My Compound, and entrance into my kitchen
My Bathroom
My Living Room
Other View of my living room
Monday, November 3, 2008
My House
My Compound, and entrance into my kitchenMy BathroomMy Living RoomOther View of my living room
Visit to Guivirdig
Out of the 7 CIDA IYIP volunteers that came last year, 4 of us extended. Catherine (aka Cat) was the only one that returned to her original placement. She lived/lives in a small village maybe 60 km outside of Maroua, and last year we heard so much about this village that Sarah and I decided that we had to finally pay her a visit. The plan was to leave Maroua at 10 so that we could make it to market day and spend some time with Cat. At 9:45 I call Sarah only to find out that she wont be ready till 11. I show up at 11 to find her, and her boyfriend Mamoudou eating breakfast. I have a delicious crepe and we are finally on the road within 45 minutes.
We took motos to the bus station, and on the way there it appeared that the vso vehicle was following us. Upon arrival we found a bus that was almost ready to go but that had 2 seats left. We thought that the VSO might be heading in that direction, so we headed over to the car to see what their plan was and if maybe we could hitch a ride. Turns out that it was someone from another organization that has access to the car and that he was just going to the restaurant. We headed back to the bus station only to discover that the bus was full and leaving without us. We then preceded to wait for three hours for the next bus to fill up. We broke down at the side of the road once and had to change a tire. We got stopped by the gendarme and it was discovered that the bus lacked the necessary paperwork and they didn’t want to let us continue. After a discussion between the driver, the gendarme, and a few of the passengers that lasted over half an hour, it was finally decided that we could proceed but that the gendarme would keep what paperwork was there to insure that the bus could not come back full.
We finally arrived in Guivirdig at close to 5pm. The market was closing down and we had missed the Peuls – a tribe of nomadic cattle herders who are apparently very exotic in appearance. We walked quickly around the market, ate some dinner, and started into girl talk. I was so tired from waiting and traveling all day that I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. Finally the three of us squished into a double bed pulled the mosquito net down and fell asleep. Cat had a meeting first thing in the morning so she was not going to accompany us to Pouss and Maga…. She finished her meetings early and we decided that we were not giving her the choice of not coming.
We piled on motos and headed to Pouss. Just outside of Pouss there is a small village with traditional Mousgoum houses. These are giant mud/clay houses that take up to 6 months to build. We had a tour guide that explained that there was a house for the man and one for each of the wives (polygamous). The children would sleep with their respective mothers and once the boys were old enough, they would sleep in the fathers house. Each wife would sleep with her animals and the big animals (cattle, horse, donkeys) would sleep with the man. The women would take turns cooking for everyone, and the night that she cooked for everyone would be her night with the man. In case of invasion, there was a small sanctuary built into the first wife’s house and everyone would pile in there with all the animals. It was very interesting to see these traditional houses.
From there we headed into Pouss, on the way there was a river and right on the other side of that river is Chad. It costs 50cents to cross the river and enter Chad. I for some reason believed that Chad would be different, maybe cause of the conflict that happened there last year but in reality it’s just like Cameroon, well near the border anyways; tribes, language, and customs don’t really obey by borders. We arrived in Pouss with the hopes of seeing the Sultan. The Sultan’s tribe (which I believe is Mousgoum) is reknown for being very tall. It is said that back when the tribe was pure they could be found to be up to three meters tall. I think this is a little exaggerated but who am I to know. The Sultan is however something like 7 feet talk, so I thought that would be interesting. He had however left that morning for another village. We continued on to Maga (which is where we went to see the hippos last year) we had a quick tour around the market, had lunch and went and waited for a bus to bring us back into Maroua. We sat and waited for 3 hours. Cat left us to go find her way back to Guivirdig. They loaded the bus up with goats and sheep… They said that there was too much stuff on top of the bus so they decided to put these animals under the seats. When we finally got on the bus, there was 30 people, 6 mid size animals and various other bags (all in about the same size bus as a miniature school bus). We drove for about 10 minutes and stopped to wait for another hour.
The first half of the ride went fairly smooth; aside from the fact that I had a goat sitting on my feet and at some point it pooped on me. the road was paved. We stopped so that the Muslims could pray. By now it was starting to get dark. After the prayer we got back on the bus and made it a whole 20 minutes before stopping again. This type we had mechanical problems… after 40 minutes they were semi fix and we were off again, or so we thought. We made it probably 15 meters and the bus died again. Big trouble ‘Carborateur’ we waited something like an hour and a half before we gave up hope of making it to Maroua and caught a bus back to Guivirdig.
We got back to Cat’s house to discover that the electricity had been out all day and there was no water. We made use of what we had and called it an early night. At 5 the next morning we were on a bus back to Maroua. This one only had 2 emergency stops (tires) and we made it home safe.
I tell you what a weekend.
We took motos to the bus station, and on the way there it appeared that the vso vehicle was following us. Upon arrival we found a bus that was almost ready to go but that had 2 seats left. We thought that the VSO might be heading in that direction, so we headed over to the car to see what their plan was and if maybe we could hitch a ride. Turns out that it was someone from another organization that has access to the car and that he was just going to the restaurant. We headed back to the bus station only to discover that the bus was full and leaving without us. We then preceded to wait for three hours for the next bus to fill up. We broke down at the side of the road once and had to change a tire. We got stopped by the gendarme and it was discovered that the bus lacked the necessary paperwork and they didn’t want to let us continue. After a discussion between the driver, the gendarme, and a few of the passengers that lasted over half an hour, it was finally decided that we could proceed but that the gendarme would keep what paperwork was there to insure that the bus could not come back full.
We finally arrived in Guivirdig at close to 5pm. The market was closing down and we had missed the Peuls – a tribe of nomadic cattle herders who are apparently very exotic in appearance. We walked quickly around the market, ate some dinner, and started into girl talk. I was so tired from waiting and traveling all day that I fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. Finally the three of us squished into a double bed pulled the mosquito net down and fell asleep. Cat had a meeting first thing in the morning so she was not going to accompany us to Pouss and Maga…. She finished her meetings early and we decided that we were not giving her the choice of not coming.
We piled on motos and headed to Pouss. Just outside of Pouss there is a small village with traditional Mousgoum houses. These are giant mud/clay houses that take up to 6 months to build. We had a tour guide that explained that there was a house for the man and one for each of the wives (polygamous). The children would sleep with their respective mothers and once the boys were old enough, they would sleep in the fathers house. Each wife would sleep with her animals and the big animals (cattle, horse, donkeys) would sleep with the man. The women would take turns cooking for everyone, and the night that she cooked for everyone would be her night with the man. In case of invasion, there was a small sanctuary built into the first wife’s house and everyone would pile in there with all the animals. It was very interesting to see these traditional houses.
From there we headed into Pouss, on the way there was a river and right on the other side of that river is Chad. It costs 50cents to cross the river and enter Chad. I for some reason believed that Chad would be different, maybe cause of the conflict that happened there last year but in reality it’s just like Cameroon, well near the border anyways; tribes, language, and customs don’t really obey by borders. We arrived in Pouss with the hopes of seeing the Sultan. The Sultan’s tribe (which I believe is Mousgoum) is reknown for being very tall. It is said that back when the tribe was pure they could be found to be up to three meters tall. I think this is a little exaggerated but who am I to know. The Sultan is however something like 7 feet talk, so I thought that would be interesting. He had however left that morning for another village. We continued on to Maga (which is where we went to see the hippos last year) we had a quick tour around the market, had lunch and went and waited for a bus to bring us back into Maroua. We sat and waited for 3 hours. Cat left us to go find her way back to Guivirdig. They loaded the bus up with goats and sheep… They said that there was too much stuff on top of the bus so they decided to put these animals under the seats. When we finally got on the bus, there was 30 people, 6 mid size animals and various other bags (all in about the same size bus as a miniature school bus). We drove for about 10 minutes and stopped to wait for another hour.
The first half of the ride went fairly smooth; aside from the fact that I had a goat sitting on my feet and at some point it pooped on me. the road was paved. We stopped so that the Muslims could pray. By now it was starting to get dark. After the prayer we got back on the bus and made it a whole 20 minutes before stopping again. This type we had mechanical problems… after 40 minutes they were semi fix and we were off again, or so we thought. We made it probably 15 meters and the bus died again. Big trouble ‘Carborateur’ we waited something like an hour and a half before we gave up hope of making it to Maroua and caught a bus back to Guivirdig.
We got back to Cat’s house to discover that the electricity had been out all day and there was no water. We made use of what we had and called it an early night. At 5 the next morning we were on a bus back to Maroua. This one only had 2 emergency stops (tires) and we made it home safe.
I tell you what a weekend.
My Moto Ride into Work
My daily routine usually involves getting up sometime around 6am. Cleaning the kitchen and all the dishes, cleaning the living room, sometimes doing laundry, sometimes doing some sort of exercise (either jogging or yoga), hailing the guy for water, eating breakfast, taking a shower, and finally leaving for work around 8:45. Today I was running a little late, you know trying to get everything done in less then three hours can sometimes be challenging. But going to work a little late allowed me to view a different perspective.
As I was walking down my little side street, which I have to say, is one of my favorite activities of the day. There are usually some kids playing who love to practice either their French or English on me by greeting me (they now call me Christine rather than Nasarah- the foreigner or white person. Big Accomplishment). Then there are the regular women who set up booth alongside the street with their peanuts, onions, garlic, and sweet potatoes. They love to talk to me in Fulfulde despite the fact that I don’t understand a word. I reply Djam to just about everything, which is a word you can use to respond to just about everything, until they ask me something that can’t be replied with Djam and then I just stand there and look confuse. This seems to amuse them to no end and they usually end up laughing at me. Along the way, there is usually a mother or two who thinks it’s funny to point me out to their small toddler who is instantly scared of the ‘white monster’- although by now most of the toddlers are getting use to me and no longer start to cry or have an adverse reaction. The point of this is basicially to say that I love my neighborhood. I living in middle-lower income area where a lot of the men are hard-working moto taxi drivers. They often start at 5am and work till 8pm. For the most part children go to school, and women stay at home. The streets are kept clean and it is completely safe for me to walk down this road after dusk.
Anyways back to this morning, it’s as if I could smell the sent of development in the air; there were bags of garbage being placed at the side of the street for garbage disposal… that’s right, Garbage Disposal. I swear there was not an organized system of garbage disposal last year. Everyone (even in Maroua) would through their garbage at the side of the street and /burn as much as possible. But no, sure enough, I saw a large truck picking up the garbage. This may not seem quite as exciting for you, but for me I see it as a step towards taking pride in your city and a huge step in terms of hygiene. A little further long down the road, I noticed several men working on building a two story building. They were passing cement blogs up to one another. Anyone in working in the safety field back home would have a heart attack watching these men in sandals with no safety cap passing blogs of cement across sketchy makeshift ramps made of wood up to more people working on edges with no railings. Despite the fact that it creates in me a little moment of panic, I was so excited to see people working, and building.
Just a little further along, on the opposite side of the road I saw a huge gathering of people, maybe 150 or so. There were cars, trucks and motos stopped to see what was happening. Needless to say that my moto slowed considerably and the driver asked what was happening. It turns out that a thief was killed. That was enough for my moto driver and he continued on. I have to admit that my curiousity was a little deeper but didn’t quite warrant getting off the moto to find out more. When I got to work I couldn’t believe what I had seen so I talked to people to find out more. I got very little more information, but learned that it was the gendarmes that had killed him.
This incident really surprises me because I have never sense the undertone of violence here. The gendarmes are always a bit sketchy but usually in the sense that they are looking for problems so that they can get a bribe.
That was my morning, not necessarily my normal morning.
As I was walking down my little side street, which I have to say, is one of my favorite activities of the day. There are usually some kids playing who love to practice either their French or English on me by greeting me (they now call me Christine rather than Nasarah- the foreigner or white person. Big Accomplishment). Then there are the regular women who set up booth alongside the street with their peanuts, onions, garlic, and sweet potatoes. They love to talk to me in Fulfulde despite the fact that I don’t understand a word. I reply Djam to just about everything, which is a word you can use to respond to just about everything, until they ask me something that can’t be replied with Djam and then I just stand there and look confuse. This seems to amuse them to no end and they usually end up laughing at me. Along the way, there is usually a mother or two who thinks it’s funny to point me out to their small toddler who is instantly scared of the ‘white monster’- although by now most of the toddlers are getting use to me and no longer start to cry or have an adverse reaction. The point of this is basicially to say that I love my neighborhood. I living in middle-lower income area where a lot of the men are hard-working moto taxi drivers. They often start at 5am and work till 8pm. For the most part children go to school, and women stay at home. The streets are kept clean and it is completely safe for me to walk down this road after dusk.
Anyways back to this morning, it’s as if I could smell the sent of development in the air; there were bags of garbage being placed at the side of the street for garbage disposal… that’s right, Garbage Disposal. I swear there was not an organized system of garbage disposal last year. Everyone (even in Maroua) would through their garbage at the side of the street and /burn as much as possible. But no, sure enough, I saw a large truck picking up the garbage. This may not seem quite as exciting for you, but for me I see it as a step towards taking pride in your city and a huge step in terms of hygiene. A little further long down the road, I noticed several men working on building a two story building. They were passing cement blogs up to one another. Anyone in working in the safety field back home would have a heart attack watching these men in sandals with no safety cap passing blogs of cement across sketchy makeshift ramps made of wood up to more people working on edges with no railings. Despite the fact that it creates in me a little moment of panic, I was so excited to see people working, and building.
Just a little further along, on the opposite side of the road I saw a huge gathering of people, maybe 150 or so. There were cars, trucks and motos stopped to see what was happening. Needless to say that my moto slowed considerably and the driver asked what was happening. It turns out that a thief was killed. That was enough for my moto driver and he continued on. I have to admit that my curiousity was a little deeper but didn’t quite warrant getting off the moto to find out more. When I got to work I couldn’t believe what I had seen so I talked to people to find out more. I got very little more information, but learned that it was the gendarmes that had killed him.
This incident really surprises me because I have never sense the undertone of violence here. The gendarmes are always a bit sketchy but usually in the sense that they are looking for problems so that they can get a bribe.
That was my morning, not necessarily my normal morning.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Introduction
I usually get the urge to clean my room at the most inopportune time, never when I have time on my hands but rather when I am looking for a particular item and in trying to find that item I realize just how unorganized I am. I usually have something planned in the afternoon but figure if I am quick I will be able to do it in the time I have left. I start by pulling everything out of every drawer and putting things back in an organized but overcrowded manner. I’ll often come across a memento or picture that will inevitably pull me back into another time and place and sidetrack me into a completely different project (for example scrap booking). Hours pass, I now have to rush to go where I am suppose to be and my room is left in more of a mess then it started off in (except for probably two or three draws that are extremely well organized). While I am completely aware of this rather ineffective method, I seem to constantly fall back into this routine. I say this, not because you are particularly interested in my cleaning habits, but rather as an insight into my personality type and as a backhand explanation as to why I have decided to completely erase my blog and start anew (and a forewarning in case it takes a while). It’s sort of a spring-cleaning of my travel journals. Now deciding what drawer I want to organize first…
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting in a chair in my living room with my feet up, listening to Michael Jackson. Despite the fact that it is almost 6pm on Oct 19, that I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and that I have a fan blowing on me- I can’t stop sweating. Maybe I should explain; I am in Maroua, the capital of the Far North province, in Cameroon. I am currently completing the second month of my second VSO (Voluntary Services Overseas) contract in Cameroon. Last year I came on a six month CIDA-IYIP internship through VSO. I was placed in a small village with no running water, no electricity, and no telephone signal with the mandate of mobilizing the education community and facilitating the creation of a long-term education plan to improve the quality of education and increase the number of girls in schools. I don’t know that I can say that by the time I left that significant changes took place, but I think that when working in the field of development, it’s the small victories and the little changes that you have to celebrate. And of those, there were many and because of that I was delighted when the opportunity arose for me to come back and do another contract.
This time around, I am living in fairly large city (by Cameroonian standards). I have a charming little house with one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, an indoor washroom, and a semi covered compound. I have electricity (thus the fan- yeh). Still no running water- but I ironically I have all the fixtures for water; including toilet, shower, sinks and various taps- I guess it’s comparable to living in Roua last year where I had light switches, light bulbs, and electrical outlets throughout the house despite the fact that the village has never seen electricity. Inexplicable mysteries.
I work for PLACEEN, a Platform for Actors in the Education Community in the Extreme North. My mandate is to create an operational plan, restructure the platform, find potential partners, and create training modules… all of this in 4 months (of course)!?!?! Oh, and get this; they wanted me to restructure the platform 2 weeks after arriving, before meeting any members of the organization. The people I work are very nice, although I am finding it challenging to get them involved the process that I am doing because, the majority of the members are community members with rather time-demanding jobs (ex: Mayors, Principals, Teachers, Other NGOs etc.) This is why far too often I find myself alone in an office with nothing to do but with a lot on my plate. It is kind of difficult to facilitate any kind of process when the participants are too busy to give you the time of day. I don’t mean to sound cynical; the truth is that I find the members of my network incredibly smart and motivated. It boils down to the fact that everyone has to make a living and must therefore prioritize the activity that will put food on the table before being able to think about developing the education sector in their province.
For those of you that followed my last journey, you may already know about Tomazi, but I thought I should probably formally introduce him in my new ‘drawer’ as he is a large part of my life here. He is a Cameroonian from Yaoundé (the Capital of Cameroon), and he is a chef. I met him during the Christmas holiday last year and we have been dating ever since. He accompanied me back to the Far North and has since been trying to start up a catering business. Equipped with an oven and lots of creative recipes, he is actually starting to do pretty well. Pizza and banana bread are the current rage- what can you say, ex-pats really embrace the opportunity to obtain familiar or variations of familiar foods.
I think that covers most of the basics. I hope that I can keep things in order and that I keep ‘cleaning’ before I get sidetracked and / or have to devote my energies into something else. Please give me feed back on anything and please let me know how you are doing… writing a blog can sometimes be very frustrating because you never know if anyone is actually reading what you are taking the time to write… it’s kind of like writing into an abyss.
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m sitting in a chair in my living room with my feet up, listening to Michael Jackson. Despite the fact that it is almost 6pm on Oct 19, that I am wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and that I have a fan blowing on me- I can’t stop sweating. Maybe I should explain; I am in Maroua, the capital of the Far North province, in Cameroon. I am currently completing the second month of my second VSO (Voluntary Services Overseas) contract in Cameroon. Last year I came on a six month CIDA-IYIP internship through VSO. I was placed in a small village with no running water, no electricity, and no telephone signal with the mandate of mobilizing the education community and facilitating the creation of a long-term education plan to improve the quality of education and increase the number of girls in schools. I don’t know that I can say that by the time I left that significant changes took place, but I think that when working in the field of development, it’s the small victories and the little changes that you have to celebrate. And of those, there were many and because of that I was delighted when the opportunity arose for me to come back and do another contract.
This time around, I am living in fairly large city (by Cameroonian standards). I have a charming little house with one bedroom, a living room, a kitchen, an indoor washroom, and a semi covered compound. I have electricity (thus the fan- yeh). Still no running water- but I ironically I have all the fixtures for water; including toilet, shower, sinks and various taps- I guess it’s comparable to living in Roua last year where I had light switches, light bulbs, and electrical outlets throughout the house despite the fact that the village has never seen electricity. Inexplicable mysteries.
I work for PLACEEN, a Platform for Actors in the Education Community in the Extreme North. My mandate is to create an operational plan, restructure the platform, find potential partners, and create training modules… all of this in 4 months (of course)!?!?! Oh, and get this; they wanted me to restructure the platform 2 weeks after arriving, before meeting any members of the organization. The people I work are very nice, although I am finding it challenging to get them involved the process that I am doing because, the majority of the members are community members with rather time-demanding jobs (ex: Mayors, Principals, Teachers, Other NGOs etc.) This is why far too often I find myself alone in an office with nothing to do but with a lot on my plate. It is kind of difficult to facilitate any kind of process when the participants are too busy to give you the time of day. I don’t mean to sound cynical; the truth is that I find the members of my network incredibly smart and motivated. It boils down to the fact that everyone has to make a living and must therefore prioritize the activity that will put food on the table before being able to think about developing the education sector in their province.
For those of you that followed my last journey, you may already know about Tomazi, but I thought I should probably formally introduce him in my new ‘drawer’ as he is a large part of my life here. He is a Cameroonian from Yaoundé (the Capital of Cameroon), and he is a chef. I met him during the Christmas holiday last year and we have been dating ever since. He accompanied me back to the Far North and has since been trying to start up a catering business. Equipped with an oven and lots of creative recipes, he is actually starting to do pretty well. Pizza and banana bread are the current rage- what can you say, ex-pats really embrace the opportunity to obtain familiar or variations of familiar foods.
I think that covers most of the basics. I hope that I can keep things in order and that I keep ‘cleaning’ before I get sidetracked and / or have to devote my energies into something else. Please give me feed back on anything and please let me know how you are doing… writing a blog can sometimes be very frustrating because you never know if anyone is actually reading what you are taking the time to write… it’s kind of like writing into an abyss.
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