b: i was born on a mountain and i learned to eat by fighting and killing huge serpents that lived there.
l: fine. why do you have long hair though?
b: i got tired of fighting snakes. I flew to the ocean and learned to catch fish with my hair. I use it like a net. like this. my hair gives me more power.
l: ashhh (cameroonian slang for "bull shit" or "yeah right" or "come on")
Otherwise, I am totally buried by research on microfinance. My poor brain was already full of useless french words, now I have to learn banking terms in two languages. that said, it goes well. I am somehow allowed to work in a bank in order to learn about how microfinance works (NOT LIKE YOU THINK BRIGHT EYED DREAMERS) and interview workers whenever I want. If I hadnt already worked with so many of the people who are currently reading this, I would say confidently that I cant imagine a better group of people to work with than the people at the bank.
but i have worked with so many of you already, so I know it not to be true.
YOU ARE ALL MISSED SWEET FRIENDS. ONE MONTH.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
nigel barley wrote about this place
the first semi-scholarly thing i read about cameroon was called "the innocent anthropologist" by nigel barley. in his book, barley talks mostly about tooth aches, vivid descriptions of a dowayo village he spent two years in, loud nigerian music, and a surprisingly pleasant protestant mission in n'gauondéré cameroon.
after about ten weeks in cameroon, i am finally in a place that barley talked about. i ask everyone in the mission if they have heard of Barley, but so far there has been no luck. N'gaoundéré does indeed have an unfortunate ammount of loud nigerian music but it is also tree lined, clean, full of bikes, and the location of at least two awesome coffee shops. Not coffee shops with nescafe on the menu, but coffee shops with delicious hot strong coffee served in a vessel that everyone would agree is a mug.
this city is unlike any city ive ever been in. There are walls everywhere seperating people on the street from the compounds that everyone lives in. My home for example is a house only in the loosest of senses and is indeed behind a series of walls. To get there, you take a right at the tiled microfinance bank (every bank and every hotel ive seen in this country is covered with big porcelin tiles...strange?) and proceed EAST towards "la mosque centrale". (By the way, everywhere a white person goes outside of Yaounde will feature several sets of eyes connected to amazed, bored, interested, or what can only be described as "doubtful" faces waiting for a new thing to gaze upon...given their relative rarity, the white will find herself the target of many many of these eyes. In Yaounde, this can happen from time to time but the passive action of staring is generally brief and often quickly followed by the active vocalization of "haha blanch" (which is likely to lead to the white feeling confused, sweaty, and/or the wearer of dirty shoes) or "hey blanch", which results in the white remembering that, yes, she is white. Yaounde, in general, makes the white feel mostly anonymous, but when he is publicly pointed out...he will likely feel a bit silly. In other cities the passive stare is long and inexplicably significant. One feels as though someone should say something...but what? If the white opens his mouth to greet the appropriate silent onlooker, the white may recall that, usually, the white fails to see all of the eyes pointed at her. BOOM. This is when the surprise "bon soir blanch" makes its appearance from some other direction. The white spins about trying to find the source of the greeting, sees many eyes, says a sort of general "bon soir" to all onlookers and moves on. Its a bit awkward when this happens...its more like red than white at this point. I should be sure to say that in time, for this white anyway, the general feel of being watched becomes natural, even if its not obviously friendly. I will discuss this issue again later, but I would like to return to the description of my house again.) You know its to the east because this city is predominately influenced by Islam. I have already found myself on several occasions talking rather loudly with a comrade about such things as allergies, books, or perhaps my fear of mice at night when we both realize that we are in the midst of hundreds of people pointed east silently praying. as the cameroonian would say: AYE! Cameroon, I should say, is a very loud place. You get so used to it so quickly that walking into a completely silent environment can happen without you even noticing it. It seems strange, but even after only ten weeks something like that can become a "thing that doesnt happen" and therefore, I think, "a thing ive stopped noticing". Nonetheless, you can only go so far into a group of hundreds of silent people all facing the same direction without taking notice. (By the way, in both instances I stopped talking, and for a second stopped walking. then, when it was obvious that it was just prayer time, I continued walking quietly until I passed)
anyway, you head east up the road.
Then, between two buildings you will see what I would have guessed was just the tiny space that exists between any set of building set close to one another. no. it is another road (utilized by motos, walkers, horses, and I would assume, any tiny cars that may exist here) leading to another neighborhood. The entire length of the road is as narrow as the beginning, with multiple narrow offshoots headed of to god (allah for the laymens) knows where. This mystery exists, again, because there are walls everywhere...but in here there are at least doors, where looking in you can behold...walled hallways.
After a time, there is a door on the left. I remember it because unlike the other doors, in fact most doors, it doesnt have a wall around it. its just a door frame with a door entering in to a yard of sorts, filled with mud bricks (perhaps they will soon be the wall). I walk through the door to another door, and walk into a beatiful but simple courtyard. My house is perfect. three fourths is totally open to the sky. There is a kitchen area with a fire pit oven, a washing/bathroom room, and two bedrooms.
I am allowed to smoke there. and so i do.
after about ten weeks in cameroon, i am finally in a place that barley talked about. i ask everyone in the mission if they have heard of Barley, but so far there has been no luck. N'gaoundéré does indeed have an unfortunate ammount of loud nigerian music but it is also tree lined, clean, full of bikes, and the location of at least two awesome coffee shops. Not coffee shops with nescafe on the menu, but coffee shops with delicious hot strong coffee served in a vessel that everyone would agree is a mug.
this city is unlike any city ive ever been in. There are walls everywhere seperating people on the street from the compounds that everyone lives in. My home for example is a house only in the loosest of senses and is indeed behind a series of walls. To get there, you take a right at the tiled microfinance bank (every bank and every hotel ive seen in this country is covered with big porcelin tiles...strange?) and proceed EAST towards "la mosque centrale". (By the way, everywhere a white person goes outside of Yaounde will feature several sets of eyes connected to amazed, bored, interested, or what can only be described as "doubtful" faces waiting for a new thing to gaze upon...given their relative rarity, the white will find herself the target of many many of these eyes. In Yaounde, this can happen from time to time but the passive action of staring is generally brief and often quickly followed by the active vocalization of "haha blanch" (which is likely to lead to the white feeling confused, sweaty, and/or the wearer of dirty shoes) or "hey blanch", which results in the white remembering that, yes, she is white. Yaounde, in general, makes the white feel mostly anonymous, but when he is publicly pointed out...he will likely feel a bit silly. In other cities the passive stare is long and inexplicably significant. One feels as though someone should say something...but what? If the white opens his mouth to greet the appropriate silent onlooker, the white may recall that, usually, the white fails to see all of the eyes pointed at her. BOOM. This is when the surprise "bon soir blanch" makes its appearance from some other direction. The white spins about trying to find the source of the greeting, sees many eyes, says a sort of general "bon soir" to all onlookers and moves on. Its a bit awkward when this happens...its more like red than white at this point. I should be sure to say that in time, for this white anyway, the general feel of being watched becomes natural, even if its not obviously friendly. I will discuss this issue again later, but I would like to return to the description of my house again.) You know its to the east because this city is predominately influenced by Islam. I have already found myself on several occasions talking rather loudly with a comrade about such things as allergies, books, or perhaps my fear of mice at night when we both realize that we are in the midst of hundreds of people pointed east silently praying. as the cameroonian would say: AYE! Cameroon, I should say, is a very loud place. You get so used to it so quickly that walking into a completely silent environment can happen without you even noticing it. It seems strange, but even after only ten weeks something like that can become a "thing that doesnt happen" and therefore, I think, "a thing ive stopped noticing". Nonetheless, you can only go so far into a group of hundreds of silent people all facing the same direction without taking notice. (By the way, in both instances I stopped talking, and for a second stopped walking. then, when it was obvious that it was just prayer time, I continued walking quietly until I passed)
anyway, you head east up the road.
Then, between two buildings you will see what I would have guessed was just the tiny space that exists between any set of building set close to one another. no. it is another road (utilized by motos, walkers, horses, and I would assume, any tiny cars that may exist here) leading to another neighborhood. The entire length of the road is as narrow as the beginning, with multiple narrow offshoots headed of to god (allah for the laymens) knows where. This mystery exists, again, because there are walls everywhere...but in here there are at least doors, where looking in you can behold...walled hallways.
After a time, there is a door on the left. I remember it because unlike the other doors, in fact most doors, it doesnt have a wall around it. its just a door frame with a door entering in to a yard of sorts, filled with mud bricks (perhaps they will soon be the wall). I walk through the door to another door, and walk into a beatiful but simple courtyard. My house is perfect. three fourths is totally open to the sky. There is a kitchen area with a fire pit oven, a washing/bathroom room, and two bedrooms.
I am allowed to smoke there. and so i do.
Friday, March 12, 2010
earth hour
...is funny, because the partially public (and 49% US ownded) private company "Sonel" will probably turn our power off for some unrelated reason anyway..but when you all deliberately turn your power off in the US, please know that I will be dreaming of you happily.
I imagine that when you turn the power off in the US for earth hour, the temperature will be cool..maybe 50 or something (40? i am out of touch)...and you will of course be in the kitchen of kristen and me/paul surrounded by many candles. some sort of liquid spirit will, i would assume, be consumed to combat the cold feelings (brandy and cider is the smart choice). there will have been cooking, and the cold dishes will rest dirty but organized next to the sink. in time, someone will bring out a guitar, banjo, or ukelele. Though a minority in the crowd may find difficulty in joining the musical merriment, time and alcohol will eventually convince all to sing along.
there will of course be a satellite group in the living room. they will have brought something that uses batteries. The hard light of a laptop will fight the soft light of the candle...but only for a time
only monsters prefer such lighting.
When earth hour is over, the soft lamps will return to the on position in the kitchen. there, they will be joined by soft laptop music and, i would hope, a pie. the candles will be moved to the still dark living room along with the musicians. and the night will go on.
safe to say that i miss home. does the above sound unrealistic? why wouldn't you do that i'd like to know....(?)
but, somehow, im already at the halfway point...and all is well. I am here, far too far away from home, to study microfinance and write the biggest and maybe most important paper thus far. appropriately, that is exactly (and finally) what im doing now.
things are normal to me now. this is exactly what i eat in a given week:
-damned french bread
-rice
-fish
-bobola (delicious though plain processed plant stuff)
-lots of bananas
-lots of pineapple
-the occasional piece of chicken
-fried plantains
-lucky day = l'okok...another oily delicious plant
-peanuts
-coffee and cigarettes
my new brand of cigarettes is called "LB". they are menthol. they are delicious and they cost a bit over a dollar a pack.
I imagine that when you turn the power off in the US for earth hour, the temperature will be cool..maybe 50 or something (40? i am out of touch)...and you will of course be in the kitchen of kristen and me/paul surrounded by many candles. some sort of liquid spirit will, i would assume, be consumed to combat the cold feelings (brandy and cider is the smart choice). there will have been cooking, and the cold dishes will rest dirty but organized next to the sink. in time, someone will bring out a guitar, banjo, or ukelele. Though a minority in the crowd may find difficulty in joining the musical merriment, time and alcohol will eventually convince all to sing along.
there will of course be a satellite group in the living room. they will have brought something that uses batteries. The hard light of a laptop will fight the soft light of the candle...but only for a time
only monsters prefer such lighting.
When earth hour is over, the soft lamps will return to the on position in the kitchen. there, they will be joined by soft laptop music and, i would hope, a pie. the candles will be moved to the still dark living room along with the musicians. and the night will go on.
safe to say that i miss home. does the above sound unrealistic? why wouldn't you do that i'd like to know....(?)
but, somehow, im already at the halfway point...and all is well. I am here, far too far away from home, to study microfinance and write the biggest and maybe most important paper thus far. appropriately, that is exactly (and finally) what im doing now.
things are normal to me now. this is exactly what i eat in a given week:
-damned french bread
-rice
-fish
-bobola (delicious though plain processed plant stuff)
-lots of bananas
-lots of pineapple
-the occasional piece of chicken
-fried plantains
-lucky day = l'okok...another oily delicious plant
-peanuts
-coffee and cigarettes
my new brand of cigarettes is called "LB". they are menthol. they are delicious and they cost a bit over a dollar a pack.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
"pushed out of the puff puff market"...
...these are the words used by the US embassy press attache to describe the current "cold war" between china and the US in central/west africa to my class yesterday.
as i have said before, along every major road (and most small roads) one finds clandestine and informal vendors selling everything from pay-as-you-go phone credit to shoes to the emerging market of puff-puffs (or beignets for the laymans). stable jobs are very hard to come by in Cameroon, so while selling puff-puffs (generally about 15 cents a piece) is not enough to live by, it is at least something. the only thing.
the rumor goes that chinese expats are starting to take the "jobs" of these delicious sweet bread vendors by offering their own puff puff carts, powered by their own puff puff vendors. Cameroonians are being pushed out of the puff puff market!
PUFF PUFF
now, according to our gentlemanly press attache (he is just enough southern to be charming but not so much to be scary, witty enough to be smart but old timey enough to be relatable), there is a reason for this unseemly breach of bread workers decorum. as we all have heard, africa is not a very rich place. thusly, it is often the target of western development projects . the famous ones here are the chad-cameroon oil pipeline and international loans and their partnering IMF restructuring plans. in general, to receive money or building projects, some sort of promise must be made by the cameroonian government. maybe they have to be more transparent, maybe they have to make a plan to empower some group, or maybe they have to privatize something. in general, these changes are called structural readjustment plans. some say they are ineffective and neocolonial while others say they are the only ways that things like environmental protection and human rights can be protected. no matter your take on the issue (i think it is at best a potentially well intentioned effort to meddle) thats how the US rolls...anyway, the point is that aid never comes from europe and the us without strings attached.
china, on the other hand, does not require anything for their loans. in fact, they have a history of giving loans and grants to corrupt african politicians in order to get access to africa's rich resources.
"they work with corrupt leaders in order to help their own economy"...
our press attache said this with a straight face. they are, according to the embassy, only concerned about their own financial benefit...so they don't make the cameroonian government (currently something like the 175th poorest nation) do anything (or in his words, "the right thing") in order to receive....a LOAN.
the attache goes on to say that with their building plans, the chinese will ship in laborers to do the work for the building projects rather than use local laborers. then, when the building is done the chinese laborers stay in cameroon.
and steal jobs.
and sell puff puffs...
this is how we are to understand the alleged cold war between the US and China, and to be honest, with his buttery smooth presentation, it actually made sense at the time.
as i have said before, along every major road (and most small roads) one finds clandestine and informal vendors selling everything from pay-as-you-go phone credit to shoes to the emerging market of puff-puffs (or beignets for the laymans). stable jobs are very hard to come by in Cameroon, so while selling puff-puffs (generally about 15 cents a piece) is not enough to live by, it is at least something. the only thing.
the rumor goes that chinese expats are starting to take the "jobs" of these delicious sweet bread vendors by offering their own puff puff carts, powered by their own puff puff vendors. Cameroonians are being pushed out of the puff puff market!
PUFF PUFF
now, according to our gentlemanly press attache (he is just enough southern to be charming but not so much to be scary, witty enough to be smart but old timey enough to be relatable), there is a reason for this unseemly breach of bread workers decorum. as we all have heard, africa is not a very rich place. thusly, it is often the target of western development projects . the famous ones here are the chad-cameroon oil pipeline and international loans and their partnering IMF restructuring plans. in general, to receive money or building projects, some sort of promise must be made by the cameroonian government. maybe they have to be more transparent, maybe they have to make a plan to empower some group, or maybe they have to privatize something. in general, these changes are called structural readjustment plans. some say they are ineffective and neocolonial while others say they are the only ways that things like environmental protection and human rights can be protected. no matter your take on the issue (i think it is at best a potentially well intentioned effort to meddle) thats how the US rolls...anyway, the point is that aid never comes from europe and the us without strings attached.
china, on the other hand, does not require anything for their loans. in fact, they have a history of giving loans and grants to corrupt african politicians in order to get access to africa's rich resources.
"they work with corrupt leaders in order to help their own economy"...
our press attache said this with a straight face. they are, according to the embassy, only concerned about their own financial benefit...so they don't make the cameroonian government (currently something like the 175th poorest nation) do anything (or in his words, "the right thing") in order to receive....a LOAN.
the attache goes on to say that with their building plans, the chinese will ship in laborers to do the work for the building projects rather than use local laborers. then, when the building is done the chinese laborers stay in cameroon.
and steal jobs.
and sell puff puffs...
this is how we are to understand the alleged cold war between the US and China, and to be honest, with his buttery smooth presentation, it actually made sense at the time.
Monday, March 1, 2010
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha
I am back in Yaounde typing on an anglophone keyboard and am immeasurably happy about it.
however, before getting back to yaounde i was able to visit the city of Bamenda: the largest city in the northwest region and the center of political opposition. things in bamenda are recognizably cameroonian...but there are little differences that tug at the brain more and more the longer one stays. for example, there are just as many bread vendors in bamenda...but the bread is shaped like a square in the british and american fashion rather than the round french style loaf. also, the clothing reflects a slight american influence with more blue jeans and t-shirts; less slacks and button-ups. also, most people speak english which is an alltogether different language than the french.
in bamenda, we met with the leader of SOME PARTY. the PARTY CERTAINLY HAS A NAME and was started by A PERSON. his/her party platform IS generally SAID TO BE KNOWN FOR calls for free and fair elections, an expansion of the public sector and increased autonomy for each region. I HEARD SOMEBODY SAY HE IS controversial (because the current cameroonian government has a rather complicated relationship with political rights) as well as out of touch with the needs of cameroonians rather enormous youth population(he is calling for term limits when he has held the same post for about twenty years).
ack. gotta go. my french is now good enough to debate in politics. BOOYA.
however, before getting back to yaounde i was able to visit the city of Bamenda: the largest city in the northwest region and the center of political opposition. things in bamenda are recognizably cameroonian...but there are little differences that tug at the brain more and more the longer one stays. for example, there are just as many bread vendors in bamenda...but the bread is shaped like a square in the british and american fashion rather than the round french style loaf. also, the clothing reflects a slight american influence with more blue jeans and t-shirts; less slacks and button-ups. also, most people speak english which is an alltogether different language than the french.
in bamenda, we met with the leader of SOME PARTY. the PARTY CERTAINLY HAS A NAME and was started by A PERSON. his/her party platform IS generally SAID TO BE KNOWN FOR calls for free and fair elections, an expansion of the public sector and increased autonomy for each region. I HEARD SOMEBODY SAY HE IS controversial (because the current cameroonian government has a rather complicated relationship with political rights) as well as out of touch with the needs of cameroonians rather enormous youth population(he is calling for term limits when he has held the same post for about twenty years).
ack. gotta go. my french is now good enough to debate in politics. BOOYA.
Monday, February 22, 2010
evangelical
i went to my first ever evangelical church.
on the way, we passed several catholic churches and i was caught for the first time thinking:
"there is a place i understand. please let these evangelicals change their minds and become catholic right now i dont know what is going to happen here willihavetodrinkpoisonandspeekintonguesohmygod."
i was out of sorts. however, my sisters angel, sarah, and cinderella (in an unbelievable turn of events, she is the niece of my host dad and she has to do all of the work at home. she gets yelled at everyday harder than the other kids. she loves watching hannah montana and laughs quietely the entire time the jonas brothers are on tv. on our way to school she once bought me ice cream because she is unusually kind. i ate it despite my promise to avoid such gastronomic disasters and paid for it later. only a monster would not eat ice cream from cinderella.)seemed to think that everything would be fine.
we arrived a bit late and the kids had to go to sunday school. thus, my peer laura and i entered the upstairs portion of the church to find a non-descript seat. it was very crowded but there were big windows all over the place and a nice dschong breeze. as usual, i couldnt understand what the preacher was saying. however, i saw several other americans in the front of the church. horribly, i knew them. then they stood. everyone clapped. i didnt understand what was happening.
then laura, my peer, told me to stand up while she herself was in the process of exiting our perfectly unobtrusive seating. everyone looked at us.
no.
i stood up because it would have been horrible not to. then, somehow, it was decided that we needed to be seated up front. we walked all the way down and everyone started singing what was, i think, a shockingly wonderful song. many stopped to say bonjour, ca va, etc. then i was in front with the other americans and the preacher was saying something to the effect of "welcome newcomers. this is a church. please do sit down." i sat.
then, as i suppose any evangelical could say, things went very fine. i didnt understand anything the preacher was saying. perhaps he noted that the bible has many stories. he also may have said that it was a nice day and, yes, thats gods doing. hard to say. there were many choirs and they were all better than any church choir i have ever heard. when the service was over, the evangelical preacher shook all of our hands (he was not holding any snakes or poisons as one might expect) and said (in french; not in tongues)thanks for coming. and then in english "thanks for coming"
it went so well that i carried my tiny sisters all the way home.
on the way, we passed several catholic churches and i was caught for the first time thinking:
"there is a place i understand. please let these evangelicals change their minds and become catholic right now i dont know what is going to happen here willihavetodrinkpoisonandspeekintonguesohmygod."
i was out of sorts. however, my sisters angel, sarah, and cinderella (in an unbelievable turn of events, she is the niece of my host dad and she has to do all of the work at home. she gets yelled at everyday harder than the other kids. she loves watching hannah montana and laughs quietely the entire time the jonas brothers are on tv. on our way to school she once bought me ice cream because she is unusually kind. i ate it despite my promise to avoid such gastronomic disasters and paid for it later. only a monster would not eat ice cream from cinderella.)seemed to think that everything would be fine.
we arrived a bit late and the kids had to go to sunday school. thus, my peer laura and i entered the upstairs portion of the church to find a non-descript seat. it was very crowded but there were big windows all over the place and a nice dschong breeze. as usual, i couldnt understand what the preacher was saying. however, i saw several other americans in the front of the church. horribly, i knew them. then they stood. everyone clapped. i didnt understand what was happening.
then laura, my peer, told me to stand up while she herself was in the process of exiting our perfectly unobtrusive seating. everyone looked at us.
no.
i stood up because it would have been horrible not to. then, somehow, it was decided that we needed to be seated up front. we walked all the way down and everyone started singing what was, i think, a shockingly wonderful song. many stopped to say bonjour, ca va, etc. then i was in front with the other americans and the preacher was saying something to the effect of "welcome newcomers. this is a church. please do sit down." i sat.
then, as i suppose any evangelical could say, things went very fine. i didnt understand anything the preacher was saying. perhaps he noted that the bible has many stories. he also may have said that it was a nice day and, yes, thats gods doing. hard to say. there were many choirs and they were all better than any church choir i have ever heard. when the service was over, the evangelical preacher shook all of our hands (he was not holding any snakes or poisons as one might expect) and said (in french; not in tongues)thanks for coming. and then in english "thanks for coming"
it went so well that i carried my tiny sisters all the way home.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
but dust
there are two seasons in cameroon: wet and dry. it is currently situated in the dry season until mid-month next. thusly, i am constantly covered with reddish dust. there are few lawns around here so its really all over the place. i clean my shoes twice weekly! IMAGINE! despite my efforts, i am clearly considered a bum due to my sweaty face and dusty body. Cameroonians, on the other hand, are quite well put together. they always have clean fashionable shoes, nice shirts, and dress pants. every day. i, on the other hand, brought three t shirts (all of which are old) two cowboy shirts (they feel somehow inappropriate i dont know why) and two dress shirts. i have come to rely on these shirts heavily...which means they are the ones that get covered in dust. in fact, when i leave this cybercafe i just may purchase a cameroonian dress shirt. perhaps one with a lion on it.
all goes well here. i am rarely afraid and rarely bored. i certainly miss home, but i think i will make it fine. i have been in this francophone keyboard town for a week now and have 5 or 6 days to go until i visit AN ANGLOPHONE PORTION OF THE COUNTRY. there, i plan to speak exclusively in the queen's.
i have met several big deals, if you will. first, i met a famous cameroonian anti corruption politician (due to his anti corruption tendancies, he is no longer a minister) who said that there is "only one kind of democracy, and it is essential for development". much discussion followed this assertion. next i met a traditional chief of the bamileke people(the largest single ethnicity in cameroon). he was described as a kind and sophisticated intellectual. he lived up to that description and could also be described as smooth talking and gigantic. he had a deep soft voice and talked about his history as chief while he led us around his village. apparently, when he became chief he had to be isolated in a certain building until his wives had a boy and a girl. meanwhile, no one could farm, party, or have a funeral.
this took three years.
after that, i met the sous-prefet of dschang cameroon. he is like a mayor sent by the central government to work on managing the town. prefets in cameroon have an awful reputation of being corrupt and innefective. this man may possibly have been that, but was nonetheless awesome. he gave the visiting students a huge dinner as well as cameroonian beer. he talked about voter independance and the great hopes he has of a clean election next year. he, like the chief, had an image of himself shaking hands with a photoshopped obama.
every ten people are wearing an obama shirt of some sort. strangers come up to me and ask how my father obama is doing. big scary men will yell out their windows "obama americain!"
thank you mr.president
all goes well here. i am rarely afraid and rarely bored. i certainly miss home, but i think i will make it fine. i have been in this francophone keyboard town for a week now and have 5 or 6 days to go until i visit AN ANGLOPHONE PORTION OF THE COUNTRY. there, i plan to speak exclusively in the queen's.
i have met several big deals, if you will. first, i met a famous cameroonian anti corruption politician (due to his anti corruption tendancies, he is no longer a minister) who said that there is "only one kind of democracy, and it is essential for development". much discussion followed this assertion. next i met a traditional chief of the bamileke people(the largest single ethnicity in cameroon). he was described as a kind and sophisticated intellectual. he lived up to that description and could also be described as smooth talking and gigantic. he had a deep soft voice and talked about his history as chief while he led us around his village. apparently, when he became chief he had to be isolated in a certain building until his wives had a boy and a girl. meanwhile, no one could farm, party, or have a funeral.
this took three years.
after that, i met the sous-prefet of dschang cameroon. he is like a mayor sent by the central government to work on managing the town. prefets in cameroon have an awful reputation of being corrupt and innefective. this man may possibly have been that, but was nonetheless awesome. he gave the visiting students a huge dinner as well as cameroonian beer. he talked about voter independance and the great hopes he has of a clean election next year. he, like the chief, had an image of himself shaking hands with a photoshopped obama.
every ten people are wearing an obama shirt of some sort. strangers come up to me and ask how my father obama is doing. big scary men will yell out their windows "obama americain!"
thank you mr.president
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