And the way to be happy is to make someone happy...

Voila, it's Sunday afternoon again and I guess that means it's about time for an update. Every week seems to go faster than the one before it and life continues to get better. Living with a host family has started to become sort of draining and I have definitely been more "American" in recent weeks. This means not always sitting in the family room and trying to have some time to myself when possible. Teaching went pretty well this week in spite of some minor blips that I think are simply unavoidable in teaching.

My biggest frustration thus far has been the limits of the language teaching methodology we are expected to use here and the fact that I can literally observe my students getting nowhere because of it. When I was taught ESL education at OU I learned to teach English without needing to use the native language of the learners at all. This is how ESL is taught, primarily because of the growing demand for English teachers worldwide and the fact that such demands could not be met if teachers needed to speak the native language in order to teach. In Cameroon we are expected to use the Communication Method and that means every word I use in class and every word the students use in class is supposed to be English, even when that means clarifying things or worse, that the kids just won't understand me.

My class of quatriemes are now notoriously the worst class in all of Model School and some of the teachers who had them after me last week gave up completely and called in the Discipline Master for help. I, on the other hand, tried another approach and had a heart-to-heart with the class... in French. Our theme that day was stories and when I wrote the definition of the word and that also of 'characters' and they all stared at me blankly and said, "Madame, we don't understand the words you are using", I felt at my wit's end and told them I was going to tell them a story! They said, "En Francais, Madame?!", surprised that I was speaking their language in class. I told them yes, in French because I felt it was incredibly important that they heard me and understood me well. I told them the story of a girl I went with a week or so ago, the sister of my friend, to see the results of her national test to get out of high school. It was the kind of story with which they are all extremely familiar. Here your entire schooling success, the possibilities presented for your future, rest solely on the passing or failing of 3 tests throughout your high school career. We have actually been given samples of these tests and the questions are vague, subjective, and hardly comprehensive at all in consideration of all they are expected to acquire in the seven year span they cover. One English test we were shown had a text about a girl who had turned to prostitution out of desperation and one of the comprehension questions was, "Do you think Mary's mother loved her?"

I asked them what they thought the girl saw when she went to get her results. They guessed she had not been successful. I told them they were right and asked them why they thought that might be. They said she must not have worked hard enough. I explained to them that according to the national syllabus they should all be able to speak English in my class so by their standards they were also not working hard enough. I asked what they thought would happen when it was their turn to take the same test. They said they too may fail. This is all too common. The students who fail must repeat the whole year over again as many times as it takes; many of them just drop out. It's hard for them to see the point at all in the first place when there is so much unemployment and corruption anyway. After this my class was more attentive than ever and they we have still hit bumps in the road some of the worst behaved students in the beginning are now some of the most active.

That night I had an epiphany. I had told them I wanted us to work together for them to learn and that they have to tell me when they don't understand things; I needed to come down to their level more. The next day I came in and changed my definition of characters from: "the people or animals who are the subjects of a story", to: "Who". They caught on easily and did group work to outline all the different parts of some African folktales I'd found.

Friday I had the group of older students again and I was actually impressed by my own creativity. Having been inspired to higher standards after the student stopping me after class last week I made dice for our class boardgame out of tape and wrote an entire murder mystery set in a neighboring town and made them use the grammar lesson from that morning to solve the crime. I feel very lucky because I really enjoy teaching and not of the trainees do; I would hate to think I was going to spend the next 2 years of my life doing something I didn't feel that way about.

Wednesday is club day and our girls' club had specifically requested to play sports that day. We arranged to get some balls and it was fun to see how much the girls enjoyed it when for once, as boys approached to join our soccer match, we would shout to them, "Est-ce que tu es une fille??!" ("Are you a girl??") and then quickly made them leave the field. It's amazing how many boys want to be in our club! After sports we did a self esteem building activity with the girls. This week I'm hoping a friend of mine from the local hangout is going to come introduce the girls to a few martial arts techniques.

Thursday is our sports day in Peace Corps and I have become a regular on the PC soccer field. I am thrilled to be playing and to have so many people to do so with all of the time. My Cameroonian friend Martin even invited me into a new soccer club on Sunday mornings that I played in today. I was the only woman on the field that was not being a goalie and I think as a result they took it easier than usual but they complimented me after the match and told me I have to come back next Sunday.

At the risk of sounding redundent or predictable, I have met someone here. In a somewhat humorous coincidence he is the host brother of one of the other trainees. We have been spending a solid portion of our time with one another. Most of the time we just meet after my classes and walk all around town together to places I haven't seen yet, just talking, joking, laughing, learning about one another. We have an insane amount in common in terms of our beliefs and characters for two people from very different worlds. He usually winds up at my house after walking me home in time for curfew and then we sit on the front porch, holding babies who are usually crawling all over us like monkeys and watching the sunset. Often he comes in to eat dinner because my host mother insists on it and it is rude to refuse, sometimes we play cards with the family. Regardless of what we are doing, we are always totally at ease with one another. It's not something I ever would've envisioned happening with another African really, and particularly not at such an early stage in my Peace Corps life, but he does make me extremely happy for now and I feel that for once in my life I should just try not to analyze it much farther beyond that.

There's something heartily romantic about the simplicity of things here. There's no need to go out someplace and spend money having a date, we just walk and we learn one another. It doesn't hurt either that he's extremely easy on the eyes.

Today was pretty fantastic because I played soccer and Claude made a surprise visit to the field to watch. Afterward we were supposed to go with his family in his dad's car to see the plantation he manages in a neighboring village but his dad was on what we in Peace Corps call Africa Time. That means that while I was at my house waiting for Claude to show up for 3 hours I did some work and watched the neighbor kids hanging on my window, excitedly chattering, "La Blanche, la blanche, Auntie Lindsay, La Blanche"! I was going to go add credit to my phone to finally call him to figure out the situation when I remembered that my American friend and neighbor Martin had invited me over for hamburgers at exactly the time happened to be walking past! Thus, I was the first one there and we ate what I am pretty sure was the best hamburger I've ever had in my life but what may've just been the only American food I've had in 2 months. I will post some pics of the kids hanging on my window and of the bliss on the faces of the Americans mange-ing our burgers!

After watching a terrential downpour from the bar at Martin's house I met Claude to go watch a quickly organized Peace Corps basketball team get totally licked by a far superior and clearly more invested Cameroonian team. After we dropped in on one of the Americans of the slew of them who was diagnosed with typhoid this week, as well as worms and some kind of gastrointestinal bacteria, then stopped by to say hello to Claude's family briefly and headed off to someplace private where we could just relax and be together. Now I am writing this and it is already night because I left the post many times throughout the day so I'm going to call it a wrap! Hope everyone at home is doing well!

Bouncing back from shit is resiliency...

Yesterday was our beloved and incredibly useful "Resiliency Training" where we learned all the healthy ways to cope with stress, disappointments, and really all negative emotions that I learned in 8th grade Quest class. Our group has decided that the best way to cope with these things is to open a big, stinky box of Deal With It! There is Deal With It Body Spray and Deal With It Smoothie- all very useful indeed!

I realized a few days ago that I have not yet given a real account of what my life is like here on a daily basis so today is a good day for that! So, to begin, I typically set my alarm for 6:30 to 6:15 but I don't believe I have ever once actually slept until it went off. With the little ones in the house, roosters crowing outside, and almost always someone washing, sweeping, or cooking something it is difficult to sleep later. In fact, the whole culture here begins in the morning. People frequently call or visit each other before I am even out of bed! What a contrast to the typical roll into work at 1 pm schedule I was living in LaLa Land!

After my bucket bath the time it takes me to get ready is shortened significantly by the fact that I didn't bring a hairdryer (something that will probably cause me to freeze at post). I then sit down for my breakfast of usually an 'omelette' with green beans, tomatoes, and sometimes spaghetti, or occasionally crepes but always with a cup of Nescafe. Mmm... (I am always trying to figure out why people in the countries where coffee is grown always drink Nescafe).

I usually leave around 7:30, walking down the dirt road from my house or through the cornfield trail, depending on where the day's activities begin. On the way I undoubtedly greet a half dozen people or more, unless it happens to be raining in which case it is only the overly ambitious Americans who are going anywhere at all.

Now that there is Model School we teach until noon when we have lunch. Sometimes we eat what some of the host mothers have prepared but it's a pretty hearty lunch so I have been trying to avoid it. Lately I swing into my friend Desiree's bar, where you can find Americans at pretty much any moment of the day that we are not in a session or past curfew (which unfortunately is 7pm). Desiree has become a good friend but initially he wanted me to be his second wife. He could hardly believe it when I explained to him that unfortunately in America women can have as many husbands as they wanted but a man could only have one wife. It took him about 3 weeks before he apparently asked some of the other trainees and told me I had lied to him. So, he now gets where I stand and is just a buddy. In fact, I feel safe around him because he doesn't let anyone bother me and seems to always keep a special look out for that sort of thing.

After our sessions on safety, cross-culture, technical training, language, and medical issues have completed for the day we usually have a beer at Desiree's and then it's already time to rush through the cornfield to get home before 7. At home I usually socialize with the family, play with the kids, and when Terrence was here I played a lot of cards and soccer. I normally fall onto my foam mattress under my mosquito net before 10 and if I'm lucky not every dog in the neighborhood is howling at the same time and I can fall right to sleep, but that's a rarity.

This week we began teaching at Model School and "BE QUIET!" falls under 'most commonly shouted phrase'. You are easily driven to this when you have 40 pre-adolescents in a classroom without windows and with very thin walls. I taught my first 8 hours and I'm very pleased with how it went. We are also required to lead one club and my friends Claire, Liz & I are managing the Girls' Club. We had a good turn out and I'm excited to see what we can get accomplished.

I spent most of the week with the dreaded quatrieme class, equivalent to about 7th graders though the range of ages is very diverse. All the other teachers want to kick this class out of the school but I grew quite fond of them. By Wednesday students were helping me to gather my things and carrying them all the way to the Teachers' lounge for me after class.

I tried to avoid punishing anyone too severely. There are very strict guidelines in the school for tardiness and most of the time when kids are late by even just a couple of minutes they winding up missing the whole first bell and doing manual labor on the school grounds. Something we've all had to adjust to here is the sight of students being given machetes at school. It's difficult to tell so far how effective the manual labor punishment is but it is good to know at least that officially corporal punishment is forbidden by law. From what I've heard it is still pretty common and there's a strong possibility I will see it once I get to my village but at least the mentality and law has shifted away from it a bit.

It was fun seeing how a real classroom environment will feel but it is definitely a lot of work. One of the technical trainers wrote after observing me, "Avoid shouting; by the end of the day you may lose your voice!". So, if anyone wants to send me a gavel or dunce cap, or maybe has some wonderful memories of how your teacher used to control the noise level in your classes, feel free to pass along that wisdom!

It was nice to observe my class with another teacher on Thursday after having them Monday through Wednesday and to see them actually using vocabulary I'd taught them. Yesterday I had the Premiere class who were a treat after having the younger kids. Here the French system makes it so that the lower class numbers are actually older kids so Premieres are like Juniors in high school.

I try to keep in mind how it felt to be a student myself and that makes me want to have as little boring blackboard copying as possible. Yesterday after I introduced prefixes and suffixes, we did some group work and played some games. They seemed to be really enjoying it and so was I. After class a boy came up and said (in his most planned English), "Madame, I really loved your class, it was very interesting; I want you to be the teacher all the time." When I said thank-you, I will be back next Friday he countered, "No, you must come Monday!" It made my day! Hopefully I can live up to their expectations next week!

Today has been very busy. I received the biggest box of all the Trainees the other day because my mom is the greatest mom ever! Among its contents were my running shoes and clothes which I put to use for the first time this morning. It felt good to start running again and I was impressed it was easier than expected. Apparently I have stayed in decent shape in spite of eating potatoes, plantains, and rice nearly everyday and not being able to hike yet!

I came home to help my host mother peel potatoes and clean my room, including a thorough t-shirt floor mopping! I am going to see the seamstress in a little while to have a dress made exactly how I ask and exactly my size for $4! Maybe I will never come home! This evening we are going on a little bike ride and I'm helping my friend Claude with English.

The weeks fly by here and before I know it I will be at post. I am nervous and excited for having some independence and my own home for the very first time! Judging by how things are going so far, I think life will be just fine in Bahouan!

Terrence's story

The rooster has crowed and signaled the coming of yet another Sunday in Bafia. Already only a few remain before we move on with and begin our lives as Peace Corps Volunteers. Life continues to run smoothly and I feel joy at the possibilities offered by each new day.

This week I had the opportunity to go out with some Cameroonian friends and had really meaningful conversations. I feel I am connecting deeply with people and that is the part of my work here that will eventually mean the most. My friend Martin told me the other day that he hasn't enjoyed himself so much in a long time.

This week also marked the opening ceremony of Model School and after waiting 3 hours for all the special dignitaries for which the ceremony was planned we began with the group utterly butchering the National Anthem before the entire population of students, teachers and important folk. Unfortunately I was in the front row and was quietly singing while attempting to stifle my need to laugh hysterically at the spectacle. Luckily I think it's harder to tell when people are singing poorly when it's in a foreign tongue.

We observed a lot this week and I got the chance to watch a truly inspirational lesson from one of the teachers here. The class was the Premiere level which is students nearing the end of their schooling but the age range is anywhere from 15-19 and beyond. The teacher asked the students what career was the most important and a student rose (they stand to answer questions) to say that a teacher was the most important profession because you pass on knowledge to children. Next a student stood to counter this view by saying that a doctor is more important because you can't go to school if you aren't well. Everyone saw this was a good point and laughed. Then a third student stood to say that if the doctor hadn't a teacher they wouldn't have learned medicine and the whole class erupted in applause for he had clearly won the argument.

When they were asked what they wanted to be and why it brought me nearly to tears as they rose one after another to talk of their dreams of wanting to be a translator so as to help people understand one another; being a doctor and building a hospital for those who suffer from AIDS and Cancer but don't have the means to get the care they need; to be an advocate for children around the world because every 5 minutes a child dies from hunger. I was wowed and awed by their wordsand their intelligence and reminded that regardless of where you go the dreams of youth remain linked.

I will beging teaching at the Model School that we undertake during training this week and I am very excited to finally have control of a classroom of children and to see how things go. I think I will learn a great deal from the children and of course, I hope they will learn even more from me!

Yesterday we had a whole afternoon of training in mountain bike maintenance and then brought home our bikes. I am somewhat intimidated but hoping to become at least a better than mediocre biker by the time I return to the States.

This week marks a bit of a sad turn of events in my homestay because the person I've been the closest to in the house, my younger host brother Terrence, is moving on. I want to share his story with you because it has touched my heart and reminded me of why I'm here. Sometimes in the day-to-day it's easy to lose track of the challenges people face. They carry the weight of their burdens with grace and sometimes we seem to have so many things in common that it's easy to lose track of how much different our lives have been.

Terrence is 18 and is not really my host brother. When he was only 16 my family discovered him through another family member. His family was too poor to manage having him at home and needed him to go and work so after finishing only his primary school studies he came far from home to live with my Anglophone family and care for their children. Since I've been living here I have seen him rise every day before 6 am to begin the daily chores including but not limited to sweeping, mopping, cooking, fetching water, washing everyone's clothes, taking care of the children and generally doing anything everyone asked of him at any moment of every day. I have very seldomly seen him do anything resembling the life of a boy his age in the States but I have made an effort to get him out of the house a few times over the last few weeks and to try to get to know him a little better.

In that time he has opened up to me about his girlfriends, his brothers and sisters and his suffering. He has barely seen or spoken to anyone in his immediate family in years and when one of his elder sisters passed away last year after having not seen her for a long time it wore on him. He tells me the family doesn't pay him for the work that he does and he may or may not be telling me the truth about but either way whatever he is being paid is not much. He hardly leaves the house except to run an errand and often when he does he gets in trouble upon his return for something or another, because of the language barriers of Pidgin and broken English it is often hard to decipher the issue.

Last night during a heart-to-heart discussion in which I tried calmly convincing him that his way with one of the little ones was too harsh he opened up to me after I gently persuaded him as he wiped his eyes to hide the tears I saw building up in his lids.  With effort because he was reluctant to share his long-guarded pain with another person, he spoke of how every person in Bafia knows him because he is like the town handiman. He spoke of the suffering he's had from chronic back pain caused by his constant manual labor and how no one has bothered getting him medical attention for it. He described how all his peers are beginning their studies in Form 5, equivalent to Juniors or Seniors in the States, and he has rested the same for the last 2 years, falling behind everyone else. He spoke of his anger, fatigue, frustration and the way he has given and given of himself which had an obvious sense of him having little left at all to give.

This week his family has been calling my host family regarding him. Evidently there was always some kind of arrangement that he would eventually have some part of his schooling in a chosen trade funded by my host family after he had worked for them a given period of time and now that time has come. I'm disappointed to see him go and will deeply miss having him in the house to play cards and soccer and laugh with regularly but I am glad to see some new opportunities on the horizon for him.

Getting to know him has reminded me of so many lost childhoods on this continent and many other parts of the world. It has enlivened a part of me I've never had the chance to feel, almost the love of an older sister towards a younger sibling. Tonight I will give him a long and meticulously worded letter describing what I hope will be words of wisdom and love for him as well as a little bit of money for all the work he's done for me since I've been here, and a mostly deflated soccer ball that he will probably appreciate just as much as one from the States.

Once again I am reminded of how lucky I have been in my life and I hope his story reminds all of you reading from the States as well of your own privileged position in this world.

Back in Ba(h)fia

July 4th, 2010




It’s so hard to believe that it has already been a year since the big 4th of July bash at the Spaulding castle. Growing up I always heard that the older you become, the faster the time seems to pass and every year I look back on it seems to become more true. I am missing my brother and Adrienne a lot today since last year’s celebration with them was so memorable. I have no doubt they are missing me as well and that in itself is a comfort.



Another milestone is arrived today too. It has been a month exactly since I left the States. It feels so much longer than that already but I’m happy to report that I’m not really counting the time anyhow. A really good thing considering that I’d have a pretty long way to go!



I returned from site visit yesterday evening and it was exciting to have some independence for the first time since my association as a Peace Corps Trainee. One of our cross culture training sessions included a depiction of the culture shock continuum; a series of peaks and valleys that we can expect to encounter throughout the next 2 years and once we’ve returned to what used to be our perception of normalcy. I’m lucky because of my experience in Senegal making the first few valleys far less intense and practically unnoticeable for me, but I did finally have a brief culture shock moment early in my site visit on Wednesday.



I believe I’ve already written about the issue of polygamy and in many ways I could already tell the frustration I initially felt at the cultural norm was only going to continue to manifest throughout my time here. I had not yet had an up close and personal encounter with the phenomenon until my trip and seeing it firsthand filled me with agony at the position of my sisters here.



I will give a brief overview of my site first and then go into more detail about what I have witnessed here so far. Our group of trainees headed to the Northwest, Southwest and Western regions of the country left together in a traditional Cameroonian bus on Wednesday with our community hosts in tow. With all the stories we’ve heard and my experiences traveling in other underdeveloped countries around the world, I’d have to say that, despite being 30+ crammed into a miniature bus and needing to change seats in our row when possible to keep our hind ends from going completely numb, our voyage went pretty well. Luckily my post is easy to get to, near the regional capitol, and in close proximity to other volunteers.



My community host turned out to be the second most important guy in my village, known as the sous-chef, and as a result I was treated like royalty the entire trip. We met up with a friend of his who works on national elections in Bafoussam, (the regional capitol), where we ran some errands in his nice Toyota pickup, including opening my new bank account for after swearing-in, before heading on toward my village.



Bahouan is in a mountainous region and the earth all around is red clay. It took about 20 minutes from Bafoussam before we turned down the unpaved stretch that reaches into the village. We pulled up to a discreet bar where the friend told me, “Voila, this is where you’re sleeping”! I laughed but later realized he was telling the truth, my community host’s house was attached to the bar.



After having a Castel with several men from the community (there are rarely ever women in the bars; another frustrating chauvinistic cultural norm), Wambo (the regal name meaning ‘King’ for my community host), gave me the tour of his compound. He himself has 3 wives, only 2 of which reside in Bahouan. The other wife is in Douala where he has another home. It suddenly became clear why when I’d asked him at our seminar how many children he had his response had been, “Au moins, dix” (“At least ten”). The chef of the village who I later had dinner with has 12 wives on his compound, which I’m told is a decidedly small number for someone of his community stature.



Here is what I wrote in my journal following this tour, “I can only think with this cultural screen which tells me that development of any kind is virtually impossible without women’s equality. Am I judging? Am I biased? Have I had the opportunity to ask the women their feelings? Yes, yes, and no. Yet, it seems that the women themselves are conditioned to accept their positions in society as though they are indifferent to it. I feel my job here is to understand the women and help them value themselves in spite of the cultural norm. I see these women who appear to be just baby-makers and home-makers; they work all day while the men drink and socialize in bars.



I feel luckier than ever in my life to be an American woman. To feel empowered and equal from birth as a human being.”



I boldly took up this discussion with many of the men I encountered at my site, particularly because of how difficult it was for me as a woman to mostly interact with only men the entire visit. At one point the arrogant friend of Wambo’s who had picked us up in Bafoussam ,who was at least twice my age and who had seemed to take a liking to me, said as we were all preparing to eat, “Lindsay, serve-moi!” I wanted to break down in tears and was angry as well but am happy that I didn’t just sit and stew to myself but did react in my defense by saying that I was not a Cameroonian.



I know there is going to be a very fine line to walk on this issue between expressing myself and offending people. I know I cannot assume that even the women will automatically admire me for standing up to their male-dominated culture. In fact, during one of the heated but cordial debates I had with Wambo and another chef du village they both assured me that it is often the women themselves who go out in search of other wives for their men. That, in fact, you are not seen as a real man unless you have many wives. To me this is an obvious barrier to development because of the economic implications of having at once so many wives, often who each have their own home entirely separate from the man’s home which he has to himself, but also so many little mouths to feed that often it is seemingly hard to even know how many.



In spite of this gender stratification constantly creating a rumbling irritation under the surface for me my visit was overall wonderful and I am now eager to actually begin my work in village. Because Wambo was in charge of making the arrangements for my stay he has secured me a house that is far too big for myself alone and which the emptiness of intimidated me greatly at first glance. But, it is a fine home and I am excited to live on my own for the first time in my life. I have 3 bedrooms which I have no idea how I am going to afford to fill with any furniture at all and they are working everyday painting and installing plumbing and lights for me before my arrival. There will be plenty of room for the dog and cat I plan to rescue from the hands of Cameroonians once I arrive who I hope will help keep me company when I’m in dire need of someone that doesn’t speak French. There is a big space in the front for the garden I hope to cultivate, most likely with someone’s help since I am up to this point severely lacking in green thumb. The view from my porch is stunning and peaceful and I live directly across from the main Chefferie. The Chef assured me his protection and my safety at post and I believe it.

Part of the site visit was with the goal of trying to meet important community members before my arrival so we took Wambo’s motorcycle around a bit doing so. One particular ride into a neighboring village to meet the prefet and commander was breathtaking. The red mud road is surrounded by lush forest on both sides and dotted with yellow sunflower-like flowers. Everywhere in this rich part of Africa things are alive. We passed field after field of corn, bean, nuts, manioc and much more. After riding a while a huge valley opened up to our left with rolling hills speckled in rusted tin rooftops of houses the same deep red-brown color as the earth around them and I had one of those enlightening moments of realization of how insane it is that I am here. I look forward to serene walks and jogs around the area to reflect on the beauty I’m surrounded by.

In meetings with all of the political figures in my community it was amusing to note them all remarking on the issue of corruption. Of course none of them implicated themselves as elements of this problem despite the extravagant living quarters many of them occupy and the fact that they do possess so many wives. In the case of the chefs in particular it was fascinating because they receive money from the state but are actually in power due to royal lineage. I’m told it is the chefs whose families founded the villages. While dining with the main chef he caught me staring at a blown up photograph of him in traditional garb dancing at a ceremony. He told me the outfit he was wearing cost more than $4,000 - that’s U.S. currency, money that would go a very long way here. Money that could’ve perhaps funded the road to Bahouan which many people have sited as an obstacle to their community’s development.



I am glad to have only touched the surface on so many issues and to have been given such an intimate look at the hierarchy here during my site visit. I truly believe it will take the full 2 years I am here to integrate myself enough to give straightforward, well-informed recommendations for the villagers. It is difficult to comprehend the marriage of tradition and modernity and I think it will undoubtedly be a challenge in my work. Americans pay quite insignificant attention to tradition and I think regard it primarily as a roadblock to progress. We learn from history but we don’t have the need or the desire to repeat it.



All this being said, I did spend about 2 hours Friday morning talking with a future colleague of mine at the school who stopped by to introduce himself. He worked closely with the last Peace Corps volunteer who went to Bahouan, who everyone kept referring to as though she had just left which I assumed was the case because it is at most sites, but later discovered she left in 2005. Everyone I met pointed out that she interacted very little with the community and barely spoke a word of French at all. I have yet to discern why the hell Peace Corps even placed her there in the first place. Apolinaire, the colleague, did make a good point about the importance of we Americans learning a few things from Africans about communal culture. He was very well versed in our individualistic ways. If I take away anything from the next 2 years, I hope it is related to that aspect of African tradition. I want my time here to be a two-way cross-cultural exchange and I would be want for purpose here if I believed I myself had nothing to gain.



All-in-all I think I made a solid first impression on my community. I made 'cous cous' with Wambo’s third wife, played with babies, attended some ceremonies where lots of people stared at me but giggled with bliss when I greeted them in the mother tongue; even the discussions I had with the men challenging their views on polygamy were lighthearted and we were able to laugh together at the cultural divide. Several people told me they could already tell I was going to be much different from their last volunteer and despite Wambo’s social status being somewhat of a stratification for us, he was very dedicated to explaining to everyone we came in contact with exactly what my goals are for Peace Corps and countering their initial belief that he had taken on a white wife! My first day in Bahouan I could not wait to be back in Bafia but now that I’m back, I can’t wait to settle into my new home!