I have made it safely back at my home near Washington DC. I am tired and a little dazed, so I will run through the basic points of my odyssey from Cameroon.
Friday: Went to Mile 17 to prearrange a clando (private car) to Douala with the help of Christy, Jill's research assistant. We were able to secure a decent rate at a time early enough so that I wouldn't have to worry about Douala's horrendous traffic or unexpected obstacles along the way. In exchange, I've agreed to take a dress to one of Christy's friends in nearby Maryland.
Saturday: The clando and its driver, Victor, arrived at 6am and I left my keys in the door of the guest house, put my luggage in the trunk of the clando, and drove through waking Buea onto Douala. We arrived to the airport without any issue and Victor was very courteous in helping me bring my luggage into the airport. Once I got into the airport, things began to go downhill. An overweight carry-on bag resulted in the loss of 7500 CFA. Even worse, I had to bribe an airport official 40,000 CFA before I was allowed to leave the country because of visa issues. The flight from Douala to Addis Ababa was a hour and a half late, arriving in Addis Ababa 10 minutes after my connecting flight to Washington DC had left. The hotel put me up in a hotel and set me up for another DC flight the next night.
Sunday: Turns out missing the flight wasn't so much of a bad thing. It allowed me to avoid spending more than 24 hours straight on a plane ride. It also gave me some time to explore a little bit of Addis. Went to see the National Museum, where I took tons of pictures of Lucy and other paleohominid fossils. I chatted up a local and bought an Obama shirt. I wandered a bit around the city before hoping into a minibus at the suggestion of my local friend. The taxi ride to the National Museum cost 50 birr; the minibus back cost 1. Got back to the hotel, enjoyed some Ethiopian food courtesy of the airport, booted up the hot water heater, drew a bath, and soaked. A bus arrived, took me to the airport, and I hopped on a 17 hour flight back home.
Addendum: Back home safe and sound. Everything is good, except that my laptop is not booting up, which is a problem because 3 months of field work and interviews are on it. I have backups of most of my research on cassette tape, but it more work is required before the data from the backups can be analyzed. It also means that there will be no pictures until the laptop is fixed; IF it is fixed.
Oh well. It was great to see my family again and lie down on my old bed.
Cameroon was great. I thank the nation, its people, and everyone that participated in a truly wonderful experience. Even with all the set backs and frustrations, these past 3 months have been inspiring and profoundly impactful. Thank you.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Day 81: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Being Called Shinwa
(Though Hee Hong still annoys me)
Integration into another culture is a topic that has been on my mind for a while, and I’m sure that it’s a subject that many expats come across sooner or later.
As an academic researcher, a certain degree of integration is important to me in order to avoid alienating potential research participants, to understand my subject population, and in order to have access to segments of the population that may otherwise be unavailable (such as those who are only comfortable speaking pidgin). But there is shallower part of me that would take pride in being a fluent traveler who can blend in wherever I go. I find this part of me rather annoying for several reasons, least of which is because its bombastic expectations are so often disappointed.
While third world immigrants who struggle to assimilate into the culture of a first world nation are often the subjects of various books, films, and documentaries, the expatriate who works to integrate into the developing world seems to have a less significant presence in the cultural institutions of the West. Having immigrated into the US at the age of six, I have some experience in integration into the developed world. It’s the latter issue that I am attempting to deal with here in Cameroon.
How and to what extent integration occurs can speak volumes about both the individuals attempting to integrate and the host culture in question
The American culture seems almost designed for integration: political correctness (enforced, to an extent, by law) discourages prejudices of any kind, but especially of ethnicity; the cuisine is a multicultural menu, on which few items are authentically of American origin; the socio-political atmosphere encourages the adoption of the American identity; etc. I don’t mean to say that integrating into American culture is free of tribulations, or easy. My experience was neither. How, then, when even native Cameroonians can be considered “whiteman,” can anyone hope to integrate into a culture with such a strong idea of who is and is not a member of its constituency?
I don’t know the answer to that question and I’m not sure if an answer even exists.
My heritage originates from an ethnically Korean enclave in China. I am an ethnic Korean, born in Beijing, with an American upbringing, which can make things interesting when a curious Cameroonian inquisitor asks me where I am from. The conversation usually continues:
Me: “From America”
Curious in Cameroon: “But you are Chinese?”
Me: “No, I’m Korean.”
Curious in Cameroon: “You were born in Korea, or America?”
Me: “I was born in China.”
Curious in Cameroon: “Oh… Do you speak Chinese? Ni hong!”
Me: “No. I speak Fulfulde. Jam na!”
Curious in Cameroon: “???”
(I actually do speak Chinese, but I deny it to avoid conversations in indecipherably butchered Mandarin. I also enjoy seeing the shocked-confused look on the faces of locals while they try to come to terms with a Shinwa who speaks Fulfulde, but not Chinese)
When I walk down the street, a fraction of the time I get a Cameroonian who shouts out whiteman! While this confused me at first, I preferred it much more to the calls of Shinwa! Chinese! Beijing! Jackie Chan! Ching Ching Chong! Hee Hong! and others that make up the rest of my everyday soundtrack in Cameroon. In the first few weeks, when walking through the market drew sneers of from merchants or idle men sitting at local chop shops, my hopes of being welcomed into the Cameroonian culture were dashed, as I believed myself relegated into a category of stingy Easterner. “I’m an American, damnit!” I wanted to shout at them. Maybe being a whiteman isn’t the greatest thing for integration into an African culture, but I didn’t come to Cameroon to be harassed. I’ve been told that the epithets are innocent, that most hecklers don’t mean any malice, but having grown up in California in the wake of the Rodney King riots, some of the calls strike a nerve.
My turning point was during an October afternoon in Limbe with Dr. Kamga, a close friend. During the drive down, we were bombarded with the usual salvo of whiteman and shinwa, and I asked Dr. Kamga what the Cameroonian views on the Chinese were.
“Twenty or thirty years ago, many of Cameroonians would not have been able to tell the difference between Chinese and Europeans,” he explained. “The Chinese are still considered white, because of their skin color, but now many Cameroonians recognize that the Chinese are different from Europeans or Americans. There is a certain level that is expected of the [Caucasians]. You would never expect them to do certain things or work certain jobs, even if they had stayed here for a long time. But the Chinese in Cameroon have taken their place in every level of society. They may take jobs like selling puf pufs or groundnuts. Some of them have even taken jobs that Cameroonians would not take! I told you the Chinese built Buea Hospital? When the workers came, they brought their families with them and their wives worked in the town. I think because of this, Cameroonians can respect the Chinese because they recognize that they are here to try to make a living, like them.”
Dr. Kamga continued, “In Bafoussam, they say that the Chinese are all Bamileke.” Dr. Kamga, whose father is Bamileke, laughs. The Bamileke are Cameroon’s entrepreneurial minority. Like the Gurage in Ethiopia, or the Luo in Kenya, Bamileke own a disproportionate percentage of businesses in Cameroon, and are seen as stingy and manipulative. To ask someone if they are Bamileke is an insult suggesting miserliness.
I tell Dr. Kamga about mamas at the market who sneer at me under their breath—Chinese worka!—when I haggle to hard or decline to buy their goods.
“You see? You are being treated like a Chinese, but the Chinese are treated like Bamileke!” Sitting lotus style underneath the Bodhi tree, a tiny part of me woke up.
By this time, we had reached Down Beach. The epithets continued, but their barbs had softened and they had lost their venom. I took Limbe in through new eyes and felt something shift inside. I still didn’t know the secret of integration, but it all seemed to matter less and less. I had gotten a wonderful insight into the interaction of two cultures, and what’s more, I was living that experience. That seemed to be far more important. Besides, those Chinese workers didn’t have a how-to guide, or a four-part business plan for Cameroonian integration; they came from one developing country to another, looking for a way to put food on the table. Being mistaken for Chinese national isn't a ticket to inclusion, but maybe it'll provide me just enough of a sense of integration to shrug off some self-imposed pressure and enjoy where I am. I approached the fish mamas and began to haggle with a renewed vigor—I had a reputation to live up to, after all.
Integration into another culture is a topic that has been on my mind for a while, and I’m sure that it’s a subject that many expats come across sooner or later.
As an academic researcher, a certain degree of integration is important to me in order to avoid alienating potential research participants, to understand my subject population, and in order to have access to segments of the population that may otherwise be unavailable (such as those who are only comfortable speaking pidgin). But there is shallower part of me that would take pride in being a fluent traveler who can blend in wherever I go. I find this part of me rather annoying for several reasons, least of which is because its bombastic expectations are so often disappointed.
While third world immigrants who struggle to assimilate into the culture of a first world nation are often the subjects of various books, films, and documentaries, the expatriate who works to integrate into the developing world seems to have a less significant presence in the cultural institutions of the West. Having immigrated into the US at the age of six, I have some experience in integration into the developed world. It’s the latter issue that I am attempting to deal with here in Cameroon.
How and to what extent integration occurs can speak volumes about both the individuals attempting to integrate and the host culture in question
The American culture seems almost designed for integration: political correctness (enforced, to an extent, by law) discourages prejudices of any kind, but especially of ethnicity; the cuisine is a multicultural menu, on which few items are authentically of American origin; the socio-political atmosphere encourages the adoption of the American identity; etc. I don’t mean to say that integrating into American culture is free of tribulations, or easy. My experience was neither. How, then, when even native Cameroonians can be considered “whiteman,” can anyone hope to integrate into a culture with such a strong idea of who is and is not a member of its constituency?
I don’t know the answer to that question and I’m not sure if an answer even exists.
My heritage originates from an ethnically Korean enclave in China. I am an ethnic Korean, born in Beijing, with an American upbringing, which can make things interesting when a curious Cameroonian inquisitor asks me where I am from. The conversation usually continues:
Me: “From America”
Curious in Cameroon: “But you are Chinese?”
Me: “No, I’m Korean.”
Curious in Cameroon: “You were born in Korea, or America?”
Me: “I was born in China.”
Curious in Cameroon: “Oh… Do you speak Chinese? Ni hong!”
Me: “No. I speak Fulfulde. Jam na!”
Curious in Cameroon: “???”
(I actually do speak Chinese, but I deny it to avoid conversations in indecipherably butchered Mandarin. I also enjoy seeing the shocked-confused look on the faces of locals while they try to come to terms with a Shinwa who speaks Fulfulde, but not Chinese)
When I walk down the street, a fraction of the time I get a Cameroonian who shouts out whiteman! While this confused me at first, I preferred it much more to the calls of Shinwa! Chinese! Beijing! Jackie Chan! Ching Ching Chong! Hee Hong! and others that make up the rest of my everyday soundtrack in Cameroon. In the first few weeks, when walking through the market drew sneers of from merchants or idle men sitting at local chop shops, my hopes of being welcomed into the Cameroonian culture were dashed, as I believed myself relegated into a category of stingy Easterner. “I’m an American, damnit!” I wanted to shout at them. Maybe being a whiteman isn’t the greatest thing for integration into an African culture, but I didn’t come to Cameroon to be harassed. I’ve been told that the epithets are innocent, that most hecklers don’t mean any malice, but having grown up in California in the wake of the Rodney King riots, some of the calls strike a nerve.
My turning point was during an October afternoon in Limbe with Dr. Kamga, a close friend. During the drive down, we were bombarded with the usual salvo of whiteman and shinwa, and I asked Dr. Kamga what the Cameroonian views on the Chinese were.
“Twenty or thirty years ago, many of Cameroonians would not have been able to tell the difference between Chinese and Europeans,” he explained. “The Chinese are still considered white, because of their skin color, but now many Cameroonians recognize that the Chinese are different from Europeans or Americans. There is a certain level that is expected of the [Caucasians]. You would never expect them to do certain things or work certain jobs, even if they had stayed here for a long time. But the Chinese in Cameroon have taken their place in every level of society. They may take jobs like selling puf pufs or groundnuts. Some of them have even taken jobs that Cameroonians would not take! I told you the Chinese built Buea Hospital? When the workers came, they brought their families with them and their wives worked in the town. I think because of this, Cameroonians can respect the Chinese because they recognize that they are here to try to make a living, like them.”
Dr. Kamga continued, “In Bafoussam, they say that the Chinese are all Bamileke.” Dr. Kamga, whose father is Bamileke, laughs. The Bamileke are Cameroon’s entrepreneurial minority. Like the Gurage in Ethiopia, or the Luo in Kenya, Bamileke own a disproportionate percentage of businesses in Cameroon, and are seen as stingy and manipulative. To ask someone if they are Bamileke is an insult suggesting miserliness.
I tell Dr. Kamga about mamas at the market who sneer at me under their breath—Chinese worka!—when I haggle to hard or decline to buy their goods.
“You see? You are being treated like a Chinese, but the Chinese are treated like Bamileke!” Sitting lotus style underneath the Bodhi tree, a tiny part of me woke up.
By this time, we had reached Down Beach. The epithets continued, but their barbs had softened and they had lost their venom. I took Limbe in through new eyes and felt something shift inside. I still didn’t know the secret of integration, but it all seemed to matter less and less. I had gotten a wonderful insight into the interaction of two cultures, and what’s more, I was living that experience. That seemed to be far more important. Besides, those Chinese workers didn’t have a how-to guide, or a four-part business plan for Cameroonian integration; they came from one developing country to another, looking for a way to put food on the table. Being mistaken for Chinese national isn't a ticket to inclusion, but maybe it'll provide me just enough of a sense of integration to shrug off some self-imposed pressure and enjoy where I am. I approached the fish mamas and began to haggle with a renewed vigor—I had a reputation to live up to, after all.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Day 77
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
Here's a picture of a cute little girl in Bakingali (it's the only picture I managed to upload to flickr without any issues) Enjoy!
Here's a picture of a cute little girl in Bakingali (it's the only picture I managed to upload to flickr without any issues) Enjoy!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Day 68
Mt. Cameroon stands at 13,255 ft (4040m). It is an active volcano and is the highest point in West and Central Africa—and I climbed it! As one of the most physically and mentally challenging endeavors to date, the climb to and from the summit was absolutely exhilarating and worth every drop of sweat, tears, and blood (there really wasn’t very many tears or blood—honest!). There were times where the vista was absolutely stunning, and other times, like the climb through the savanna on the Guinness Trail, that were soul crushing.
While the slow ascent through thin air and howling winds to the mist shrouded peak was less than spectacular, the descent eventually led to one of the most awe inspiring sights on the mountain: a Serengeti-esque wind-swept savanna on a plateau 3000m high, surrounded on all sides by oceans of billowing white clouds.
The last day brought the toughest challenges: a march through highland forest, old lava flows, and rain forest at breakneck speeds for 8 hours with 3 breaks, and a 15 minute run over slick, wet rocks while the porter in front of me screamed “ants! ants!” and the guide behind me shouted “Run, Samwell! Run faster!” Army ants. Fun times.
Another notch under my belt: I finished the trek from Buea, to the summit, down to Bakingali, at sea level (normally a 4 day trek) in 3 days—the fastest time for a visitor. The visitor notation is important, because the porters, who carry huge rucksacks filled with supplies on their heads with nothing but plastic sandals, are in a different class of their own. In an altogether different league from sane people are the participants of the Race for Hope: a marathon up and down the Guinness race track, where runners have been known to climb the mountain in less than 4 hours! Still, I’ll take my meager feat with pride and distinction, thank you very much.
While the slow ascent through thin air and howling winds to the mist shrouded peak was less than spectacular, the descent eventually led to one of the most awe inspiring sights on the mountain: a Serengeti-esque wind-swept savanna on a plateau 3000m high, surrounded on all sides by oceans of billowing white clouds.
The last day brought the toughest challenges: a march through highland forest, old lava flows, and rain forest at breakneck speeds for 8 hours with 3 breaks, and a 15 minute run over slick, wet rocks while the porter in front of me screamed “ants! ants!” and the guide behind me shouted “Run, Samwell! Run faster!” Army ants. Fun times.
Another notch under my belt: I finished the trek from Buea, to the summit, down to Bakingali, at sea level (normally a 4 day trek) in 3 days—the fastest time for a visitor. The visitor notation is important, because the porters, who carry huge rucksacks filled with supplies on their heads with nothing but plastic sandals, are in a different class of their own. In an altogether different league from sane people are the participants of the Race for Hope: a marathon up and down the Guinness race track, where runners have been known to climb the mountain in less than 4 hours! Still, I’ll take my meager feat with pride and distinction, thank you very much.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Day 62
Not thirty minutes away from Buea is Limbe, a lively getaway town in the shadow of Mt. Cameroon. Limbe is the destination of the hundreds of souls teaming through Douala’s congested throughways on Friday afternoons; it’s not hard to see why. Stretching lazily along the Atlantic shore, the spacious streets and easygoing atmosphere makes Limbe feel like a secret vacation getaway only known by a handful of friends and myself. The large number of easily visible westerners deflates this illusion, but despite that, most of the town feels far less of a tourist trap than it actually is.
Down Beach lies near the center of town along Ambas bay and is one of my favorite places. This is mostly because of the Down Beach fish market, where I like to practice my haggling as well as enjoy a delicious meal of grilled fish and plantains at plastic tables set on the black sand. While I can get a fairly good deal regularly, I’ve a long way to come to match Dr. Kamga, who once got the price of fish dropped from 2500 CFA to 900 CFA without as much as clearing his throat.
It was literally:
Me: “How much for this fish?”
Fish mama: “two five”
Dr. Kamga: “Give me for nine hundred”
Fish mama: “okay.”
Annoyingly, Dr. Kamga won’t give any of his secrets, leaving me to take notes furiously.
Another favorite destination, courtesy of PCVs Bill, Caitlin, and Brian, is Madison Park, which actually is very much hidden away and little known, but is a jewel as beaches go. The soft black sand, the warm rolling surf, and elegant palm trees are looked over by Mt. Etinde (or Small Mt. Cameroon) and gives the entire beach the appearance of a movie set. As guests at Madison Park, we were often the only ones enjoying the ocean. Once in a while, we would be joined by French expats from a nearby private beach or local boys who had the curious habit of singing to us as they boogie boarded on palm fronds. The ocean was wonderfully welcoming, and I learned to float in these waters. At night, we rented tents and fell asleep to the sound of the sea. We woke in the morning to the sound of John Coltrane and Mahalia Jackson, courtesy of Roland.
As a love struck victim of New Orleans’ brass and tom-tom siren song and marching band dirge, I couldn’t help but compare Roland, the blues aficionado caretaker of Madison Park, to the Big Easy. A city not only shaped by its circumstances, but also of them, New Orleans is the descendant of French Acadians, African slaves, European colonizers, and the native Choctaw that each contributed to its indissoluble spirit. It makes me reflect on the numerous influences on the cultures of Cameroon, and while Roland’s affinity to the blues may seem unlikely, it also seems to carries a weighty inevitability. We chatted into the night about the nature of blues: how it was the music of everyday life. We talked about the parallel rhythms of the pounding of the chain gang and the cassava pestle, the life and times of Fela Kuti, and the struggles that created and sustained the gospel spirituals in America.
Roland lives and breathes the blues; a fact that keeps me tethered in reality in such a beautiful land. I once offered empty banter, as an American is wont to do.
“Please, do not call this a paradise,” he replies, staring at offshore thunderclouds. “It is no such thing.”
Down Beach lies near the center of town along Ambas bay and is one of my favorite places. This is mostly because of the Down Beach fish market, where I like to practice my haggling as well as enjoy a delicious meal of grilled fish and plantains at plastic tables set on the black sand. While I can get a fairly good deal regularly, I’ve a long way to come to match Dr. Kamga, who once got the price of fish dropped from 2500 CFA to 900 CFA without as much as clearing his throat.
It was literally:
Me: “How much for this fish?”
Fish mama: “two five”
Dr. Kamga: “Give me for nine hundred”
Fish mama: “okay.”
Annoyingly, Dr. Kamga won’t give any of his secrets, leaving me to take notes furiously.
Another favorite destination, courtesy of PCVs Bill, Caitlin, and Brian, is Madison Park, which actually is very much hidden away and little known, but is a jewel as beaches go. The soft black sand, the warm rolling surf, and elegant palm trees are looked over by Mt. Etinde (or Small Mt. Cameroon) and gives the entire beach the appearance of a movie set. As guests at Madison Park, we were often the only ones enjoying the ocean. Once in a while, we would be joined by French expats from a nearby private beach or local boys who had the curious habit of singing to us as they boogie boarded on palm fronds. The ocean was wonderfully welcoming, and I learned to float in these waters. At night, we rented tents and fell asleep to the sound of the sea. We woke in the morning to the sound of John Coltrane and Mahalia Jackson, courtesy of Roland.
As a love struck victim of New Orleans’ brass and tom-tom siren song and marching band dirge, I couldn’t help but compare Roland, the blues aficionado caretaker of Madison Park, to the Big Easy. A city not only shaped by its circumstances, but also of them, New Orleans is the descendant of French Acadians, African slaves, European colonizers, and the native Choctaw that each contributed to its indissoluble spirit. It makes me reflect on the numerous influences on the cultures of Cameroon, and while Roland’s affinity to the blues may seem unlikely, it also seems to carries a weighty inevitability. We chatted into the night about the nature of blues: how it was the music of everyday life. We talked about the parallel rhythms of the pounding of the chain gang and the cassava pestle, the life and times of Fela Kuti, and the struggles that created and sustained the gospel spirituals in America.
Roland lives and breathes the blues; a fact that keeps me tethered in reality in such a beautiful land. I once offered empty banter, as an American is wont to do.
“Please, do not call this a paradise,” he replies, staring at offshore thunderclouds. “It is no such thing.”
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Yes We Can
This night was nothing less than spiritual.
Equipped with two large bottles of caffeinated cola, I tuned into CNN and prepared for a long night. It began with the anticipation of the coming elections, but soon gave way to jittery excitement. By the time Kentucky was projected and results for Virginia and Indiana announced, I began to harbor a slow dread that ignored the low reporting rate. The ride was just beginning.
This was a night that I hope to remember for as long as I am. At 5AM, when Virginia was projected in favor of the blue, and Obama was soon declared the next president of the United States of America, I was in a daze. I whooped and hollered. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The Cameroonians who had risen to see the results faded away into the muffled periphery as I absorbed what I was seeing: the screaming crowds; Jesse Jackson’s tears; “hold on… help is on the way.” When John McCain delivered his concession speech, I was moved by his graciousness, and the sincerity that he revealed when speaking about his love for his country. I felt for him, but even more, I felt relief: it was over.
But as Barack Obama began to speak, every part of me listened and heard and shuttered with the wonder of it all. As the speech came to a close, it left me overwhelmed in its wake. My hands around my mouth, eyes fixed upon the screen, I wept uncontrollably. It hit me like a truck. Hot tears swelled in my eyes, then spilled down my face and past my fingers, unstoppable. I felt excited and freed and victorious and so goddamned hopeful it hurt. It felt like I had been exorcised, that great burdens had been pulled out by the salt of my tears.
From behind the guesthouse television, the sun rose over the Wouri river and daylight streamed in through the wrought-iron bars of the window. It’s a new day. Yes we can.
Equipped with two large bottles of caffeinated cola, I tuned into CNN and prepared for a long night. It began with the anticipation of the coming elections, but soon gave way to jittery excitement. By the time Kentucky was projected and results for Virginia and Indiana announced, I began to harbor a slow dread that ignored the low reporting rate. The ride was just beginning.
This was a night that I hope to remember for as long as I am. At 5AM, when Virginia was projected in favor of the blue, and Obama was soon declared the next president of the United States of America, I was in a daze. I whooped and hollered. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The Cameroonians who had risen to see the results faded away into the muffled periphery as I absorbed what I was seeing: the screaming crowds; Jesse Jackson’s tears; “hold on… help is on the way.” When John McCain delivered his concession speech, I was moved by his graciousness, and the sincerity that he revealed when speaking about his love for his country. I felt for him, but even more, I felt relief: it was over.
But as Barack Obama began to speak, every part of me listened and heard and shuttered with the wonder of it all. As the speech came to a close, it left me overwhelmed in its wake. My hands around my mouth, eyes fixed upon the screen, I wept uncontrollably. It hit me like a truck. Hot tears swelled in my eyes, then spilled down my face and past my fingers, unstoppable. I felt excited and freed and victorious and so goddamned hopeful it hurt. It felt like I had been exorcised, that great burdens had been pulled out by the salt of my tears.
From behind the guesthouse television, the sun rose over the Wouri river and daylight streamed in through the wrought-iron bars of the window. It’s a new day. Yes we can.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Day 54
Happy Election Day! The US elections have really caused a lot of excitement here in Cameroon. People everywhere are abuzz about the 4th, and I’ve gotten into conversations with all sorts of people here about it, from taxi drivers to merchants; pretty much anyone who suspects that I’m from the US, and even a few that don’t. Radio stations and newspapers everywhere are posting the latest news and rumors about the elections, and on at least two separate occasions, a small convoy of trucks has driven up and down the road, blaring news about Obama on megaphones.
I’ve been catching snippets of the elections here and there, and I’m confident of a Obama victory, despite the conspiracy theories raised by my Cameroonian colleagues and I am so damn excited for this to go down. I’ve invited some friends and acquaintances over to the guesthouse to watch the election coverage. I’m going to make pizza again, for a taste of home while I watch history unfold. Go Vote!
I’ve been catching snippets of the elections here and there, and I’m confident of a Obama victory, despite the conspiracy theories raised by my Cameroonian colleagues and I am so damn excited for this to go down. I’ve invited some friends and acquaintances over to the guesthouse to watch the election coverage. I’m going to make pizza again, for a taste of home while I watch history unfold. Go Vote!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Day 49
On November 10, professors and lecturers all across Cameroon, organized through the National Union of Teachers of Higher Education (SYNES), will attempt to stage a week-long nation-wide strike in protest of poor working conditions and abysmal salaries. According to SYNES, professors in Cameroon are the poorest paid University level educators in Africa, including less wealthy and stable nations such as Chad. I’ve been told that the police and the military (including gendarmes) earn much more than professors, and that their salaries will be increased yet again because of government fears of a coup.
Professors aren’t the only ones that are unsatisfied with their working conditions or low pay: the Cameroonian postal service has been on strike, demanding higher pay. This has been fairly disruptive; especially since the nearest DHL office is in Douala, about 60 miles away. This also means that I have no idea if will be able to get my absentee ballot to the US in time to be counted. These strikes follow strikes and riots in February, when discontentment withe the government, a taxi strike protesting high fuel costs, and the global spikes in food prices coincided with deadly consequences.
I'm confident that these strikes will be safe and nonviolent, but they do seem to be signs that the discontent of the current administration are becoming increasingly outspoken.
Professors aren’t the only ones that are unsatisfied with their working conditions or low pay: the Cameroonian postal service has been on strike, demanding higher pay. This has been fairly disruptive; especially since the nearest DHL office is in Douala, about 60 miles away. This also means that I have no idea if will be able to get my absentee ballot to the US in time to be counted. These strikes follow strikes and riots in February, when discontentment withe the government, a taxi strike protesting high fuel costs, and the global spikes in food prices coincided with deadly consequences.
I'm confident that these strikes will be safe and nonviolent, but they do seem to be signs that the discontent of the current administration are becoming increasingly outspoken.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Day 46
I am at the halfway mark: I’ve been in Cameroon and month and a half. I have to admit I feel a small bit of pride on being able to adjust to life here (compared to the bumbling, stumbling, and oblivious me who spent 2500CFA on an egg and baguette breakfast). One aspect I’m still struggling with, though, is the slow pace of work at the university. I don’t think I’m behind on my research, but there are days that I’ve felt fairly restless.
To focus some of my energy and eat up my time, I’ve started volunteering with Helps International, a local NGO here in Buea. They work with a wide array of issues, including HIV education, literacy, and computer training. Currently, I’m working with the founder, Genesis (such a great name), on a grant proposal for a microcredit loan program for women in the Southwest province. The program is pretty innovative and well thought out. It aims to provide 300 microcredit loans to women, organizing them into groups of 15 women who are collectively responsible for the loans, so any women who default on the loans have to be supported by the other women in the group. In order to get the loans, the women are required to take small business management classes. In their pilot program, they’ve had a loan default rate of 1%, and a loan return of 100%. In addition, the women also are trained as HIV educators, in the hopes that they will increase awareness of the disease and any business success garnered from the loans will increase their status as opinion leaders in their families and communities.
To focus some of my energy and eat up my time, I’ve started volunteering with Helps International, a local NGO here in Buea. They work with a wide array of issues, including HIV education, literacy, and computer training. Currently, I’m working with the founder, Genesis (such a great name), on a grant proposal for a microcredit loan program for women in the Southwest province. The program is pretty innovative and well thought out. It aims to provide 300 microcredit loans to women, organizing them into groups of 15 women who are collectively responsible for the loans, so any women who default on the loans have to be supported by the other women in the group. In order to get the loans, the women are required to take small business management classes. In their pilot program, they’ve had a loan default rate of 1%, and a loan return of 100%. In addition, the women also are trained as HIV educators, in the hopes that they will increase awareness of the disease and any business success garnered from the loans will increase their status as opinion leaders in their families and communities.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Day 41
I made fufu and eru! Well, kinda. It turns out that the rough instructions I was given to make eru was incomplete. I took the ingredients I had, chopped eru and waterleaf, maggi sauce, and oil and obliviously threw it all in a pot before the meal was rescued by a Cameroonian couple staying at the guest house. Coincidentally, they had also planned on making fufu and eru that night, and I played apprentice while trying to salvage my own meal.
So for those of you who are curious, here’s a ballpark recipe for making fufu and eru:
Ingredients:
Dried fish
Dried crayfish (prawns)
Canidae (beef skin)
Maggi cubes
Red palm oil
Hot peppers
Eru
Waterleaf (spinach can be used instead)
Beef
Cut the canidae into squares and place into a large saucepan with a little bit of oil and enough water to just cover the canidae and cook until tender (may take a while, but you can get this precooked). If beef is being used, cook this as well. Wash and chop the waterleaf, and crush the crayfish until they’ve become powdery. If you want to add peppers, crush them as well.
Add a little bit of water (maybe half a cup to a cup) to the saucepan and add the eru until it’s begun to wilt and reduce. Also add the peppers, the crayfish, dried fish, and maggi. There shouldn’t be too much water in the pot, since the eru should be steamed rather than boiled. After the eru has been steamed, it will wilt down. At this point, add the chopped waterleaf and the red palm oil (about ¼ cup). Wait until the waterleaf is also wilted and mix everything.
The fufu involves adding water to fufu mix and kneading out all the lumps. This mixture is then place into a pot and cooked. The fufu needs to be “stirred” or pushed around with a big stick to make sure it cooks evenly and doesn’t burn on the sides of the pot.
The fufu is pulled into pieces and rolled up and served with eru. Traditionally, fufu and eru is eaten with your hands by pulling off a small handful of fufu, rolling it into a ball, making an indentation, grabbing or scoping the eru, and eating the ball.
Cameroonian, and most African, dishes are flavorful, savory, oily, and so damned filling. At first, I balked at the amount of oil that is required for making the eru, but the wisdom of African nutrition becomes evident when you realize that every traditional dish has ample amounts of complex carbohydrates, proteins, oils, and fiber.
Next project: quacoco, or pacoco
So for those of you who are curious, here’s a ballpark recipe for making fufu and eru:
Ingredients:
Dried fish
Dried crayfish (prawns)
Canidae (beef skin)
Maggi cubes
Red palm oil
Hot peppers
Eru
Waterleaf (spinach can be used instead)
Beef
Cut the canidae into squares and place into a large saucepan with a little bit of oil and enough water to just cover the canidae and cook until tender (may take a while, but you can get this precooked). If beef is being used, cook this as well. Wash and chop the waterleaf, and crush the crayfish until they’ve become powdery. If you want to add peppers, crush them as well.
Add a little bit of water (maybe half a cup to a cup) to the saucepan and add the eru until it’s begun to wilt and reduce. Also add the peppers, the crayfish, dried fish, and maggi. There shouldn’t be too much water in the pot, since the eru should be steamed rather than boiled. After the eru has been steamed, it will wilt down. At this point, add the chopped waterleaf and the red palm oil (about ¼ cup). Wait until the waterleaf is also wilted and mix everything.
The fufu involves adding water to fufu mix and kneading out all the lumps. This mixture is then place into a pot and cooked. The fufu needs to be “stirred” or pushed around with a big stick to make sure it cooks evenly and doesn’t burn on the sides of the pot.
The fufu is pulled into pieces and rolled up and served with eru. Traditionally, fufu and eru is eaten with your hands by pulling off a small handful of fufu, rolling it into a ball, making an indentation, grabbing or scoping the eru, and eating the ball.
Cameroonian, and most African, dishes are flavorful, savory, oily, and so damned filling. At first, I balked at the amount of oil that is required for making the eru, but the wisdom of African nutrition becomes evident when you realize that every traditional dish has ample amounts of complex carbohydrates, proteins, oils, and fiber.
Next project: quacoco, or pacoco
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Day 38
The second attempt at pizza went much better. I added more yeast this time, and whereas the tomato sauce for the last pizza consisted mainly of tomato paste, this incarnation included diced tomatoes, onions, and minced garlic in addition to the watered down paste. The cheese, which has a consistency of cream cheese, was difficult to slice and impossible to grate and all in all too much of a hassle to add, so I topped it off with sliced sausage, chopped onions, and okra. It was greatly enjoyed by Seque, Dr. Kamga, and friends, many of whom had never tasted pizza before. Even I was surprised at how well it had turned out.
Every Tuesday and Saturday is market day and numerous merchants appear at wooden stands along the main road in Buea. I usually get ply my local market in Buea town, a small collection of stands down a side alley. This time I decided to check out the larger market, so I wander down and practice my haggling. My haul at the end of the day was better than I imagined. At the end of the day, I brought back:
3 hands of plantains: 500 cfa
1 pineapple: 300 cfa
6 oranges: 200 cfa
5 tomatoes: 200 cfa
1 bag of fufu gari: 100 cfa
1 bag of eru and waterleaf: 300 cfa
1 clove of garlic: 100 cfa
4 green onions: 50 cfa
1 large red onion: 100 cfa
When I got back to the guest house, even Jim, the manager was impressed. The plantains were an especially good deal, which he said usually goes for 500 cfa per hand. I'm not sure how I got such a low price myself, unless the merchant thought she'd get me hooked with a low price, which, knowing Cameroonian food, is a good possibility. And yes, I am going to attempt to make fufu and eru. We’ll see how that goes…
Every Tuesday and Saturday is market day and numerous merchants appear at wooden stands along the main road in Buea. I usually get ply my local market in Buea town, a small collection of stands down a side alley. This time I decided to check out the larger market, so I wander down and practice my haggling. My haul at the end of the day was better than I imagined. At the end of the day, I brought back:
3 hands of plantains: 500 cfa
1 pineapple: 300 cfa
6 oranges: 200 cfa
5 tomatoes: 200 cfa
1 bag of fufu gari: 100 cfa
1 bag of eru and waterleaf: 300 cfa
1 clove of garlic: 100 cfa
4 green onions: 50 cfa
1 large red onion: 100 cfa
When I got back to the guest house, even Jim, the manager was impressed. The plantains were an especially good deal, which he said usually goes for 500 cfa per hand. I'm not sure how I got such a low price myself, unless the merchant thought she'd get me hooked with a low price, which, knowing Cameroonian food, is a good possibility. And yes, I am going to attempt to make fufu and eru. We’ll see how that goes…
Friday, October 17, 2008
Day 36
I conducted an interview with Dr. Musonge yesterday and it went very well—much better than the other interview!
In my time here in Buea, I’ve really gotten into cooking, mostly since cooking my own food is much less expensive than buying meals at restaurants every night. Every time I visit the market, I come across a new food, spice, or ingredient and it gets me thinking of what I could make with it.
The kitchen in the guesthouse has an oven, which, by what I gather from anecdotes told by well-traveled friends and acquaintances, is a rarity. So I’ve decided to take advantage of this to make a pizza. No, really.
I’ve invited Dr. Kamga and Seque over to the guesthouse on Sunday and I’m planning on making pizza for them. Today’s attempt was to just make sure things go well, since I’ve never actually made pizza that didn’t involve a microwave, and even then, it was nothing gourmet.
Here are some pictures: (coming soon)
In my time here in Buea, I’ve really gotten into cooking, mostly since cooking my own food is much less expensive than buying meals at restaurants every night. Every time I visit the market, I come across a new food, spice, or ingredient and it gets me thinking of what I could make with it.
The kitchen in the guesthouse has an oven, which, by what I gather from anecdotes told by well-traveled friends and acquaintances, is a rarity. So I’ve decided to take advantage of this to make a pizza. No, really.
I’ve invited Dr. Kamga and Seque over to the guesthouse on Sunday and I’m planning on making pizza for them. Today’s attempt was to just make sure things go well, since I’ve never actually made pizza that didn’t involve a microwave, and even then, it was nothing gourmet.
Here are some pictures: (coming soon)
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Day 31
The Liko tea I got from the Ecotourism office is a lot better than the Lipton alternative. It’s a little pricier, but considering that the Ecotourism office is one of the few places you can still get Liko tea in Cameroon, it’s worth it.
I also did laundry today—successfully! No more mildew smell, or at least leas of it. The clothes got thoroughly cleaned, and it was sunny most of the day, which was essential in avoiding mildew.
I also did laundry today—successfully! No more mildew smell, or at least leas of it. The clothes got thoroughly cleaned, and it was sunny most of the day, which was essential in avoiding mildew.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Day 30
This weekend, Martine, Lenneke, and Sharon, three NGO workers from Yaounde, stayed at the guest house during their weekend visit to Buea. Martine and Lenneke, from the Netherlands, work with Focarfe, an environmental NGO, and Sharon, from Germany, works with a company that deals with printing and literacy.
This morning, they took a rain soaked hike up Mt. Cameroon. In the meanwhile, I took a walk through Buea town, did some grocery shopping, picked up some Cameroonian tea from the Ecotourism office, and went to check out an outlook with a stunning view of Buea. The first time I went up this route, I had forgotten to bring my camera. The children in this neighborhood are really cute. The last time I took a walk, there was a man teaching a little boy words. On the way back, the man was teaching the boy how to say ‘white man’ and as I passed, the boy waved at me and shouted “wat mahn!” On the way back this time, I left a group of children gawking and giggling with my crude pidgin, and joined in a game of football with some local teens.
In the evening, the girls from Yaounde and I went out for get some tasty grilled fish and some drinks. Almost all the bars here serve only beer, so if you wanted some wine, you’d have to get it from a convenience store, which, in addition to bottled wine, also sell it in juice boxes. I’m still curious if it comes with a little plastic straw. All in all, the bottled wine was pretty good, and I enjoyed drinking it out of the bottle as the bar had no glasses. We were told this was the Cameroonian way to drink wine.
This morning, they took a rain soaked hike up Mt. Cameroon. In the meanwhile, I took a walk through Buea town, did some grocery shopping, picked up some Cameroonian tea from the Ecotourism office, and went to check out an outlook with a stunning view of Buea. The first time I went up this route, I had forgotten to bring my camera. The children in this neighborhood are really cute. The last time I took a walk, there was a man teaching a little boy words. On the way back, the man was teaching the boy how to say ‘white man’ and as I passed, the boy waved at me and shouted “wat mahn!” On the way back this time, I left a group of children gawking and giggling with my crude pidgin, and joined in a game of football with some local teens.
In the evening, the girls from Yaounde and I went out for get some tasty grilled fish and some drinks. Almost all the bars here serve only beer, so if you wanted some wine, you’d have to get it from a convenience store, which, in addition to bottled wine, also sell it in juice boxes. I’m still curious if it comes with a little plastic straw. All in all, the bottled wine was pretty good, and I enjoyed drinking it out of the bottle as the bar had no glasses. We were told this was the Cameroonian way to drink wine.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Day 29
Today I had the opportunity to interview Dr. Atanga, the provincial chief of HIV prevention for the South-West province and the “focal point” of PMTCT in the region. I have to admit the experience was both a little awkward and intimidating. Despite this, the fact that I didn’t have any time to prepare questions, and the Nigerian music videos in the background, the interview went well, I got the information I wanted, and then some, and Dr. Atanga was in general very helpful.
No, I’m not going to post anything about this interview, because it’s embarrassing. I think if Lexi swings by Buea again, I’m going to bribe her with some grilled fish for pointers on interviewing.
Also: I've begun to post the pictures I've uploaded onto my blog, here and there. I'm including some random ones in this post.
Left to right: a cattle drive up Buea road, my room in the guest house, and the view down the mountain early in the morning
No, I’m not going to post anything about this interview, because it’s embarrassing. I think if Lexi swings by Buea again, I’m going to bribe her with some grilled fish for pointers on interviewing.
Also: I've begun to post the pictures I've uploaded onto my blog, here and there. I'm including some random ones in this post.
Left to right: a cattle drive up Buea road, my room in the guest house, and the view down the mountain early in the morning
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Day 27
This is Seque and his daughter, Kati. Seque, the Corporal Radar O’Reily of the University of Buea, took to me as soon as I arrived and has looked out for me at the University, showing me where important and useful people’s offices were located, liaising between myself and the super-busy Dr. Ndumbe, and showing me where things on campus were, like the printing office, internet center, and the staff canteen (cafeteria).
Today he invited me over to his house as a guest. He had discovered that I liked a Cameroonian dish called Pacoco and declared that I was invited to his house and that his wife would prepare the dish for me. Needless to say, I was very honored.
Seque’s house is very close to the university, about a ten-minute’s walk. From the outside, his house is impossibly small. His unit is one of many in a building that can’t be more than ten feet high and forty feet wide. The inside, however, was extremely welcoming and cozy. It was amazing how so many of us were able to fit inside of such a small room without feeling the least bit uncomfortable. Seque, his wife, his daughter, his niece, the secretary from the University, four neighbors who had come to see the American, and I dined on his wife’s Pacoco, which was delicious, even better than what I’ve had at Duke and Harvey’s.
After the meal, another neighbor joined with a large bag filled with drinks and we sat in the cozy room, discussing American, Cameroonian, and African politics while a rerun of the presidential debate ran on CNN. American politics is unavoidable when with Cameroonians in a close social event, especially with a candidate like Barack Obama. American politics, of course, leads into African politics, and then into Cameroonian politics. I can’t say that I don’t enjoy it at all. It’s nice to hear what people think of the US and of their own country, and it’s better than talking about why I’m not married or don’t have a girlfriend or which Cameroonian girl I’m going to take back with me to the US.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Day 25
Since it’s the rainy season in Cameroon, it isn’t surprising that it rains everyday in Buea. Every precipitation that amounts to more than a sprinkle, however, seems to be accompanied by power outages at the university. A few of the power outages have involved the entirety of Buea, sometimes for hours at a time.
Things are going well on the work front. I’ve designed a questionnaire for distribution to antenatal clinics to evaluate current PMTCT practices, and I’ve been working with Dr. Nde, the head of the department of public health, to refine the questions and layout. Turns out, the number of workers in the Buea Health District that would be targeted by this questionnaire is small enough that I can administer the questionnaire myself, one on one with the workers. According to Dr. Nde, interview style questionnaires elicit more accurate answers from a Cameroonian group. I think I’ll go with his advice on this one and not bumble around blindly on my own.
Speaking of bumbling around blindly, while my French has gotten better I still have some trouble with things that are more complex than greetings or cooking (most of the French I’ve picked up is from a woman from Gabon and her 11 year old son who are also staying at the guest house—Mark Anthony, the boy, only speaks French and points out French words while I cook, hoping I make too much, which I usually do). Anyways, I’ve finally received a copy of the Cameroonian National PMTCT Guidelines from my Dean, but alas, it’s in French, all one hundred and twenty odd pages of it. There is a school for interpreters and translators, but from what I’ve gathered from a few colleagues, if I want to get something like this translated without paying a large fee, I’ll be wading into Cameroonian inter-departmental politics. Hmm. This should be interesting.
Things are going well on the work front. I’ve designed a questionnaire for distribution to antenatal clinics to evaluate current PMTCT practices, and I’ve been working with Dr. Nde, the head of the department of public health, to refine the questions and layout. Turns out, the number of workers in the Buea Health District that would be targeted by this questionnaire is small enough that I can administer the questionnaire myself, one on one with the workers. According to Dr. Nde, interview style questionnaires elicit more accurate answers from a Cameroonian group. I think I’ll go with his advice on this one and not bumble around blindly on my own.
Speaking of bumbling around blindly, while my French has gotten better I still have some trouble with things that are more complex than greetings or cooking (most of the French I’ve picked up is from a woman from Gabon and her 11 year old son who are also staying at the guest house—Mark Anthony, the boy, only speaks French and points out French words while I cook, hoping I make too much, which I usually do). Anyways, I’ve finally received a copy of the Cameroonian National PMTCT Guidelines from my Dean, but alas, it’s in French, all one hundred and twenty odd pages of it. There is a school for interpreters and translators, but from what I’ve gathered from a few colleagues, if I want to get something like this translated without paying a large fee, I’ll be wading into Cameroonian inter-departmental politics. Hmm. This should be interesting.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Day 20
The Uninet is back up! The connection is still fairly slow, but much better than internet cafes. Things at work have picked up and things are becoming routine so there is not much else to blog about. The one thing that's still a bit of a challenge is finding change for large bills. When paying a taxi or buying small groceries, you want smaller bills, or ideally, coins, since it's not guaranteed that they will have change otherwise. Fakoship, the large grocery store, may have change but it's hit or miss. The western unions and the banks also usually don't change bills. You have to find a gas station with the right bills available, or buy something from someone who has enough change.
I'm going to try to upload some more photos while I have the internet and see if I can't retroactively add pictures to my other posts.
I'm going to try to upload some more photos while I have the internet and see if I can't retroactively add pictures to my other posts.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Day 17
Life here is good.
It's a beautiful Sunday. I spent the afternoon at Duke and Harvey's restaurant and treated myself to a chicken dinner with plantain fries while reading a UNICEF report on the maternal and child health mellinum goal. Oh, and I'm wearing a shirt that doesn't smell moldy! Certainly an occasion to celebrate.
Everything mildews here. If it's wet, it mildews. If it was wet, it mildews. Even if it never was wet, I'm sure there's some sort of 'just add water' dehydrated mildew spores all over it. Doing laundry is a dance of putting your wet clothes on the line when there's sun, then sprinting out when it begins to sprinkle a half hour later.
I'm getting used to it; I think I'm finially settling in.
It's a beautiful Sunday. I spent the afternoon at Duke and Harvey's restaurant and treated myself to a chicken dinner with plantain fries while reading a UNICEF report on the maternal and child health mellinum goal. Oh, and I'm wearing a shirt that doesn't smell moldy! Certainly an occasion to celebrate.
Everything mildews here. If it's wet, it mildews. If it was wet, it mildews. Even if it never was wet, I'm sure there's some sort of 'just add water' dehydrated mildew spores all over it. Doing laundry is a dance of putting your wet clothes on the line when there's sun, then sprinting out when it begins to sprinkle a half hour later.
I'm getting used to it; I think I'm finially settling in.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Day 16
The Uninet outage continues. The wired internet has come back online a few days ago, but the wireless is still down. I tried to connect to the system through an Ethernet cable, but was still unable to connect for some reason, so I’m holding out for the wireless. I’ve been using internet cafes, but the problem with them is that they’re very slow. Even internet cafes that advertise ‘fast internet’ are barely fast enough to check my email, and I can’t open more than two windows without paralyzing the connection. Combined with their tendency to inexplicably drop the connection just as I press the send button, they are very frustrating to use. Another factor contributing to the update drought is that fact that the internet café nearest to my room has either been closed or without connection for the past week.
I think I'm going through internet withdrawal...
I think I'm going through internet withdrawal...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Day 13
As I am officially a member of the faculty at the University of Buea, I was able to attend a faculty meeting this afternoon. It was very interesting to hear the back and forth between the various department heads and professors. The major topics on hand at the meeting mostly dealt with the results of most recent exams and the administrative procedures for internships for medical and nursing programs. In reality, however, there was generally a lot of arguing back and forth and by and large not much getting done. This was mostly because the dean himself was not present, which apparently meant not much could be definitively accomplished.
Despite the lack of productivity even after going several hours over the scheduled end, the faculty look forward to these meetings, and I soon found out why. In the next room, there was a series of long rectangular tables on which a large variety of Cameroonian delectables: cocoyams, ndole, goat and beef roast, rice, and gizzard, which is traditionally only given to the venerable, but Dr. Kamga insisted I have it and assured me that the fact that he had twins would counteract any bad mojo, which he would confer onto me. I stuffed myself silly. This sort of feast is provided at every faculty meeting—I’m looking forward to the next one.
Despite the lack of productivity even after going several hours over the scheduled end, the faculty look forward to these meetings, and I soon found out why. In the next room, there was a series of long rectangular tables on which a large variety of Cameroonian delectables: cocoyams, ndole, goat and beef roast, rice, and gizzard, which is traditionally only given to the venerable, but Dr. Kamga insisted I have it and assured me that the fact that he had twins would counteract any bad mojo, which he would confer onto me. I stuffed myself silly. This sort of feast is provided at every faculty meeting—I’m looking forward to the next one.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Don't eat monkeys
HIV is generally accepted to be a descendant of the Simian Immunodeficiency Virus (SIV) from African apes and monkeys, since monkeys from Asia or the Americas don’t carry any strain of SIV that could cause HIV in humans.
A study presented in 2000 at the Conference on Retroviruses and Opportunistic Infections suggested that the first human infection of HIV-1 was in West Africa around 1930. HIV-1 is thought to have originated from chimpanzees and been transferred into humans through the butchering and consumption of monkey meat, NOT by monkey sex as commonly thought.
HIV-2, on the other hand, is most likely thought to have been transferred into humans from sooty mangabeys. The first case was mostly likely in 1940’s in Guinea-Bissau due to consumption of bush meat (again, no sooty sex) and spread by the war of independence from Portugal.
In 2006, a group announced that they had located the SIVcpz strain (that was most likely the origin of HIV-1) in wild chimpanzees in Southern Cameroon.
The moral of the story: don't eat monkeys, you don't know where they've been.
A study presented in 2000 at the Conference on Retroviruses and Opportunistic Infections suggested that the first human infection of HIV-1 was in West Africa around 1930. HIV-1 is thought to have originated from chimpanzees and been transferred into humans through the butchering and consumption of monkey meat, NOT by monkey sex as commonly thought.
HIV-2, on the other hand, is most likely thought to have been transferred into humans from sooty mangabeys. The first case was mostly likely in 1940’s in Guinea-Bissau due to consumption of bush meat (again, no sooty sex) and spread by the war of independence from Portugal.
In 2006, a group announced that they had located the SIVcpz strain (that was most likely the origin of HIV-1) in wild chimpanzees in Southern Cameroon.
The moral of the story: don't eat monkeys, you don't know where they've been.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Day 9
I’ve attempted to make some jiedan chao xiehongshe (eggs and tomatoes) with rice, and for the most part, it’s turned out fairly well. I've become comfortable with making rice, but it’s made me appreciate rice cookers that much more. Having the ability to cook rice and keep it warm without taking up cooking pots is very handy.
The local food here is pretty good. My favorite is grilled fish, grilled by fish mamas on street-side stands. You eat it with your hands and it comes with this green spicy sauce. Dr. Kamga taught me how to eat fish Cameroonian style, which involves eating the head. He also made me kiss the fish, which he said was a Cameroonian tradition, but I secretly think it's one of those things the locals make foreigners do for fun. While I have found restaurants nearby that will serve meals for about 500CFA (about $1), the market nearby means I can get fresh (as fresh as I can get at the market, anyhow) ingredients for about 1000CFA that I can draw out for a few days.
The internet at the Unversity has been down for the last couple of days, and the connection at the regular internet cafes has been too unreliable to even do anything on blogger. Last time i tried, the Cameroonian internet troll ate my post. I've been able to upload some photos onto flickr (before the Uninet went down) so when Uninet comes back up, look forward to some pictures scattered throughout the blog.
The local food here is pretty good. My favorite is grilled fish, grilled by fish mamas on street-side stands. You eat it with your hands and it comes with this green spicy sauce. Dr. Kamga taught me how to eat fish Cameroonian style, which involves eating the head. He also made me kiss the fish, which he said was a Cameroonian tradition, but I secretly think it's one of those things the locals make foreigners do for fun. While I have found restaurants nearby that will serve meals for about 500CFA (about $1), the market nearby means I can get fresh (as fresh as I can get at the market, anyhow) ingredients for about 1000CFA that I can draw out for a few days.
The internet at the Unversity has been down for the last couple of days, and the connection at the regular internet cafes has been too unreliable to even do anything on blogger. Last time i tried, the Cameroonian internet troll ate my post. I've been able to upload some photos onto flickr (before the Uninet went down) so when Uninet comes back up, look forward to some pictures scattered throughout the blog.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Day 6
I spent the majority of the morning churning peanut butter. My grand plans to spread glorious, golden peanut butter on glorious, toasty toast this morning were dashed upon opening the can. As I pulled back the tab and peeled away the lid, I realized why the can was so damn oily: the peanut butter had separated into peanut oil, and peanut concrete. Mixing the two together was an epic, cosmic struggle: it took an hour and a half, and left a few blisters, but by all that is holy, I got it.
It tastes awful.
Breakfast was saved by some awesome French toast courtesy of Lexi before she left for Dschang, in the West province. Thanks!
I spent most of the day at the University, in my new office. I haven’t talked that much about my work so far, mostly because it’s not that interesting, but also because not much has happened. Mostly what I’ve been doing is literature review, which means reading a lot of papers on prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV, then searching and researching for more papers.
In the evening, Kamga and Njole, who both work at the University, took me out to experience some Cameroonian nightlife. At the Jupiter nightclub, I was introduced to Cameroonian beer—Castel; a new drink mix—Guiness and coke (not that bad); and Cameroonian music from a live band. The singer was particularly interested in me, especially when he found out I was American, and not Chinese. The place was quaintly decorated with strings of Christmas lights and the Castel branded tablecloth had little inspirational snips that I really liked.
Most importantly, I learned where to find fish mamas in Buea!
It tastes awful.
Breakfast was saved by some awesome French toast courtesy of Lexi before she left for Dschang, in the West province. Thanks!
I spent most of the day at the University, in my new office. I haven’t talked that much about my work so far, mostly because it’s not that interesting, but also because not much has happened. Mostly what I’ve been doing is literature review, which means reading a lot of papers on prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV, then searching and researching for more papers.
In the evening, Kamga and Njole, who both work at the University, took me out to experience some Cameroonian nightlife. At the Jupiter nightclub, I was introduced to Cameroonian beer—Castel; a new drink mix—Guiness and coke (not that bad); and Cameroonian music from a live band. The singer was particularly interested in me, especially when he found out I was American, and not Chinese. The place was quaintly decorated with strings of Christmas lights and the Castel branded tablecloth had little inspirational snips that I really liked.
Most importantly, I learned where to find fish mamas in Buea!
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Day 5
I got very little sleep last night, with the rare z’s filled with bizarre, passionate dreams. The morning was unremarkable except for a botched attempt at French toast. Lexi and I headed to the Ecotourism office in the afternoon for a tour of the nearby tea plantations. The tea plantations themselves were underwhelming, although the opportunity to discuss Cameroonian issues with our guide, Ferdinand, made the trip more worthwhile. The tea plantations of Cameroon went from a reasonably successful government operation to a privatized monopoly which employs a fraction of it’s original workers, lowered wages, and ships the majority of tea overseas, according to Ferdinand.
On the route back from the plantations, he elucidated on the funeral practices of the Bakweri people. In a traditional home, where thatched roofing connects several smaller huts and floors are bare earth, a deceased elder is buried in one of the rooms (huts) of the home and the door is locked. When there is a dispute in the family, a family member is ill, or an issue requires ancestral intervention, the significant individuals enter that room. Outside of traditional villages, this practice is rare, but even in Christianized communities, esteemed family past are buried in front of their homes, marked with small porcelain tombs.
In addition to guiding tours of tea plantations, The Ecotourism office provides services for trekkers on Mt. Cameroon and the surrounding ecosystems, including guides and porters to the summit. The guidebook said that the Ecotourism office hires many former hunters. Indeed, Ferdinand tells us that he himself used to be a hunter on Mt. Cameroon, before becoming a guide for the Ecotourism office.
Once I learned that Ferdinand could track, I tried to get him to teach me, but the tidbits of advice he gave I already knew and his more advanced classes are for only for guides. Still, I think I will pester him some more.
We returned to the mission, and I enjoyed a frigidly refreshing shower. We tried a restaurant off a side street called Prime Cateres with surprisingly tasty fried fish. Lexi’s verdict of the fried chicken was also top-notch. After picking up some fried street-beignets, we took a taxi to Beno bakery. It had a lower selection of western name branded, but more practical items that Cameroonians may actually buy. In short: they had peanut butter! The can is all oily, but the price wasn’t bad (1750CFA=$4) for 1½ pounds. I’m going to spread this on freaking everything. Also grabbed a sausage, a couple of sugary beignets, and beer (Becks!). I’m a happy man.
By the time we were heading back to the mission, it got very dark. We both managed to cram into a taxi with 3 other passengers (in a sub-compact). When they say don’t drive or ride at night unless you have to, they mean it.
New critter update: millipede (not in my bathroom, but in the mission hallway).
On the route back from the plantations, he elucidated on the funeral practices of the Bakweri people. In a traditional home, where thatched roofing connects several smaller huts and floors are bare earth, a deceased elder is buried in one of the rooms (huts) of the home and the door is locked. When there is a dispute in the family, a family member is ill, or an issue requires ancestral intervention, the significant individuals enter that room. Outside of traditional villages, this practice is rare, but even in Christianized communities, esteemed family past are buried in front of their homes, marked with small porcelain tombs.
In addition to guiding tours of tea plantations, The Ecotourism office provides services for trekkers on Mt. Cameroon and the surrounding ecosystems, including guides and porters to the summit. The guidebook said that the Ecotourism office hires many former hunters. Indeed, Ferdinand tells us that he himself used to be a hunter on Mt. Cameroon, before becoming a guide for the Ecotourism office.
Once I learned that Ferdinand could track, I tried to get him to teach me, but the tidbits of advice he gave I already knew and his more advanced classes are for only for guides. Still, I think I will pester him some more.
We returned to the mission, and I enjoyed a frigidly refreshing shower. We tried a restaurant off a side street called Prime Cateres with surprisingly tasty fried fish. Lexi’s verdict of the fried chicken was also top-notch. After picking up some fried street-beignets, we took a taxi to Beno bakery. It had a lower selection of western name branded, but more practical items that Cameroonians may actually buy. In short: they had peanut butter! The can is all oily, but the price wasn’t bad (1750CFA=$4) for 1½ pounds. I’m going to spread this on freaking everything. Also grabbed a sausage, a couple of sugary beignets, and beer (Becks!). I’m a happy man.
By the time we were heading back to the mission, it got very dark. We both managed to cram into a taxi with 3 other passengers (in a sub-compact). When they say don’t drive or ride at night unless you have to, they mean it.
New critter update: millipede (not in my bathroom, but in the mission hallway).
Monday, September 15, 2008
Day 4
There’s another America staying at the Presbyterian guesthouse. Her name is Lexi, a fellow blogger prowling through Africa. Though to be honest, to describe Lexi as a ‘fellow blogger’ is to imply we’re on equal footing, which, is far from the truth. She’s a member of an enviable breed of traveler-journalists, freelancing her way from Senegal to Madagascar, financing the 6-month trip out of her own pocket. Well, I suppose the last part isn’t so enviable, though it’s not far from what I’m doing. Check out her blog at Inkslinging in Africa.
Lexi is a Godsend. Everywhere we go, it seems, she has some advice to impart or experience to lend.
I took her to the university to find someone who could speak to her about polygamy for an article she was writing. I was also trying to find a computer lab on campus, which I did, only to discover there was no internet connection anywhere on campus that day.
On the way back from the university, we asked a taxi driver where to get some good food. “OIC” he said. Henri (Dr. Kamga) had told me that the OIC is one of the nicest restaurants in town, so I figured it would be expensive.
“Where can we get some cheap food?” we asked.
The driver thought for a moment, and replied knowingly “The OIC.”
We decided to go check it out anyways, but found that it, indeed, was a very nice restaurant, and it was, indeed, fairly expensive. We also managed to find a Fakoship, a small grocery store chain, along the main road in Buea. Jam, canned tuna, honey, liquid dish soap; hell, they even had frosted flakes. Everything was really expensive, though. We also ran into a couple of soldiers outside of the Fakoship: no problems, they were nice, but it was just a reminder to start carrying my passport on me at all times, in case one of them decides he needs to see my ID.
I didn’t end up getting anything from the Fakoship, but I did get about 10 cups of rice from the local market in Bueatown. I still need to get some peanut butter and some sort of preserved meat. They have a lot of dried fish in the market, but it looks and smells unappetizing, and judging from my experience with dried fish in Asia, it probably isn’t that great. Lexi points out that the kitchen in the guest house has an oven—a rarity in Africa—so now there is a possibility to bake meals and do more with the plantains, yams, and potatoes than fry them in palm oil.
I jury-rigged the wall adapter to fit into the socket by pressing a chair up against it. I only use it for the laptop, so it’s not too much of a hassle. Still, I’ll get the proper adapter (huge 3 pronged) if I see it. Ironically, I took that one out of my adapter kit since the guidebook said they didn’t use it in Cameroon. Bah.
They also gave me a room to use at the University of Buea. I should have access to the University’s wireless network from the room, but the best part is that it says “Visiting Professor” in big letters on the door, hah!
New critter update: geckos.
Lexi is a Godsend. Everywhere we go, it seems, she has some advice to impart or experience to lend.
I took her to the university to find someone who could speak to her about polygamy for an article she was writing. I was also trying to find a computer lab on campus, which I did, only to discover there was no internet connection anywhere on campus that day.
On the way back from the university, we asked a taxi driver where to get some good food. “OIC” he said. Henri (Dr. Kamga) had told me that the OIC is one of the nicest restaurants in town, so I figured it would be expensive.
“Where can we get some cheap food?” we asked.
The driver thought for a moment, and replied knowingly “The OIC.”
We decided to go check it out anyways, but found that it, indeed, was a very nice restaurant, and it was, indeed, fairly expensive. We also managed to find a Fakoship, a small grocery store chain, along the main road in Buea. Jam, canned tuna, honey, liquid dish soap; hell, they even had frosted flakes. Everything was really expensive, though. We also ran into a couple of soldiers outside of the Fakoship: no problems, they were nice, but it was just a reminder to start carrying my passport on me at all times, in case one of them decides he needs to see my ID.
I didn’t end up getting anything from the Fakoship, but I did get about 10 cups of rice from the local market in Bueatown. I still need to get some peanut butter and some sort of preserved meat. They have a lot of dried fish in the market, but it looks and smells unappetizing, and judging from my experience with dried fish in Asia, it probably isn’t that great. Lexi points out that the kitchen in the guest house has an oven—a rarity in Africa—so now there is a possibility to bake meals and do more with the plantains, yams, and potatoes than fry them in palm oil.
I jury-rigged the wall adapter to fit into the socket by pressing a chair up against it. I only use it for the laptop, so it’s not too much of a hassle. Still, I’ll get the proper adapter (huge 3 pronged) if I see it. Ironically, I took that one out of my adapter kit since the guidebook said they didn’t use it in Cameroon. Bah.
They also gave me a room to use at the University of Buea. I should have access to the University’s wireless network from the room, but the best part is that it says “Visiting Professor” in big letters on the door, hah!
New critter update: geckos.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Day 3
It’s been a quiet and rainy Sunday, nothing extraordinarily special or productive about it. I fell asleep yesterday at 5pm, a runaway attempt at an afternoon nap, and woke up an hour before midnight, Cameroonian time. After a quixotic attempt to figure out which adapter would fit in the unfamiliarly shaped outlet in my room, (quixotic as in, running headlong into it with various adapters until one fit. None of them did perfectly, but Jim, the manager, assures me with a smile that any of them should work. Sigh). I read a little bit, then went back to sleep from 4 to 9am. I managed to sleep through the morning call to prayer and the buzz of hundreds of students waking up (the Presbyterian mission school, a large multi-building complex, is literally within a stone’s throw from my window). After a drizzly walk into town, I learned that most stores, the market, and Duke & Harvey’s restaurant were closed, probably for Sunday. A local man assured me that most of them would be open again at 2pm, but by that time, I was comfortable with my books under the mosquito net, and the rain had swelled to a voluptuous shower (to steal a line from Nabokov).
Woke up again at 8pm. It seems every night brings new creatures into my room. Last night it was a decent sized cockroach, and tonight I discovered a leech lazing in my sink. I have no idea how he got there, but if I had to guess, I would have to say he crawled up the plumbing. I sprayed some insect repellant on him and tossed him in the toilet, the final resting place for most of my visitors.
Woke up again at 8pm. It seems every night brings new creatures into my room. Last night it was a decent sized cockroach, and tonight I discovered a leech lazing in my sink. I have no idea how he got there, but if I had to guess, I would have to say he crawled up the plumbing. I sprayed some insect repellant on him and tossed him in the toilet, the final resting place for most of my visitors.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Cameroon: Days 1 and 2
I'm posting this from Dr. Kamga's office computer at the University of Buea. I got into Cameroon at 1:30pm (about 8:30am Eastern time) but I haven't gotten a chance to hop on the internet until now.
The flight over wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. It was long, to be sure (about 17 hours from DC to Addis), but my seatmate was very friendly, the service was great, and they served food and alcohol often enough to make the flight better than it otherwise would have been. I'm going stop short calling the flight pleasant. I watched all three in flight movies at least once (twice for the kingdom fo the crystal skull), and read through the bulk of the Poisonwood Bible. It is a wonderful book, by the way. I finally finished it in the hotel Ethiopian Airlines provided and was blown away by how much the book was able to contain in 500 or so pages. I highly recommend this book.
Hotel Ararat was a decent hotel room with a small TV and a fridge. They served complementary dinner (disappointingly, not Ethiopian cuisine) and an exceptional breakfast the next morning that put to shame every other hotel breakfast I've ever experienced. I also determined (too late) that each hotel room had it's own hot water heater. After the flight, I felt dirty enough to justify an icy shower on a cold Ethiopian night.
Pretty much all of Ethiopian Airlines' flights to Subsaharan Africa go through Addis Ababa, so rubbed elbows with a lot of interesting folks. There were two women on my flight that were adopting Ethiopian children and were flying over to take them home; Nicole, a perky blonde who was working a 10 week social work internship at an adoption agency; Karen and Janet, two occupational health nurses on their way to Johansburg for a photo safari before going to a nursing conference; and Dr. Emily Vargas-Baron, a former director for USAID in the Clinton years who now worked for UNICEF and the RISE institute. Over the non-Ethiopian dinner, she gave me some powerful advice, mostly about not complaining about cold showers.
The flight from Addis to Douala was fairly uneventful, except when a frenchman spilled red wine on my pants. Now I have a pair of pants with splotches of purple down one leg.
The doctor at the desk next to mine is playing Bryan Adams on his computer. Driving in Cameroon is as crazily exciting as I hoped it would be, and Dr. Kamga, who picked me up at the airport, drives a Mercedes, although the speedometer is forever stuck at 20kmph.
The room at the Presbyterian mission is nice and cozy with it's own bathroom. When I first moved in, there were some oversized bugs here and there, but after their eviction, I've gotten comfortable with the rest of the nonmosquito roommates. Hot water is hard to come by, so I've gotten used to cold showers. It's actually pretty invigorating. Nothing wakes you up in the morning like ice cold water dumped on your head.
What else is there to say? I'm still a little jet lagged, but not enough to stop me from taking a walk around Buea. It's beautiful here and in the morning, the clouds on Mt Cameroon part, baring the summit, which is majestic. Enormous cloud banks roll in under Buea, like a parade of fluffy primordial titans around a sailing, floating mountain.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Underway
I'm about to have dinner with my family before heading off to Dulles for the flight. Turns out I read the Ethiopian Airlines website wrong, and the checked luggage limit was 50lbs, not 70, so we had to rush to divide my one large suitcase into two smaller ones. Rush Rush Rush. Things are becoming more hectic and nervousness is starting to creep up on me. I'm starting to have those nagging feelings that hand on the edge of your mind and tell you you've forgotten something. Gah, I hope they're wrong.
*Deep breath*
Alright, see you guys in Cameroon!
*Deep breath*
Alright, see you guys in Cameroon!
Monday, September 8, 2008
An email from Dr. Jackson:
...You should keep a daily personal log of your activities while in Africa (starting from now) as well as an official record of your activities. This is something that you can regularly attend to in the evenings. The most important thing to take with you as you begin this trip is an open, flexible mind. Divorce any attachment you may have to material things. Stay focused. You will see, smell, and hear strange and sometimes repulsive things, but don't be alarmed. I believe that you will find the people to be as curious about and receptive to you as you are to them. You will experience some periods of loneliness, but at these times, remember the larger goal of gaining knowledge and dig deep in your soul for the committment to perservere. You are going to make a fine health professional. What you are doing now is getting your "in the trenches" experience. If you pay attention and learn from this hardship, it will serve you well the rest of your life. I have every confidence in you and your successful completion of this mission. Just be careful. Don't take unnecessary risks, but be open to new experiences. Other than the things we have for Dr. Ndumbe, don't give all of your gifts away in the first week because you will be meeting new people throughout your stay with whom you may want to give a momento of your friendship. By the end of your stay, however, be free of the gifts. Just so you know, in some places in Cameroon, it is the custom for people to give you something before you return home. But whether this happens or not, you will come away from Camerooon with many rich memories and significant insights that will be directly applicable in your public health career.Thanks, Dr. J!
Friday, September 5, 2008
An unforseen dilemma
Do they have sunscreen in Africa?
I really hope so. I also hope it's not hard to find or really expensive. I'm taking doxycycline as a malaria prophylaxis, and about 10% of people who take it develop a sensitivity to sunlight. I plan on getting a big floppy hat, but I don't want to have to take a bunch of sunscreen with me on the flight.
Speaking of malaria, I've finished treating my bednet with permetherin, and there was still some solution left, so I'm trying to treat two shirts. I'm not sure how well it will turn out.
I really hope so. I also hope it's not hard to find or really expensive. I'm taking doxycycline as a malaria prophylaxis, and about 10% of people who take it develop a sensitivity to sunlight. I plan on getting a big floppy hat, but I don't want to have to take a bunch of sunscreen with me on the flight.
Speaking of malaria, I've finished treating my bednet with permetherin, and there was still some solution left, so I'm trying to treat two shirts. I'm not sure how well it will turn out.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
night blindness and books
My cousin is attending the University of Baltimore for accounting as an international student, so I've been going around with her, most to coach her on her driving and help her out with some administrative stuff. Her driving was initially pretty god awful, but it's improved dramatically. Except for the fact that she has trouble seeing the lanes on MLK blvd at night and her classes end at 8:30pm. On the way back today she switched lanes without knowing it once or twice; thank goodness we didn't get into an accident. I think she has a vitamin A deficiency so I fed her some carrots and my parents gave her some vitamin supplements, but we're going to have her eyes checked anyways to see if her current eye glass prescription is at all accurate.
The good side of all this is that while I've been waiting for my cousin's classes to end, I've gotten a lot of reading done. Yesterday I finally finished Nabokov's Lolita, which I started a long while back. I think I actually read it because I wanted to read Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi, but for some reason, in order to do so, I had to first read Lolita. I'm all in all really impressed by Nabokov's writing. I have some mixed opinions about the controversial nature of the story. The book's unique and flowing writing style kind of draws you along, so that the actual obsession between the narrator and the namesake didn't really bother me too much until about the middle of the book, when it takes on a more sociopathic bend. I think this is where I initally put the book down. I picked it up again because I wanted to finish it before I headed off to Cameroon and it would mean one less book to pack, but the end went by faster than I had imagined it would. The writing is amazing immersive and I can see how it was ranked one of the best english language novels. I would highly recommend it.
I had time today, while my cousin was getting some academic counseling, to head into downtown Baltimore and visit the Powerplant, one of the most visually impressive bookstores I've ever seen. The store itself is a Barnes and Nobles and isn't remarkably different than any other besides maybe a larger selection. But they did have the remnants of giant furnaces that made up the base of cyclopean smokestacks that you could walk though. Pretty nifty. Anyways, I picked up some more books for the trip: The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier, the White Man's Burden by William Easterly, and the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I also wanted to pick up Malcolm Gladwell's the Tipping Point, but they didn't have it in stock.
I made my way though to about a hundred in the poisonwood bible today. great so far. I'll probably finish it before next week, and I might post something about it then.
The good side of all this is that while I've been waiting for my cousin's classes to end, I've gotten a lot of reading done. Yesterday I finally finished Nabokov's Lolita, which I started a long while back. I think I actually read it because I wanted to read Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi, but for some reason, in order to do so, I had to first read Lolita. I'm all in all really impressed by Nabokov's writing. I have some mixed opinions about the controversial nature of the story. The book's unique and flowing writing style kind of draws you along, so that the actual obsession between the narrator and the namesake didn't really bother me too much until about the middle of the book, when it takes on a more sociopathic bend. I think this is where I initally put the book down. I picked it up again because I wanted to finish it before I headed off to Cameroon and it would mean one less book to pack, but the end went by faster than I had imagined it would. The writing is amazing immersive and I can see how it was ranked one of the best english language novels. I would highly recommend it.
I had time today, while my cousin was getting some academic counseling, to head into downtown Baltimore and visit the Powerplant, one of the most visually impressive bookstores I've ever seen. The store itself is a Barnes and Nobles and isn't remarkably different than any other besides maybe a larger selection. But they did have the remnants of giant furnaces that made up the base of cyclopean smokestacks that you could walk though. Pretty nifty. Anyways, I picked up some more books for the trip: The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier, the White Man's Burden by William Easterly, and the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I also wanted to pick up Malcolm Gladwell's the Tipping Point, but they didn't have it in stock.
I made my way though to about a hundred in the poisonwood bible today. great so far. I'll probably finish it before next week, and I might post something about it then.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
A don wolwa Anglais na?
I just found a page on wikitravel that has useful phrases in Fulfulde! This is awesome!
- Hello.
- Salaamma Alaikum (This is an Arabic phrase, used when entering houses).
- Hello. (informal)
- Sannu, Sannuko.
- How are you?
- Jam na?,
- How is your health?
- Jam bandu na?
- Fine, thank you.
- Jam ko dume.
- Fine for the moment.
- Jam ni towne
- What is your name?
- Noy inde ma?
- My name is ______ .
- Inde am ______ .
- Please.
- Useni.
- Thank you.
- Useko.
- You're welcome.
- Koi dum (it's easy
- Yes.
- Ohoo.
- No.
- Kai.
- See you later
- Sey yeeso.
- See you tomorrow
- Sey jango.
- I can't speak name of language [well].
- Mi nonata Fulfulde.
- Do you speak English?
- A don wolwa Anglais na?
- Look out!
- Hakilo! (Careful!)
- Did you sleep well? (good morning)
- A waali jam?
- Good night (to sleep)
- Jam wallah.
- I don't understand.
- Mi famay.
- Where is the toilet?
- Toy bao saare?
- I want water.
- Mi yiddi Ndiyam.
- White person.
- Nassara
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Packing List
Carry-on Packing List
• Sturdy backpack [check] I've got my old search and rescue pack that's about 40-50 liters and is a hair over the size limit for carry ons (22"). I hear Ethiopian Airlines are pretty relaxed about this sort of stuff, so maybe I can get around it. The alternative would be to take my smaller day pack that fits 25-30 liters. We'll see where I am after this list
• Map of Cameroon [check] I had to order it from amazon.com, but it's the only map of Cameroon by itself (instead of say, the whole of West Africa).
• Copies of various documents [check] I've got copies of my passport, Cameroonian visa, and vaccination documents. I just need to get them authorized by the police department in Cameroon to make them "offical copies." I also bought a blue little waterproof case to put folded up documents in, but I can't find it.
• Rain jacket [check] Marmot Precip jacket: wateproof, but light enough to wear in hot climate. I got it with my employee discount and dividend when i worked at REI. Best zero dollars I ever spent on an article of clothing.
• Extra socks [check] mostly thin liner types for my walking shoes. I figure I'll buy a pair of sandals made from car tires in Cameroon. A friend of mine has a pair that's lasted longer than anything normal has a right to.
• Water bottle [check] taking my old nalgene covered in outdoor brand stickers. It's functional, but if I lose it, I won't shed too many a tear.
• Snacks [check] clif bars and clif shots! mostly for the 3 day flight, but the clif shots should help cope with jet lag, I hope.
• Door stop [I still need to get this] a security thing I picked up somewhere. You slide it under a closed door of a hotel or something, and it should keep a door from opening. It's only paranoia if it costs more than 2 bucks, right?... right?
• Travel pillow [check] I'm rethinking this. A pillow might be too bulky for a carry on, especially if I have to take the smaller pack.
• Alarm clock [check] I have a fear that the alarm will go off in the middle of the security line while the clock is buried at the bottom of my luggage and I will have to dig like a prospecting badger to get to it, resulting in an eruption of toiletries and undies :(
• Toiletries [check] toothbrush, toothpaste (I have two full tubes since someone told my mon it's going to be hard to find or really expensive in Africa), razor, soap, shampoo, towels, deodorant, and a few things I don't care about at this point.
• Camera [check] Nikon Coolpix L18. It's a pretty nifty camera that's easy to use but has plenty of features, and is at a decent price ($120ish). I wanted to dub this my Sameroon Cam, but my sister is against it.
• MP3 player [check] RCA Pearl 2gb. It's not ipod, but it's got some interesting features that drew me to it: can record voice memos, takes a microSD card for memory expansion, and takes AAA batteries. I thought the last one was a good selling point since I should be able to get double and triple As in most places, I don't have to worry about getting a converter for the charger, and I can take it on long trips away from outlets (like freakin long ass plane flights)
• Extra batteries [check] have bag o' batts, mostly AA. I'm sure I've seen a colony of AAA's somewhere around the house.
• Books [getting there] This will probably end up being the heaviest and bulkiest part of my carry ons. Here's the list of books I'm considering taking:
Betrayal of Trust by Laurie Garrett
Diffusion of Innovations by Everett Rogers
Epidemiology: An introduction by Kenneth Rothman
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azir Nafisi
Infections and Inequalities: The Modern Plagues by Paul Farmer
Hunger: A Modern History by James Vernon
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingson
Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
Faheinheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
I'm sure I'll add and remove books as I continue packing.
• First aid kit [check] a pretty standardized first aid kit
• GI pharmacy (lactase pills, peptobismol, immodium AD) [check] Also connected to books, if I can find it, I'm taking How to Shit Around the World: The Art of Staying Clean and Healthy While Traveling by Jane Wilson-Howarth. It is an excellent book and I would highly recommend it to anyone thinking about traveling overseas, especially to the 2nd or 3rd world. It's written by a physician and parasitologist and filled with great information and tips about hygiene, food, water, and sanitation, not just pinching a loaf.
• Hand sanitizer [check] yes, I've become that which I loathe: the traveler that takes hand sanitizer everywhere... but it's just so useful for cleaning your hands, I swear.
• Gifts [check, almost] I've got an assortment of items of individuals in Cameroon, as gift giving is an expected custom. I just need a gift for Henri, who has organized my lodgings for me, but it can't be more expensive looking than a silk tie, which I am getting for the Dean of Health Sciences. Hmmm.
• Sturdy backpack [check] I've got my old search and rescue pack that's about 40-50 liters and is a hair over the size limit for carry ons (22"). I hear Ethiopian Airlines are pretty relaxed about this sort of stuff, so maybe I can get around it. The alternative would be to take my smaller day pack that fits 25-30 liters. We'll see where I am after this list
• Map of Cameroon [check] I had to order it from amazon.com, but it's the only map of Cameroon by itself (instead of say, the whole of West Africa).
• Copies of various documents [check] I've got copies of my passport, Cameroonian visa, and vaccination documents. I just need to get them authorized by the police department in Cameroon to make them "offical copies." I also bought a blue little waterproof case to put folded up documents in, but I can't find it.
• Rain jacket [check] Marmot Precip jacket: wateproof, but light enough to wear in hot climate. I got it with my employee discount and dividend when i worked at REI. Best zero dollars I ever spent on an article of clothing.
• Extra socks [check] mostly thin liner types for my walking shoes. I figure I'll buy a pair of sandals made from car tires in Cameroon. A friend of mine has a pair that's lasted longer than anything normal has a right to.
• Water bottle [check] taking my old nalgene covered in outdoor brand stickers. It's functional, but if I lose it, I won't shed too many a tear.
• Snacks [check] clif bars and clif shots! mostly for the 3 day flight, but the clif shots should help cope with jet lag, I hope.
• Door stop [I still need to get this] a security thing I picked up somewhere. You slide it under a closed door of a hotel or something, and it should keep a door from opening. It's only paranoia if it costs more than 2 bucks, right?... right?
• Travel pillow [check] I'm rethinking this. A pillow might be too bulky for a carry on, especially if I have to take the smaller pack.
• Alarm clock [check] I have a fear that the alarm will go off in the middle of the security line while the clock is buried at the bottom of my luggage and I will have to dig like a prospecting badger to get to it, resulting in an eruption of toiletries and undies :(
• Toiletries [check] toothbrush, toothpaste (I have two full tubes since someone told my mon it's going to be hard to find or really expensive in Africa), razor, soap, shampoo, towels, deodorant, and a few things I don't care about at this point.
• Camera [check] Nikon Coolpix L18. It's a pretty nifty camera that's easy to use but has plenty of features, and is at a decent price ($120ish). I wanted to dub this my Sameroon Cam, but my sister is against it.
• MP3 player [check] RCA Pearl 2gb. It's not ipod, but it's got some interesting features that drew me to it: can record voice memos, takes a microSD card for memory expansion, and takes AAA batteries. I thought the last one was a good selling point since I should be able to get double and triple As in most places, I don't have to worry about getting a converter for the charger, and I can take it on long trips away from outlets (like freakin long ass plane flights)
• Extra batteries [check] have bag o' batts, mostly AA. I'm sure I've seen a colony of AAA's somewhere around the house.
• Books [getting there] This will probably end up being the heaviest and bulkiest part of my carry ons. Here's the list of books I'm considering taking:
Betrayal of Trust by Laurie Garrett
Diffusion of Innovations by Everett Rogers
Epidemiology: An introduction by Kenneth Rothman
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azir Nafisi
Infections and Inequalities: The Modern Plagues by Paul Farmer
Hunger: A Modern History by James Vernon
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingson
Catch 22 by Joseph Heller
Faheinheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
I'm sure I'll add and remove books as I continue packing.
• First aid kit [check] a pretty standardized first aid kit
• GI pharmacy (lactase pills, peptobismol, immodium AD) [check] Also connected to books, if I can find it, I'm taking How to Shit Around the World: The Art of Staying Clean and Healthy While Traveling by Jane Wilson-Howarth. It is an excellent book and I would highly recommend it to anyone thinking about traveling overseas, especially to the 2nd or 3rd world. It's written by a physician and parasitologist and filled with great information and tips about hygiene, food, water, and sanitation, not just pinching a loaf.
• Hand sanitizer [check] yes, I've become that which I loathe: the traveler that takes hand sanitizer everywhere... but it's just so useful for cleaning your hands, I swear.
• Gifts [check, almost] I've got an assortment of items of individuals in Cameroon, as gift giving is an expected custom. I just need a gift for Henri, who has organized my lodgings for me, but it can't be more expensive looking than a silk tie, which I am getting for the Dean of Health Sciences. Hmmm.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Tickets + Visa
I finally got my Cameroonian Visa. Well, I got my visa last Monday, and I've had my plane tickets from Ethiopian Airlines for a few weeks, but this is the first time I've gotten to post about it. The visa looks pretty spiffy, actually, and it was much easier to get than I was led to believe.
I also heard that I need both a yellow fever vaccination, which I have, and a cholera vaccine, which I have been unable to find. The cholera vaccine is not technically required, nor is the vaccine itself very effective against cholera, but apparently I may be needed to bribe officials for not having it. I guess I'll find out how true that is.
Also: my plane flight from Dulles International airport to Douala, Cameroon takes three days. That's right. Flight leaves Dulles September 10th at 8pm, arrives in Rome on 11:20am on the 11th, leaves again for Ethiopia at 12pm and arrives at 7pm. After an overnight in Addis Ababa, I leave at 9am to Libreville, Gabon, arrive at 11:40, and the final leg departs at 12:30pm and arrives in Douala at 1:25pm on the 12th. I'm getting tired just typing it. The good news is that reviews on airlinequality.com say that that Ethiopian Airlines has good service and plenty of alcohol. I'm still not exactly looking forward to that flight.
I bought an MP3 player specifically for the flight over. Anyone have any suggestions for good songs to put on this puppy?
I also heard that I need both a yellow fever vaccination, which I have, and a cholera vaccine, which I have been unable to find. The cholera vaccine is not technically required, nor is the vaccine itself very effective against cholera, but apparently I may be needed to bribe officials for not having it. I guess I'll find out how true that is.
Also: my plane flight from Dulles International airport to Douala, Cameroon takes three days. That's right. Flight leaves Dulles September 10th at 8pm, arrives in Rome on 11:20am on the 11th, leaves again for Ethiopia at 12pm and arrives at 7pm. After an overnight in Addis Ababa, I leave at 9am to Libreville, Gabon, arrive at 11:40, and the final leg departs at 12:30pm and arrives in Douala at 1:25pm on the 12th. I'm getting tired just typing it. The good news is that reviews on airlinequality.com say that that Ethiopian Airlines has good service and plenty of alcohol. I'm still not exactly looking forward to that flight.
I bought an MP3 player specifically for the flight over. Anyone have any suggestions for good songs to put on this puppy?
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Internship in Cameroon!
"You must be the change you wish to see in the world" - Gandhi
I thought it may seem like a pretentious way to start off this blog, but this phrase has been a mantra for how I have hoped to live my life. One of the greatest changes I wanted to see is the reduction of easily treatable or preventable diseases that account for a large portion of the global disease burden.
I recently finished my undergraduate work and graduated with a Bachelors of Arts in Anthropology at the end of the Fall semester of 2007. I started out as a biology major, but I switched after taking a few anthropology classes. After meeting Dr. Jackson, my current mentor, I knew I had change majors. I really enjoyed my time studying anthropology, which is more than I can say for most of my time in biology. To be fair, however, having finished a pathogenic microbiology not too long ago and having enjoyed it, I think my maturity level had no small role in it all, which is slightly embarrassing to admit. Another reason I switched to Anthropology was so I could graduate in a reasonable amount of time, as opposed to spending another year finishing a biology degree. That having been said, if I could do it again, I would probably take that extra year to minor in public health and get my pre-med program on paper. Nevertheless, I do not regret my choice in studying anthropology, a course of study that to me, felt like being at home.
After I graduated, I tried to move into public health. I had studied the interactions of humans and disease in anthropology, and public health is a very sociological field, so I did not and still do not see the shift as very extreme, but On paper, it's a bit different. I wound up working for a newly hired professor at the University of Maryland School of Public Health named Dr. Haider and I spent about 7 months working with him on various public health issues from a competitive grant proposal from the CDC on pandemic flu preparation, to editing articles on the diffusion of innovations. I even got to work on program development with the formation of a global health graduate certificate program. Overall, my experience with Dr. Haider was inspirational. I got to work with the Maryland Department of Health, the pandemic flu preparedness program, and see Hans Rosling give one of his famous lectures
at the Swedish Embassy.
During that time, I also applied to schools of public health. I put a lot of my hopes into the University of Maryland's newly founded school of public health. It was a mistake, and I should have applied to far more schools than I did. I also came to the belief that I need more field experience, which brings me to where I am now.
On September 10th, I'm leaving for a public health internship at the University of Buea in Cameroon to work with pregnant women with HIV and possibly malaria. I've got to admit that I'm not as excited as I think I should be, but that doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to this internship. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm eager to discover it. Along the way, I hope to document as much as I can. I'm not sure how much internet access I will have, but I intent to use every opportunity to update this piecemeal memoir.
I thought it may seem like a pretentious way to start off this blog, but this phrase has been a mantra for how I have hoped to live my life. One of the greatest changes I wanted to see is the reduction of easily treatable or preventable diseases that account for a large portion of the global disease burden.
I recently finished my undergraduate work and graduated with a Bachelors of Arts in Anthropology at the end of the Fall semester of 2007. I started out as a biology major, but I switched after taking a few anthropology classes. After meeting Dr. Jackson, my current mentor, I knew I had change majors. I really enjoyed my time studying anthropology, which is more than I can say for most of my time in biology. To be fair, however, having finished a pathogenic microbiology not too long ago and having enjoyed it, I think my maturity level had no small role in it all, which is slightly embarrassing to admit. Another reason I switched to Anthropology was so I could graduate in a reasonable amount of time, as opposed to spending another year finishing a biology degree. That having been said, if I could do it again, I would probably take that extra year to minor in public health and get my pre-med program on paper. Nevertheless, I do not regret my choice in studying anthropology, a course of study that to me, felt like being at home.
After I graduated, I tried to move into public health. I had studied the interactions of humans and disease in anthropology, and public health is a very sociological field, so I did not and still do not see the shift as very extreme, but On paper, it's a bit different. I wound up working for a newly hired professor at the University of Maryland School of Public Health named Dr. Haider and I spent about 7 months working with him on various public health issues from a competitive grant proposal from the CDC on pandemic flu preparation, to editing articles on the diffusion of innovations. I even got to work on program development with the formation of a global health graduate certificate program. Overall, my experience with Dr. Haider was inspirational. I got to work with the Maryland Department of Health, the pandemic flu preparedness program, and see Hans Rosling give one of his famous lectures
at the Swedish Embassy.During that time, I also applied to schools of public health. I put a lot of my hopes into the University of Maryland's newly founded school of public health. It was a mistake, and I should have applied to far more schools than I did. I also came to the belief that I need more field experience, which brings me to where I am now.
On September 10th, I'm leaving for a public health internship at the University of Buea in Cameroon to work with pregnant women with HIV and possibly malaria. I've got to admit that I'm not as excited as I think I should be, but that doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to this internship. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm eager to discover it. Along the way, I hope to document as much as I can. I'm not sure how much internet access I will have, but I intent to use every opportunity to update this piecemeal memoir.
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