Homeward bound

I’m gonna stop writing this blog for a little while, although there may a couple other entries as I or Dana think of stuff we’d like to add. Also, I’d like to add photos to the blog, so check in a couple weeks or a month or so if you are interested, but if you don’t see any photos up within a month from now, it’s probably not gonna happen.

We are back in Tucson. Home. Home is where the heat is. It’s hot. Not too hot, but still hot at around 102. Our cats are happy and healthy and the house looks great. The woman who lived here while we were gone took really good care of the place, which we both feel really lucky about. Cameroon already seems a million miles away. When you’re in Cameroon, the US too seems kind of unimaginable. But I know we were there, since there’s kola, some njassang, and a machete all in our room.

Writing this blog has been fun for me. Hopefully it’s been fun for you too. Everything except this last entry has been written without the benefit of any time for editing or secondary reflection. Write and send, quick, hopefully before the electricity goes out or your neighboring e-mailer at the cyber-café kicks out the power cord, repeatedly. So I hope it’s made sense and that I didn’t embarrass myself or Dana too much. This last entry has been written over the course of a couple weeks now, writing a bit, then e-mailing it to myself so I can continue. It just was never quite ready to put on the blog. And now that we’re in Tucson, it has left me a bit of time to go over it and organize. I need to send it today, though, cuz once work starts up again tomorrow, I know teaching, prep, and farming will take up all my time. This blog is kind of a mash of thoughts and impressions. Also, if it seems like I haven’t written anything since the first couple entries, try refreshing the page. Not that this will help anybody since if nothing new has showed up in one and a half months, you ain’t gonna see this either. But tell others so maybe it’ll work.

Starting below, we're back in Cameroon.

This cyber café in Limbé is the first one I’ve seen that has a sign saying that looking at pornography is not allowed and is reason for ending your internet session. It probably has something to do with the fact that it is connected with a youth center.

In Limbé, there is a “white-man” store across from the Botanic Gardens. Any store that has a lot of Western goods here is called a white-man store. In this one, there were lots of of cheap plastic toys, games, and dolls. One in particular caught my eye because it had a big orange sticker on it that said, “Originally $9.99. Now, $1.99”. It was a plastic Hasbro house with a couple people and animal figures. Probably overstock that somehow ended up in this store. The price attached to it here was CFA 12,500, or almost $25.00. $1.99 is about CFA 1,000, but many people here may not know what the exchange rate is. There is such a prevalent belief here that anything that comes from a Western country is better than a Cameroonian or other African product that it just makes you want to scream. That markup seemed particularly bad. I don’t know if an ex-pat or a Cameroonian owns the store. Most of the white-man stores are owned by ex-pats, in which case the owner would know what a cheap product it is and how much he or she is making off the thing. Maybe the same thing happens in the States too, though. I’ve seen African art and products selling for obscene prices in the States that you know would be sold for a fraction of the price in Africa.

If you’ve been reading this, you know that cell phones have in a way changed the landscape of Cameroon. Communities, Mbongo included, now have phone access to the rest of Cameroon and the world that probably would never have happened if they had to wait for the government to install land lines. Before arriving in Cameroon, I wondered how people could afford phones since a phone and annual plan here in the States can easily cost one or three year’s annual salary for many Cameroonians. We found out that phones here are a lot cheaper than what we can get in the states. In the Douala airport, we met a PCV who was leaving early because of her grandpa’s illness, and she said that within the first day of training in Cameroon, PC gave them the option to buy a phone. Every single one of them took the opportunity, and bought their phones for CFA 20,000 + 20,000 in credits - so about 40 bucks for the phone and the equivalent amount of call credits. And I’m sure for more budget conscious Cameroonians, people can find phones for much cheaper than that, and people seem to rarely buy more than 2,000 CFA worth of credits at a time. Most of the phones come from China, Korea, and maybe even Nigeria. All the name brands we are familiar with are represented, like Nokkia, Seemans, Motorula, Soniy, Samsing, Hitachu, Auddiovox etc. One afternoon, I went out for beer and soya with a couple friends in Bamenda, and we ran into a teacher who was in Mbonge when I lived in Mbongo. He remembered me riding my bike through town, but I didn’t know him. He was a really nice guy and had recently returned from a 6 month trip to China visiting a brother who was studying there. Many Cameroonians are now apparently trying to study in China since it is extremely easy to get temporary visas. Anyway, he said that everybody in China has cell phones and that they are extremely cheap, even selling phones in the market by the kilo, which he says came out to about a dollar a piece. “Yes, I’d like a kilo of cell phones please”. Who knows? If a fish told me there was a fire burning on the ocean floor, I would not be able to dispute, since I have never been there.

People also use their cell phones differently here. Unlike in the states, where people can talk for hours on their phones each day, Cameroonians use them for text messaging and short conversations. You can buy a phone and a certain amount of credits and you’re good to go. There are no annual contracts, plans, unlimited weekend, or 300 daytime minutes like we are used to in the States. In Cameroon you pay for every minute you talk, and one company even charges by the second, which is great because you can tell somebody what you need to in 23 seconds and only pay a few cents. Received calls also don’t count as minutes. Many people have cell phones, but most people don’t. There are now “call boxes” everywhere you look it seems. A call box is a plywood box set out on the street, usually with an umbrella for sun and rain, and a person sitting there all day with a cell phone. Invest in a cell phone and youre personal business is up and running. Most places that have an MTN (South African company) or Orange (French?) sign hanging outside have a cell phone that you pay by the minute to use. Most places charge 150 CFA per minute ($.30), but can be up to CFA 200 or as low as CFA 100. Some boxes also charge by 15 second increments. Their sign boards read “0-15 seconds, CFA50. 16-30, CFA75. 31-59, CFA100. 1 minute, CFA150. People don’t fool around with the seconds either. I had many calls that went for 2 minutes, 1 or 2 seconds – 300 francs please. For old PCV used to teleboutiques, they hardly exist anymore. Now, to make phone calls in larger towns, you rarely need to search more than 5 minutes before you find somebody that has a phone.

Our last morning in Cameroon, we were in Limbe and it had been pouring rain since 4 in the morning. We wanted to get a last good Cameroonian breakfast – either puff puff and beans or a spaghetti omelette. We found a place making omelettes, next to an auto repair shop, axles, engines, spare parts scattered all over the place. Because of the rain, there were maybe a dozen men and boys seeking shelter under the omelette guy’s corrugated roof. We and a couple other people were the only ones eating. One guy's comments about the previous night’s match between France and Portugal, and everybody was up and running with a fine argument and discussion about the game long after we finished our omelettes. I got into a discussion with the guy sitting next to me about betting on the horse races in Paris. Incredibly, people all over Cameroon can bet on the day’s races at the Vincennes and other racetracks scattered throughout France. It’s all legit and one remnant of Cameroon’s colonial past. We talked about whether Double Trouble or Incredible Sensation had a better chance of winning the day's race, each horse having a three or four sentence description provided by the PMUC, the French betting agency. A great last breakfast. The omelette was good too.

There were a couple times I particularly missed volunteers that were in Cameroon at the same time as me. The first was on the flight over from France. Dana and I were in the same plane terminal in Paris that we waited in in 1995, then the flight itself felt empty without the excitement, anticipation, and general happiness (and celebration of Martin’s birthday) that went on as we were flying to Cameroon, and Africa, for the first time. We had our first positive experience of Cameroonian camaraderie and lax regulations as all the passengers gathered in the back of the plane and helped themselves to all the food and drink they wanted from the food caddies as the CamAir stewardesses looked on and joined in. The other time was in Bamenda, and thinking about fun we had in that town and at the Peace Corps house. By the way, there are no longer any Peace Corps provincial houses because they said there was too much partying going on. I’m sure nobody in our training group contributed to that reputation in any way, shape, or form. Pretty much every place we went brought some memory or other of Peace Corps and hanging out with other volunteers, which was fun.

The Cameroonian president, Paul Biya, has been in power for 26 years now. I think he is currently the longest serving African head-of-state after Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe. Biya has recently actually begun a crackdown on corruption, and several ministers have apparently been put in prison or shamed due to corruption. These efforts seem to also have tricled down to the gendarmes who were ubiquitous along every single road in Cameroon 10 years ago. It was a rare trip that your car or bus wasn’t stopped, and everybody’s IDs were checked, with a select few, always including the driver, being asked to step off the bus for a “discussion” with the gendarme. The discussion usually ending in a quick money-filled handshake. This stuff still happens all the time, but only for commercial vehicles, and only for the drivers. In the 6 ½ weeks we were in Cameroon, and we did a lot of travelling, we and our fellow passengers were only asked to show our identity cards once. Corruption is still deeply embedded in the Cameroonian power-structure, Biya is no angel, and few people are persuaded by this recent show of corruption intolerance, but it is a definite change from how things were 10 years ago. I also don’t know if the taxi driver’s union would have been able to get away with their show of force against forced “taxes” I mentioned a few blogs back without the current air of semi-official support for anti-corruption measures.

A couple more words about our stay in Mbongo, which for me and I think for Dana was really the central and most important part of the trip. There are a lot of good memories and funny moments, but one highlight was an afternoon when the Bonjaré women’s farming group officially welcomed us. The occasion began at 3 or 4 in the afternoon, a beautiful time of day when the sun is getting lower, the place begins to cool off, and colors become more sharp and change. The group joined together to offer Dana a kabbah, a traditional Cameroonian style of dress, and a sanjah, the traditional Southwestern men's skirt, to me. We danced, sang, drank, gave speeches, discussed and enjoyed the afternoon and evening. Other people from Bonjare, Mbongo, and Boa came and sat with us for as long as they felt like. It was so nice to sit, relax, and enjoy with people I worked and lived with for the two years I was in Mbongo (we sat and I had similar feelings many times with different groups of people over the two week stay). The women in the farming group were always kind and welcoming to me when I lived in Mbongo, and it was great to be with the entire group again. Several women also gave Dana and me plenty of marriage advice and put more pressure on us to have babies ASAP than either of our 3 sets of parents combined. Basically, we can't come back until we have kids in tow for everybody to meet and see. We went to have some dinner at a friend’s house, but were told that the women’s group wanted to escort us back to Mbongo. After eating, we went back to where people were and the 5 or 6 women who stuck it out till the end escorted us back to Mbongo. It was one of those times that you want to last forever. The night was cool, clear, and so beautiful like it can be in the rainforest - quiet but filled with insect night sounds and occasional fireflies. It’s about a 10 minute walk to Mbongo from Bonjare, but this night took longer because we sang as we did a slow dance the entire way back. Life doesn’t get much better than singing and dancing at night with a group of strong women farmers after an afternoon and evening of festivities. We finally made it to our host’s house in Mbongo, danced into and around the parlor a couple times, sat down, and had a last shot of communal afofo before the women’s group called it a night and went back to their homes and families in Bonjaré.

When we left Phoenix, parents hadn’t dropped us off more than 5 minutes before I was on the side of the security area, all my shit out on the table. When my bag first went through, the security dude said “Hey Jim, come here. Do you see what I see?” Shit. What I forget to take out? Not a good way to start the trip. Turned out they thought my camp stove and gas cannister was a bomb, so they made me get rid of it. Bag went through a 2nd time, they got real short with me and tore my bag apart again. Asked me again what I had in my bag. I had no idea. They took off all the straps, looked inside a few times, then one of the guys finally dug his hand into a tight space I didn’t even know existed and he pulled out a paring knife that dropped down in there years ago. I applauded them for their persistence, packed all my things back in and we were on our way. The last thing I bought in Cameroon was a machete (well, a beer technically). We went searching markets in Limbe for the brand my friend thinks is the best one while Dana really really wanted us to get going so we wouldn’t miss our flight. I’ve never seen a wooden handled machete in the States, and I lost the one I originally brought from Cameroon. We finally found one, bought it, got it wrapped up in butcher paper, and stuck it in the outside of my backpack. In the Douala airport we went through the security scan before check in, and this huge machete as long as my bag showed up on the X-ray screen. Luckily I wasn’t a security threat to the guy checking out the X-ray screen, picked up my bag and checked in. Later, while waiting for our flight to come, we noticed that flights leaving for both Swiss and Kenya airlines did thorough bag checks for every single piece of carry-on luggage. SN Brussels, our airline, did the same thing.

We’re in Amsterdam right now, after getting here on Friday afternoon. Our first stop before showering or anything was the hospital. Our hosts here luckily live within walking distance of one of the main hospitals in A’dam. Dana was feeling awful and discouraged because the infections on her ankles, arm and face were just not going away, so that was our first priority to get some information and action about that. Turns out it was a staph infection, and she was able to take her first antibiotics Friday evening. I was in A’dam in 1990 with a couple college friends at X-mas time when everything here was closed except a couple tourist attractions and Jewish stuff. So that’s what we did. Amsterdam has a really interesting Jewish history stretching back to when all the Jews were expelled from Spain and Portugal as part of the Spanish Inquisition. Amsterdam was one of the only places in Europe that accepted Jews, so there's a long history here. It’s a very different city in the summer, and is quaint, beautiful, and also a huge major city. Our friends have bikes so we’ve been able to ride around everywhere which is a lot of fun. The canals lined with trees and centuries old apartment buildings and houses are especially fun to walk and bike along. Since we arrived, my mind has really been here, and not so much in Cameroon. It’s kind of a strange thing that I’m in Cameroon and am totally comfortable there, then I’m here, and Cameroon seems a world away. I haven’t yet gone through any of the culture shock I experienced coming back to the States after PC service. Well, that’s not totally true. I kind of trip out on the touristy street cafes here, mostly filled with white people, with plates full of food, or coffee or beer in front of them. The cafes also seem deathly quiet compared to Cameroonian bars. Off-licenses (bars) in Cameroon are always filled with noise even if there’s only a couple people in them. This is because the music is turned up to 10, or people are discussing, which to our ears often sounds like arguing. Taxis in A’dam are often empty or just one person in them, and they’re friggin’ Mercedes. They are not Toyota Corollas jammed with 8 people. I also missed watching the World Cup finals in Cameroon, since we watched over a dozen matches there, from day 1 until the semi-finals. We watched the finals last night at a friend of our friend’s apartment, and my Pigin commentary just didn’t hold up to the original one people would be having in Cameroon.

The world cup finals last night were really amazing, with constant back and forthing, amazing shots, great saves, and heaped with excitement. Probably the most exciting match of the tournament for me. Everybody watched with disbelief when Zidane pulled his head-butting stunt. It seemed to put a pall over everybody’s enthusiasm for the match. Watching the French coach and one of the players put their silver medals straight in their pockets was sad, as well as knowing Zidane was not up on the podium with his team at a time that should have been the culmination of his career. Oh well. We watched the match in Amsterdam, and it was fun to hear the Italian fans yelling and singing through the streets after the match.

Our friends live on a pedestrian street with a playground taking up most of the street, and the Yo-Yo Gallery/Coffeeshop on the corner. Families enjoy the playground while others sit in the outside patio of the Yo-Yo enjoying a coffee and a joint. There are over 200 coffeeshops of all sizes, shapes, colors, and clientele throughout Amsterdam where you can buy hash, weed, non-alcoholic drinks (a minority of them have liquor licenses), and food. There are hundreds more scattered throughout the Netherlands. The Yo-Yo is painted bright yellow, with art exhibits, huge windows letting in light and looking out on the playground, newspapers and games scattered around on the tables. It looks like a nice, well-used coffee shop near any college campus in the States. It’s funny and a trip to see the Dutch sensibility with a place openly selling and consuming something so controlled and illegal in the States right next to a playground! I’m sure there are zoning laws here, but coffeeshops are in the city center, main streets, side streets, and residential areas. There is also probably a temperance community in Holland, but they don’t seem to keep the coffeeshops away from at least one playground.

On the train from Brussels to Amsterdam (our flight from Cameroon was to Brussels), I saw this American dude, all buffed out wearing a tank top. After Cameroon, where people are naturally buff due to all the farm work and other manual labor, this guy looked weird and out of proportion. I looked at his hands and you could tell they were soft. When I was in Cameroon as a PCV, farmers were always grabbing my hands to feel for calluses. They would not be impressed by this guy’s muscles.

Like I said at the start of this blog, we’re in Tucson. It’s Sunday morning here and I’ll be off to work at 7am tomorrow morning. The summer rains have started and I look forward to planting at the College garden, as well as in our backyard. It’s kind of weird being home. Like we never left in a way, but also knowing that we just had this great trip back to Cameroon. I think I’m having a little bit of post-trip depression - withdrawal from palm oil, palm wine, deep fried foods, crowds of people, markets, talking pidgin, uncomfortable taxis, warm beer, mangos and other fresh amazing fruit, makossa music, grilled corn, plums, and yams, rain forest, colorful cloth, and in general the daily interactions with people everywhere all the time that can drive you crazy or make life a joy to live.

Overall, a really positive trip, mostly visiting with people I knew as a volunteer, reacquainting, picking up where things left off. I think for all of us it felt like a bonus since when I left, we didn’t think we’d ever see each other again. The first time I left Mbongo, I was a wreck. It is emotional and sad leaving people you care about and that you’ve spent two years of your life with. This time, I just felt happy that things went so well, and a little sad, but I had a pretty strong feeling that I will have the chance to go back to Cameroon and Mbongo again. It might not happen for another 20 years, but it will happen. I felt similar things when we left Cameroon last week. On the one hand, I was ready to leave and get on with our lives in Tucson. I was satisfied and happy with what we’d done and people we’d seen. We’d been able to spend good chunks of time with several friends in different places throughout Cameroon. I was also sad to be leaving a place that I really enjoy being, like the withdrawal I mentioned above. It's also starting to hit home that people are so far away, and that even now with e-mail and phone, our lives will be separate and it will be a long long time before we get a chance to see again. Anyway, it does feel nice to be home, and I look forward to whatever comes up in this next period of life. It’ll be a good one.

I never did re-learn how to play James Bond. I hope my nieces can teach me next time I see them. Rachel, Amy, Allison???