Machetes, Hoes, and Gardening Woes [Part 1]

Mommy dearest informed me the other day that many of you folks back home are a wee bit confused and concerned that I am not quite qualified for a job in agroforestry.

        

    “Does she even know how to garden?”

        

    “What is she going to do with that machete?”

    

        “Isn’t she afraid of all things creepy-crawly?”

If you are among those who are asking these questions, well, I’m right there beside you!

Peace Corps Cameroon has five sectors:  Education, Community Economic Development, Health, Youth Development, and Agroforestry/Environment. 

When I applied, I knew that I wanted to do some environmental work.  It was definitely my preferred choice, though I didn’t actually think I’d be accepted into this sector because they say you need at least 3+ years of working on a farm or something like that.  What experience do I have?  My major in college focused on agriculture and environment and I minored in environment, but in a practical sense?  Hmm… Well, there was that one time that I helped my mom pick some raspberries that one summer… Does that count for anything?

So yes, when the Peace Corps handed me a machete, a hoe, five pounds of chicken poop, and said “go and till the land,” I was a wee bit overwhelmed.  Nevertheless, I happily accepted this job and gosh darn it, I’m going to be the best darn farmer that Cameroon has ever seen!  (Eventually!)  What qualified me for this job?  I’m a quick learner, a hard worker, and I love to smile.  That’s all I need!

All that being said, I’d like to tell you the tale of beginning my home garden, in which I am supposed to plant green beans, moringa, nightshade, and something else that I should probably know the name of but can’t remember.

I was debating whether or not I should post this story, because at first it is not a happy story.  It’s a story of struggle – the first true struggle that I experienced during my Peace Corps career.  However, my tale wouldn’t be true if I only included the ups.  What’s important is to remember that everything will work out one way or another.  If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.  

And thus it begins.

Day 1.

As I am still having difficulties with the language barrier, I was somehow under the impression that my host-dad had taken two days off from work this week to clear some giant field for me miles away.  Okay…probably not miles, but everyone kept gesturing “over there, over there,” so I just assumed it was FAR.

I would have felt pretty bad if he actually did take the time to clear a field for me, but fortunately (or unfortunately, as I would soon realize), this was not the case.

When I asked where I could put my garden, Epiphany pointed to this tiny little plot of dirt by the laundry line – an area that was totally littered with trash.  No good.  Mama pointed to a plot where a beautiful blossoming garden already existed and said they would clear it for me.  No good.  Papa showed me a hugely overgrown plot by the side of the road.  It’s like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, but I keep burning my mouth on the darn porridge!  (or soup?  Maybe it’s soup.)

I chose option C.  Papa and I put on our work clothes and got to work with our matching machetes.  It didn’t take long before I realized I am not cut out for this gardening stuff!  Papa managed to clear most of the area in the time that I uprooted one single weed.   After 15 whacks with the machete, my arms were sore and my hands were blistered.  Everyone that passed gave me words of wisdom (“Du courage, ma fille! Du courage!”), but there was also a lot of laughing at the weak little American girl (rightfully so).  We agreed that I should just watch and learn for a while.  Stand back and look pretty – that I can do.

While standing around keeping Papa company, I had the opportunity to observe all the creepy crawlies.  I saw a grasshopper get eaten by a baby chick, and felt sad for the grasshopper.  Then I saw the baby chick nearly get hacked up by papa (accidentally), and felt sad for the baby chick.  

Eventually we called it a night.  I drowned my sorrows in a Luna bar before bed, and the only thought in my head was “je déteste le jardin!”

I felt a bit defeated but I won’t give up just yet.  

[Continue to Part 2]