VSO Fundraising
In late August, I held a going-away fundraiser in Ottawa that helped me collect over 400$. These funds were donated to VSO (Volunteer Services Overseas - www.vsocan.org), who then redirected the money to my internship. Thanks to my friends’ generosity (and a certain Alex Smith’s large contribution), I was able to collect most of the money that CIDA (Canadian International Development Agency) requires from its interns. Some have asked if they could contribute online, and for that purpose I have set up an online account with VSO. If you are interested in donating, you can find my profile at the following address:
http://www.vsocan.org/display.aspx?pid=499&cid=936
VSO is a non for profit organization with a great reputation world wide. I feel confident that funds you donate will be put to good use. Thank you in advance for your generosity.
mercredi 6 février 2008
samedi 26 janvier 2008
January 2008 - Health issues, holidays abroad, climbing mount cameroon
Health
I got really sick in early January. One particular week was worse than usual. I had numbness in my muscles and articulations, fever, diarrhoea, severe fatigue, and no appetite. I very nearly asked VSO (my organization) to send a driver to come get me in my village, so that they could bring me to the better-equipped city hospital. Finally I toughed it out, and braved public transport to get properly diagnosed. It turns out that amoebas and yeast have found their way in my digestive system again. I have been fighting these bugs on and off since late September. By my own guess, I have been sick for at least a third of my time here.
Nowadays it seems I’m doing better. I’m taking things slowly since the doctors say it will take time for me to regain full strength. When I wasn’t eating properly, the iron level in my blood dropped, which contributed to my fatigue. I also lost a lot of weight. For the past few weeks, I weigh in at about 167 pounds (I have been monitoring my weight). This is a significant drop from the more than healthy 195 pounds which I brought to Cameroon in September. I’m sure I’ll quickly make up for this lost weight by eating my way through the month of March at home…
Holidays
On December 21st, I left for the south of Cameroon with Ed, a volunteer from England. I saved some money from my monthly subsistence allowance, and took out some more from my bank account in Canada to make the trip happen.
Our first leg of the trip was completed by bus. We left Maroua at about 6:30am to arrive in Ngaoudéré at 4:00pm. Then, we took the overnight train at 6:00pm, to arrive in Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, at about 2:00pm the next day.
We travelled to three places: 1) Baffoussam, where we spent Christmas; 2) Buea, where we climbed Mount Cameroon; and 3) Limbe, a beach town, where we spent New Year’s Eve.
Climbing Mount Cameroon
Our climb up Mount Cameroon (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Cameroon) was by far the highlight of the trip. Despite being unprepared, ill-equipped and misinformed about the conditions we would face, we managed to make it to the top of 4095 metre peak (West Africa’s highest!). Here is a breakdown of our trek up and down the active volcano:
Day 1: Departure at 9:30 am. Armed with a bit of food (we later realized we had underestimated the amounts we truly needed), a guide and two porters (mandatory as per the requirements of the NGO that organizes these climbs), we set off into the rainforest with high hopes. During these first three hours, I can honestly say I sweated more than I ever have. It was literally pouring off my face. After the hot humid rainforest, we rested for a while before continuing in the windy tundra. At 4:30pm, we found our camp for the night. It was on wood planks that we laid out our sleeping bags and prepared for a cold night.
Day 2: Departure at 8:00am. After a quick breakfast, we added some extra layers to our outfits and braved the cold of the mountain. Unfortunately for me, the high altitude did a number on my lungs, and I had much difficulty breathing. I was quiet the entire day, probably because I didn’t find the strength to talk. I had to focus on climbing…
12:00pm: Arrival at summit! By this time, our bodies felt like jello, and we were freezing. We stayed for a couple of pictures, and immediately made our way down the other side of the mountain. The scenery was beautiful; I managed to take some pictures (see Facebook pics).
5:00pm: Arrival at camp for the night. This time, we pitched a tent near a small source of water. After climbing for more than 13 hours over the past couple of days, we were completely exhausted.
Day 3: Departure at 8:00am. Only four hours of walking today… two on the dried lava from a past eruption, and two more in the rainforest. It is during these last two hours that we often had to dash over masses of dangerous red and black ants.
12:00pm: Arrival at foot of hill. Exhausted, we are looking forward to a relaxing time at the beach in Limbe!
Return
Just over a month left! I can't way to get back and see everyone. I'll probably arrive Ottawa in early March. If you didn't already know, I miss home! I'm going to make the most of things here while I still can. But after that, I'm looking forward to well-derserved break at home. After some rest, I'll be looking to find a great job somewhere. Any ideas?
I got really sick in early January. One particular week was worse than usual. I had numbness in my muscles and articulations, fever, diarrhoea, severe fatigue, and no appetite. I very nearly asked VSO (my organization) to send a driver to come get me in my village, so that they could bring me to the better-equipped city hospital. Finally I toughed it out, and braved public transport to get properly diagnosed. It turns out that amoebas and yeast have found their way in my digestive system again. I have been fighting these bugs on and off since late September. By my own guess, I have been sick for at least a third of my time here.
Nowadays it seems I’m doing better. I’m taking things slowly since the doctors say it will take time for me to regain full strength. When I wasn’t eating properly, the iron level in my blood dropped, which contributed to my fatigue. I also lost a lot of weight. For the past few weeks, I weigh in at about 167 pounds (I have been monitoring my weight). This is a significant drop from the more than healthy 195 pounds which I brought to Cameroon in September. I’m sure I’ll quickly make up for this lost weight by eating my way through the month of March at home…
Holidays
On December 21st, I left for the south of Cameroon with Ed, a volunteer from England. I saved some money from my monthly subsistence allowance, and took out some more from my bank account in Canada to make the trip happen.
Our first leg of the trip was completed by bus. We left Maroua at about 6:30am to arrive in Ngaoudéré at 4:00pm. Then, we took the overnight train at 6:00pm, to arrive in Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, at about 2:00pm the next day.
We travelled to three places: 1) Baffoussam, where we spent Christmas; 2) Buea, where we climbed Mount Cameroon; and 3) Limbe, a beach town, where we spent New Year’s Eve.
Climbing Mount Cameroon
Our climb up Mount Cameroon (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Cameroon) was by far the highlight of the trip. Despite being unprepared, ill-equipped and misinformed about the conditions we would face, we managed to make it to the top of 4095 metre peak (West Africa’s highest!). Here is a breakdown of our trek up and down the active volcano:
Day 1: Departure at 9:30 am. Armed with a bit of food (we later realized we had underestimated the amounts we truly needed), a guide and two porters (mandatory as per the requirements of the NGO that organizes these climbs), we set off into the rainforest with high hopes. During these first three hours, I can honestly say I sweated more than I ever have. It was literally pouring off my face. After the hot humid rainforest, we rested for a while before continuing in the windy tundra. At 4:30pm, we found our camp for the night. It was on wood planks that we laid out our sleeping bags and prepared for a cold night.
Day 2: Departure at 8:00am. After a quick breakfast, we added some extra layers to our outfits and braved the cold of the mountain. Unfortunately for me, the high altitude did a number on my lungs, and I had much difficulty breathing. I was quiet the entire day, probably because I didn’t find the strength to talk. I had to focus on climbing…
12:00pm: Arrival at summit! By this time, our bodies felt like jello, and we were freezing. We stayed for a couple of pictures, and immediately made our way down the other side of the mountain. The scenery was beautiful; I managed to take some pictures (see Facebook pics).
5:00pm: Arrival at camp for the night. This time, we pitched a tent near a small source of water. After climbing for more than 13 hours over the past couple of days, we were completely exhausted.
Day 3: Departure at 8:00am. Only four hours of walking today… two on the dried lava from a past eruption, and two more in the rainforest. It is during these last two hours that we often had to dash over masses of dangerous red and black ants.
12:00pm: Arrival at foot of hill. Exhausted, we are looking forward to a relaxing time at the beach in Limbe!
Return
Just over a month left! I can't way to get back and see everyone. I'll probably arrive Ottawa in early March. If you didn't already know, I miss home! I'm going to make the most of things here while I still can. But after that, I'm looking forward to well-derserved break at home. After some rest, I'll be looking to find a great job somewhere. Any ideas?
jeudi 20 décembre 2007
December 2007
Work update
Things are moving along in the creation of my ‘long-term plan for sustainable development.’ Metsama (my homologue) and I are currently working with a unit of the school called the ‘Conseil d’École.’ In principle, this group is formed of people from the community, as well as teachers and directors that work together for the development of their school. Unfortunately, most of the time these committees only exist by name, as meetings seldom occur and progress is extremely slow. I have been doing my best to motivate these individuals to come together to improve the education in their community. When they do show up, I do organizational development activities, such as developing and defining a vision for the ideal school, and finding the steps necessary to achieve that vision. It’s obvious that in a rural village of a developing country money is often what is lacking. However, as I try to explain here, it isn’t the ONLY answer. There are countless other things that need to be done besides injecting money in the process. The countless other things are why I try to focus our energies on.
Cotton work
Cultural integration is an important part of my time in my village, and sometimes you have to create your own opportunities to participate. This was my philosophy as I decided to visit some cotton workers who had been working close to one of my schools. For these villagers, the cotton collection phase was already complete; they were now weighing and loading their shares onto a large truck. When I first arrived, people starred (as usual) and probably wondered what I was doing there. I started talking to one of the men in charge, who seemed to be supervising the operation. He helped me understand the process of cotton picking and selling. Today, he explained, was one of the last phases of the process. Farmers brought their cotton to the station, which they tied together in very large bails. These bails could way anywhere between 40 and 80 kilos (surprising, as a handful of cotton ways next to nothing). After waiting in line for possibly several hours, the men’s bails’ weights were recorded. This information would be used later to pay the men for their share.
I stayed at the weighing station for a while and eventually got involved with the calculator (they were impressed by the speed with which I used it) to calculate the sums. After a few mathematical operations, someone said that I looked like a big guy (in the heavy sense), and that it would be a good idea to weigh me. We all laughed as I accepted to step on the cotton scale. It read 83 kilos, which the men found extremely funny. Some of the men present weighed no more than 45 kilos soaking wet, so the contrast was evident. After finding out my weight, someone said that I should be strong enough to help them lift the large cotton bails. I happily took on the challenge, which surprised all who were there to see. As I helped lift the bails into the truck, people either laughed hysterically, or starred in disbelief. “A nasara (white person) helping us work with the cotton?” After working with them for at least half an hour, several people thanked me for my help. They couldn’t believe that a white foreigner, usually distant and reserved, was doing physical work with them. I knew that I was making only a small contribution, and I was also enjoying the experience. I had to explain that at home, we also have to do hard work at times. I told them my grandfather had been a lumberjack, which somehow made me look more human to them. They could relate to that.
After lifting and throwing about two dozen cotton bails, I followed ten men into the truck. It was time for some heavy duty stomping; we had to make room for the remaining bails. So there I was on top of a pile of cotton, stomping away with my fellow villagers, humming the Mafa tune that a few of the men were chanting. The rhythm of the chant was meant to guide the rate of our stomps. It almost looked like we were dancing. At the time, I felt happy that I was doing something new, and that people appreciated my help. The men around me were either focused on the task, or still laughing at me. Either way, we both got something out of it. I left the cotton station with a good memory, some new friends, and clothes full of small white puffs.
Package from sister
I’m really excited to get my first package from home. My sister has given the package to Mélanie, Hugo’s girlfriend who lives in Ottawa. Hugo is my best friend here in Maroua, and he’ll be travelling to Europe at Christmas to meet Mélanie. Therefore, the package has gone from my family’s hands to Mélanie’s, who will then give it to Hugo, who will be back in Cameroon in mid January. Through this exchange, I’m sure to get my package on time and will all the items in it! I’m expecting to receive some books, a GMAT prep book, The Office Season 3 and few surprises.
Baptism
Most of the habitants of the Far North province of Cameroon are of Muslim faith. My village, however, is an exception. Although you will find a few Muslim families here and there, the majority of people here are Christian. I actually live on an old Baptist mission compound. Currently, there are about thirty priests living in an area close to my house. They are doing some sort of training that will last until March. Every morning at 4:00 am, a bell is rung for the call to prayer. It used to bother me at first, but now I sleep through it on most days.
Last Sunday, I was invited to come watch a baptism ceremony in a field close to my house. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was probably much different than anything I had imagined. A baptism at home is a quiet, formal ceremony held in a church, where a young infant gets baptised. The annual baptism ceremony in Soulédé is of much larger scale. In the end, I figure approximately 300 people were baptised in front of over 3000 spectators.
The ceremony was said to start at 9:00am, but in true African fashion, it started at about 12:00pm. First there were announcements, which were made mostly in Mafa. Second came the donations portion of the ceremony. Each specific region or church group of the larger Soulédé area took their turn to enter the middle of the gathering to drop some spare coins in a bucket. Every group entered the centre singing and dancing; it was obvious that the individuals were proud of their affiliations with their groups. I joined in when Soulédé Centre was called it, and donated my share as well. After each group had passed, the actual baptism portion started. For this part, a large trench (about 15 feet long, 4 feet wide and 5 feet deep) made of cement was used. It had been filled with about 3 feet of water the day before. Turn by turn, groups of eight kids climbed down into the water, and waited with their backs to eight church members who placed a hand on their heads. The kids looked like young teenagers, whilst the church members were all older men. After a prayer was spoken, the church members would, in synchrony, dunk the kids’ heads in the water. Then, soaking wet and vaguely stunned, the kids walked out of the trench, and into their new lives with God. :-)
Things are moving along in the creation of my ‘long-term plan for sustainable development.’ Metsama (my homologue) and I are currently working with a unit of the school called the ‘Conseil d’École.’ In principle, this group is formed of people from the community, as well as teachers and directors that work together for the development of their school. Unfortunately, most of the time these committees only exist by name, as meetings seldom occur and progress is extremely slow. I have been doing my best to motivate these individuals to come together to improve the education in their community. When they do show up, I do organizational development activities, such as developing and defining a vision for the ideal school, and finding the steps necessary to achieve that vision. It’s obvious that in a rural village of a developing country money is often what is lacking. However, as I try to explain here, it isn’t the ONLY answer. There are countless other things that need to be done besides injecting money in the process. The countless other things are why I try to focus our energies on.
Cotton work
Cultural integration is an important part of my time in my village, and sometimes you have to create your own opportunities to participate. This was my philosophy as I decided to visit some cotton workers who had been working close to one of my schools. For these villagers, the cotton collection phase was already complete; they were now weighing and loading their shares onto a large truck. When I first arrived, people starred (as usual) and probably wondered what I was doing there. I started talking to one of the men in charge, who seemed to be supervising the operation. He helped me understand the process of cotton picking and selling. Today, he explained, was one of the last phases of the process. Farmers brought their cotton to the station, which they tied together in very large bails. These bails could way anywhere between 40 and 80 kilos (surprising, as a handful of cotton ways next to nothing). After waiting in line for possibly several hours, the men’s bails’ weights were recorded. This information would be used later to pay the men for their share.
I stayed at the weighing station for a while and eventually got involved with the calculator (they were impressed by the speed with which I used it) to calculate the sums. After a few mathematical operations, someone said that I looked like a big guy (in the heavy sense), and that it would be a good idea to weigh me. We all laughed as I accepted to step on the cotton scale. It read 83 kilos, which the men found extremely funny. Some of the men present weighed no more than 45 kilos soaking wet, so the contrast was evident. After finding out my weight, someone said that I should be strong enough to help them lift the large cotton bails. I happily took on the challenge, which surprised all who were there to see. As I helped lift the bails into the truck, people either laughed hysterically, or starred in disbelief. “A nasara (white person) helping us work with the cotton?” After working with them for at least half an hour, several people thanked me for my help. They couldn’t believe that a white foreigner, usually distant and reserved, was doing physical work with them. I knew that I was making only a small contribution, and I was also enjoying the experience. I had to explain that at home, we also have to do hard work at times. I told them my grandfather had been a lumberjack, which somehow made me look more human to them. They could relate to that.
After lifting and throwing about two dozen cotton bails, I followed ten men into the truck. It was time for some heavy duty stomping; we had to make room for the remaining bails. So there I was on top of a pile of cotton, stomping away with my fellow villagers, humming the Mafa tune that a few of the men were chanting. The rhythm of the chant was meant to guide the rate of our stomps. It almost looked like we were dancing. At the time, I felt happy that I was doing something new, and that people appreciated my help. The men around me were either focused on the task, or still laughing at me. Either way, we both got something out of it. I left the cotton station with a good memory, some new friends, and clothes full of small white puffs.
Package from sister
I’m really excited to get my first package from home. My sister has given the package to Mélanie, Hugo’s girlfriend who lives in Ottawa. Hugo is my best friend here in Maroua, and he’ll be travelling to Europe at Christmas to meet Mélanie. Therefore, the package has gone from my family’s hands to Mélanie’s, who will then give it to Hugo, who will be back in Cameroon in mid January. Through this exchange, I’m sure to get my package on time and will all the items in it! I’m expecting to receive some books, a GMAT prep book, The Office Season 3 and few surprises.
Baptism
Most of the habitants of the Far North province of Cameroon are of Muslim faith. My village, however, is an exception. Although you will find a few Muslim families here and there, the majority of people here are Christian. I actually live on an old Baptist mission compound. Currently, there are about thirty priests living in an area close to my house. They are doing some sort of training that will last until March. Every morning at 4:00 am, a bell is rung for the call to prayer. It used to bother me at first, but now I sleep through it on most days.
Last Sunday, I was invited to come watch a baptism ceremony in a field close to my house. I’m not sure what I expected, but it was probably much different than anything I had imagined. A baptism at home is a quiet, formal ceremony held in a church, where a young infant gets baptised. The annual baptism ceremony in Soulédé is of much larger scale. In the end, I figure approximately 300 people were baptised in front of over 3000 spectators.
The ceremony was said to start at 9:00am, but in true African fashion, it started at about 12:00pm. First there were announcements, which were made mostly in Mafa. Second came the donations portion of the ceremony. Each specific region or church group of the larger Soulédé area took their turn to enter the middle of the gathering to drop some spare coins in a bucket. Every group entered the centre singing and dancing; it was obvious that the individuals were proud of their affiliations with their groups. I joined in when Soulédé Centre was called it, and donated my share as well. After each group had passed, the actual baptism portion started. For this part, a large trench (about 15 feet long, 4 feet wide and 5 feet deep) made of cement was used. It had been filled with about 3 feet of water the day before. Turn by turn, groups of eight kids climbed down into the water, and waited with their backs to eight church members who placed a hand on their heads. The kids looked like young teenagers, whilst the church members were all older men. After a prayer was spoken, the church members would, in synchrony, dunk the kids’ heads in the water. Then, soaking wet and vaguely stunned, the kids walked out of the trench, and into their new lives with God. :-)
lundi 12 novembre 2007
First part of November 2007
November 2007
Address
I have one! And if your card or packages makes it across the border, it is very safe. That being said, there aren’t many problems with mail. Just don’t send me a new digital camera (recently one was held ransom for 270 000 CFA at a border). Many people have said that they use DHL to send things here.
Jean-Philippe Michel
VSO Maroua
BP 1004, Maroua
Extrême Nord
Cameroon
This is the VSO office in the bigger city of Maroua, and volunteers all ask for their mail to be delivered here. Unfortunately, there is no mail-service that goes directly to my little boukarou in my village.
Lack of posts
Why haven’t I written in over a month? Is it because nothing has happened? Is it because I am lazy? Lack of access to the internet? Although these could be good reasons, I don’t think they explain my lack of posts properly. When I arrived in Cameroon, I was very excited to share stories of my adventure. It was exciting, and I was happy to be here. But I think eventually I realized that I am not on a trip, and that I am not coming home soon. I am here for 6 months, and that can be a VERY long time. This is my reality now. Facing the fact that I will be here for so long has been tough. Sometimes, posting on my blog makes me miss home, and I try to stay away from that as much as I can. Because the more connected I feel to home, the more I miss it. Therefore, instead of staying plugged into Canada, I have tried to accept Cameroon as my new reality. It is better to do it this way as I will fully appreciate my experience. The downside is that I have less energy and motivation to do things like post on my blog. Despite this reluctance, here I am typing again. Many people have requested that I post more often, and because you are my friends and family, I feel like you deserve to know what I am doing. Donc, voila! Even though I am trying to cope with my new reality by focusing on Cameroon, please keep sending news from home. I love to get messages from people, even if they are small.
Sickness
On Sunday night, I felt terribly exhausted. My stomach was killing me. I had diarrhea. My muscles were sore. I didn’t want to move. The next day I went to get tested; I had to give a stool sample in a plastic cup. Exciting! The analysis showed that I had amoebas and yeast in my stomach. Nice… They give me a whole bunch of pills that I had to take over the course of two weeks. I think the pills were tougher on my body than the amoebas. Regardless, I had to take them to get better.
Later on, I found out that I might have contracted something called “jardia,” since I was regularly having burps that brought the smell of sulphur from my stomach. Oh, and your welcome for these delightful details.
I think the next time I am in Maroua I will get tested again, maybe at the hospital this time.
Address
I have one! And if your card or packages makes it across the border, it is very safe. That being said, there aren’t many problems with mail. Just don’t send me a new digital camera (recently one was held ransom for 270 000 CFA at a border). Many people have said that they use DHL to send things here.
Jean-Philippe Michel
VSO Maroua
BP 1004, Maroua
Extrême Nord
Cameroon
This is the VSO office in the bigger city of Maroua, and volunteers all ask for their mail to be delivered here. Unfortunately, there is no mail-service that goes directly to my little boukarou in my village.
Lack of posts
Why haven’t I written in over a month? Is it because nothing has happened? Is it because I am lazy? Lack of access to the internet? Although these could be good reasons, I don’t think they explain my lack of posts properly. When I arrived in Cameroon, I was very excited to share stories of my adventure. It was exciting, and I was happy to be here. But I think eventually I realized that I am not on a trip, and that I am not coming home soon. I am here for 6 months, and that can be a VERY long time. This is my reality now. Facing the fact that I will be here for so long has been tough. Sometimes, posting on my blog makes me miss home, and I try to stay away from that as much as I can. Because the more connected I feel to home, the more I miss it. Therefore, instead of staying plugged into Canada, I have tried to accept Cameroon as my new reality. It is better to do it this way as I will fully appreciate my experience. The downside is that I have less energy and motivation to do things like post on my blog. Despite this reluctance, here I am typing again. Many people have requested that I post more often, and because you are my friends and family, I feel like you deserve to know what I am doing. Donc, voila! Even though I am trying to cope with my new reality by focusing on Cameroon, please keep sending news from home. I love to get messages from people, even if they are small.
Sickness
On Sunday night, I felt terribly exhausted. My stomach was killing me. I had diarrhea. My muscles were sore. I didn’t want to move. The next day I went to get tested; I had to give a stool sample in a plastic cup. Exciting! The analysis showed that I had amoebas and yeast in my stomach. Nice… They give me a whole bunch of pills that I had to take over the course of two weeks. I think the pills were tougher on my body than the amoebas. Regardless, I had to take them to get better.
Later on, I found out that I might have contracted something called “jardia,” since I was regularly having burps that brought the smell of sulphur from my stomach. Oh, and your welcome for these delightful details.
I think the next time I am in Maroua I will get tested again, maybe at the hospital this time.
October 2007
October 2007
I am still alive!
Motorcycle accident
Have you ever seen someone die?
Ed and I were eating lunch a Sunday afternoon in Maroua, when we heard a loud noise outside. When I rushed out, I saw a motorcycle that was still sliding across the pavement. I couldn’t see the driver around, but there were already people running towards the scene. The first person who got there rushed towards the “canivaux” (the sewage system which I once walked into and cut my leg). He reached in the three-foot deep sewer and pulled out a young man by the armpits. He was obviously unconscious, as his body was not moving at all. I knew from basic first-aid that you shouldn’t move a body like that, since the accident could have caused spinal damage. But I don’t think basic first aid is taught or practiced here... Anyways, as the body was dragged out of the ditch, people started forming a circle around the injured man. His face was bleeding pretty badly, probably from its contact with the asphalt. The first man who was “tending” to him obviously didn’t know what he was doing; at one point I saw that he was covering the injured guy’s mouth and eyes. (Note: I later learned from a doctor that this a traditional method - in Cameroon - of assuring that a deceased person’s eyes and mouth remain closed after he passes. Unfortunately, this is sometimes done when a person is not completely dead, asphyxiating him within a few minutes.) A second, more competent, man eventually showed up and checked vital signs. It looked like he knew what he was doing. He then proceeded to give mouth to mouth for a few minutes. Since he stopped, Ed and I assumed that the man was dead. It was really hard to watch all this happen, but I thought that I would rather know what happens than to go back to my isolated little lunch. One of the worst things is that we didn’t know what to do. Who do you call? How do you call them? Is there someone who comes when you call? I think by the end we figured out that the answer is no. There is no “911” here. There are no ambulances like the ones we have at home. So what if it was Ed who was in the accident? Or me? What do you do? Well, we learned that you find the closest car, and ask the driver to bring you to the hospital. As odd as that would seem on a north American street, people here would do something like that in a heartbeat. It is still scary to think that it’s up to you to get to the hospital, no matter what.
Therefore, our accident was no different, we had to find a vehicle to bring the man to the hospital. After a few minutes, a pickup truck was flagged down. Four men carried the body into the truck, and we assumed that he was brought to the hospital. We asked strangers on the street if the man was dead. They said: “not yet.”
Seeing that completed changed whatever was happening for us that day. You sort of tried to change the subject, talk about something else, think about your plans, but it was pointless. Ed and I both felt like that. We were just shocked. It was a poignant reminder to wear your helmet. The man in the crash didn’t wear one (just like 99% of the people here). Maybe if he did he would have survived. But the sad reality is that most of the people here can’t afford a helmet.
Good friend
My best buddy here is Benjamin. He is a very nice, trustworthy guy. Very polite. I feel like I can trust him. It takes a while to be able to trust someone here. With him, I know his intentions are good. He often comes to visit me at my place. We go out for a drink sometimes on Thursdays. We go to Mokolo for market day on Wednesdays. I taught him how to use the computer and the internet. We created an email account for him last week. He is very pumped about that. I sent him an email with some pictures, and he loves it! He just doesn’t have anyone to email yet. If one of you guys could send him an email, he would be so happy! His email is benjamimbelawadzai@hotmail.com. Send him a hello from Canada! Thanks.
Role at work
Finally, I think I can define it better now. Why I am here? What am I doing? Here goes: I am a facilitator that is seeking to mobilize the education community in Soulédé to find solutions to their problems in education through participatory tools. What do I do every day? First off, let’s make this clear: I don’t work a 40 hour week. I am not sure if anyone does here. I think on a typical day (if there are any), I could either visit a school, do classroom observation, organise a formal meeting, attend a meeting in one of my schools, in Mokolo, or in Maroua, or work from home. Working from home could involve transcribing meeting minutes, writing a report, inputting data, preparing for a meeting, etc. All other time could be written off as “integration in the community.” As unofficial as that sounds, it is a key area to my success here. There is so much important information and knowledge I pick up outside of formal work times.
Other activities
Besides work, what do I do in Cameroon?
-Play basketball in Maroua
-Read a book (brought a few)
-Buy food at the market
-Hang out with friends
-Go on a hike
-Go out drinking with volunteers
-etc...
I am still alive!
Motorcycle accident
Have you ever seen someone die?
Ed and I were eating lunch a Sunday afternoon in Maroua, when we heard a loud noise outside. When I rushed out, I saw a motorcycle that was still sliding across the pavement. I couldn’t see the driver around, but there were already people running towards the scene. The first person who got there rushed towards the “canivaux” (the sewage system which I once walked into and cut my leg). He reached in the three-foot deep sewer and pulled out a young man by the armpits. He was obviously unconscious, as his body was not moving at all. I knew from basic first-aid that you shouldn’t move a body like that, since the accident could have caused spinal damage. But I don’t think basic first aid is taught or practiced here... Anyways, as the body was dragged out of the ditch, people started forming a circle around the injured man. His face was bleeding pretty badly, probably from its contact with the asphalt. The first man who was “tending” to him obviously didn’t know what he was doing; at one point I saw that he was covering the injured guy’s mouth and eyes. (Note: I later learned from a doctor that this a traditional method - in Cameroon - of assuring that a deceased person’s eyes and mouth remain closed after he passes. Unfortunately, this is sometimes done when a person is not completely dead, asphyxiating him within a few minutes.) A second, more competent, man eventually showed up and checked vital signs. It looked like he knew what he was doing. He then proceeded to give mouth to mouth for a few minutes. Since he stopped, Ed and I assumed that the man was dead. It was really hard to watch all this happen, but I thought that I would rather know what happens than to go back to my isolated little lunch. One of the worst things is that we didn’t know what to do. Who do you call? How do you call them? Is there someone who comes when you call? I think by the end we figured out that the answer is no. There is no “911” here. There are no ambulances like the ones we have at home. So what if it was Ed who was in the accident? Or me? What do you do? Well, we learned that you find the closest car, and ask the driver to bring you to the hospital. As odd as that would seem on a north American street, people here would do something like that in a heartbeat. It is still scary to think that it’s up to you to get to the hospital, no matter what.
Therefore, our accident was no different, we had to find a vehicle to bring the man to the hospital. After a few minutes, a pickup truck was flagged down. Four men carried the body into the truck, and we assumed that he was brought to the hospital. We asked strangers on the street if the man was dead. They said: “not yet.”
Seeing that completed changed whatever was happening for us that day. You sort of tried to change the subject, talk about something else, think about your plans, but it was pointless. Ed and I both felt like that. We were just shocked. It was a poignant reminder to wear your helmet. The man in the crash didn’t wear one (just like 99% of the people here). Maybe if he did he would have survived. But the sad reality is that most of the people here can’t afford a helmet.
Good friend
My best buddy here is Benjamin. He is a very nice, trustworthy guy. Very polite. I feel like I can trust him. It takes a while to be able to trust someone here. With him, I know his intentions are good. He often comes to visit me at my place. We go out for a drink sometimes on Thursdays. We go to Mokolo for market day on Wednesdays. I taught him how to use the computer and the internet. We created an email account for him last week. He is very pumped about that. I sent him an email with some pictures, and he loves it! He just doesn’t have anyone to email yet. If one of you guys could send him an email, he would be so happy! His email is benjamimbelawadzai@hotmail.com. Send him a hello from Canada! Thanks.
Role at work
Finally, I think I can define it better now. Why I am here? What am I doing? Here goes: I am a facilitator that is seeking to mobilize the education community in Soulédé to find solutions to their problems in education through participatory tools. What do I do every day? First off, let’s make this clear: I don’t work a 40 hour week. I am not sure if anyone does here. I think on a typical day (if there are any), I could either visit a school, do classroom observation, organise a formal meeting, attend a meeting in one of my schools, in Mokolo, or in Maroua, or work from home. Working from home could involve transcribing meeting minutes, writing a report, inputting data, preparing for a meeting, etc. All other time could be written off as “integration in the community.” As unofficial as that sounds, it is a key area to my success here. There is so much important information and knowledge I pick up outside of formal work times.
Other activities
Besides work, what do I do in Cameroon?
-Play basketball in Maroua
-Read a book (brought a few)
-Buy food at the market
-Hang out with friends
-Go on a hike
-Go out drinking with volunteers
-etc...
mardi 25 septembre 2007
September 17th : Happy Birthday to me
September 17th : Happy Birthday to me
Thank you
So many people wrote to me to wish me happy birthday. Thanks so much! It felt great to hear from you guys. I only got the messages when I got back to Maroua (later on in the week), but it still felt nice to see that people hadn’t forgotten me at home. I wish I could have been with you on my birthday, but instead I was alone in my hut. I won’t lie; it was somewhat depressing when, at 6:30, there was no light and nothing to do. Not because it was my birthday, but just because.
Homologue
Met my partner in crime. His name is Matseme. I’m not sure about the spelling. He is pretty gangster. He is a “go against the grain” type of guy. He is a bit of an agitator. I figure this could both help and hinder the education project we are undertaking together. We’ll see. He is from Soulédé originally. His father is a religious leader (a “lawane”), and has six wives. This means my partner has over 30 brothers and sisters. Crazy. He is well known in the village, which has helped make some good connections. I look forward to working with him. I think I am in good hands, but who knows for sure at this point.
Football-Soccer
I played soccer for the first time here. I brought a ball, so it was not complicated to set up a game. Many kids showed up to watch, but only about 10 people ended up playing. It was fun, and I think I held my own. However, I am really out of shape! If I can play a couple of times a week, I think I will be fine.
First meeting
My inspector (head of school board) is on the ball. Very organized. Accordingly, we already have had our initial meeting with all the directors of the Soulédé-Roua region. Over thirty of them showed up. We did some very interesting activities. First, we reviewed enrolment rates for all the schools in the region. If they were lower than last years, people were in trouble. The inspector was not afraid to tell them. He said something along the line of “those who do not want to do the work will see us do the work without them”. This meant that they would be fired. Open threats flew throughout the meeting. Sometimes, the directors would finish the sentences of the inspector, as if they had heard his instructions a thousand times before. I was impressed about how strong his leadership style was. I’m sure it was effective in some ways. However, ruling this way did not help him be a good listener. He turned a deaf hear to those who offered reasons why their enrolment rates had dipped. At one point he said to someone, “I see you have your hand up, but clearly I am not done talking.” That gives you a small idea of what the inspector is like when it comes to work. I am happy to be on his good side though. He has been very good to both Christine and I…
Thank you
So many people wrote to me to wish me happy birthday. Thanks so much! It felt great to hear from you guys. I only got the messages when I got back to Maroua (later on in the week), but it still felt nice to see that people hadn’t forgotten me at home. I wish I could have been with you on my birthday, but instead I was alone in my hut. I won’t lie; it was somewhat depressing when, at 6:30, there was no light and nothing to do. Not because it was my birthday, but just because.
Homologue
Met my partner in crime. His name is Matseme. I’m not sure about the spelling. He is pretty gangster. He is a “go against the grain” type of guy. He is a bit of an agitator. I figure this could both help and hinder the education project we are undertaking together. We’ll see. He is from Soulédé originally. His father is a religious leader (a “lawane”), and has six wives. This means my partner has over 30 brothers and sisters. Crazy. He is well known in the village, which has helped make some good connections. I look forward to working with him. I think I am in good hands, but who knows for sure at this point.
Football-Soccer
I played soccer for the first time here. I brought a ball, so it was not complicated to set up a game. Many kids showed up to watch, but only about 10 people ended up playing. It was fun, and I think I held my own. However, I am really out of shape! If I can play a couple of times a week, I think I will be fine.
First meeting
My inspector (head of school board) is on the ball. Very organized. Accordingly, we already have had our initial meeting with all the directors of the Soulédé-Roua region. Over thirty of them showed up. We did some very interesting activities. First, we reviewed enrolment rates for all the schools in the region. If they were lower than last years, people were in trouble. The inspector was not afraid to tell them. He said something along the line of “those who do not want to do the work will see us do the work without them”. This meant that they would be fired. Open threats flew throughout the meeting. Sometimes, the directors would finish the sentences of the inspector, as if they had heard his instructions a thousand times before. I was impressed about how strong his leadership style was. I’m sure it was effective in some ways. However, ruling this way did not help him be a good listener. He turned a deaf hear to those who offered reasons why their enrolment rates had dipped. At one point he said to someone, “I see you have your hand up, but clearly I am not done talking.” That gives you a small idea of what the inspector is like when it comes to work. I am happy to be on his good side though. He has been very good to both Christine and I…
September 15th : Life in another universe
September 15th : Life in another universe
The trip
Like I said in my last post, Christine and I waited a long time on Saturday morning for the bus to Mokolo. We expected a bus at 7, but it only came at 9:30. Once we left, the road there was pretty good (by Cameroonian standards). When we arrived, we were greeted by the Inspecteur and a director of a school in Soulédé. Together, we travelled by motorcycle on a country road. What a ride! I had all my bags strapped on to the back of the moto. The road was terrible; we swerved left and right to avoid potholes, rocks and puddles. At times, we crossed right through small streams of water that flowed across the road. I was happy during this ride. I was heading to my village and looking forward to it. The scenery was beautiful; we were entering the mountainous area. Everything is green at the moment because we are in the rainy season. In a month, the scenery will be very different. The downside of the rainy season is that it destroys the roads. People manage to travel however, as we saw a few other motorcycles travelling to and from Mokolo. Everyone that happened to be on the side of the road stared. They must have wondered; “what is a white person doing here?” The more people we past, the more I saw that people in rural areas were poorer than people in urban areas. We saw many little huts on the side of the road. The huts, the people, the road, the mountains, the moto; I really felt like I was on an adventure during the ride. After about 25 minutes, we arrived to my house.
My first place
I guess it is different than most people’s first place. Since pictures speak louder than words, I posted a whole slew of them on Facebook. I also posted a video. Check it out and let me know what you think. I guess the best way to describe is: “charming.” It looks like I have three little huts all too myself. The first hut is my executive bathroom suite. The toilet is interesting. First, the water at the bottom of it is dark brown. There is no running water, so you can’t flush. You just pour water in when you are done. Also, there is no toilet seat. The shower is a nice mould-green colour. There is often a toad there in the morning to great me. We are not friends. When you are naked in a hut, washing yourself with cold water from a bucket, it is not fun when a slimy creature jumps on your feet. The second hut is an empty room. I haven’t figure out what to do with this circular, cement space. The third hut is my home. It is my kitchen and bedroom. The kitchen is quite filthy. There is some sort of sink that drains very slowly, a counter top, and some shelves. I am looking forward to cleaning it, but I do not have those supplies right now. My bedroom is pretty big. I guess I can also call it my living room. There are many shelves, as well as a storage unit. I set up my mosquito net over my bed. It is an adjustment, but I guess I am pretty comfortable there. During the day that is…
Alone
What do you do when it is pitch black outside at 6:30pm in a small African village? Go inside. What do you do inside? Turn on a light. Wait! You don’t have electricity. What can you do then? If someone can answer that, I will be very grateful, because so far, I have no good ideas. It can get very lonely very fast here. Especially if you are stuck cooking your supper or washing yourself in the dark. At 5:45, you will notice there is a little bit less light. So, from 5:45 to 6:30, I usually have a race against time to get myself set up for bed. If I do not to take care and prepare for this, I will be stuck stumbling in the dark trying to get organized. After the craziness, I usually end lying in my bed. How can you fall asleep at 6:30? So usually I am left wondering and worrying. Thinking about how much it sucks here. Thinking about how much I miss home. I know it is unhealthy, but very often I think about all the great things I will do when I get home. I want to go to a restaurant, I want to play basketball, I want to get ice cream, I want to see this, to do that, I want to hang out with this person, etc. I know I can’t keep doing that. I have over 5 months left! I have to find more things here that make me happy. I guess that will come with time. But for now, I can say that being alone in my village is tough.
The trip
Like I said in my last post, Christine and I waited a long time on Saturday morning for the bus to Mokolo. We expected a bus at 7, but it only came at 9:30. Once we left, the road there was pretty good (by Cameroonian standards). When we arrived, we were greeted by the Inspecteur and a director of a school in Soulédé. Together, we travelled by motorcycle on a country road. What a ride! I had all my bags strapped on to the back of the moto. The road was terrible; we swerved left and right to avoid potholes, rocks and puddles. At times, we crossed right through small streams of water that flowed across the road. I was happy during this ride. I was heading to my village and looking forward to it. The scenery was beautiful; we were entering the mountainous area. Everything is green at the moment because we are in the rainy season. In a month, the scenery will be very different. The downside of the rainy season is that it destroys the roads. People manage to travel however, as we saw a few other motorcycles travelling to and from Mokolo. Everyone that happened to be on the side of the road stared. They must have wondered; “what is a white person doing here?” The more people we past, the more I saw that people in rural areas were poorer than people in urban areas. We saw many little huts on the side of the road. The huts, the people, the road, the mountains, the moto; I really felt like I was on an adventure during the ride. After about 25 minutes, we arrived to my house.
My first place
I guess it is different than most people’s first place. Since pictures speak louder than words, I posted a whole slew of them on Facebook. I also posted a video. Check it out and let me know what you think. I guess the best way to describe is: “charming.” It looks like I have three little huts all too myself. The first hut is my executive bathroom suite. The toilet is interesting. First, the water at the bottom of it is dark brown. There is no running water, so you can’t flush. You just pour water in when you are done. Also, there is no toilet seat. The shower is a nice mould-green colour. There is often a toad there in the morning to great me. We are not friends. When you are naked in a hut, washing yourself with cold water from a bucket, it is not fun when a slimy creature jumps on your feet. The second hut is an empty room. I haven’t figure out what to do with this circular, cement space. The third hut is my home. It is my kitchen and bedroom. The kitchen is quite filthy. There is some sort of sink that drains very slowly, a counter top, and some shelves. I am looking forward to cleaning it, but I do not have those supplies right now. My bedroom is pretty big. I guess I can also call it my living room. There are many shelves, as well as a storage unit. I set up my mosquito net over my bed. It is an adjustment, but I guess I am pretty comfortable there. During the day that is…
Alone
What do you do when it is pitch black outside at 6:30pm in a small African village? Go inside. What do you do inside? Turn on a light. Wait! You don’t have electricity. What can you do then? If someone can answer that, I will be very grateful, because so far, I have no good ideas. It can get very lonely very fast here. Especially if you are stuck cooking your supper or washing yourself in the dark. At 5:45, you will notice there is a little bit less light. So, from 5:45 to 6:30, I usually have a race against time to get myself set up for bed. If I do not to take care and prepare for this, I will be stuck stumbling in the dark trying to get organized. After the craziness, I usually end lying in my bed. How can you fall asleep at 6:30? So usually I am left wondering and worrying. Thinking about how much it sucks here. Thinking about how much I miss home. I know it is unhealthy, but very often I think about all the great things I will do when I get home. I want to go to a restaurant, I want to play basketball, I want to get ice cream, I want to see this, to do that, I want to hang out with this person, etc. I know I can’t keep doing that. I have over 5 months left! I have to find more things here that make me happy. I guess that will come with time. But for now, I can say that being alone in my village is tough.
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