Greetings From Mogode

Salutations to my family and friends. It is the evening of my first day here in Mogode, and I’m sitting down in my own little house, in my own little village to write to my peeps back home. The last two weeks have been a blur of activity. Just a short recap, the last two weeks of training were great. We took a field trip out to the western province to learn about Income Generating Activities such as pig-raising and tofu/soy milk making. We stayed a night in Bafoussam and just had an amazing time. Our last few sessions were busy as we quickly went over what to do on arrival at post, what we should expect, and how to stay safe. Then came swearing in. It was a huge deal. That morning, all of the programs dressed up in their respective, self-chosen pagne (fabric/type of clothing). Ours was a beautiful blue and white design with desert animals all over it. It turns out that it is the regional design of the Western Province, but we didn’t know that at the time.

Heading for the center, we said goodbye to our families’ for the last time. It was nonclimatic in my house. My little sisters accompanied me to the center, carrying my last bag on their head. I had cleaned out my room, left presents behind and said my goodbyes. As terrible as it sounds, especially considering that this family had hosted and housed me for the past few months, I was so happy to leave that house. They were extremely nice people, but the house was just so full of drama. Sisters stole from sisters and ran away. People lied to each other and coveted anything they had bought, defending that they still didn’t have any money (even after the family bought a 100,000 CFA = 200$ armoire). Beatings of the children were something common to wake up to and I was never allowed to sleep in past 7:30, even when I was sick. But they were so nice to me. Except for a small incident when I first arrived, they never took anything from me, they fed me at least twice a day, and helped me learn French. I certainly didn’t have the worst family. Nevertheless, when I said goodbye, I was ready for my own space. Ready to cook for myself, ready to use as much or as little water as I wanted, ready to wake up when I wanted to.

We left Bokito early to make it to Bafia with enough time to drop off the last of our things and make it to the Plaza in time. Most of my stuff had been taken a few days before as the larger items for the people up north was shipped up so we wouldn’t have to deal with it on the train.  The Plaza, which is typically just a grandstand-looking platform and bleachers was decorated and had been covered tents for the teachers, family members (we were allowed to invite 2 each) and the trainees. The PC staff, members of the Cameroonian government and local city officers and honorees were in the grand stand. The ceremony was taped and tons of photos were taken by photographers from different new agencies. Despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to track either the photos or video down yet, but I’m still working on it. There were a bunch of different speakers, including ministers (of the Department of Youth, and Agroforestry) and PC staff. Three of the trainees did speeches, one in Fulfulde, one in French, and one in Pidgeon English. Extremely entertaining. My favorite saying from the Pidgeon speech: Small small, we go catch monkey (meaning little by little we will perservere). Towards the end, the Ambassador asked us all to stand and take our oaths. We pledged our allegiance to our country and to our mission to protect the Constitution and to do our best to make a difference. And just like that, we were real-life sworn-in Volunteers. I almost wish we’d had hats to through up in the air. It felt remarkably like a graduation.

That night, our first night as volunteers, we celebrated. We no longer had rules of training to hold us back. We weren’t limited to two beers per night or had a curfew of 7 pm. We rented out a club at a hotel (which turned into just a conference room) and some rooms and had one last blow-out for our last night together. We danced, we ate street food, and we tried not to think about the next day, when we’d have to say goodbye.

But Friday came. And as we loaded our stuff into our respective buses, it really was time to say goodbye. Ever since I graduated college in June, I’ve felt like I’ve been floating. I haven’t unpacked all of my bags and was even homeless for a month as I travelled around saying goodbye. It’s become a common thing to leave everything that I know and start again. I finished college and started working full time on an ambulance service, dealing with real life problems 40 hours a week. I was a real-life person. Most of my friends had already moved away and I was living in a different part of Boston with a different group of people (please note: I loved living my sister this summer, this is certainly not a complaint, and I visited MIT often). Then I left Boston and travelled around for a few weeks, saying goodbye and living out of a carry-on. My next destination was Cameroon, where I left everything that I knew and came to a new country with a new language, where everything was unfamiliar. What made it bearable though, was going through the same things with my fellow trainees. We were all having problems with family, language, training, or just Cameroon in general. We went through tough times together and really made great friends. And now, I’m leaving them again. The rug is being pulled out from under me for the last time as I, once again, leave behind everyone I know, go to a completely new place, where most people only speak a language I don’t know yet.  It’s overwhelming. When I sat down to write in my journal last night, there was so much going through my head that I couldn’t write. There was too much to organize and think about.

All of this was going through my head as we said our teary goodbyes in Bafia and headed out to begin our journies to post. I took the same route as last time: bus to Yaounde, train to Ngaoundere, bus to Maroua. I travelled with all the people headed to the grand north and those of us heading to the extreme north said goodbye to people as we dropped them off on the way. The journey this time was much more pleasant as we rented out a massive bus to carry the 9 of us north from Ngaoundere to Garoua to Maroua. We had so much stuff, it was really the only way. All of us have bikes, water filters, two helmets (moto and bike), a huge trunk, and our bags that we arrived with, now much more full with pagne and clothes we’ve had made. We loaded the entire bus up. So much so, that the last three rows were filled with bags that couldn’t fit on top of the bus. So we had a huge bus to ourselves, where, for the first time since in Cameroon, we could spread out and enjoy the ride. It was fun. We bought meat and oranges through the window and watched the landscape change from savannah to mountains to desert.

I stayed in Maroua for a few days, getting some stuff for my pretty much empty house before heading out to Mogode. Maroua was amazing. We took time to explore the city and the huge market. The extreme north is known for its beautiful leather work and the artisan market in town was overflowing with it. Other volunteers told me about bags and boots and even jackets they had had made. We ate like kings! Street meat is a huge thing up there. Since beef is so prevalent, its sold on every corner in the form of brochettes, or skewers, served with a spicy powder (piment). Our last night together we went to the fancy restaurant/hotel in town and got things like French onion soup, tomato and mozzarella salad, and pizza with real cheese! It was freaking amazing. We burned bonfires at the cause and just enjoyed each others’ company.

Then, Tuesday afternoon, we said goodbye and headed to our posts. To get to Mogode, Luke and I rented out a van for all of our stuff. Luke is my postmate, meaning he’s in a town about 45 minutes away, Vite. He is an agroforestry volunteer and super nice. We don’t know each other that well yet, but I figure we’ll have a chance in the next two years to rectify that. Most of the way out was fine. However, as soon as we took the turn-off to Vite, the road got so bad, we were worried the top-heavy bus would fall over. Numerous times we started up one part of the road and didn’t make it, having to try two or three times before getting past that particular obstacle. Eventually, we reached Vite and dropped Luke off at his brand-new, beautiful little house in his really cute little town. I’m actually a little jealous of his post. They have water year-round (Mogode doesn’t- we end up getting water from Vite- I hire someone to get water for me) and it’s a really cute, very small village with really traditional houses, no electricity, and a gorgeous landscape.

From Vite, it was another hour or so (it’s shorter on a moto) to get to my house. By the time we arrived it was dark and we had to get some guys passing by to help me with some of the heavier stuff.

But I was here. At last, in my own little house in the north. It is very empty, but I had done a pretty good job of grabbing essentials before I left town. I made myself a simple dinner and unpacked some essentials before climbing into bed for my first night in my own house.

I never had this much space to myself before. It’s a four room house with two bedrooms, an indoor shower room, and a large common area that is used for the kitchen, dining room, and will be a living room. Outside is my latrine, my outdoor kitchen, and huge compound that I will hopefully turn into a garden. The night before I arrived, NousNon, the dog I’m inheriting from Alice had six puppies. The neighbors been taking care of her since Alice left, so I went and saw them today and they are so freaking cute. Although, I’m not sure I understand this correctly, but I’m pretty sure this is what my neighbor said. Since NousNon is so skinny, she figured she wouldn’t be able to handle all six and killed three. I’m appalled. If I understand correctly, it’s a measure of how Cameroonians think of dogs, and I hope to god I misunderstood. Regardless, there are now only three puppies.

Besides meeting the puppies, I spent most of my day unpacking, organizing, and getting used to my new house. Alice’s counterpart came by to meet me and we talked about what’s going on at the hospital the next few days. Tomorrow, I’m going in to see how the whole operation works and find out how I fit in to it. In the afternoon, feeling a little lonely, I went to town. I sought out some of the women Alice had introduced me to and received such an amazingly warm welcome. They remembered me, invited me into their homes, introduced me to their families, and spent so much time talking to me, teaching me a little Fulfulde and Kapsiki, and walking around town with me. Right before I was about to head home, one women sat me down and gave me dinner, delicious beef skewers with inyam (a root vegetable). She owns a restaurant but wouldn’t let me pay. And it was so good. I walked home feeling so upbeat and welcomed. So many people stopped me in the street to meet me and say hello and welcome me.

Earlier this afternoon, I went over in my head, “Why the f*&k am I here? What am I doing?” I took out some cards that my family had written me that I saved for rainy days and read them. I thought about going home. But now, I know I can do this. This will be hard. Communication is going to be a challenge. Figuring out where I fit it, what I want to do, and what I can do is going to be a challenge. But I’m up for it. The people here are so great and I want to help them. I can make this place my home. What seemed completely infeasible this morning is something that I can definitely do and am looking forward to right now.

Tomorrow, I’m going to wake up early and go to the hospital and explore there. They I’ll walk around the city, meeting people. Maybe set up some tutoring lessons. Maybe go for a run.

The next three months are going to be about learning about this community. I won’t be doing any projects or starting any crazy plans. I’ll be taking the time to figure out what this community needs and how I can help. It’s a big job, but I can do it.

As I sat down to some homemade mac and cheese (my parents and grandparents sent me a care package with cheese in it!) tonight, I felt really hopeful and ready for tomorrow. I think that’s what made sitting down and writing feel doable. It was a long post and full of things that I hadn’t really thought through before sitting down to write. I was talking to my dad the other day about this blog. I was trying to figure out who I was writing for: if I was writing for other people, or for myself. I’m not sure I have the answer in general, but this post, for the most part was written for myself. As a way to process the massive amount of change and craziness in my life and tie myself back to earth. Writing to people back home reminds me of why I’m here, what I can do, the differences between here and there, and that I’m loved and supported wherever I go and whatever I do. So thanks, for loving and supporting me! I love you guys and miss you!

To my friends and family reading this post, I’m getting my house ready for guests! Wink wink, hint hint.