Le Voyage au Nord

It’s been a while since I have blogged, but I am currently on vacation and out of my “routine” life in village and have thus been inspired to try to capture some of the absurdities that I begin to view as normal.
The vacation started last week when I left my village in a bush taxi at 6am in the morning. Bush taxis are always fun in that you never know how many passengers you may be crammed in alongside or what type of passengers they may be(co-passengers may include pigs, goats, chickens, large gas tanks that look as though they could explode with too much jostling, and there will definitely be jostling). Typically you will have at least 7 other human passengers than yourself(kids under the age of 10 don’t count as 1 human passenger only if there are 2 of them can they equal 1), then you are jammed in the “car” I also use this term loosely as these are really just old rusted junkers that you wouldn’t imagine could still roll down the road. I should also mention that 2 people share the driver’s seat in the manual cars, this is a feat that I don’t think I could have imagined as possible before this last year but has now become so normal to me I am surprised when the driver is by himself in the seat. I arrived in Nkongsamba, the closest larger town to me where I met up with my friend Ben a fellow PCV with whom I am traveling through the North. He had already loaded the bus and was waiting for me as I arrived taking the spot behind him and next to the a sweet grandma who would provide great entertainment to me throughout the ride with her fabulous singing and dancing skills. Before the bus would take off though we had one last chance for shopping in Nkongsamba, shopping meaning various vendors stepped on the bus with an array of goods perched on their heads. The Grandma next to me bought a classic meal of baton de manioc (a smooshed stick of mashed cassava molded into a banana leaf)and pistache (a blend of dried fish and crushed pumpkin seeds). Soon the driver started the bus and put the world cup songs on repeat Shakira’s This is Africa and the Wave Your Flag song, I felt like we were a soccer team getting pumped to drive to our big game. After hearing that on repeat several times surprisingly some of the Cameroonians got sick of it (this is highly surprising as the music that is played constantly outside my house is the same 4 or 5 Cameroonian songs 20hours a day, no exaggeration!) Those in the back of the bus who were complaining called for Bakosi music traditional music from the area, the driver surprisingly obliged and our bus quickly turned into a dance hall with all the passengers singing along. Another hour down the road a fight errupted in the back of the bus, which was really just a small disagreement between two people but turned into a screaming match between the whole bus (this is quite typical, I don't even remember what this argument was about but often times Southern Cameroonians just like to yell for no reason). Another half hour passed and the same people that were screaming at each other were back to laughing and dancing with one another, and this typifies my average transportation experience, even when taking a short ride from one village to another. Eight hours later the bus pulled into Yaounde where we would stay for the night at the Peace Corps office/transit house to prepare for our train ride the next day.
From Yaounde the only route to make it to the Northern Regions of the country is to take the train and just like everything else the process is made especially difficult. Thankfully we had our friend Justin who lives up north and will be traveling around with us over the next 2 weeks to take care of the tickets for us. The rule is you have to book your tickets 3 days in advance in person not before, not after, then on the day of the voyage you must show up early in the morning to show that you have booked 3 days in advance with your receipt and then you will be assigned a real ticket. Thanks to Justin the process was shortened to us just waiting the Wed. morning by playing musical chairs with the Cameroonians(this was their process of waiting in a line everyone would shift 1 chair forward as 1 person finished the process). Finally that evening we arrived at the train station and were once again en route to the North. Fifteen hours on the train made for a beautiful way to explore the forrested hills of the Center Region, soon though the sun sank below the plains and gave rise to the lights of small villages in the distance, then complete darkness. I woke up several times during the night as the train came to stops and out of the darkness I heard the voices of women and children yelling l'eau, l'eau, l'eau(water, water, water) baton, baton, baton (same food the grandma from the bus enjoyed). The next time I woke up we had already arrived on the lush green plateau that is the Adamaoua Region. The train arrived in Ngoundere late in the morning to pouring down rain. Which brought rise to one of the funnier scenes thus far on my trip as the old lady walking next to me through the rain decided it would be a better idea to just take her clothes off rather than allow them to get soaked by the rain...hmmm is this normal? No one else seemed to be staring at her or finding this as out of the ordinary as I. So, on we continued as we caught the next bus of our trip to the capital of the North Region of Garoua after arriving in the late afternoon we found motos that took us into Justin’s village. Finally Thursday evening at sunset we arrived in Justin’s village of Gashiga after nearly 59 hours of being en route. Gashiga is a small village along a dirt road that leads to Nigeria composed of thatched roofed mud huts sitting in front of red rock mesas…beautiful! I can already see the North is a different world and I am excited about all the opportunities for exploring a new part of this incredibly diverse country!

Fete des Femmes ~ Women’s Week

Whether you are aware or not, March 8th is International Women’s Day. I for one did not even know of the existence of Women’s Day until moving here to Cameroon where it is one of the biggest national holidays. Here in Manjo, we kicked off the festivities March 1st with a women’s walk. Somehow, even though I have never participated in a women’s week in my life, I was named to the organization committee for the planning of the week’s festivities. I was President of the sports committee and on the board of a group who discussed and debated the evolution in women’s equality here in Cameroon and throughout the world. I honestly had no clue where to begin in organizing the fete, and would often get discouraged from all the responsibility given to me with my lack of understanding. But, as the week has come to an end I can say all of the frustrations and moments of feeling discouraged that things weren’t working out as I had imagined where erased by all of the great memories created everyday over the past week.
As for the events that took place during the week: we started the week with a walk through town singing the women’s days hymns, the other sports activities included a handball tournament, a soccer tournament and a second walk where we climbed one of the hills outside of village calling it “The Ascension de Manjo” after the famous race here in Cameroon called “The Ascension de Mt. Cameroon.” We chose two mornings where women would meet in specific areas to clean-up the village, we created two sessions where women would teach each other small income generating projects by making and selling lotions and soaps, women’s rights/empowerment discussion, “Soirée culturel” (glorified village talent show, as I think of it), carnival(where we dressed up in costume and danced around town for money(yes, me included I had a crown of plantain leaves and my face painted black w/charcoal and danced through town to help earn money to pay for the fete), an exposition of local art work, and finally the culmination of all the events the défilé which is similar to a parade.

My women’s sports club marched in the défilé together carrying a plaque that they created reading Club de Sport Ashley de Manjo (Ashley’s sports club, Manjo). I wish I had a video of the defile, because it cannot fully be described without seeing. Women line up with the groups that they are a part of in town and then march together in military fashion all wearing the same dress made of the same women’s day fabric(though my group broke the norm andwore our sports clothes), they march in front of the “place des fetes” where all of the town dignitaries(village chiefs and government officials) sit and watch. Some groups stop in front of the place des fetes and may do a short song or dance that has significance to their group. My club de sport decided that we needed to do an exhibition of ab exercises during the middle of our march. The march was serious business and quite formal to everyone else around me, I personally couldn’t help but crack up as I, in unison with my club, flaunted our expertise in ab exercises to the village chiefs and government dignitaries. I guess that is one way to celebrate women’s empowerment!

Thanksgiving Cameroonian Style

A few weeks ago I hosted 3 of my other volunteer friends Dan, Ben and Abbie who live in nearby villages to join me for Thanksgiving. We didn’t get to indulge on the typical favorites of cranberries or turkey, but we did make some good homemade mashed potatoes and a random assortment of other Thanksgiving meal creations. Typically back home my family, friends and I would either watch a football game on tv, or go watch a basketball tournament or else I would be playing in a basketball tournament. Here as we ate dinner on my porch we watched the kids play soccer in the path in front of the house. One of my favorite things to do over thanksgiving weekend back home is to spend some good time outdoors with friends and family skiing or hiking. Discussing this with Ben we decided that we should make a hiking trip walking to each others villages, crossing the mountain in between and spending the night halfway at Dan’s post.
So the morning after Thanksgiving, we set off walking out of my village to hike the 20 km up to Dan’s village at the base of Mount Manengumba. Dan’s village is quite isolated having only one route in and out that isn’t always passable during rainy season, but it is a beautifully quaint agriculturally driven village. From his village we set off the next morning to meet two friends of Dan’s who live in the neighboring village along the route up the mountain. The two of them joined us to guide us up through the many paths traversing across the mountain. It wasn’t like climbing mountains back home where the paths lead to the summit, summiting typically isn’t the goal of individuals here. Rather, the paths become a maize leading from one families field to another where everything from café, macabo, taro or medicinal plants are grown. This mountain is well-known in the area for the two stunningly beautiful turquoise crater lakes that rest just below the summit. We sat along one of the lakes and ate our lunch of grilled fish and baton du manioc a typical Cameroonian dish that Dan’s neighbor had packed for us to enjoy along our trek. After leaving the summit we descended down the other side of the mountain passing the huts of the Fulbe cow herders that live atop the mountains raising their cattle. It was The Fete du Mouton an important holiday for the Muslim Fulbes and as we hiked past one of the huts a young boy came out dressed in a suite to chop wood to prepare for the celebration. (I will try to upload a photo of this boy). It was a very contradicting scene standing atop the mountainside regarding the impressive patchwork of the thatched roof and out walks the boy in his suite and tie. That is how life seems to be here though, always contradicting itself and yet I never cease to be surprised and awed.

A young fulbe boy on Mount Manengumba preparing for the Fete du Mouton

Dan, Ben and I looking out over the caldera below

Mount Manengumba summit looking out over the crater lakes

Installation of a New Village Chief

The region of Western Cameroon in particular is rich with culture, specifically in the tradition of village chiefs. In October I had the honor of being invited to join a couple of my other volunteer friends to attend the installation of a new chief in the village of Badenkup in the West Region of Cameroon. I have now taken part in some incredible ceremonies and celebrations here in Cameroon, but the enthroning of a village chief has no comparison in terms of the magnitude and magnificence of the ceremony.
Every village chief from within the West region of Cameroon attended the ceremony along with dignitaries, government officials and the whole community of Badenkup. We arrived with the chief of the neighboring village, where my friend Kareen is a volunteer, we were sat close to the throne of the new chief and had prime space to view all that was about to take place. This was quite lucky as thousands of people were in attendance at this ceremony, kids had climbed up trees surrounding the field to get a view of the action.
To give a little background, the chief of a village is the traditional leader of a community and the title of chief is passed down within a family from generation to generation. Before a chief passes away he has already told his notables (chief’s advisory counsel) whom he has chosen of his sons to replace him as village chief. The very moment a chief passes away the notables search the chosen son and whisk him away to the secret house where in tradition the notables spend nine months teaching the replacement all the ways of the chiefdom. Also important during this time passed within the secret house the soon to be chief is with his new wife so they can conceive their first child around the time that he will become enthroned. However, for some reason that I didn’t understand the 9 months has now been changed to 9 weeks at least in the circumstance of the new chief of Badenkup.
Imagine, the son of the old chief has just lost his father and has immediately been given the most powerful position in all of the village, now imagine this for a 17 year old boy as in the case of the new chief of Badenkup. At the moment the young chief walked through the entrance leading to the palace grounds the crowd of thousands surrounding the open field erupted with shouts, cheers, song and dance. The young boy kept his face serious and raised his arms in gratitude for the great welcome, but I wondered what was really going through the head of this young boy who had suddenly become the most powerful man in his village while a few weeks before he was just another young boy in the local high school. Now the young boy was standing in the midst of thousands carrying the hopes of a whole village and facing the challenge of carrying the traditions into the modernized world.