Au marché

Boobies, Booties, and the Mayor.

This horn sounded remarkably like bagpipes.

Last Wednesday I attended what was the absolute weirdest government-related event I’ve ever been too.  (Yes, it was more bizarre than that time we got tipsy on Canadian tax dollars at the high commission in Nairobi… but I guess that was not so weird, just a good time.)

I received the invitation the day before, as I was walking to the carrefour to buy peanut butter.  Some man I had never met stood up from his seat on the side of the road, shouting for my attention.  “Madame! Madame!  I have something for you!”  I glanced over the invitation, which was asking me to attend a “cocktail ceremony” in celebration of the installation of the new mayor of my subdivision (though he’s really the same old mayor, just re-elected).  Thrilled about the prospect of margaritas and mojitos, I thought to myself, “heck yes!  Of course I’ll skip French class for a morning cocktail!"

When I arrived at the ceremony, hundreds of guests were already in place, and I was led to my seat next to health volunteer Hannah Purkey, who lives 5km away in Djalingo.  We then spent a solid two hours people-watching before the ceremony began, and boy oh boy, was there a lot to watch! 

  

Throw ALL THE MONEY!

Starting very early on, men surrounded the seated crowd yelling in various languages until people gave them money.  These men didn’t seem angry, but were shouting in a very aggressive manner.  They were nicely dressed and appeared relatively well off, yet still people were passing out the bills.  Confused as to whether we should contribute or not, we asked the lady next to us what they were collecting money for, to which she responded “just for fun!” but told us that we shouldn’t feel obligated to give anything.

Then the musical numbers started.  These same men who were begging for money happened to be the entertainment as well.  They stood in front of the crowd and began singing.  Then, about a minute into the first song they began working the crowd again, encircling certain individuals, who would then literally throw money in the air or stick bills to the performers’ sweaty foreheads.  This went on for each performer.  Each singer would wander into the crowd, and audience members would shell out cash as if it were nothing.  

We’re not talking nickels and dimes, we’re talking the equivalent of hundreds of dollars being thrown into the air or stuck to people’s foreheads.  The most I counted for one single performer was 90,000 CFA, or $180.  90,000 CFA!  Do you know how many beans and beignets that could buy?!

Apparently this is a method of showing appreciation for the talent, though I find this debatable.  In a moment where the money tossing became too physically intensive, the singer returned the microphone to the MC.  But guess what?  The song kept going!  He had been lip-syncing the whole time!  I watched more closely from this point on, and realized that nearly every performer would lip-sync, and somehow this act would still be rewarded with bundles of forehead money!

Two traditional dancers.

Not all the acts were lip-syncing though.  There were a few traditional dance groups from various ethnic groups in the region.  These dancers could shake their bumbums in ways that fill my American booty with envy.  Some of them shook their booties right up into (and onto) the crowd, yielding the same monetary results as the lip-syncers.

In the middle of one of the traditional dance routines, Hannah and I had been chatting about something trivial, glancing away from the scene for a barely a moment.  When we looked back up, we were being stared right back at by five pairs of Cameroonian boobies (but not the type of Cameroonian boobies that have nursed 7 babies).  The women had apparently all dropped their strapless pagne dresses, and were now shakin’ their stuff right in front of the new-old mayor.

This guy certainly had a good time.
(Cropped out the topless ladies.  Sorry!)

Money was still being flung around and being stuck to foreheads, and they mayor remained calm in the front row as if having topless women dance around him was just like any other day.  (Later I learned that this topless “traditional” dance is actually not so common.  My sixteen-year-old neighbor had left the ceremony during this act because he felt it was a waste of his time.)

When it was all over, we headed to Mont-des-Oliviers for the “cocktail” portion of the event.  While all the other invitees had motos to get there, Hannah and I made most of the trek by foot, hitchhiking the remainder of the distance with her neighbor.  By the time we arrived, there was hardly any food left, and definitely no cocktails.  It didn’t matter much though, because my community host, Madame Tizi, and her husband were there.  Who needs food when you’ve got good company?  We spent the afternoon laughing and chitchatting – in French, English, and Fulfulde – until we were the last people remaining. 

To use wording my father would scoff at, it was definitely the most unique government event I have ever attended.  That being said, it was definitely interesting, and opened my eyes to a little bit more of Cameroonian culture. 

But I’m still waiting for that margarita!

Madame Tizi, moi, and Monsieur Tizi after the ceremony.

My foray into foyers!

A few weeks ago, my counterpart, Djida, excitedly came to my house to show me an invitation that had been received by the Lawan (the village chief).  The invitation was from an environmental organization called Environnement, Recherche, et Developpement (ERD).

Top view of our foyer amelioré in Sanguéré-Ngal.

This organization is beginning a counter-climate-change project called “Grandir Avec Son Arbre” (Grow with your tree), and they chose five villages in my subdivision to be the implementers.  Eight members from each of the five villages would unite to form an environmental committee.  ERD would work with each committee to create a tree nursery at the primary school of each school (thus giving children a chance to learn as well), and to create a small vegetable garden for income generation.  ERD would also host a workshop in each village (open to anyone who is interested) to teach about foyers ameliorés, or, improved cook-stoves, that minimize wood consumption.

Well, perfect!  One of the main environmental related issues I’ve heard from people in Sanguéré-Paul is that people are cutting trees faster than they can grow, without planting new ones.  Everybody knows that it’s probably not the best thing to be doing, but nobody sees an alternative.  The vast majority of villagers cook over a wood fire each night.  If not a wood fire, they use charcoal (thus, another wood product).  Many people even cut trees in Sanguéré-Paul to sell in Garoua or other nearby villages.  ERD is proposing activities directly in line with this issue of deforestation.

I emailed the organization’s office in Yaoundé and called their Garoua line the next day.  Within thirty minutes of my call, Samuel, ERD’s Garoua representative was on his way to meet me in Sanguéré-Paul.  Within four days, Jean-Michel, the director from Yaoundé, happened to be up North for business and also came out to meet me.

Though I knew next to nothing about ameliorated cook-stoves, we agreed that this could potentially be an awesome collaboration.  It was decided that I would follow the project in each of the five villages, attending the meetings and workshops, and then help to follow up, ensuring that the committees are actually meeting and effectively delivering their newly learned skills to others.  

While we have decided to wait until the rainy season for the tree nurseries (due to the fact that there is barely enough water left in the wells for regular daily life), we were able to get started right away with the improved cookstoves.  Last weekend, we travelled to each of the five villages over the course of three days to give a theoretical workshop, or rather a “this is what you’ll all be doing next weekend” workshop.  Friday: Sanguéré-Ngal and Sanguéré-Lanavet.  Saturday: Ndiam-Baba and Sanguéré-Paul.  Sunday: Bockle.  Each workshop had between thirty and forty women (and some men too!), except for Sanguéré-Paul, where nobody showed because of a church assembly (frustrating, yes, but this gave me a chance to hang at the bar and bond with my new environmental buddies!).

This Saturday, we turned theory into practice, and got really darn muddy along the way.  Conquering all five villages in one day, we constructed four beautiful foyers ameliorés (this time, Sanguéré-Lanavet didn’t show up).  While I stood on the sidelines and simply watched for the first demonstration, Samuel made sure I was working hard for the rest of the day! 

Pitoa's agroforestry volunteer Clare MacMillen joined us for the Sanguéré Paul demonstration.

Smoothing out the surface.

The goal is to have each woman who was in attendance construct a cookstove at her own home by March 1^st, at which point we’ll travel around to each house, inviting ourselves to a delicious wood-minimizing home-cooked meal!

Women at work!

The women definitely seemed enthusiastic, and weren't the least bit hesitant to get involved during the demonstration.  One woman even approached me at the market today and told me she’s planning to build hers soon!  I told her (and everyone else at Sanguéré-Paul’s workshop) that whenever she is ready, come find me at my house and I’ll be ready to get my hands dirty an instant! 

Our prettiest cookstove was in Bockle, where the our soil was more on the clay side.  Once dry, the wood will be removed.  The two holes on the side will be used for ventilation, and the bigger hole is where the small (and few!) pieces of wood will be placed to fuel the fire.   

Kids these days.

 

After 5 years of being a camp counselor and 12 years of babysitting, I thought that I had this whole “kid” thing down by now.  Cameroon has proven me to be oh-so-very incorrect. 

Today after spending all morning cleaning the house and preparing a meal for a friend who would visit later in the day, I sat down at my dining room table to relax with a cup of tea and a book (I’m on book number 15 now! Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake).  Only when I stood up to open the window did I realize that there was a boy sitting silently on my front steps.

Oh!  Okay!  I very rarely have visitors like this, so it took me a bit by surprise.  When children come to visit (aside from Christmas and New Years when they all came trick-or-treating), they usually wait at my gate or peer over my fence waiting to catch a glimpse of me, and as soon as I spot them, they duck down and giggle.  Not this kid though.  He bravely, quietly, and contently waited on my front steps until I finally noticed him.  I have absolutely no idea how long he had been there, or how long he would have continued to wait there if I hadn’t noticed him.

Sitting next to him, I asked his name, what he did this morning, and if he was visiting me for a reason or just for fun, but all I could get out of him was that his name is Amadou Mumblegrumble.  The rest of my questions were answered with a shy smile.

I was stumped.  What am I supposed to do with this unknown child on my front steps who won’t even talk to me?  We sat in silence, avoiding eye contact, and giggling whenever we did happen to catch each other’s glances.  I’m surprisingly getting quite used to sitting in silence, but I can only sit silently on my own veranda before getting antsy.  That’s when Amadou Mumblegrumble began drawing in the dust with his fingers.  Perfect!  Let’s make art!

I ran inside to get my crayons and a piece of paper for each of us, and told him to pick a color.  I chose red, and drew a flower.  He chose white, and was baffled when it didn’t show up against the white paper.  After re-selecting, he carefully created his masterpiece in blue:

“1 2 3 4 8 5 6 9 7”

Yes.  Yes indeed.

Then he stopped, so I drew a blue cat with a speech-bubble that said, “meow” (I wish I had photographic evidence of this brilliant work of art.  You would be moved to tears).  He took one look at my cat, and decided that it was time for all of the crayons to go back in the box.  We returned to sitting in silence.

Eventually, I decided enough was enough.  After saying “au revoir” and telling Amadou he could keep my beautiful work of art, I returned to my book.  Amadou sneakily (or so he thought) slipped my drawing under my doormat, and he proceeded to sit on my steps in silence, this time staring at me through the doorway, until I finally shut the door.

(I checked later and he did actually take the cat drawing with him… so at least my self-confidence isn’t completely shattered.)

This is only one example of the many strange interactions I’ve had so far with Cameroonian children. 

 

Most of the children I encounter are incredibly sweet.  No matter where I go, children will continuously shout “bonjour” at me.  By continuously, I mean the same child will actually keep yelling “bonjour! Bonjour!” until I am out of sight, no matter if or how many times I respond.  Many times they will even walk beside me or behind me.  However, very rarely will a child engage in conversation with me.  I tell them my name and ask for theirs; I ask favorite colors, favorite animals, I try to make small talk… The response is rarely more than a smile. 

Some children, however, have never seen someone with white skin before.  To these children, I am a terribly frightening beast.  When I’m in a playful mood (or rather, when I’m in a mood to traumatize babies…potatoes, tomatoes), I will make scary faces and roar until the littlest children run away crying while the other children stand back and laugh.  (Okay, I’ve only done this two or three times).

Then there are the children who run for the hills before I even get a chance to growl at them!  Yesterday as I was riding my bike home from Ndiam-Baba, there was a child (I’m guessing 5 years old) standing in the middle of the sandy road.  He took one look at my smiling face and bolted into the bushes, running as fast as he could while screaming at the top of his lungs.  I “ding”ed my bicycle bell at him and continued on my merry way. 

There once was a time when I got along with children.  We understood each other so well.  Just two summers ago, I spent so much time babysitting that I nearly forgot how to act socially appropriate among my own peers, often reverting to baby-talk and animal sounds.  All it takes is a silly face to make a baby smile, and everyone knows that I take my silliness seriously!  I’m sure that over time, the children here will get used to me and we will all eventually be able coexist without tears or screams for Mommy, but until that time comes, I will enjoy my peace and quiet and try my best to restrain from roaring at babies.

A Day in Adoumri: Always wear your red shirt when visiting the slaughterhouse

One of the benefits with working for such a large, widespread organization is having the opportunity to see other parts of the country by visiting other volunteers.  Last Thursday, I adventured to Adoumri to visit Joe, another Agroforestry volunteer from my stage.

Adoumri is about two hours away from Sanguéré-Paul.  I managed to drag myself out of the house by 8AM, took the bus to Garoua, and then took a taxi to Pitoa with five other passengers.  Joe’s counterpart, Huseni, had arranged for a friend to meet me in Pitoa and give me a ride to Adoumri.  At first I was a bit concerned about how I would possibly know which strange man I was supposed to be traveling with, but I figured when I got out of the taxi at the carrefour, it was a safe bet to go with the only person who called “Maria” rather than “la blanche” or “Nassara”.  Hooray for having a real identity!  I hopped on the back of his motorcycle, and we set off for the bumpy 50 minute ride down the unpaved road to Adoumri. 

We arrived at Huseni’s house at about 10AM, was greeted warmly by his family, and Joe arrived a few minutes afterwards.  After chatting for a bit, they decided to show me the town.  Adoumri is a lot bigger than Sanguéré-Paul, with a population of over 16,000 people.  Now that I think about it, that’s still smaller than my hometown back in Massachusetts, but compared to Sanguéré-Paul’s population of 3500?  Wheeeewph!  When I asked Joe whether he lives close to the market, he replied “it’s about a 15 minute walk, so yeah, I’d say that’s pretty close.”  Chez moi in good ol’ S.P., the market is only two minutes away, as is pretty much everywhere else I would possibly ever need to go! 

Anyways, Thursday is Adoumri’s market day, and if there’s one thing that this village is known for, it’s the cattle market.  Every Thursday, cows come from all over to do their shopping.  I mean…what?  No.  Every Thursday, cows are brought from all over – not just Cameroon, but also Chad, Nigeria, and Central African Republic.  The herdsmen and their cows (and sheep and goats too) walk hundreds or thousands of miles simply because this is the best cattle market around.  Customers will come to either buy a herd of cows, or an individual cow, with prices ranging from 100,000CFA ($200) to 500,000CFA ($1000) each.

There must have been thousands of them, and as we were weaving in and out of the crowd, I was hesitant to take pictures for fear of accidentally bumping into a giant bull and consequently receiving a 3-foot horn through my head.  The pictures that I did manage to take simply could not capture the immensity of the market (nor the immensity of some of these cows). 

Cow butts.

The pen where all the unsold cows will sleep after the market, with their herdsmen sleeping outside around them, resting up for the next leg of their journey.

I saw every single part of a cow that I had never hoped to see – from the icky male parts (this thing is beyond proper terminology.  I think I am scarred for life) protruding from a bull as he tried to sexually assault a poor non-consenting lady cow in broad daylight (his herdsman promptly whipped him and told him to cut it out), to the buckets-full of undigested grass that was pulled from a cows stomach after he met his death. 

That brings me to our next activity:  the slaughterhouse.  Let me tell you, folks:  slaughterhouses are not for the weak-stomached, or for vegetarians, or probably anyone who still likes Disney movies (not that I can think of any Disney movies that have cows in them, but I assume that if you still appreciate animals that can sing and dance, you probably are not in the same category of people that gets a kick out of watching a creature get sliced open and chopped to pieces as puddles of fresh, bright-red blood forms around it). 

What was I saying?  Oh yes, the slaughterhouse.  As we crossed over the dried-up river to the “abbatoir”, I saw a humungous white bull (a 500,000CFA-er) being led by a rope, and putting up a good fight.  The poor guy knew what was coming to him… he could probably smell it in the air, and he was doing everything in his power to prevent the inevitable.  No such luck. 

I’ll avoid the gruesome details, and the gorey pictures that Huseni insisted on taking with my camera (if you are really interested, or perhaps if “Bambi” is no longer satisfying your entertainment needs, let me know and I’ll email them to you). 

Don’t get me wrong – this is definitely no PETA-ish tirade.  Despite my squeamishness at the slaughterhouse, I was not at all opposed to what was happening in front of me.  In fact, I was pretty darn impressed.  These guys, equipped in their brightest red shirts for stain control, knew how to handle a bull.  Within seconds of entering the slaughterhouse, he was down on the ground.  Within minutes, he was killed and being disassembled.  Within the hour, the next bull was being brought in. 

Not only were they efficient in their work, they were conscientious to save each and every part.  As the cow took his final breaths, young boys were rotating shifts catching the blood that spewed from his neck.  This blood would later be cooked an eaten (apparently it tastes like liver…mmm!)  As they pulled various organs out, I kept asking the woman next to me, “what’s that?  What’s that?” to which the response was more frequently than not “that part’s delicious!”  Even the brain is eaten.  The parts that cannot be eaten by humans will be cooked and fed to dogs.  The heaps and heaps of undigested grass, which I mentioned earlier, are used for compost.  The leather is saved to use for whatever leathery purpose, and the horns are kept by children or turned into artisan crafts to be sold in tourist markets.  Talk about maximizing resources!  

The cow's stomach before it was carted away to be emptied of the grass inside.

Omnomnom.

After Huseni insisted that we wander into the slaughterhouse and weave in and out of the meat, it was decided that we had all had enough.  After resting up and avoiding the heat at Joes house, it was eventually time for me to go home.  Huseni’s friend drove me back to Pitoa, I hardly had time to thank him for the ride before being thrown into a taxi to Garoua, and I was back at my house before sunset.

All in all, it was a good visit.  Despite how it may sound, I was actually really glad to have an opportunity to see the slaughterhouse and to see the massive livestock market – an opportunity to learn a little bit more about the lifestyle here in Northern Cameroon.  It also made me truly appreciate my own little village, where people buy their meat elsewhere.

What the heck am I doing?!

The question that I’ve been asked most frequently by the folks back home is: "What kind of work are you doing over there in Africa?” 

Officially I am here in Cameroon as an agroforestry volunteer, working as part of a program called “Sustainable Livelihoods.”  (Previously being the environment sector, with the program L.I.F.E: Linking Income, Food, and Environment, but things are always a-changin’!)  The main objectives of this program are as follows:

1. Strengthen the production and value addition of agricultural goods
2. Promote sustainable agri-business initiatives. 

So what am I actually doing?  Ha. *Ahem*.  Errm... Well, that’s a very good question, and to be honest, every time I am asked this question, I am a little bit stumped and a little bit disheartened, because I really just don’t know yet.

I cannot tell a lie:  I have had a few days where I barely left the house at all, and instead stayed inside watching sitcoms or reading all day, being a “complete waste of space”, as my friend Lianna would say.  I’ve had days where the best I could manage was to fetch water, or to drag myself to the carrefour to buy peanuts just to force some human interaction. (Keep in mind that I had this same problem in Montreal, where I had to create goals for myself:  Today I will speak with at least 5 people, and according to my mom, the mailman and the cashier at the grocery store didn’t count.  So you can only imagine how difficult it is for me to go out and face the world in a foreign language!).  I’ve had days where I’ve been frustrated beyond belief for feeling so completely idol in a foreign country, and for not being able to do anything tangibly productive.

Then I remember that this is normal. (Kind of.  Well, parts of it, anyway).  It is not expected, and not even encouraged, to just start up a bunch of projects upon arrival to post.  The first few months are primarily for getting settled into a new home, a new community, and a new culture.  These first few months, I am here not to create change, but rather to observe, to learn, to adapt.  Each day, I coax myself out of the house to go for little walks, sit with neighbors, and practice Fulfulde with people at the carrefour. I am doing my best to build friendships, build trust, and to build a life for myself here.  Along with this, I am taking French classes and Fulfulde classes, because as always, communication is key.

I am taking time to learn about Sanguéré-Paul.  After all, how can you start a bunch of development projects without knowing what the community’s needs are?  So far, I have only conducted informal interviews with friends that I have made and community members who are patient enough to try to endure my accent.  Through these conversations, I have learned what the community members believe to be the most pressing problems in the village.

The other day, my friend Gargasol invited me over to meet his family and to discuss development.  He asked me how Sanguéré-Paul can become developed.  At first, I kind of thought this was a rhetorical question, or that he was going to give me his own opinions, so I sat quietly waiting for him to continue speaking.  Nope.  He was truly asking me, because after all, this is what I went to university for;  I should have all the answers, right?  When I realized that he was, in fact, expecting an response, the best I could say was that there was not one simple solution.  If it were that easy, well, then it wouldn’t be so darn difficult!  If there were one quick fix to development, then we probably wouldn’t still be having this conversation, and organizations like the Peace Corps wouldn’t be working in the same country for 50+ years.  Sanguéré-Paul will have to work towards development by attacking their challenges from all angles.  We need to consider all of the challenges that people face everyday, and then work our hardest to find ways to overcome those challenges in a sustainable fashion.

We discussed striving for general improvements in education, health, environment, and economic situation, and we discussed how many different factors have to work together in order for the village’s development to progress.  Then I asked him what he thought were the most pressing needs of Sanguéré-Paul:

• Water.  There is not enough potable water here.  They want to build more wells, and need to build more wells, but this is expensive and they need to collect money from each household.  He recounted the situation of Sanguéré-Ngaoundéré, which is at the junction of N1 and the road to Djalingo, about 3km from Sanguéré-Paul.  In Sanguéré-Ngaoundéré, there is hardly any water at all.  People are drinking water from streams, or wherever they can find it.  Consequently, the health conditions are terrible and there is an extremely high prevalence of typhoid and dysentery, as well as other diseases.
• Health.  There is a health center here in Sanguéré-Paul, but it’s not open yet and there is no equipment.  The building was constructed a few years ago, with funding from the US Embassy, and now it’s up to the municipality to hold their end of the deal by financing the equipment and hiring the staff.  Nobody knows whether the municipality is still working on this or if they have just forgotten/given up.  “How are we supposed to treat our children’s illnesses if there is no health center?”  The closest health center is in Djalingo, which is 5km and a 400cfa moto-ride away.  Many people have difficulty finding money to buy medicine for their children.  Gargasol’s son currently has malaria, but he has no way of treating it.
• Trees.  People are cutting trees en brousse and not planting more.  I’ve heard many people state this as a problem.  Gargasol would like to start a nursery and plant trees in his yard (specifically a mango tree so that he can generate income by selling mangoes).
• Education, just in general.  Keeping kids in school is key.  School fees are expensive (7,500cfa per year at the primary school, and 23,000cfa per year at the high school), and if you don’t have the means to pay, you aren’t allowed to go to school.
• Food sources.  Like many other people in the village, Gargasol doesn’t have a formal job.  He used to work for IRAD, and he still tries to find little bits income here and there, but there is no work to be found anywhere.  The family has great difficulty finding enough food or money to buy food.  On top of it all, he has to take care of many of his brothers, including one brother who is in prison, who he delivers food to occasionally.
• Drugs. There are many young men (17-18 years old) who are taking drugs (I’m not exactly sure what kind of drug).  This wasn’t a problem before the year 2000, but between then and now, it has become a problem.  Many people are scared of the carrefour because of these aggressive boys.  I explained that I, too, am scared of these boys, and it is probably not safe for me to go directly interact with them, and also there is probably not an easy way to get them to stop taking drugs.  Instead we discussed that a sensitization course at the school would be best.  A method of prevention.  We need to teach kids in school about the negative effects of drugs, keep kids in school, and create more afterschool activities so that kids are not idol.
• We also just talked generally about how it is important to think of the children’s future, and ensuring that they will survive and have good lives after the current generation is no longer around.

This conversation, which lasted almost two hours, left me feeling challenged and a bit overwhelmed, but extremely motivated.  That being said, not many of these problems are agroforestry related (though the agri-business and economic aspects will certainly prove beneficial).  Personally, I have no problem with this.  I am willing and eager to help in any domain that I can.  However, Peace Corps requires that I at least try to do work within my sector, and I’m sure as I talk to more people in the community, I will find plenty of ways to do so.

So what exactly am I doing here in Sanguéré-Paul?  I’m learning.  I’m learning how to coax myself out of my shell and that sometimes all it takes to start a conversation is a simple greeting.  I'm learning a new language and a new culture.  I'm learning how to fit in in a place where there is absolutely no one who looks like me or shares a common background with me.  I’m learning about my new community and the challenges it faces.  I’m learning about development in ways that a classroom could never teach me.  And with all that I am learning, I will hopefully soon be able to work together with the people of Sanguéré-Paul on a path towards a better future.

You've got questions? I've got answers!

It's been about a month and a half here in Sanguéré-Paul, and I seem to be getting a lot of recurring questions from friends and family, so I figured why not put 'em all together and answer everyone at once?  I'm always willing to answer questions, so never hesitate to ask!

Q:  How hot is it?

A:  HAWT.  My default answer to this has been 104°F, but this was based off the only time I had ever seen a thermometer, which was over a month ago on Thanksgiving.  Well, I now have a brand spankin’ new thermometer, so I can answer this question for real!  (Let’s keep in mind that it is currently “cold season”).  I woke up this morning and thermometer was hovering around 70° up until 8 or 9AM.  It’s always a bit cooler in my house, but my thermometer is placed in the shade on my veranda.  Throughout the day, the needle usually hovers around 90°.  By now, this is what feels comfortable – much more comfortable than the morning briskness that makes me thankful that I brought a sweatshirt and winter leggings (because yes, 70° really does feel that cold to me now!).  So just to do a little experiment, I put the thermometer out in the sun.  After all, if I go for a walk there’s not always an easy way to find refuge in the shade!  And guess what the thermometer said?  (Well, nothing, of course! Because it can’t talk!  harharhar)  We’re back to my default answer: 104°.
EDIT (1/22/2014):  This happened:

And apparently this is nothing compared to what's coming in March.

EDIT (3/31/2014):  It's officially hot season.  130° (at least!) in the sun, 105° in the shade. Sweat.  So much sweat.

Q:  What do people in Sanguéré-Paul do for fun?

A:  I'm becoming a bit better able to answer this question each and every day.  There is an outdoor “cabaret” that runs probably from noon to midnight everyday (and even later during the holiday season), and music is blaring while everybody drinks bil-bil (local bear) and dances.  Then again, those who don't drink usually avoid the cabaret.  I often here a lot of drumming and singing happening at the church near my house, though this is most likely associated with the holidays or other celebrations.  During the holidays, various church groups put on theater performances, which drew quite a crowd and caused a lot of laughs (though it was all in Fulfulde, so the jokes were all lost on me).  Children can be found singing and chasing each other around – the other day, I’m pretty sure I witnessed a Fulfulde version of “ring-around-the-rosie”.  Kids are always playing everyday objects that they have turned into toys, the most common being old bike tires, which they will tap with a stick and chase it down the path.  Then of course, soccer is extremely popular all throughout Cameroon – both watching it and playing it.  I have also seen many people playing cards, though I have not yet had the courage to join.  

Q: How is the Fulfulde coming along?

A: Seda seda.  Petit à petit.  Ça va aller.  I’ve got my salutations down, or so I think.  I can usually hold a conversation of 5 or 6 questions back and forth until I give a blank stare and get laughed at (in the nicest way possible, or so I like to pretend).  These questions include:  How’s it going?  How is your health?  How is the house?  Did you sleep well?  How is the fatigue? How is the cold?  (YES!  THEY REALLY ASK THIS!)  And sometimes, noy gorko ma?  (How is your man?)  -- A question to which I awkwardly laugh because I don’t know how to explain that no, I do not have a husband and I am not currently looking for one (though when speaking French I sometimes pretend that I’m married to my cat.  This confuses people.  I don’t think they get me...) 

Q: So…what kind of actual work are you doing right now?

A:  HA.  Moving on…  (but actually, I’ll answer this question in my next post)

Q:  What is the market like?

A:  Sanguéré-Paul’s market occurs every Wednesday.  I was surprised to learn that on market day, there is not much more produce available than any other regular day: just the usual of cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, and hot peppers.  However, on market day, you can get lots of other nifty things:  used clothes, pagne and other fabric, buckets, dishes, utensils, locks, jewelry, flashlights and other household tools…pretty much anything your heart desires!  Well, okay…maybe I wouldn’t go that far.  After all, there is no Nutella (and definitely no “Mr. Nutella”).  In general though, it’s not much different than any of the other African markets I’ve been to, except for the fact that it is much smaller than any other market I’ve been too, and therefore much less intimidating.

Q: How much do things cost in your village?

A: Here are some examples of the prices of things I can get in Sanguéré-Paul everyday:

• 1 tasse of tomatoes (4 or 5 tomatoes) = 100cfa / $0.20
• 1 tasse of onions (4 onions) = 100cfa / $0.20
• 1 tasse cucumbers (4 cucumbers) = 100cfa / $0.20
• 1 kg flour = 500 cfa / $1.00
• 1 kg sugar = 650 cfa / $1.30
• 1 baggie (about ¼ cup) peanuts (either salted or caramel):  25cfa / $0.05
• 1 baggie all natural peanut butter (probably ¼ cup):  50cfa / $0.10
• 1 small Mambo chocolate bar :  150 cfa / $0.30
• 1 beer (about the size of two beers back home) = 500cfa / $1.00

Q: Aren’t you afraid of big, scary, African animals?  Lions and tigers and bears and such?

A: No.  I am invincible.  A.K.A. There aren’t really many wild animals remaining here in northern Cameroon, unless you count lizards