A day in the life.

What's shakin America?

I have been in Cameroon for a little over a month now, and I know some inquiring minds out there are dying to know just what exactly I'm doing all day errday (besides sweating), so let me break it down for you: a day in the life of a PCT (Peace Corps Trainee) in Cameroon:

I wake up at 5:30am, which, as it turns out, is not a morning hour conducive to feeling anything remotely like P Diddy, but I prepare myself to hit the city of Bafia nonetheless. I huff and puff my way through a run, navigating the streets of the quartier residential, wowing all my neighbors with my profuse perspiration and my brilliantly white skin. Around 6:30, I make my way back home and indulge in a luxurious bucket bath (no but seriously that blue bucket of cold water paired with my John Frieda Brilliant Brunette shampoo is as close to luxurious as I'm going to get). After bathing, I dress myself- never with a mirror, sometimes without interior lighting- and come out looking fresh 2 death, obvi. I set the breakfast table while Diane and Mama MC (my mom's name is Marie Claire and her BFFs call her MC...ergo she is my Mama MC) rustle up some grub. Last week I got guacamole aka presse for breakfast every morning which was thebomb.com- especially on Tuesday and Wednesday when the guac was paired with leftover red beans and slathered on a baguette for a southwestern fiesta in my mouth. Normally on the non-fiesta mornings I am served a delicious tomato, garlic, onion and piment (hot pepper) omelet with baguette. However, this week I got thrown for a loop when Mama MC fixed us salad for breakfast two mornings in a row! That's right, people: lettuce, tomato, onion, and avocado in and around my mouth. There was an interesting twist to the salad, though: Cameroonian salad dressing, which is made with mayonnaise, sugar, vinegar and oil. Interessante... So the nutrient rich ingredients ended up being almost entirely masked by the dressing and by the baguette on which we consumed our "salad," but hey- a salad's a salad! I enjoyed it. I am ecstatic to report that I have been served Nescafé every morning with my breakfast ever since that wretched week of Ovaltine, so I have returned to stable caffeine levels and all is right in the world.

After petit dej (breakfast), Diane, Mama MC and I leave the house around 7:30 to walk to school, work, and the base, respectively. Mama MC rocks fierce heels every day- just like my momma back home, except Lisa T doesn't have to wade through muddy dirt roads in her fierce heels. It's amazing- Mama MC and I walk together on the same roads, and yet my chacos and rainbows are constantly caked in mud, while her white heels remain spotless.

Side note: My sister is always on my case about my shoes, but last Saturday she legitimately FREAKED out on me for trying to wear my chacos that were, admittedly, exceptionally muddy. She started going off about how she knows I have more pairs of shoes in my room, but for some reason I insist on wearing only sandals, and that it was absolutely unacceptable for me to go out in public with shoes looking like that. I ended up changing my shoes, leaving my chacos at home for Diane to wash to her standards, and walked to school with my tail between my legs and my rainbows on my feet.

So anyways, I walk to the base, greeting everyone I pass, Belle from Beauty and the Beast "Bonjour!" style. Classes start at 8:00 and go until 16:30 (military time is a STRUGGLE for me). We have four different classes every day: 8:00-10:00, then 10:20-12:20, then 13:30-15:00, and finally 15:15-16:30. Each of those four blocks may be a language class, a tech session, a medical session, a security session, a cross-culture session, or a general meeting. Language classes are small, with a maximum of four people in a class, and everyone in the class is in the same sector, so I am in class with three other YDs who tested into the same level as I did. Every two weeks we get a new language instructor, but thus far we are all still learning French, even though the four of us in my class tested out of French before starting classes. We will start learning new languages (Pidgin English, Fulfulde) if need be after we find out our posts on Wednesday. Tech sessions are our Youth Development technical skills training, and are led by our team of tech trainers, as well as PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) that come in for a week or two at a time. Because YD is a new program, there are no YD volunteers to lead sessions, so instead we have had volunteers from every sector (education, small enterprise development, health, and agroforestry) come in to work with us, which has been awesome. We learn about the youth of Cameroon, which groups we will be targeting, what each group's problems are, and how we will be going about addressing those problems. I will spare you the details for now. Medical sessions are always led by Nurse Ann, the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO). Nurse Ann is hysterical. She's Cameroonian, but has been working with Peace Corps forever, and has formulated a series of opinions about PCVs based on her experience over the past two decades or so, most notably that all volunteers are sexually insatiable. She leads sessions about various medical issues, gives us all our vaccinations and medications, and replenishes our Medical Kit supplies when we run low on anything- especially condoms and dental dams. Medical sessions are a good time. YDs and Agros are usually together for Med, Security and Cross Culture sessions since we are the two groups that live in Bafia. Security sessions are led by Ruth, another Cameroonian with a long history with Peace Corps and probably a lot of preconceived notions about volunteers, but not nearly as obvious as Nurse Ann's. Ruth is sweet, albeit hard to understand at times, but she gets pretty loud when she's making an important point, which is helpful in following her lectures. Ruth talks to us about mitigating risk for robberies, sexual harassment, etc. Good stuff. Cross-culture sessions mostly pertained to homestays at first, but have evolved into discussing Cameroonian gender norms, Cameroonian history and geography, and other aspects of Cameroonian culture. General meetings are for all three groups, so we bus in the santés (health trainees) from Bokito on Thursdays for the weekly GM. GMs are basically a forum for training announcements, since it's the only time we are all together. So yeah those are our classes. Exhilarating, right?

Every day, lunch ladies come and set up a buffet at the base, and you can fill your plate for 500 CFA (a little over one American dollar), or 1000 CFA if you opt for the meat. You can pretty much count on the buffet consisting of rice, red beans and plantains every day. The other starches alternate between pasta, potatoes and couscous. They also usually have some sort of legume- either cabbage with carrots and green beans, or spinachy/ leafy somethin somethin, but sometimes potatoes are the closest we get to legumes. The meat option alternates daily as well, between chicken, ground beef, meatballs, fish or tripe. The meat is always dang good here, but since I get a lot of meat at home for dinner, I usually go for the vegetariation option and save my 500 CFA for a beer after school. They also usually have fruit that you can buy for an extra 50 CFA- yesterday it was papaya and it was amazeballs. So yeah, let me just reiterate- I am NOT going hungry in Africa.

After classes, we usually all go out for a beer and/or chocolate gateau at the bar/ boutique down the road. And when I say beer, I mean a forty. They only sell forties. So yeah, a forty for 500 CFA, which is a little more than one American dollar. Can you say party time? I am a trente trois girl myself, but for those in the group who aren't too keen on beer, there are the options of boxed wine, Smirnoff Ice, Booster Whisky-Cola, or the increasingly popular option sachets (small plastic baggies of shots of just barely potable alcohol) of whiskey or gin in Top soda. Chocolate gateau is a delicacy up there with grandmas nut balls- it's basically a giant dinner roll slathered with Tartina (Nutella with more cocoa and less hazelnut), and of late we have taken to adding a banana into the mix. Oh baby oh baby. When the sun starts to set, we all pack up and head to our homestays for the night.

At home, I sometimes help make dinner, but lately the fam has been having me wash dishes while they cook. Probably for the best. It's not that I can't cook- it's that I can't cook here. For starters, Cameroonians do not use cutting boards to cut food up- they just cut up everything in their hands. So when I tried to cut up onions last week, the waterworks were OOC- like Titanic caliber waterworks. Other highlights on my cooking adventures have included not having the strength/ stamina to stir the giant vat of cous cous with the monstrous wooden bat of a spoon, cutting myself trying to shave the skin off of manioc, burning an omelet, not being able to toast bread properly, getting a rash from insisting it was easier to peel garlic with my fingernails instead of a knife edge, and so on and so forth. Petit à petit as we say here in Cameroon.

So I bumble around the kitchen "helping" with what I can, trying to avoid injury to myself and others, until it's time for dinner. The one domestic task that is mine and mine alone at our house is setting the table, and let me tell you- I can set a MEAN table! Placemats? All over those bad boys! Plates? Done. Glasses? Forks? Check and check. It's just a gift I guess.

For dinner, we feast. Mama MC hails from the West, and is one hell of a chef. My favorite dishes are couscous de maiz with gumbo sauce (gumbo means okra in French, but it does kind of taste like gumbo from NOLA) and macabo with peanut fish sauce. Omnomnom. Last week Mama MC fixed me tripe because I said I was afraid of it when they served it for lunch one day at the base, and she insisted that I would love it if she made it for me. She was right- that shiz was de-freaking-licious. I've had it twice now. Good stuff. After dinner we watch Fille de Jardiner, and then I announce that I am going to sleep, and go into my room to read until I drop.

So there you have it, a day in the life.

Peace love and poop in a hole.

My life in song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koUWaAr-itY

Best. Day. Ever.

Thursday morning I woke up 10 minutes before my alarm went off, got up and went to go meet Katie at the base (training center) for our 6am morning run. Katie is my super badass friend from Chicago who runs marathons... for fun. I'm more of a 1.5-miler myself, so long as those grueling 1.5 miles are run on a treadmill at 6.0 miles per hour and set to the tune of a bumpin GaGa/ GirlTalk/ Jay-Z playlist on my iPod. Soooo yeah me, the non-runner, and my running buddy, the marathoner, have been going on 20-30 minute morning runs this week. Needless to say, she's been toning down her intensity for my sake, but it's been really awesome for me! Ha. So as I am walking to the base, I run into Charla's grandma setting up her shop on the main road. Charla's grandma is probably the cutest and sweetest old woman ever, and she has a roadside stand where she sells food, namely nut balls. Nut balls are basically the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. Grandma calls them "caramels" but the more endearing title of "nut balls" has stuck with all of us whiteys. They are basically little balled up clusters of caramelized honey and crushed peanuts, and quite possibly where the phrase "little pieces of heaven" derives from. So all week I had been asking Gma when she was going to have more nut balls, since she's been out of stock. She hadn't had time to make them this week, but promised that she'd have them soon. So this morning, as I am on my way to meet up with Katie, I pass by gma's stand and wish her a good morning, and she gleefully informs me that she has nut balls for me today! That was all the motivation I needed to tough out that mornings run. After the run, I hurried home at 630, took an oh-so-refreshing bucket bath, dressed, and then sat down for breakfast. I unscrewed the ovaltine container, having accepted my caffeine-deprived fate many moons ago, and was ready to spoon out the earthy pseudo-chocolate-flavored granules, when I noticed that the ovaltine container was actually full of nescafé packets! 10 whole packets of caffeinated gloriousness! I squealed with delight, ecstatic to discover that my many mornings of ovaltine consumption had finally paid off in the best imaginable way. I relished each sip of my nescafé nectar-of-the-gods instant coffee, admiring the way it enhanced the flavor of my morning omlette and baguette. Once I was fully satiated, I packed up my bag and headed off to go see Charla's grandma about some nut balls. It took everything in me not to break out into a skip upon spotting the lime green-lidded container full to the rim with nut balls, but I managed to maintain a steady pace as I approached gma, albeit probably sporting a crazed smile and glassy eyes. Charla's gma put down the sandwich she was making for another client when she saw me and started filling a plastic bag with nut balls. I told her I wanted 200CFA's worth, so she gave me eight and then threw in an extra, therein solidifying our status as BFFs. I tucked away my treasures and continued on my way to la base. Nurse Ann was scheduled to give a Med talk first thing Thursday morning, and what a talk it was. Nurse Ann was wearing her sassy face, as per usual, and the PowerPoint slide behind her informed us of the days subject matter: STIs and HIV/AIDS. For the next two hours, we listened in horror as Nurse Ann described in great detail the perils of sex, flashing graphic image after graphic image before our eyes, and doling out solid advice such as "Semen in mouth. Dangerous. Just don't do it." and "Don't bite down when using your dental dams." Other highlights included a condom relay race, where teams raced to properly roll on and off condoms on generously proportioned rubber penises, and generating a list of non-STI-transmitting activities (i.e. hugging). What a way to start up training for the day! The rest of the day consisted of dubs language classes and then our weekly GM (general meeting). After GM, I went home and suited up for fútbol! By the time I had walked all the way home, changed, and then walked all the way back (in the midday heat mind you!), I had passed glistening (without collecting $200) and had moved right on into downright schvettayyy. I kid you not, FOUR people asked if I had just gone on a run, to which I replied "nope just a leisurely walk to my house and back..." I had no choice but to get in on the soccer game, if for no other reason than to justify my profuse perspiration. We were quite the melange of trainees/ trainers/ staff, Americans/ Cameroonians, skilled soccer players/ otherwise skilled athletes/ and me, a category of my own. I had such a blast playing though! Once I had sweat to the point of no return, I decided to call it a day and headed home. For dinner, we had boiled plantains and a delicious peanut fish sauce (don't knock it til you try it) followed by the BEST! PINEAPPLE! EVER! Oh my gosh it was so out of this world good. Better than Costa Rican piña if you can imagine. My mom informed me that Bafia is known to have the best pineapple in Cameroon. Omnomnom. We have been without power for most of this week, so that tragically means no Fille de la Jardiner soap opera. Last I saw, my sweet Alfredo had fallen out of his wheelchair. I am sick with worry not knowing if someone helped him up or not. I anxiously await the return of our power simply to get my soap back in my life. Other than that life without power at our house has gone swimmingly. I am well-versed in oil lantern use by now, plus I came prepared with my trusty head lamp, which I used this morning to apply my mascara. Skills. I have been literally getting dressed in the dark, but it's whatevs because so has everyone else- no shame in the game. I busted out a shirt that I hadn't yet worn this week, and got at least twenty compliments on it. We are all pretty much well-versed in one another's extremely limited wardrobes now that we are three weeks in, so a new piece of clothing is a show-stopper. Also, I have been living without access to a full-length mirror for three weeks now, and it is doing WONDERS for my self-confidence! All I have is a 6 inch round mirror that I brought with me, and the one mirror in the bathroom at the training center thats shoulder-height. Out of sight, out of mind. Holla. So yes that was my BEST! DAY! EVER! I'd like to thank Nescafé and nut balls and Nurse Ann for making it possible.

In other news, I had to throw in the towel on my laundry strike. My perspiration rate paired with my unparalleled ability to spill food on myself pretty much maxes me out at two weeks. However, when I finally did laundry yesterday I realized that two weeks worth of dirty clothing is a week too many. Even with the help of my sister, I spent hours slaving away over mud, spilled peanut fish sauce, and residual morning run sweat. By the time I finished, my inner left wrist seared in pain where I had used it as a washboard. You see, Cameroonians have this very methodical and precise way of washing their clothing, which consists mainly of this one movement which employs the inner left wrist as a washboard of sorts, creating copious amounts of friction which my fragile wrists are clearly incapable of supporting- ESPECIALLY when doing two weeks worth of laundry. My sister praised me for learning the method so quickly, thereby making me extra zealous as I proudly displayed my new skill to the world, and now I literally have battle wounds, which serve as vivid and painful reminders that laundry is a WEEKLY activity, if not bi-weekly. Lesson learned.

And on a final note, I am now obsessed with riding motos. They are my fam's only mode of transportation apart from walking, which suits me just fine. My mom is a pro at hailing a moto. We can be two city blocks off of the main road, and with a hiss and a flick of her wrist, she has magically summoned three different motos vying for her business. Relevant cultural note: to hail a moto, you either hiss, fold your fingers into your palm, or do both at once. Moto drivers have a supernatural sense of hearing, which allows them to hear a hiss over the roar of their moto engine. Another relevant cultural note: when riding a moto, you sit back and rest your hands on your knees, or if you must, grip the metal frame on the back of the seat; you do NOT wrap your arms around your moto driver and cling to his windbreaker-clad torso for dear life... Like I did the first time...

That's all for now. Stay tuned americanos.

xoxo

I am among my people.

What's crack-a-lackin America?

Since we last spoke, I have ventured from the dirty-dirty to Philly to NYC to Brussels to Yaounde and finally to Bafia. So we have quite a lot to catch up on...

My last 24 hours in the ATL was, in short, my own personal hell. In true form as a master in the art of procrastination, I left all my packing to the last minute. I spent the grand majority of those 24 hours sitting in the middle of a sea of clothes, kitchen supplies, electronics, etc. vacillating between being completely overwhelmed trying to figure out the logistics of bringing everything I would need for the next two years with me- worried that I wouldn't be able to bring enough, and disgust of how much of the first world I was even considering bringing along- wanting instead to take nothing at all. Luckily, I have a mother who is well-versed in the practicalities of packing, who was able to walk me through filling two checked bags with only the necessities, and then to quell all my first world/ third world anxieties. Thank the Lord Almighty for Lisa T.


So off to Philly I went. I met up with three other PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) at the Atlanta airport for the flight to Philadelphia, which was clutch because when our flight was late and our shuttle from the airport to the hotel ended up being a complete fiasco, I didn't have to go it alone. The chaotic shuttle ride wasn't all bad, since I had the It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia theme song stuck in my head as we navigated the streets of PA. Once we finally arrived at the hotel, we waded through piles of paperwork, and then officially commenced staging. Staging is basically Peace Corps orientation, so while it had great potential to be super lame and hokey, what with all the ice breakers and group activities, it surprisingly wasn't all that bad. Everyone was there for the same reason, and so nobody was acting like they were too cool for school. I realized then that I am among my people. They told us at staging, "This is the first time since you applied for the Peace Corps that you don't have to explain to anyone why you're here." True dat. I am obsessed with all my new peeps. I'm finding more and more each day what an amazingly qualified group of people we are. I am so wildly impressed with my peers here, and am so proud to be a part of this badass group. But I digress.

For our final dinner stateside, we nommed on burgers at the Hard Rock Cafe. After dinner, Kelliandra Christine White graced me with her presence at my hotel, and gave me fancy Sephora undereye cream for the sleep depravity that was already marring my beautiful face by the end of staging. It was a wonderful final send-off. In the morning, the crew boarded our buses to get to NYC for our departure to Brussels, and then finally to CAMEROOOOOOOON.


International flights are what's up! It's all nap time and chow time when flying overseas, and what could be better than that? Nothing, that's what. So I read, and then I slept (harrrd), waking only to nosh. Waking up to a stewardess waving an ice cream cone in my face- FTW. Also, I feel like airplane food gets a bad rap, and I would just like to take a moment to express my deep and sincere appreciation of the food we were served between Brussels and Yaounde. President Brie and crackers? Cous cous and curried halibut? Ice cream? Um HOLLER. So I deboarded the plane in Yaounde and greeted Africa with creases and drool decorating my face, and sweating like the delicate little flower I am. Just for the record, the extreme perspiration has yet to cease. Seriously, though. Sweat-staches and pit stains are NOT THE LOOK, and I'm rockin em all day errday. Can't stop my shine (literally).


In Yaounde, we were confined to our hotel for three days, leaving only for Peace Corps sponsored field trips. That's not to say those three days weren't ridiculously epic, though. We dined at the country director's house with the US Ambassador to Cameroon and his lovely wife, and danced with an internationally-touring group of traditional Cameroonian dancers after they performed for us, among other awesomeness. NBD. Actually those were the most awesome things that happened. Other than that it was all paperwork and vaccines and interviews and lectures. Woo. So we didn't get to see much of the capital, but we did get our first taste of Cameroonian cuisine, which if I had to describe in one word, would be "starchy." We eat a lot of white baguettes, white rice, plantains, potatoes, couscous, pasta and manioc. Oftentimes these carbohydrates are served together, like white rice, beans, plantains and potatoes, with a side of pasta. So for all of you who were so convinced that I was going to drop some serious lbs during my two years in Africa, think again! And a special shout-out to all of you who encouraged my month-long binge eating before departure, constantly reminding me of how skinny I was going to become no matter what/ how much I consumed before leaving (I'm looking at you, Aunt Linda with your cheese party, and Charlie with your man-eating habits that I mirrored for two weeks).

And now here I am posted up in Bafia, a medium sized village in the southwest of Cameroon. I live with my maman, Marie Claire, my two sisters, Judith and Diane, and my little 8 month old nephew, Jeremy, Judith's son. I am beyond obsessed with my homestay fam. On the first day of training after spending our first night with our new families, we were asked to describe our first impressions in one word, and my word was "ya-ya" because I feel like I have joined this amazing sisterhood of smart and beautiful women. As a youth development volunteer, I feel so lucky to have such encouraging surroundings and to be able to have these three months of experience that I can go on to share with the girls I am working with at my post. I love practicing my French with them, and just spending time with them. My house is super nice- way nicer than I was expecting. We have electricity and a real toilet! I have found that I am rather fond of bucket bathing- it's super refreshing to dump a bucket of cold water on myself after a full day of can't-stop-won't-stop sweating. Cameroonian women tend to bathe twice a day, though, and I just cannot keep up with all that. I'm more of a once every two days kinda gal, and was hoping to become more of a once every three to four days kinda gal, but it looks like I'm going to have to postpone that project. Every night before dinner, my fam and I watch this awesome telenovela La Fille de Jardinier, then we watch the news after dinner. They feed me super well- but never fail to make fun of my "small" portion sizes. Cameroonians eat like food is going out of style. I fear that my portion sizes are slowly but surely going native (already). I just need to keep reminding myself to keep the carb intake at bay as much as possible. Every morning, they serve me a dank omlette with tomatoes, onions, garlic, and peppers. Omnomnom. At first I felt a little awkward, since they eat only bread for breakfast, but insisted that they were more than happy to serve me omlettes every morning. And you all know I didn't put up that much of a fight...

This bad boy is getting rather lengthy, so let me just give you a few other highlights:

-Best meal so far: guacamole, baguette, and hot chocolate for breakfast on Sunday. Say what? Yeah, that's right. SMART.
-Mom, you'll be happy to hear that by pure coincidence, I have had red beans and rice every Monday night since being here. (For those of you who don't know, we eat red beans and rice every Monday night at home, as per our New Orleans heritage.)
-I did laundry on Sunday for the first time, and freakin wore myself out! I couldn't even make it to our afternoon wiffle ball game. My sister helped me every step of the way, but all that pulling water out of the well business and scrubbing every inch of soiled clothing was WORK. Cleanliness is overrated anyways, right? Over it.
-A fellow YD (Youth Development) trainee, Charla, is a Zumba instructor! She conducted a couple of classes for us in Yaounde, and we had high hopes of continuing our workout regiment in Bafia, but thus far have yet to do so thanks to the equatorial sun/ heat. I love love love Zumba, though.
-Cameroonians are not big coffee drinkers, or at least not at my homestay. I told them I was a big fan of my cafe in the mornings, so the first morning they offered me a selection of Nescafe packets, which was cool. Then the next morning, there was just one original flavor Nescafe packet, which was totally cool too. However, I haven't seen a single Nescafe product since that morning. I don't understand what happened. One morning they were all "Oh Sarah, you take sugar with your coffee, right?" and then the next morning it was all, "Here's the Ovaltine and powdered milk, Sarah- drink up." This morning, actually, there wasn't even any powdered milk. Just straight Ovaltine. I don't understand what's going on, but my caffeine levels are at an all-time low. I'm dealing.

Okay that's all for now, comrades. Well except for one shameless plea for you all to send me emails and letters (please please pleaseeeee)!! Peace out girl scouts! Love you all to the moon and back xoxo