La formation de la Croix-Rouge

05 octobre 2012

Notre formation du premiers secours a fini hier avec l'évaluation finale. Deux moniteurs sont arrivés dans le matin du 04 oct. On les a accueille avec une chanson et quelques mots par moi et notre président de la croix rouge. L'évaluation a commencé avec la théorie, lequel était une feuille des questions.  Après touts les heures et heurs que j'ai étudie...et c'était un petit feuille avec non plus que 20 questions. Ca va, l'examen d'une heure et demie m'a pris 10 minutes. Après la théorie, on a démarré l'évaluation de pratique. Pour cette parti, on est allé dans la salle un par un. On a tirée deux petites feuilles pliées ou deux gestes étaient écris. On a commence avec le geste plus facile entre le deux, et le deuxième suivi. Pour moi, j'ai eu beaucoup de chance parce que j'ai choisi "l'immobilisation de la mâchoire" et "bandage du cheville". Les autres gens qui n'avaient pas beaucoup de chance, ont eu le RCP (réanimation cardio-pulmonaire), le travail avec le brancardage ou les transports improvisés. Comme on était nombre (24), la pratique a pris beaucoup de temps jusqu'à l'après-midi quand ils ont annonces les résultats. De nous 24 qui étaient évaluée, 22 ont eu. Ils ont dit que, généralement, le pourcentage n'est pas grand comme ca. Et devines-qui était première dans la classe? ....MOI! Oui, j'étais contente, mais j'avais un avantage pas juste; j'aime école beaucoup. L'école et les cours me manquent, alors quand l'occasion est arrivée, j'ai voulu étudier le plus possible. Pour les autres gens, ils ont vu la formation comme le travail. Pour moi, j'ai l'école trop et ce seulement ca qui m'a mis en premier. Quand tu aime quelques chose et c'est dans le cœur, tu vas faire tout possible pour reçoit cette chose. Pour moi, c'était de gagner mon diplôme international de la croix rouge. La formation ici à Gangassaou n'est pas comme le petit cours de quelques heures ou une journée qu'on fait aux États-Unis à être "CPR certified". Notre formation a durée treize jours avec deux jours de la révision. Je ne sais pas si ce type de formation existe aux USA. Notre équipe de 24 était forte et dynamique. On était 4 femme avec 3 gens qui s'ont déplaces de loin seulement pour suivre la formation. Quand la formation a commence j'ai vu le déconnection entre le gens. On avait les jeunes guys, les vieuxs et mêmes beaucoup de gens entre le deux. Mais, petit à petit j'ai vu le lien commence à former entre les gens. Quand les gens travaillent ensemble, spécialement pendant le pratique, c'était comme ils ont laisse touts leurs problèmes a la porte avant d'entrer. On a rit, on s'a amuse et on a appris ensemble. Le jeune ont aide le vieux, et le contre. La femme a aide l'homme et le contre. Il n'était pas les séparations entre nous tout. Le lien qui a tien entre nous tous sera la bas pour toujours, n'importe ou nous sommes dans le monde ou les choses que nous faisons. Comme notre formateur a dit chaque jour, nous sommes une grande famille et "nous sommes ensemble".

La formation de la Croix-Rouge

Septembre 25, 2012

Je suis en plein travail. Commencant depuis deux semaines, la Croix-Rouge de gangassaou a commence la formation des premiers secours. Deux formateurs d'Ngaoundere sont venu pour nous former. La formation a commence vendredi le 21 september et va continuer jusqu'a....la fin, probablement ce mercredi ou jeudi. Nous avons appris BEAUCOUP des choses; l'histoire de la croix rouge, le theorie des premiers secours et les gestes, et touts les techniques pour appliquer les gestes sur une victime suffrant. Chaque jour, pour un minimum de 7 heures, nous sommes la dans la foyer de jeunes a cote de chez moi. On commence a 07H30 dans le matin et fini a 15H30 avec un petit pause pour la priere de 13H30. La formation me plaie. J'ai oublie comment j'aime l'ecole et d'etre un etudiant. Ca n'atteine pas deux annees depuis j'ai fini avec l'universite mais les cours et d'apprendre beaucoup me manque vraiment. Et, a mon surprise, l'information vien facillement dans la tete. J'ai eu peur que, commencant encore avec l'ecole ou les cours, j'aurai les difficultes, mais ca va. Ca va un peu. Le francais toujours me depasse. Je comprende presque a tout que les formateurs disent, et les lecons qu'on ecrit et je ne sais pas un mot, je le recherche dans mon dictionaire. Je comprende beaucoup, mais pour m'exprimer, ca me depasse toujours. Je ne suis pas le seul aussi. Il y a quelques apprenants dedans la formation qui ont laisse l'ecole depuis des annees a annees, alors je ne suis pas le seul participante qui a le trouble avec le francais. Nous sommes 24 en totale, 4 femmes (moi dedans) et le reste les hommes ou jeunes guys.

29 september 2012

there is nothing like a sunrise in africa

a rise of a sun that represents that a new day has come

a new start

and new beginning

forget yesterday and the strife

and the weight of things to be done

just accept today

because it is here

...and the sound of the sun waking up

didn't you know that it has a sound?

the roosters sounding the alarm

the first breeze of the day

whispering through the corn fields

wake up and grow corn

the sun has come

and the color of the sunrise

the pinks and the reds and the blues

touching the greens and the browns of the ground below

so many colors

for the new day has come

A day at the farm

August 24, 2012

It took me a second to think of the date right there. Or the day of the week. I think it's thur-nope-friday. It has to be Friday because there was the grand prayer at 12:30 today. The days are blending together, forming a beautiful string of events, like a necklace of colorful beads. I went out to the field today with the whole fam: Babba, Fadi, their eldest daughter Vimsa, Vimsa's newborn baby (on my back), Nenne, Vimsa's son Abdou, Puppy, and another little dog that I named Smudge (because he is always filthy). I hadn't been out to their field since my dad came to visit back in March; ah that is terrible how does the time fly by this quickly? Let's say that the field has changed only slightly since I was out there in March (noted sarcasm). What were before dry patches of dirt are now full of life. All that was brown and bleak before is now green. And every shade of green imagineable. The light green of corn that "manque l'engraine", needs fertilizer. The deep green of bean plants just sprouting out of the ground. The difference in green between cucumber and melon vines.

The corn that Babba planted in May is already ready. Babba chopped down the stalks, and we pilled them vertically into a huge column. They will dry like that for several weeks, and then the cobs will be taken off. To take the kernels off, the husks will first be removed from the cobs. Then all the cobs will be laid out of the ground and tapped with large sticks to remove to kernels. Then the kernels will be collected, sacked up, and stored for the year (or sold in the markets). What would happen in America if the livelihood of a family (as in if they will EAT or not for the year) depended on months and months of MANUAL labor? It is literally all physical labor. The only exception is hiring cows and a plough to turn the ground before planting the corn or beans. And even with the cows, there is still a great deal of labor involved to plant the seeds, cover the trough, and man the heavy plough...I have a feeling not many American families would survive.

If tomorrow, for any reason (take your pick: aliens, end of oil, Romney wins the election), there is an apocalypse or a change in the world as we know it, this village would not change. If Americans could no longer buy corn flakes or any of the other million things purchased in grocery stores, there would be complete anarchy. If there was a food scarce in America and people had to learn how to grow/gather their own food, it would not be pretty. Things here in my little village, though, wouldn't change. Maybe subtle things; like right now I wouldn't hear music playing from a generator at 9:16pm because there would no longer be gas. Or maybe less people would travel through Gangassaou on the road because there wouldn't be gas to power the cars. But, overall, few things would change. People would keep growing and harvesting corn and beans. They would still eat cous-cous and sauce and cook using firewood. They would still celebrate child's naming ceremonies, marriages and boy's circumsicions with a traditional guitar and empty plastic tubs for the drums. I can safely safe that, if things get crazy over in America (if the end of consumerism as we know unfolds), I'll be staying right here thank you.

After we stacked one fields-worth of corn stalks into two huge columns, I helped Fadi plant some peatmont that she had brought down with her. We had to clear a part of the corn field to do that. Then it was "repos" time and we chilled under their stick hut and ate fresh corn. We cooked it unevenly over the fire (some kernels were yellow and others were burnt black) but it was still scrumptious. Puppy and Smudge enjoyed the corn, too. And then we hit the road (muddy path) back to the village; but not before collecting firewood and cucumbers beforehand. Nenne's cucumber count for the day: 5. Mine: 0. Maybe I don't know what cucumber plants look like when they are interspersed with three other types of vines? Whoops.

In the evening, Fadi and I hit the road up one village from us for a circumsision party (it wasn't really a party, but that's the best way that the French translates). The three boys got circumsised three days ago at the hospital (thank Jesussssss. Last year when I was here it was done by a traditional doctor in the village. Tell me that there is probably nothing more frightening than being a 7-year old boy and having a traditional doctor come at your "boyhood" with a razor...) and then went to a hut in the next village over "to heal". They hung out there for three days and, I'm assuming, played, prayed and ate. For the party afterwards, and to bring the boys back home, all the parents get together and hire traditional music and dance and dance. Fadi and I came in late to the party, but they are probably still dancing right now. Fadi danced a bit; I didn't. It makes too much of a spectable when I dance. The mentality among people isn't "oh come dance with us, it will be fun". It is "oh look the white girl is dancing. Look at how she dances. It's so funny". I would prefer the first and would dance to that; but unfortunately the mentality is always the second.

And then Fadi and I came back to the village, where Puppy was waiting at the hospital on the outskirts of Gangassaou for our return.

Rammadan

Rammadan 2012 - the last rammadan ever

As some of you may have heard, the end of the world is coming on December 21, 2012. There are many theories about who and what is bringing the end of the world. I personally don't believe it is the END of the world, but just the coming of a new era. Maybe the first female prophet will arise. Or maybe aliens will come and take only the good ones away (me included of course). Whatever you think about 12-21-2012, be it a conspiracy theory or the truth, I hope you are all living it up this year and making each day - and each fete (holiday) -count. We here in Gangassaou, Cameroon are doing just that on this Rammadan August 19, 2012.

After 31 days of fasting (usually it's only 30 days but Allah pushed the fete back an extra day, I fasted a measly 11 days total in the past 31, I wanted to fast the whole time but I felt that I was wasting away), Allah and the lunar calendar have granted the Muslim people of the world a 2-day holiday.
The first event for the day in Gangassaou was, of course, a town-wide prayer. Last year I had wanted to go to this, but my friends peaced out and went without me (thanks friends....not). This year, my postmate Abigail and I showed up at my friends house so they couldn't leave without us (suckers, they couldn't get away from us this year). We all walked together to the highest point in Gangassaou, being a mini-hill. Everyone was shuffling in and laying out their mats and prayer rugs in neat rows on the ground. Men were in front, women in their own section in back and children scattered throughout. Shortly after we arrived, the Chief of the village showed up with his entourage. His entourage was made up of bad-ass looking guys holding swords and metal sticks and - what appeared to be pom-poms on the sticks (Give me a C....C. Give me an H.....H....GO CHIEF???). The chief and party sat in front and then the marabou (town religious leader) arrived. He had been hiding by a tree and when he saw that everyone was there, he came out of hiding to lead the prayer. I didn't actually see this guy's face because it was hidden behind his marf (man scarf). He's the most respected religious leader in the village. He lead the prayer two times - everyone bowing at the same exact time is CRAZY to watch, mesmerizing almost. Then he said a few words - followed by the chief - and an entourage member - and then the prayer time was over. But, of course, not without a CPS (cameroonian photo shoot). Abigail and I flashed our pearly-whites for many cameras and with many people of the village.

Then we all made our way to the front of the chief's house. All men around, I'm assuming all the women took this opportunity to start making the huge meals for the day. The point of visiting the chief's house was "to praise him"; I was told. Again more photo shoots from Abigail and I and then we slowly tip-toed away from the event. People seemed to be leaving anyway, and we didn't want to get stuck in a two-hour Dii prayer or discussion.

Then Abigail and I plus a host of other neighborhood kiddos did sipa. Sipa is henna that comes in a box from China/Nigeria (not sure which). It is actually black hair dye, but dies skin, too. We mixed up the solution and drew on our feet and hands and just made a complete mess of our clothes we were wearing and my veranda floor. It was fun though. Cameroonians up here in the north have a certain way they think that sipa should be done. That sipa should be symmetrical on both hands and feet and that certain designs should be used more than others. Needless to say, we got a lot of people laughing at us and telling us how they think we should do the sipa. Oh well, as the saying goes "I do what I want" and we did what we wanted. Flowers, dots, random fingernails. It was great. Then we let it dry and washed off the excess. I think the girls mixed it wrong though because it's only been a few hours and it's already beginning to come off.....or maybe it's just bad quality. Thanks China/Nigeria.
We received an invitation yesterday from our mom, Fadi, to come over around 2pm. When someone gives you an "invitation", it is no joking matter. A written invitation means nothing; people can't read. But a spoken invitation: hey now, something big is going down. She said come over around 2. So Abigail and I made some folerie juice to bring to the .....party?...we weren't sure what was going down, and showed up at 2. But forgot this is Cameroon. If someone says 2, they really mean 3 or 4. So we gave her the juice, went to visit some other friends, made some more juice, and then went back around 3. Fadi had invited over nearly half the women in the village. She had made "irish potatoes" (which are just regular potatoes to us, but for here they have a different name so as to not confuse them with another root vegetable called patates), rice and sauce, couscous and sauce, coffee and juice. People liked our folerie juice, too. I ended up being the designated server which was fine. The other women got a kick out of it - haha, white woman nasara is giving us food - whatever I didn't care, it's their fete, right? Abigail and I were among the last to leave.

Then I went for a run. Puppy (who got sipa-ed earlier in the day as well and now has three awkward dots on her face) went with me. She was so excited to go. I don't know how I'm going to leave her in just a few months. I know that she will be happier here and that she is truly an African dog....but still, it is going to be so difficult to leave her. The run went well and then it started sprinkling.
Then barka-da-salla or trick-or-treating, as I like to call it, began. On fetes here in Cameroon (or maybe it's all of the Muslim world for holidays?), children go around from house to house and say:

Barka da Salla.

And I say: Salla da goro.

And give them a candy. In theory, you're supposed to give a kola nut...but honestly the kids here have so much darn energy, they don't need anymore straight caffeine. When I was down in Yaounde recently, I purchased a bag or Oreos from the embassy for a whole one dollar. Holler. The oreos only cost a dollar, however, because they expired...two years ago. It's fine; just a little stale. But ideal for snacking on in Gangassaou, and giving out as barka-da-salla treats. So the trick-or-treating began in the afternoon post-run, and I gave out many many oreos to cute kids who came to my house. Instead of dressing up as their country president Biya, a cow, or a fairy, the children here just put on their BEST clothes and go around trick-or-treating. Most of the clothes are new from their parents for the fete, but some are old but newly washed. The kids were so cute. I took manyyyy-a-photo.
Tomorrow is part 2 of the fete. I've heard it involves more food and a night-time dance party. We shall see.