My second home

I have now been in Cameroon for a little over 9 months, and every once in a while, it occurs to me that I have truly adapted more and more to this life. For one, when it finally starts to rain and you are really happy because you now have water to use for your flush latrine, you realize that thought is pretty new. Afterall, I certainly never thought that when it rained in New York. Or when you begin to wear pagne (an African fabric) as tie skirts with your head covered.... definitely a new style, and you start using fulfulde words in every day conversation, including English speaking volunteers.

In terms of traveling, things are a little different then in the States. I realized fairly recently that it has become a bit more normal for me to see, for instance, a chicken in the drivers seat. Also, when I was on a bus and we reached a line of 8 other buses all waiting to cross a river that formed over night, this was far from a surprise. I just gathered my things, found a nice rock to sit on outside (it says a lot about your seat when you prefer a rock), and got my book out. Personally, always traveling with a book is the trick to staying sane. Then our bus that isn't in the best of shape to begin with, manages to cross this river that actually has little rapids. Impressive. Although, sometimes things continue to surprise me during my travels. Another bus bumped our bus on the road while I was distracted looking out the window searching for monkeys (which I found by the way, success). During this search, the window that got bumped exploded, scattering glass everywhere. If I was sitting by that window I would have probably at least screamed a little, however the guy who was sitting in that spot simply shrugged as a response to my horrified "are you alright"s and said not a problem, I am use to this. The bus barely stopped and nobody mentioned it. I found the whole experience really bizarre.

On another note, I had another "I'm truly adapting" thought when I arrived at my house after getting a few drinks with my postmate, to find an awesome gift waiting for me. A black plastic bag filled with raw meat. My coworker had recently slaughtered an animal and was kind enough to give me some for free. I was a little buzzed and had never prepared freshly slaughtered meat before by myself, but I knew that if I didn't do something about it that night the precious gift would go bad. So, I sat on my floor next to my petrol lamp and got to work preparing the meat. After an hour of trying to cut off the fat and bad parts, it was already fairly late and I was no longer as excited about this gift. Peeling the grass off the meat I had finished, I decided to just fry it all and then deal with it in the morning. But I did have the passing thought that you know you're adapting to African life when you come back from getting beers with a friend and find raw cow hide on your porch, and you spend an hour while buzzed preparing it by lantern light. Gotta love it.

You can never predict what a day will be life here. You can try to make a schedule, but odds are it won't happen exactly like you wanted. I woke up one Saturday morning, and immediatly tried to figure out how the hell I'd fill my day. Fortunately for me, one of the kids in my concession knocked on my door by 9 am and tells me that my postmate is back from the States, that he is with his sister and heading to see the waterfalls with the delegate of tourism, so if I want to join I have to hurry because they're leaving now. So I quickly change out of my tie skirt and into caprees and join my postmate and another volunteer (his "sister", every white person is related apparently). We hop on this van filled to the brim with fairly important men all ready to see the waterfalls. Once we arrived we hiked for around a half hour to arrive at this huge, majestic, gorgeous waterfall. It was truly breathtaking. After bouncing around the rocks and taking in the sights, we had to make the hike back, which wasn't as easy sincei t was uphill and in the heat of midday. However, it was nice to see that I wasn't alone in my exhaustion haha. Most of the men were men who worked in the offices, who hired others to do their work for them, expecially an manual labor. Afterwards, they gave us delicious food, and of course tea even though it was boiling outside. Piling back into the car, my postmate described it the best saying that it resembled a basketball team heading home after playing a game. Everyone was loud, talkative and happy for the first half, and dead tired the second. This was cured by more beers upon our arrival back in Djohong, food, and a soccer match. A pretty solid day considering I woke up not knowing what the day would bring.


Its not always occurances like these, the ones that would never happen in the States, that remind me of how different my life has become but that I've adapted despite it. The realization also happens after I leave my village and come back to find that I'm coming back to a family. Upon my most recent arrival to my village, I had my kitten sprinting to me and several of the children racing over to give me hugs. Many people with huge smiles saying welcome in fulfulde (Jabbama), and my good friends saying that the 6 days I was gone was too long. Though my village can drive me a little crazy, it is also my second home.

Sorry, I know that I kind of rambled, but I wanted to write a quick blog since it has been a while. Hope everyone is doing well, see you soon- August!

Cultural Exchange

Since it has been a while, I thought that I’d try to think of something to post. There are a lot of posts about traveling, the scenery, and my work. However, I realized I spoke very little about the culture. So, I thought that maybe I’d try to describe it a bit to give everyone an idea of the people and atmosphere of Cameroon, and specifically, Djohong.

I’ve had some very interesting conversations with Cameroonians, as well as some hilarious conversations with volunteers about their own experiences. One aspect of Cameroon that should definitely be brought up is sorcery. Everything is because of sorcery. When I went to the spot where there is cell phone service, and my phone didn’t get service, but the man next to me had 5 bars he looked at me and shrugged. “Sorry,” he mumbled barely glancing my way, “sorcery.” When my friend was walking and one flip flop broke, and then another step later her other one broke, it wasn’t because the quality of shoes here is terrible, rather it was sorcery. When rainy season started a bit late, it was because a sorcerer put a plug up in the sky. The appearance of a scorpion in my house- sorcery. And, apparently, sorcery is used to explain other things as well. My friend was telling me about her first couple of weeks in her village. During those first few weeks she encountered an “epidemic.” This “epidemic” was supposedly caused by Nigerians. When a Nigerian sorcerer shakes your hand, he potentially steals your penis. Apparently, this horror was spreading throughout her village. It was also in the capital city, Yaounde. Apparently, a man started screaming that this other guy in the market stole his penis. Some looked upon the scene with terror, some with amusement, and some with a mixture of both. They sent for his wife to check to see if his penis was stolen. She arrives, pulls him aside, checks to see if it was still there. She exclaimed with wide eyes that it was still there but that it wasn’t that small before. Certainly a bizarre epidemic to say the least.

I also had an interesting conversation with this man in village. He is educated and works for an American NGO. He asked me if I were to get married, if I would ever be someone’s 2nd wife in the States. I said, first of all, no. I will never be anyone’s second wife. And secondly, polygamy is illegal in the States. He looked at me with sheer shock and disbelief. He then asked me how the man deals with just one woman. I started laughing at his expression and then paused as I tried to think of how to answer this question. He didn’t give me a chance to respond, just started to shake his head in disbelief. He then asked, but how does that women give birth to many children, doesn’t she get tired of giving birth, raising, and nursing over ten children? I smiled and said that families are generally smaller in the States, with maybe 1 to 3 children on average. He was like so… the man really has to choose this woman carefully, since she’s the only one. I said yes, usually the man and women date for a while and make sure that marriage is right for them and that its what they really want. Dating- a whole other concept that required further explanation. I eventually left this man with him staring at me incredulously. I have many of these types of conversations on a weekly basis.

The families in Africa are generally very large. Potentially at least 2 wives, one man, and maybe around 10 children (some families are much bigger than this). The women tend to stay in the compound, doing the housework and caring for the kids. This job is, as always, a lot harder than it sounds. Close your eyes and imagine handwashing clothes for at least 4 of those children (they are probably babies), nursing, caring for children, disciplining (this happens pretty often), caring for your husband (doing his laundry and whatever else), dishes (of course, also done by hand), cleaning the house, and of course making the meals, usually cous-cous which is an incredibly laborious task taking several hours. This is also why, however, families have a lot of kids. Any adult can call a child over and send him/her on an errand. Sending them to the market, cleaning things, getting water, etc. When you have a lot of children, you have a lot of workers. While you are preparing food for the market or working in the fields, your slightly older children can do some of the housework. Because, yes I forgot that little aspect, the women also do most of the work in the fields. What do the men do, you might be thinking. Obviously, this depends, some do work in the fields, some work in boutiques, and some may work at the hospital or school. However, in general, many of the men do nothing. They sit in the center of town all day and chat. Chat about what? Who knows, I would think they would get bored but they seem quite comfortable with the way things are. No surprise there.

Most girls get to start this life pretty quickly. A young girl in my compound, around 14 years old, was just sent to Ngaoundal to be married. Fortunately, she will be the first wife, but nevertheless, she was understandably terrified to leave everything she knows for someone she has never met. More and more girls do get to go to school, and more do get to even finish school and possibly go the university.However, school costs money for each child to attend, and generally, it is the boys who get to finish school if at all. The girl in my compound made her choice when she asked her father if she could stop going to school. He definitely didn’t try to convince her to continue, if she doesn’t want to go to school then it was time for marriage.

When walking through village, with some of the kids at school or working, men lounging and women in the compounds or working, the village has a very relaxed feel to it. Everyone smiles at each other, says hello and usually it is only polite to sit down and have a 5 minute conversation with the person. Afterall, there is no rush. Time doesn’t exist here like it does in the States. Coming back from Fada with my friend Ibrahim, we stopped at each village to say hi to his friends. At one village we stopped and went to say hello to a friend, which resulted in us staying for an hour and a half, having buis ( a thick drink-like meal) and chatting for a while. This man didn’t have any furniture, only mats in a tiny mud hut. His clothes were worn and tattered, but well-cleaned. Because cleanliness is very important here, particularly shoes. He had very little for himself, for his own survival. And yet, at the end of our meeting, my new friend Limon offered me a bag full of bananas. The generosity, hospitality, and overall kindness here is sometimes difficult for me to wrap my mind around. Coming from a place where, generally, people crack open their doors to strangers, hear what they have to say and then quickly shut it to keep out whatever danger that person might bring, it still amazes me how many people open their doors to strangers here, or rides if the person has a far walk. Do they expect something in return? Probably, but probably just the same kindness in return if they needed it.

Anyways, I have rambled quite a bit. That’s a little taste of the people in my village. Extremely different, almost in every way, which means that sometimes its refreshing, sometimes its frustrating, sometimes its amusing, and sometimes its just freaking bizarre. However, it keeps things interesting.

A little work and some furry visitors

Hey everyone! After a blog with only 2 pictures and very little written, I figured that another post was needed. The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. End of March to the beginning of April I was in Ngaoundere for a week for IST. In-Service training was a reminder of what training was like, long days of sessions and good company. It was great seeing everyone again, hearing everyone’s adventures and just spending time with old friends. It was very similar to going away to college freshman year, and coming back Thanksgiving break and seeing all of those familiar faces. The faces are so familiar and reassuring, and yet there’s something different, not necessarily a bad thing, but its in the air. The first three days were also with our counterparts, so Bah-Iya accompanied me and we got to sit through the long sessions together, exchanging looks when either of us got too bored. In general, IST was great. It got me motivated for future projects and rejuvenated me by seeing my friends again. You need that every once in a while.

When I was in Ngaoundere, Bah-Iya had an old friend in the city. Doctor Daniel, who is an American Neurologist, once volunteered in Djohong for 10 days and was back on Cameroon for a little over a week. Bah-Iya asked me to help him out, because though it was great to see his friend, Bah-Iya doesn’t speak English and the doctor can speak only a little French.  I was happy to help, so bah-Iya gave me Daniel’s phone number and I arranged for Myself, Caleb, Bah-Iya and the doctor to meet up. Daniel was very friendly and it was nice seeing Bah-Iya’s reaction when he saw his old friend. Daniel said that he would like to visit Djohong for a few days, so I offered to travel with him and his family. I remember how difficult and overwhelming traveling was (still is), and with very little French, it could pretty much be a disaster. So after IST, I traveled back with Daniel and his family. It was refreshing seeing new American faces and seeing them experience Cameroon. I served as their translator during their stay, including the doctor’s consultations. At first when he asked me to help him I was a bit cautious. My french isn’t that great, let alone my neurology vocabulary, but to my surprise, between the doctor and I it went very well. I found it really interesting and truly enjoyed it.

Once the doctor and his family left, I started my own work again. International Medical Corps has asked me to help them out. Each monday I have to head to the health center during the malnutrition screenings, and while the women are grouped together, discuss the importance of breastfeeding. Last monday i just introduced myself, told them why i was there and all that jazz. Their response was fairly welcoming. They would be happy to learn things, particularly embroidery apparently. I tried to explain that I am here to teach about health, not embroidery, though if I knew how to I’d consider it. They let the talk of embroidery go for a bit, but every once in a while they’d sneak their need to learn embroidery into a discussion. Go figure, they would choose something that has nothing to do with health and that I have never even had the desire to attempt.  However, we did make soy milk together, and that was an amazing success. It’s fairly laborious, but the taste and nutrients makes it very worth it.

The next day I then traveled to the village called Fada with Bah-Iya. This pretty much entailed me sitting in a little mud hut and listening to men speak in Fulfulde for 2 hours, once again. During Bah-Iya’s discussion I apparently came up fairly often, because when we arrived in Djohong, he told me that I would be presenting a cholera animation on saturday. How I would get there, what building it would be in, and who would translate my French into Fulfulde were questions I would have to find the answers to. I can’t say I was too surprised, haha.

Thursday I gave a Cholera animation to a group of over 50 women. It went extremely well, all of the women know me by now as the girl with the bread recipe, so I wasn’t nervous presenting. With my translator’s help, the women were very receptive and had several questions that I actually had the answers to. The following day I gave the same animation to a group of around 35 men. This was a bit more intimidating, but I figured that they judge me already so who cares. My colleague with the red streaked hair has become a comforting presence since she understands my French with my American accent. Every once in a while she helps explain things that I just don’t have the vocabulary for yet. However, for this animation I was on my own. My French was a bit spotty but I was able to pull it off and answer questions. All in all, the men were just as receptive as the group of women, and I ended up feeling really good after both presentations.

Saturday came around and I managed to find a ride to Fada. My friend Ibrahim gave me a lift and he also served as my translator. This also ended up being a success. Many women showed up and were very attentive, receptive, and eager for me to come back with more health subjects. So overall, as of right now, work is going fairly well.

On another note, I got a kitten! It is great having another living thing in the house, even if that little creature is absolutely insane. She has so much energy, sprinting all over the house, climbing on walls, jumping and snatching at air, its truly fascinating. Quite the spectacle. A little ball of black fur, she is apparently the mom’s favorite also. One night, Youssoufa was walking me back to my house and Kulu, (his cat and also my cat’s mom) walked back with us. It was a little unusual but we didn’t think that much of it. However, once I shut my door and got ready for bed, I walked into the room to get my kitten and I see a large white thing squeezing through my window. After around an hour of trying to get Kulu out of my house, I woke up to find her in my latrine. Since that day, she has now come back constantly, and I now have the privilege of seeing Kulu walk out of my latrine each morning, And this is with me shutting all of my windows. A mystery. As of today, I now have the other kitten in my house, the one Kulu kept abandoning at Youssoufa’s, as well as Kulu’s boyfriend paying me a visit. After waking up and finding the other little kitten on my doorstep I gave in. Now the whole family is residing in my tiny house, but it’s a party.

I hope everything is going well at home. I miss all of you. Please keep my updated on your lives also!

First 2 pictures

 First picture haha. This is thanks to Caleb, my postmate, since I now have his pictures on my computer. Unfortunately it takes a very long time to upload a single picture.
These little girls are like my little sisters. I love them, they are adorable and a great help, but also manage to be incredibly annoying while putting a smile on my face. Something only little siblings manage to accomplish. The oldest girl is named Bebe, next to her is my Nafisa and the little one is Soraya. Nafisa and Soraya walk with my wherever I will let them and join me for market days.  They are 3 of the 14 children who also live in the compound. Needless to say, it's always a party.

This is during the Fete de Jeunesse, or Youth Day. All of the kids march in a parade on the soccer field, representing their school or club. After they march in front of the sous-prefet and other important officials each school then performs a well-rehearsed dance This is after a week of almost no school and just playing handball and soccer all day. At night there would be performances where the kids perform a cultural dance or song.

I'm sorry this blog is so short and that there are only 2 pictures. I'll have a nice long blog with no pictures for the next one and hopefully get more pictures out again soon. Hope everyone is doing well!

Sink or swim

It is difficult to describe to people what my life is like and what my days consist of, because it is similar to someone from Cameroon asking what life is like in the States. Where do you begin? That's why I like to just tell little stories that I hope together encompass my general experience as a volunteer in Cameroon. One aspect of my expereince that I get questions about often is work. What do I do over here? How do I fill my days? When it comes to work, the French and Fulfulde aspect makes it a little difficult. For the most part, I have no problem speaking in front of people, but I feel more uncomfortable since I don't feel that my language abilities are that great yet. So, I learned that sometimes a person has to throw you in the deep end to get you to learn how to swim.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting outside washing my dishes when I received a visitor. A tall, big boned woman, sporting long hair with bright red streaks stood in front of me and said she would like my help with a women's group. I invited her inside and took a seat. She is one of those people who have so much energy that when they talk their whole body seems to move or act it out. She stood in my tiny living room, sat down for a second, then jumped back up as she began to describe the women's group. I immediately knew that I would absolutely work with this group, its exactly what I had been looking for for a while. I let her talk for a bit though, and eventually she asked me if I have any ideas on how the group can make money. I gave her a little smile and was just like umm.... I don't know. Maybe making soap or bread and selling it? Bread actually seemed like a perfect idea, Djohong doesn't sell bread, but this cake-like bread that is a very poor subsitute. Bread would probably sell really well and the village would also benefit from it. She got very excited about this idea as well and basically sprinted out of my house yelling as she left to meet her at the office the following thursday.

So that Thursday I arrived at her office right before the women's group meeting. My red-streaked friend greets me with a huge hug, a handshake, and then asks if I was reay to help her with a forced marriage presentation. I just stared at her for a second and then told her that I wasn't exactly prepared. She laughed and said that of course I was, I know why its bad, so just tell the women. At that moment, she walks out the door to greet around 20 women who have been sitting and waiting for the meetin to begin. I just kept thinking what exactly I got myself into, again, when she started and told the women that she would begin the discussion and then I would take over. We had a translator present as well so the fulfulde speakers could understand, and they enthusiasticually introduced me to the group. I was trying to hide myself as best I could in the back, a nice trick I learned from classes at school, but unfortunately I stand out a little more over here and was easy to spot. I then just thought to myself, well here we go, too late to back out now. Surprisngly enough, the meeting was a big success. My colleague ended by telling the women that next week I would be teachng them out to make bread. I was happy that I survived the meeting, so didn't understand what she said until later. She repeated it to me once the women had left. I was a bit surprised. For one, i don't know how to make bread, so I saw a potential problem teaching others how to do it in French or Fulfulde. Two, I don't know how to make bread in the states with an actual oven.... I am far from a cook or a baker. i stuck to simple eggs, ramen, and pasta meals during college and have yet to stray too far from that path. Unfortunately, my friend wouldn't listen to me, so I had to figure out how to make bread well enough before I had to teach it.

The next week I had to go to Ngaoundere so I missed the meeting. When I arrived back in Djohong the women told me how excited they were to learn how to make bread the next day. The next day! shit, I had arrived on a wed, the meeting was on thursday. A day to learn how to make bread. Once again, somebody was throwing me into the deep end. Would I sink? Most definitely. Fortunately, there is one girl, a friend of mine, who does make bread in Djohong. It's not well known in the village, but I found out about her through a friend, and buy bread from her. After I told my crazy-hair friend that I really can't teach people how to do something I don't know how to do, she was convinced that maybe my baker-friend would be the better teacher.

Over 50 women showed up at this deomonstration. It was a HUGE success. We managed to find all the materials right in Djohong, proving to the women this was indeed possible, and they learned from a girl who makes delicious bread. The ovens consisted of large iron pots, with a dirt like substance inside. The pan with the dough is placed inside the pot, and the pot is over a fire. We had 3 fires going, so 3 ovens. The bread was delicious and many of the women came up to thank us for the demonstration.

So, sink or swim, it worked out. I am currently working on drawing out the recipes for the women who can't read, so maybe fairly soon,  I will see bread being sold on at the market on market day. You never know.

New faces and some not-so-new places

I have been enjoying a life with fairly constant electricity and running water for the past week. So I’ve been able to take wonderfully hot showers and use a toilet that flushes, talk to many people who I’ve been missing a bunch, and enjoy cold drinks out at a restaurant. To get to this city, however, is never the easiest thing to do. Traveling in this country never goes exactly right, a perfect example being when I was on a train for site visit and the train split in half, leaving my car behind. When this happened nobody reacted because its not unusual for something to happen to stop your travels, such as a train splitting in half.

After a nice, long prison bus ride for around 5 hours, I arrived in Meiganga. There is nothing like bonding with your fellow passengers as they use your shoulder as their headrest or your lap to hold their possessions. We all bonded even more once it started to rain. This is bizarre considering it very rarely rains during the dry season, like pretty much never. So we all exchanged quizzical looks that then turned to resigned Oh-well-nothing-I-can-do-about-it looks, and then myself and the fellow window passengers all got a nice shower. So after hanging out in such a fashion for a couple of hours, you hop off the car, everyone exchanges quick glances and smiles to acknowledge the wonderful ride you shared, and you part ways. It was pouring once I arrived, but since I was already soaking wet this didn’t really bother me. I wandered around aimlessly since my friends in Meiganga weren’t in the city yet, ate a delicious egg brunch, had my first cold drink in a month and then went to my friend’s house to relax and prep for the next leg of my journey.

A hot bucket bath, movie, good food, and a good night sleep later, I went back to the bus station. Surrounded by motos, stands selling things ranging from little trinkets to veggies, and just tons of people milling around who have nothing better to do, I fight threw the crowd listening to people say Nassara! Nassara! which means white person. I ignore this because acknowledging it does absolutely nothing. I get to an area with a few benches and at least 20 people standing or sitting around and look for a corner to hide myself until the bus gets here. The guy who reserves seats recognizes me and believes that my name is Helene. So upon arrival I hear Helene! Helene! pretty concerned he asks why I missed the early bus. i just explained that sometimes I like to sleep past 5 am and figured that it didn’t matter if I got on the slightly later bus at 10am. He agreed that this wasn’t a problem, so I plopped my stuff down, bought myself some beignets, sat on my moto helmet and took out my book. 5 minutes into it I notice this older woman wrapped in the traditional Fulbe attire staring at me intently. Once I looked at her and smiled, she gave me a hesitant smile and then looked away. This exchange is far from new, so I ignore it and continue reading. Though, once again I feel someone staring, so I look up and it was the same cute, little old woman. I smile, give a small wave, and say Sannu which is hello in fulfulde. She gives me a huge smile, turns her full body towards me and we then exchange the traditional salutations. I told her that I was going to Ngaoundere, she said something which I didn’t understand but assumed was that she was making the same trip. The fulfulde continued but I maxed out right after I said where I was going. So I gave her a confused smile shaking my head, however the old woman than took me under her wing. This was fortunate because I had no idea which bus was mine, since there isn’t an announcement or anything. She ushers me in front of her in line, sees a man sitting by a window and tells him to save me a seat next to him. I have no way of knowing thats exactly what she said, but I assumed after I got on the bus and the man shouted to everyone else to essentially help me crowd surf over them to get to him in the back row.

Finally, everyone was settled in the bus. I was next to a woman who didn’t acknowledge me at all and the man who saved my spot. With bags at my feet and my backpack on my lap, my moto helmet on the man’s lap, I got my toes in this little space on the floor, got my body positioned sideways with one shoulder forward and one shoulder behind the woman’s and settled down for another 5 hour ride. The man next to me loved the window, so it was wide open the whole way with his head hanging out. Considering the heat, this would be a great idea but every window passenger gets to decide the fate of the people next to them. Either their neighbors melt in the heat with a closed window or get covered in dust and leave the bus with asthma. My neighbor chose dirt and asthma, and then oddly enough, it rained again. So my neighbor then got to choose between heat and water. Of course he chose being wet, but unfortunately the rain didn’t last very long so we were shortly back to dust. With a bandana wrapped around my face, I stared at my neighbor truly amazed. How was it possible that the dirt wasn’t bothering him? He was a weird orange color due to the dust 3 hours into the ride, and I decided that he was either a badass or a moron. Shortly after this thought process the bus stopped so the driver can buy some avocados. My neighbor than hands me the moto helmet, thanks me for taking hold of my own helmet, and does a smooth dive out the window landing on his feet. After this James Bond-like move I came to the conclusion that he is in fact a badass.

Finally, I arrived in Ngaoundere, the capital city of my region. I can definitely say that the journey was worth it. I hung out with fellow volunteers who were all there for the regional meeting, arriving at the peace corps house in waves. Each person was so covered in dirt that they resembled oompa-loompas. The journey was worth it, but I do miss my village. I miss it enough to want to make the journey back, so that has to say something. Though, I’m convinced that you know you’re doing something right when everything you do, even a bus ride, can turn into a story.

Spiders, scorpions, and teaching

Hey everyone! As many of you know, I am a health volunteer here in Djohong and I’ve been in this village for around 2 months. One issue with being a health volunteer is that it’s not like if you’re an education volunteer and you’ve finished your training you are then a teacher. The village knows you are a teacher and recognizes you as such. Agro volunteer, similar thing, that once you finish your training you are then recognized as a person who works in the fields. As a health volunteer, I have been recognized as a doctor by many of the people in my village. This is not good for many reasons, a major one being that I am not a doctor. Far from it. So, though I have been trying to observe things, for a while I was mostly telling people that I am not a doctor, just a volunteer working with health. I personally can see how this would be difficult to understand at first. Despite this, i have been enjoying my time at the hospital and IMC immensely, though when a friend came to me asking for a favor I was happy to have something new to try.

My friend, Ibrahim who works as a tailor, came over to my house and asked me if I could assist him with his classes. I was pretty confused at first since he knows that I can’t sew and classes….for tailors? However, he quickly clarified and said he was now also working as an English teacher at the high school and said that my assistance would really be appreciated since he can’t speak English very well. I figured why not, I would just be helping, so I said yes and met him at his house the next morning so we could walk over together. We arrived just as a young teenage girl was banging a stick on a metal car rim that was hanging from a tree. The kids responded to this by running from all directions to get to class. Ibrahim and I also picked up our pace and arrived at our classroom. Ibrahim then asked me to wait as he went to go pick up his lesson book from the principal. I waited in front of the classroom as the kids all got a kick out of the new person in front of them. Once Ibrahim arrived the snickering and whispering stopped and he hurried over to me. Whispering to me, he explained that the lesson book is blank so he doesn’t know what he is suppose to do. He then proceeds to hand me the chalk and say ok well you have 2 hours with them, go ahead. I started laughing at this as I stared at the 40+ kids in the class and then back to the chalk in my hand. I thought about reminding him that I wasn’t a teacher, but then remembered that he wasn’t a teacher either. Then decided what the hell, this could be fun. So I spent the rest of the class attempting to teach English. Since then I have returned twice, one time with Ibrahim and another time with a different professor, and now plan to help Ibrahim with many of his classes. Now people think that I am a doctor, despite me telling everyone repeatedly that I’m not, and a teacher. Voila.

On a completely different note, I have slowly gotten use to the spiders and cockroaches who make appearances in my house, particularly at night. However, one new development stumped me. My flashlight died a while back and the batteries here don’t work very well with my flashlight from the States. So when I come home at night after dinner elsewhere, Caleb or Youssoufa usually walk me home. once I get home, I have to maneuver around things in the dark to find my candles or lantern. One night I found my candle and my matches, fumbled a bit but finally managed to light it, and right in front of me was an incredibly large spider. This was by far the biggest spider I have ever seen, and not only that, but it was hairy and fat. I jumped back with a small yelp when I first saw it and tried to decide what to do. After some quick thinking I went to my room, locked my door, changed very quickly into pjs and hopped into my bed under the protection of my mosquito net. This was kind of like when I found the scorpion in my bucket…. being too scared to kill it, I moved the bucket outside of my house and locked the door, like this would stop a tiny scorpion from crawling back in. However, my mind was put at ease. This spider was too big to come through my mosquito net and from my experience, the uglier, scarier things are usually gone in the morning. When I woke up I was relieved to see that I was right. Fortunately I have yet to encounter it again, though I’d like to think if I did I’d be a little more badass and just kill it. We’ll see.

I hope everyone is doing well! keep sending me updates, I love reading them. I am slowly getting the packages people sent, so thank you very much. I miss you!