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.

18 august 2012

I have to remember the days like this in the future when the going gets rough. When I am stressed out because nothing seems to work, or the rollercoaster is on the downward curve. I have to remember how wonderful and simple it was today. I was awoken at 7am (can't believe I slept that late) by children knocking on my door. I had planned to get up early and run, but my sleep cycle is off. Sometimes, I wake up at 2 or 3 am to go pee, and then I can't fall back asleep, or when I do, a new rem cycle begins and I find myself waking up later (or in this case, being woken up later). I answered my door and jemsina and nenne told me that vimsa wanted me to come over to do my hair. I bought two packets of mesh yesterday in ngaoundere and am ready for the pain - and the satisfaction after of not needing to do anything with my hair for several weeks. This is the fourth time I've gotten my hair braided. The third was the most painful - and that was in December - see how long it's been since the last time; that is how scared of the pain I've been. In December, three women attacked my head at the same time. For anyone who has never had the pleasure of getting mesh put into their hair, the only thing I can compare it to would be what they did to that guy in one flew over the cuckoo's nest where they attached his head to some wires and turned on the kichen switch. The pain is excruciating when there is just one hairdresser - but three - I nearly fainted.

Anywho, so I went over tthis morning to get my hair braided, but Vimsa was washing clothes and then braiding Jemsina's hair quickly and working around the house. So I hung out, came back to the house to get my music, book and hairbrush, and hung out some more. The process started at 10:15am. She started in the back, which is fine, it's the least painful. I kinda wished she'd started up front, in order to get the most painful part done first, but oh well she's the hairbraider not I. 12:15pm by my order called for a pause. Jemsina had turned couscous and we ate that with sauce and I stood up and stretched my legs. Sitting on a tiny wooden bench for two hours seems like a piece of cake...until you are doing it. Then we continued to 2ish pm. This is where I called the second pause. At this point, Vimsa was moving up my head. I have found that the most sensitive part is the dead center - oh and the front near the temples. Around this time, though, she was right in the back, and I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. I gripped a stool in front of me, my skirt, my arm and the small pieces of mesh I was preparing to get braided into my hair. I told Vimsa I needed some "comprimes", and I came to my house took two tylenol. I started the music around 3, as a celebration to hair almost being finished and out of complete boredom. I had tried reading a little bit, but to no avail due to my mesh-preparing job and the pain that made it difficult to focus my eyes. Vimsa finished my hair around 4:15pm. 6 hours of pain that will pay off for....two or three weeks depending on how much my scalp starts itching with things growing in it.

At one point during the day, Vimsa said "La journee aujourd'hui est tres joyleux". Maybe I was so in pain to even think about the day being so wonderful. For Cameroonians, the most important things are just being with other people and working hard. For her, this was the best day. She was active and working all day - but didn't leave the house once. There were children - plus my puppy - around all day, playing, laughing and making a disorder out of everything. People were constantly coming in and out of the house to visit or say hello to the second wife who was here visiting for Ramaddan. Why leave the house if everyone will come to see you? It was a beautiful day though. I don't remember the last time I was just at someone's house all day long - to do just that. Usually, I am going all over the place or staying at my house. It was wonderful to see all the activities that make up each day. Sitting, chatting, greeting friends and family, collecting fire wood, making couscous, making sauce, preparing the legumes, sweeping the yard, washing the kids, getting pooped and peed on by the kids, breastfeeding, washing the mats in the house, washing the clothes and children, drying the peanuts. Not one minute is spent idle or just sitting. Hands are always busy shelling peanuts, or scolding a child, or cutting up vegetables. No wonder children have a hard time sitting through class in elementary school, or my mini french lesson I have started with them. When they are not constantly in motion, they think something is wrong.

After my hair was finished, I got my life around (washed face again, brushed teeth, changed out of my now-filthy clothes) and did a tour in town. I find that I don't really NEED to buy anything at the store, but it is nice to say hello to everyone. I picked up my phone and left three birthday voicemails for three ladies in my life. Two of the birthdays are belated but my mother's special day is today.

On the way home, I stopped by to visit a family. I should visit them more. Their French is excellent and they are so kind. They gave me a bit of bru-ee and we chatted about my voyage down to Yaounde and Kribi. I told them that I am peaceing out November 30 and they said the same thing I've been thinking these past few weeks: Two years has gone by already? How is that possible? And how have I not visited that family more? What have I been doing that has been more significant or taught me more than spending time with this wonderful and kind family? Will I have regrets? I wanted to go learn fulfulde in a village in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to learn Dii as well. I shouldn't use the past tense yet because it is not yet so, but I know that, just like these years have already flown by, these next three months will be a blink.

Such a happy day. Must remember it forever. Just living and breathing and getting hair braided.

The final product :)

 

Then I came back to lovely Cameroon with Hilary Muffin Griffin '08. While Hil was here, we did about the same route as when my dad came to visit. We came straight to my village first. I figured do the least exciting thing first; then there is always something to look forward to after. We spent about a week and a half in my village, but we did quite a bit of tourist/sightseeing just around Gangassaou. I heard since last year that there is a cave and waterfalls close by, but had never been to them. I asked a friend who works at the hospital, Babba, to take us to them. We went to see the cave first on that morning. I thought our headlamps were strong, but they were no match for how dark and deep the cave was. Hil and I wanted to explore, but legit could not see a thing, so we didn't stay too long.

Hil and our two guides in front of the cave

Then we went to see the waterfall, which also involved Hil's first Cameroonian photo shoot, or a CPS as I like to call it. Other Peace Corps Cameroon volunteers know just what I'm talking about by a CPS. And for others who do not know; let me break it down. A CPS is an opportunity to take as many photos as possible, with as many combinations of people as possible, in as many stances/positions as possible. A CPS could easily be transferred into a wild math problem. For the waterfall CPS:
Number of people (Hil, Babba and Alison) * Combinations possible (HandB, BandA, HandA) * Stances in front of waterfall (standing up with back to waterfall, standing up looking at waterfall, standing up against rocks, crouching down with back to waterfall, crouching down on rocks, crouching down by water) = many many photos

Hil's first CPS

Hil was getting a bit annoyed at the waterfall CPS, but clearly that was her first one and she just wasn't used to JUST how many photos can possibly be taken. Side note: in all CPS photos, you must look dead serious. No laughing, no smiling. Serious Business face.

While around Gangassaou, we also went and did something I've been wanting to be since I arrived; climb Mount Nganha. Nganha is the district in which my village is located and there is this huge point-in-the-sky mountain there. Everytime I run in the fields, or walk home from the hospital or walk to the high school; I see this mountain and have always wanted to climb it. So Hil and I get the number for a guy that works up in Nganha and we call him the day prior to let him know we are coming. We hire a guy from here to take us up to Nganha on his motorcycle. The road starts out as pavement and then become dirt. In the rainy season (as it is now) the dirt part of the road is a hotttt messssss. But it hadn't rain for a couple of days when we headed up so it was mostly just bumpy. So we get up there and find the man that we called. He goes and tries to find another guy who is the guide for the mountain. He finds our guide; this tiny tiny little man wearing a winter red and blue snowmobiling outfit. No joke; zip-down the front. It gets better: he wore this outfit the entire hike up and down the mountain. But I'm getting ahead of myself. So we find snowmobiling guide and he's like "you have to slaughter a goat before going up to the mountain because of the ancestors". And I'm like "um, we are pressed for time, is there any way we can not do the whole goat thing?" So we go and talk to the Chief of Nganha and he's just more interested in us and why two little white girls have come to Nganha than in eating goat. So we leave the chief's house and the snowmobiler is like "It will be 16000; 8000 for the chief and 8000 for the motorcycle and us two guides". Our other guide was this little town punk, but it was fine. He was the one with the motorcycle so he got to come along. Hil is like "Al, that is so expensive no let's not" and I'm like "no we're here already, it's cheaping than killing a goat let's do this". So snowmobiler and punk go off to get a snack to eat and then all 4 of us head up to the base of the mountain on the moto. We park the moto and we head up. It takes us about an hour total to make it all the way up. Side note: as soon as I told Hil that I wanted to climb the mountain a couple of days prior, she was like that looks like an awful idea. And she was right. At many points in the climb, due to the incline, we had to crawl and grab legit grass to pull us up the mountain. The pants Hil was wearing, that she had freshly patched, we ripped all up in a matter of minutes. It was great though. Snowmobiler leading the way (sweating completely and all over his suit) then me behind pulling myself up using grass, then Hil swearing at me because I made her come on this unsafe hike, then the punk pulling up the rear. A few times, our two guides stopped to have a cigarette while Hil and I drank water. That is how in shape these dudes were. Even with smoking up the mountain they were still struggling less than us. Once we got to the top (where we were informed monkeys live), we had our lunch. Hil and I had brought hard-boiled eggs and popcorn. The dudes brought bennets and beans. Snowmobiler collected a little from us and took a little from him and put them on a leaf on the ground for the ancestors. I have a feeling I know who will get to them first though...and it rhymes with donkeys. Then we took some photos, but not a CPS because the dudes smiled in the photos, and made the trek back down.

Alison, Hil and snowmobiler guide at summit 

That was worse by far than coming back up. Half the time, we were crab-style hands and legs shimmying down the sharp incline. We were in the same order going back down, although I'm sure this time, Hil was cursing at me about more for dragging here on this suicide hike. Snowmobiler kept telling us not to look down and that "everything will be alright as long as you don't look down". Everything was fine though. Right when we got to the base and we were walking back to the moto, it started pouring. Thank goodness that hadn't started earlier. We moto-ed back to Nganha which was now a slip 'n slide mud road. Once we got back, we hung out in front of the chief's house and waited for the rain to stop. Hil and I munched on popcorn, and stayed close together for warmth. We were soaked through to the bone. We paid our snowmobiler and then looked for a motorcycle. We found one and started to leave....and realized that that was not happening on this now mud pie beneath the moto's tires. So we waited for a car....for another half hour or so. We squeezed into the normal-sized car with 6 other people and 4 sacks of manioc in the back. It smelled like mud, sweat and manioc. Yum. The car was sliding all over the road and I thought for sure we would be stuck halfway down the mountain but our driver was good and he slowly but steadily drove through the mud furrows in the road. We arrived back at Gangassaou soaking wet, exhausted, and freezing but accomplished about the day.

Another thing we did around Gangassaou was to visit the market of Goprey which is up the dirt road about 45 minutes. My boss, Essaya, brought us. I love the market there because it's so big, there is a huge cattle selling area, they have yummy meat for sell, and my friend Lundee is Mbororo and comes in to sell milk. Because the market hadn't picked up yet when we arrived, we went to visit a friend of Essayas before coming back. We walked through the cattle market and Hil and I bought some sweet knives. We searched for Lundee first and when we couldn't find her, we sat down to eat what is, inmy opinion, the best cow meat in Cameroon. Of course, as we're sitting down, I see Lundee walk by. "You are coming to stay with me?" is the first question she asked. I met Lundee last year when she came to visit a sick relative at the hospital. When she stayed at the hospital, she stopped by Rose and Essayas next door in the evening to ask for something. They invited her in because they were eating a watching the news on the TV powered by their generator. It was her first time ever watching TV. When I arrived at the hospital, she started asking me questions and wanting me to come stay with them at the hospital. We needed a translator because my fulfulde is awful and she doesn't speak any French. The time after that when I traveled to the Goprey market she was there and asked if I had come to live with her. I said no, not this time and that I had come to buy a shirt like the once she was wearing. We went behind someone's house and she just took the shirt off her back and gave it to me. I have not been to the Goprey market as often as I could, but before I leave Cameroon, I have to go and see what her village is like and where she lives. So Hil met Lundee, who, of course, asked us to come and stay over with me. Essaya politely told her another time for me. Then we headed back to Gangassaou.

Mbororo girls at the Goprey market, girl in the middle

 is Lundee's daughter

After the time spent in village, Hil and I headed up north in search of animals. We met a guy who took us up to see hippos. That was a long moto ride, and shady in some parts while it was rainy and making the road difficult, but worth it. We arrived in Maga and negotiated a price to go see the hippos. We ended up getting the price down to less than half of the guy's original offer. So the hippos are all in the water, right? And the only way to get to them is on a boat. But not a boat like we know in the US. This boat was make out of random wood pieces and tin and cardboard to mend it in places. There was water leaking all over the place, but it seemed to just all leave at the end. A motor was attached to this Tom Sawyer boat and it took us about 20 min to get out to the hippos. Mind you, this was right after Hil told me the previous day that hippos are the most vicious animals on the planet. So here we are, in our cardboard boat, just going up to this herd of hippos. "Oh look they're so cute!! YAAA" Hil said. "Oh shit, we're going to die!" I said. In one bite, those hippos could eat through our canoe and then what would we do? After Hil sang "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas", we peaced out. I was also feeling kindof sick. The entire time we traveled, Hil and I had some sort of bug/amoebas/something going on.

Hilary on cardboard boat to go see the hippos

Up north, we also went to Waza for a day. There we saw tons of antelope, birds galore, warthogs and giraffes. So we're going along in our little Jeep four-wheel drive in the park, and we get stuck in the mud. Hil and I peace out and go chill in nature to let the men work and fix the problem, or so we thought. So they are throwing sticks and grass under the tires and trying to shovel stuff out to get us out, when Hil notices that the reason they can't get out is that they didn't lock their wheels right. I never knew this but Hil said with older 4-wheel drive vehicles, you have to manually lock the wheels when you're going from 2-wheel to 4-wheel drive. As soon as she fixed the wheels, he drove out of the mud. Piece of cake. What would we do without Hil? Be stuck in the mud in the wildlife park for a very long time?

Our lil jeep stuck in the mud in the middle of the wildlife park

Then after that, we came upon a group of young giraffes. So, you're not supposed to get out of the car cause these are wild animals and blah blah....but we did. We got up close to the herd of young giraffes. They were so beautiful.

a baby giraffe :)

Also, up in the north, we went to the artist market. Haggling haggling galore but we got a few good gifts off Hil's list.

When we came back down through Ngaoundere, we took a car through the East region of Cameroon. This is the first time I had been there and honestly I was a little nervous to go. The East is all rainforest and rainforest means water and the more water you have the bigger the creatures like cockroaches and snakes are. It was beautiful though and Hil's favorite part of Cameroon. She loves rainforests. In the East, we went to the chimpanzee reserve outside of Belabo. Another moto ride, but this time a gorgeous one, through forests. This chimp sanctuary was started 12 years ago by a woman from the US. There are 40-something chimps living there. They don't breed them, the girl chimps are all on human-birth control, but just raise the chimps. The take care of chimps found in the wilderness whose parents were killed and eaten. Or people will bring them chimps that are found. Or they take in chimps that people have as pets, because that is illegal in Cameroon. It was a bit surreal arriving there because the majority of people working and helping out there are from the US and UK. Bizarre to walk into the middle of a forest I guess and meet people that live right next to where Hilary is working for the summer in Oregon. Small world after all.

After the East, Hil and I continued (in a very very long and trying day of transportation) to the west to the beach town of Limbe. Limbe is in an anglophone region of Cameroon. We stayed at a lovely little hotel on the water that overlooked the beautiful mountains, scenery and - a large oil rig off the coast.

Hil + Alison, not happy about the oil rig ruining the beautiful Limbe beach scenery

We spent a couple of days lounging around, eating fish and shrimp, and thoroughly enjoying ourself. Then we headed back (in a much less-painful bus journey) to Yaounde and I dropped Hil off at the airport - just joking. The engine of the airplane/no fuel/a bird of somesort caused il to extend her vacation in Cameroon for two more days. Brussels Airlines put her up in a hotel, and I hung out with her there. Hil and I celebrated my 24th birthday on June 30, 2012, in the nice hotel room, with a bottle of wine and some x-men :)

PHOTOS OF HIL'S TRAVELS TO C-ROON: more photos of hilary's travels in cameroon