Photos from Bafang Funeral

These photos are the best of the ones taken at the funeral I went to in Bafang, West Province with my friend Gabriel and his wife Annick.

New Look for Year 2!

Next week is my one year anniversary of my arrival into Cameroon, and I've already passed the one year mark of this blog. I'd like to thank those of you who have read it, those who have written to me in support, and to the wonderful folks at blogger.com and ofoto.com for enabling the whole experience.

I've been at Peace Corps headquarters for the past few days, and have taken the opportunity to update the look and feel of the blog. You can now add comments to individual posts, and I can add photos right into the blog itself (only when I'm in Yaounde though).

I'm looking forward to Year 2! Thanks again for all your encouragement!

-pete

Books Read Recently

Even with all that was going on, I still found time to read a few good books. I guess that's what happens when you don't have a television to distract you... The first, was my traveling book during vacation (since I had a feeling I would be spending quality time in airports). "Without Remorse" by Tom Clancy is a bit of a departure from the intensely technical and high-stress environments created in most of his other books. A story of a man who has lots of bad luck but fights back is a somewhat old and predictable one, and at the end I half expected him to don a mask and cape and crusade against evil (actually, he sorta does). Nonetheless, it was a good traveling book with lots of heft, short chapters and an engaging plot.

Following that were two books meant to better prepare me for the Foreign Service Exam. The first, "The Lexus and the Olive Tree" by Thomas Friedman is a modern examination of globalization, its origins and where it might be taking the world. Globalization has indeed reached the recesses of Africa and is virtually irreversible. One of the central themes is how people struggle to hold onto their individual cultures while participating in the great melting pot that the world is becoming. I have seen this firsthand here in Cameroon with the increase in numbers of Chinese, Lebanese, Greeks, and even French who have come here to live and make a living. An insightful and thoughtful discourse and recommended to those who wonder whether NAFTA or the EU will work out or whether we have a chance of holding onto that which makes us and our culture unique.

Howard Zinn's, "A People's History of the United States" is not light reading by any stretch. At almost seven hundred pages, Zinn traces the history of the underdog from the arrival of Columbus through Clinton's first term. To say that this book is "anti-establishment" is an understatement. At least in the end of the book, Zinn identifies himself as the radical socialist that is apparent throughout the book. This is not to take away from the enlightening aspect of the other side of history- that of the Native Americans, slaves, women and blue-collar workers. It may be difficult and dense for a straight-read for some, but its presented in a way that at a minimum makes you think twice about what you know about the history of our country.

After having taken the exam, lighter reading was in order. My friend Michelle, on her way to the airport for vacation, was kind enough to leave behind "The DaVinci Code" by Dan Brown. I had heard many great things about it just as I was leaving to come here, but the last thing I was going to take halfway around the world was another hardcover novel. I'm very happy that I did have the chance to read it though, as it was an action-packed thriller clearly written with "movie rights" in mind. I'm sure its in process on some Hollywood backlot as I write this. I'm not going to ruin it for those who have yet to read it, but if you've ever been curious about the connection between science, art, history and religion, its fascinating. The end was a little too sugary-sweet, but I guess you can't have everything.

"Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire" by JK Rowling recounts, as you probably know, Year 4 in the magical formation of a timid, unassuming wizard. I was much more impressed by this one than Years 2 and 3, and found myself unable to put it down. One reason I liked it better was that it did not revolve around Quidditch, the descriptions of which I find boring. In the end, its more like "Scooby Doo" than "Murder, She Wrote", but it is highly entertaining and definitely worth reading. Just a note though- you should read them in order. If not, some characters and references in this one won't make sense.

And, just completed, the precursor to "The DaVinci Code", a strikingly similar novel called, "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown. With the same main character, and a similar plot of evil-doers, coded messages and secret societies, this novel keeps you reading just to find out what happens next. Not quite as compelling as his most recent bestseller, its conspiracy plots and graphic, accurate detail, make you want to get on a plane and go to Rome. If for no other reason than to see what he's talking about in person. I suppose not many novels make you want to run to the library (does anyone run to the library anymore?) or hop on a plane, so I would give this one a thumbs-up.

At last Easter weekend had come. Kristina was still visiting (we had taken a couple of days to go down to Kribi) and we had been invited to several events over the weekend. It seems that since she had been around for a few days, people thought she was my long-lost wife (not that I ever claimed to have one). So, we were invited to two baptisms and Alain's birthday party. The two baptisms, on Saturday morning, actually occured in the same church at the same time- but the celebrations were held at different times, which allowed us to eat all day both Saturday and Sunday. Churches here are much like the schools and the houses here in construction. They are usually bare cement block or wood plank walls with a poured cement floor and simple wood benches. The only decorations are either built into or nailed onto the building or are small and portable by the priest or minister. Luckily in this church there were also small rotating fans affixed to the walls that provided a little fresh air. Since I had a camera, I became one of the five official photographers for the occasion and was given special permission to move people aside and take the photos that I wanted to take -all in return for copies of the pictures. Not a bad deal, I suppose.

The first party was that of Foukou, celebrating the baptism of his son Christian. He's a relatively new friend who is an extremely nice guy. His son, his first, is adorable, and I don't know that I've ever seen a happier or prouder parent. We ate and drank until we had to go back to sleep. Sunday afternoon, was Alain's party. We didn't know what to expect, but at least Will was there as well. We met Alain at the post office where he works and proceeded to his house where he lives with his parents (he's 22 and dropped out of high school two years ago). I've now been in quite a few Cameroonian houses of varying size and construction. His house was one of the smallest and poorest constructed yet. He also doesn't trust his parents or his neighbors to the point where he locks his bedroom door every time he leaves. We sat in the well-used chairs and shared a couple of drinks (grenadine soda- YUCK!) and peanuts and then headed off to his aunt's bar for food. I was relieved that four other people plus his older brother and mother came to join us- I was beginning to think we were his only friends. We had a nice meal and then excused ourselves to attend the second baptism party. I think the only thing that could've been more different between the two events would be if I had returned to the US for a Bar Mitzvah. The fête was so huge that there was a separate DJ and food for the youngsters (of which I am no longer one). I sat upstairs with the adults and was served Moet& Chandon champagne, among other drinks and ate until I could no longer walk straight, rolled into a friend's car and went home to sleep.

Wednesday afternoon, I left for Yaoundé for the first of several consecutive trips. I enjoy going to Peace Corps headquarters for the chance to see friends I haven't seen in a while and would not otherwise see, but it like going to summer camp, complete with bunk beds. As a result, I don't sleep that well and don't enjoy standing in line to use the bathroom (there are two for 22 beds). This trip was for the two-day intensive Small Enterprise Development Program (SED) steering committee meeting. And, as elected chairman of the committee, I knew exactly how much we had to do. This was not to be a relaxing excuse to see friends (as some meetings tend to be), but a true working session. There are a number of issues confronting us at the same time and the best way to work through them is together. Our primary two tasks were to prepare for the upcoming SED training group by revamping the training program. Luckily, our two senior volunteers (Fran & Ted) had been chosen as technical trainers- much better choices than the trainers we had last year. We also had to do some preparation for the departure of the SED program director and anticipate a four month or more gap in leadership (quality advanced planning by our federal government who knew for about a year of his date of departure). We worked solidly during our time together, and I'm confident we're where we need to be at the moment. We are now fully prepared to lead the training design workshop where we mesh all of the training components together (technical, medical, language, cultural, etc) into one cohesive plan.

After the meeting, on Friday afternoon, I was faced with a difficult decision. Do I go to the annual meeting in Bamenda for CAMCCUL (our bank's network) with the bank president and a couple of my volunteer friends? Or, do I go visit my family in Bandjoun and go to the installation ceremony of the new chief of Bandjoun? A tough choice between job obligation and cultural enlightenment. End the end, I choose cultural enlightenment. I figured the president could handle the meeting and the installation of a tribal chief was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and indeed it was. From Yaoundé, I took the bus up to Baffoussam (with Cathy, who DID go to the meeting- sorry darling!). We took a car up to Babadjou and stayed the night with Katie, a new agroforestry volunteer, and the girl who stayed with my host family after me. To my surprise, Katie had decided to "adopt" one of our host sisters, Françoise, who met us at the door with a big smile. Françoise had been taken out of school and worked as a hair stylist in Bandjoun since her grades were poor and the family had essentially given up on her academically. Katie knew she was intelligent and is now spending a good deal of time trying to prove it to the family and to Françoise herself.

Early the next morning, we headed off to see the family on the way to the Chefferie (where chiefs live). They were quite happy to see us and of course had to feed us something before heading off with the three oldest kids who also wanted to partake in the festivities. We certainly weren't the first people there, but we got there just in time to get situated for the start of the ceremonies. There were in fact thousands of people there, mostly villagers, but also people from Bandjoun from around the country and numerous dignitaries, both political and tribal (tribal chiefs came from all over to be a part of the ceremony). We were standing trying to see the area where the parade would be and we were backed up by security. Then came a number of shotgun blasts from the secret society guards and then right in front of us, the new chief emerged from behind a small enclosure in front of us! He was escorted to his new throne where he presided over the rest of the festivities. His throne was under a separate hand-dyed fabric tent enclosure up several steps from the rest of the guests. The steps to the throne were jaguar pelts held down by elephant tusks. The throne itself was in the shape of a monkey with long, thin arms for the arm rests and face sticking above the head of the chief, covered in white cowrie shells and face painted black.

After the chief was seated, the parade of groups paying their respects began. Some groups were dressed in traditional outfits, some not. Some had shotguns they were using to shoot blanks, others held signs announcing their group. There was also a brass band, which seemed a little out of place. All throughout, the JuJu were wandering around the grounds scaring away the evil spririts. The JuJu are the ones who walk around with canes and their entire bodies covered in cloth. If you get too close, they wack you with their canes.

I got separated from the rest of the group and my friends who had met us there from other places around Bandjoun when I went off to get better photos. I did get much better access alone than with the group, but I was also pickpocketed at some point and was left with only a small amount of money which I had in another pocket. I was a bit angry at this (since I did not any longer have enough to get back to Edéa) and being unable to find my friends, I went on a tour of the Chefferie myself. I took a bunch more photos, but was tired, thirsty and newly broke, so I decided to call it a day and return to the family to rest and wait for the others. Apparently, I missed some of the traditional dances which were held after a food break, but it all worked out alright. I mentioned to my mom upon returning that I had lost money and when dad returned, she explained to him the situation. He could see that I was still a little upset, so he called me outside. He said that something like that shouldn't ruin a good celebration and that in the end it was nothing. He then handed me enough money to get home to Edéa and said he was very happy I came to visit. I was overwhelmed, and thanked him profusely. I couldn't imagine a kinder gesture from a man with not much to give.

That night, I stayed with my friends (and new technical trainers), Fran and Ted, in Baffoussam. The next morning, after breakfast, I went back home to Edéa, anxious for a bit of rest.

The time had arrived to return to Yaoundé (again) to take the Foreign Service Exam, which was given at the American Embassy. I figured I needed a good night's rest before the test, so I got a room at the hotel next door to Peace Corps for a whopping 11,000 per night (about $20). I had a nice dinner of grilled fish and chicken with friends who were in town for one reason or another (many were actually on their way out of the country at the end of their service) and went to sleep early. I didn't sleep all that well, but I woke up early and made my way over to the Embassy. Five hours later, I emerged have completed the exam. It was quite difficult, but if I don't pass it and decide to take it again, I would know what to study for, I think. We get the results in July sometime, and of course, my public policy teachers would be embarrassed if I fail, but I figure I've forgotten quite a bit in the ten years since grad school. The three of us from Peace Corps who ended up taking the test celebrated with a cheeseburger and ice cream at one of the only places in the country who make decent samples of both. After a nice dinner (the last for some friends leaving the country the next day), I left the following morning to return to Edéa once more. Brooke came back with me for the week while she waited for the others in her post-service trip group were being 'processed'.

Tyrone, the parting program director, asked me while I was in town for the exam, if I wanted to participate in a press conference being used to publicize the SED program on the occasion of our fourth anniversary. As president of the group, and as a volunteer near Yaoundé, he felt I would be able to add something to the event. I thought it would be fun and a good test of my current level of french fluency to give it a whirl. When I told the folks at the bank that I was going to do this, they were quite excited. I got there the night before with Brooke (we had a fun and relaxing few days cooking and hanging out and talking about all the things she was going to do on her trip and then back in the US). Early the next morning, we piled into a Peace Corps van and went back to the embassy (to exactly the same room where I had taken the foreign service exam one week before). Three other volunteers were there (two leaving and Carolyn, who came in with me), Robert (Country Director), Tyrone, Sylvie (who does media relations, among other things), and four people from various financial institutions that we work with to attest to our partnership. We got started about a half-hour late (not bad) and the room was filled with press. The TV network (there's only one) was there, several radio stations and a bunch of newspapers- great attendence. We went down the line and made opening statements. I made mine in french and talked about the importance of computerization in small banks and the need for reimboursing loans. After some questions and answers, a couple of reporters came to me looking for additional comments (as did the other reporters with other members of the panel). It was kinda fun, but I still don't know if we made it in print or on air somewhere. We had a big BBQ at Tyrone's house that night, and we watched the english news, which sadly we didn't make. By that time, I wasn't feeling well, so I left the party early and went back to Peace Corps to sleep.

The next day, Friday, was a long one. I left in the morning to return to Edéa for a board meeting at the bank at 2pm. I barely made it back in time. Gabriel, who I hadn't seen a whole lot of since the rally, had asked me to go to a funeral in Bafang that weekend. He called to let me know he wanted to leave that night. So, after the three hour meeting following the three hour bus trip, I took a nap. Gabriel finally came by around 9pm, and we drove the four hours to Bafang. With stops, including a last one at a bar where I was forced to have Guiness because it somehow settles the stomach, we got there around 2am. We stayed with his brother, who happened to be a priest and principal of the Catholic high school in Bafang. We spent Saturday (May Day) going to the Bafang parade, catching up with my friend Andy who was in the parade, and visiting various members of Gabriel's extended family. We even stopped by cooking central where they were busy preparing the night's meal on about eight fires at the same time- mass produced fried fish! Of course we were obliged to taste some of it and some palm wine which happened to be around (it was good and fresh, so it wasn't really even alcoholic yet).

In the afternoon, I went to the funeral service itself, which was held entirely in the Bafang language, so I didn't understand a word. But, since I was there with the priest (his brother assisted in the ceremony), I got a seat near the front of the makeshift church. Dinner was a large banquet, and Gabriel, Annick (his wife) and I were all treated well with good seats and good food. Sadly, the musical entertainment left much to be desired- a man and his keyboard stuck on the samba beat and the microphone virtually in his mouth.

In the morning were the festivities I really wanted to see- the traditional dances. The man they were celebrating must have been one heck of a guy because no expense was spared (I couldn't figure out if the man was actually related to Gabriel or not, since everyone is "my brother" or "my father"). There was a brass band, drummers and all the regalia that comes with the Chief being present (he led a parade of the secret society and JuJu at one point). There were lots of shotguns being shot and everyone was dressed in their traditional best. As we were leaving, we left some money with the two cursed old ladies (they're husbands had died from evil spirits) and I took a picture with them. I wasn't allowed to touch them, less their curse rub off on me. It was quite an experience, and one no tourist ever gets to see. And yes, through it all, I was the only white man there.

On the way back from Bafang, we picked up my friend Loren (and a bunch of pineapples and avocados), who was coming to stay with me for a few days while researching tractors for his village in Douala. We had a great visit and he figured out that his village probably needed a couple of oxen and not tractors to meet its needs.

A couple days after he left, Andy and Kristina arrived for the Littoral Provincial meeting that was held at my house. Even though I had seen both of them just weeks before, it was fun to hang out and catch up a bit. Following a breakfast of french toast, Saturday morning we all went to the market and bought a bunch of food to prepare throughout the day, including about five dozen shrimp. There were not enough shrimp left when we got there, so the guys went back out in the boat, caught more and brought them alive to my house and cleaned them for me (that's service!). We ended up hanging out in my house all day (it was quite hot that day) and cooking and drinking and eating. Alain came by in the afternoon- he had wanted to meet Andy- and stayed to help cook and eat. It was a fun day.

Sunday morning, Andy left early to attend some bank function and Kristina and I went down to Kribi to attend the Battanga Day festivities. My postmate Will and others met us there later in the day, but we arrived just in time for the parade. This was lucky since it turned out to be the best parade I have yet seen in Cameroon. Everyone was dressed up, having a great time and dancing. There were even a couple of floats! Battanga Day celebrates the return home of several hundred slaves who were taken by another tribe (paid by the Germans, I believe) up around Nigeria to work in the early 20th century. They were returned during WWI, and they have been celebrating that day ever since. After the festivities, we had lunch and went to the beach with the other volunteers who were there for the rest of the afternoon before returning home.

The day after Kristina left, my parents from Bandjoun arrived for a two day visit. I had thought they were coming down to see family or something in the area, but it turned out to be a trip to see me and my house- a very sweet gesture. They arrived in the morning (they took the overnight bus from Baffoussam) with baby Katie (named after the volunteer who lived with them after me) and a large basket of food for me. I had told them how expensive food is in Edéa, so they brought some of my favorite things from Bandjoun- pineapples, watermelon and potatoes. Mom and the baby were tired, so they took a nap while Dad and I went into town to see the bank and get some food for dinner. We ended up with a catfish since Dad said he had never eaten a fish before that was still alive when he bought it. Mom cooked it up and we had a great dinner.

Just after finishing, I got a call from Alain to tell me that his brother had just died. His brother was apparently a well-known thief and was serving a five-year prison sentence when he caught tuberculosis and was sent to the hospital. I had gone with Alain once to visit his brother in the hospital and he was quite emaciated but still had a large chain around his ankle attached to the metal bed. He was in the hospital about two months before he finally gave in to the disease (and probably the AIDS that underlied it). I called Will, and we went to the hospital to look for them. They had already put the body in the morgue, so we waited for another call. Finally, we met up with him and went out to his house which is very difficult to find if you don't know exactly where you're going. His mother was sitting on the floor of their living room crying and the elders of the church and neighborhood were arriving. A little while later, some prayers were said and a few songs sung. It was all in the Bassa language, so Alain had to translate for us. It was a rough night for everyone, and I returned home to take care of my parents.

Wednesday morning they left to go back to Bandjoun. I handed Dad some money for the trip (and to pay him back for his kind gift when I had visited several weeks before), and we walked down to the bus stop. I carried baby Katie the whole way down, eliciting strange looks from passersby. Back to work I went, the start of another day of a Peace Corps Volunteer...

This is a great article for anyone who enjoys my blog shoud read. And, if you're really inspired, I encourage you to call or write or email ?our congressman?2Fwoman and let them know you support an increase in our budget. For example, Peace Corps Cameroon operates on only $3million per year for about 150 volunteers plus all support staff (including two doctors and a nurse).

This is the note the Country Director sent me upon receiving the link himself:

Thanks Pete:

I saw the AP take on this in the daily press clips I get from PC/HQ.
Interesting to see how all candidates are calling on Peace Corps to do
moreand more yet we can't get the money to do what we are attempting to do
right now. From my personal point of view, I would like to see us suspend
all growth world-wide for a year or two so that we could catch up and put
systems in place that could actually handle growth. It's good to have
dreams.

I imagine that we'll see a lot more pro-PC rhetoric as we get closer to
the election. It's all good for Peace Corps - but it does have the
backside problem of unfulfilled expectations. We'll see how it all turns out in
7-9 months.

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Thank you for your support.

Thursday, May 6th, 2004

Geez I'm behind! I apologize to those who were formerly loyal weekly readers of the blog who have now become dis-enchanted with my lack of up-to-the-minute thoughts and musings.

I will attempt to update you on the last couple of months in an abbreviated, yet entertaining and culturally insightful manner (if only all my other entries held up to that standard!).

So... I returned to Edéa after a wonderful, refreshing and cold trip to Spain and Morocco. I was terribly tired and was actually looking forward to returning to my home and sleeping for a few days, which I did. Until Monday morning...

Monday was International Women's Day- which seems to be celebrated everywhere but in the "westernized world". Here in Cameroon, its a day off work, and a parade in every city. George called me early that morning to let me where to meet the "ladies of the bank". Our bank's Women's Committee petitioned to the board of directors for funding for the day, and it was accepted. They carried signs with sayings such as 'Save Regularly'- in french, of course. I became the official 'Photograph' and was allowed access into the parade route as our women came up the main road. Although it was a hot day, it was fun and we retired afterwards to a bar for drinks and food.

The following weekend was the Annual General Assembly for the cooperative. This was to be the meeting where all the important items requiring full membership approval were to be discussed and voted upon. The largest item on the agenda were the elections for the entire board of directors. It seems that since the entire board started at the same time and had the same length of service, and had even all been re-elected three years ago at the last board elections. As a result, all positions were up for election and none of the current board could run for re-elected! What came to pass was about six hours of chaos with people jumping up and down, yelling and trying to keep order. Confusion reigned, and the old president pushed through a budget which was never fully explained- and was changed that morning with much disagreement from George and myself. The elections themselves were confusing, with our auditor from Douala seemingly making up rules as he went along- some for the better, others, not. For example, he insisted we stagger the terms of the board so that this would not happen again, but he was in such a rush to finish the meeting that unqualified candidates were allowed not only to run, but to win. Not many people seemed happy with the outcomes.

All of this upset George greatly, and for the next three weeks, he was out sick. I never found out exactly what it was, but it was somewhere between intestinal worms and malaria. I'm not sure he or the doctors ever knew either. I was just really happy to see him again, since it had been me and the treasurer running the bank in the meantime - neither of us qualified or wanting to be there without George.

During this time, I continued to work with the English Club of the Lycée Classique. Jacques Bissou is its president, and he is of the type to pester and pester until he gets his way, or until you're completely annoyed and tell him to leave. He had asked me numerous times to go to the beach, Kribi, with him for a day. Before going on vacation, I told him that I could go after the General Assembly meeting. And, after it was over, I could no longer come up with a valid excuse. So, Jacques, a 25 year old senior in high school (for the fifth year in a row) and I go down to the beach for the day. He asked me to bring my camera, which I did, but turned out to be a bad idea. He wanted to learn how to swim and walk up and down the beach. I really just didn't want to be there and figured if I sucked it up for the one day then he wouldn't ask me anymore.

The english club itself was, and still is, going well. We have new members who join each week and we always have lots to talk about. I had made letters and package sent by the school I was set up with in North Carolina (Charlotte Providence Day) a center for conversation for several weeks. Finally, I asked if they would like to send letters and start a 'pen pal' correspondence with the kids back in the States. They were very enthusiastic, and although there were only fifteen members who were advanced enough to write letters in english and thirty kids in Charlotte, most wrote two letters to compensate. A week later, I collected the pre-sealed letters and sent them in a large envelope. The class in Charlotte has already received the letters and has written some of the students back by email, while others are coming by post. Brian, the teacher there, says his students are loving the interaction, and I know my kids are overwhelmed with joy at the connection.

The weekend of the 28th of March was the 2004 Rallye du Club des Palmes held at nearby Ferma Suisse. This was one of those surreal events that can only happen in a place like Africa. One of the French teachers I teach with at the Centre Scholaire, Michel, asked me if I was interested in participating in the Rally, of which he was an organizer. He mentioned that it was kinda like a treasure hunt with cars. Indeed it was, and quite a ride... I was in my friend Gabriel's car and we proceeded to hunt for clues the Cameroonian way - taking illegal shortcuts and stopping along the way for a cold beer. I was one of the designated athletes in the car, so I ended up doing the bean bag toss and throwing rocks from a moving canoe into a floating tire. Not as easy as you might think... At the end of the day was the swimming competition, and since I was the only one in my group who knew how to swim, the relay became a one-man race. I still came in third place though, so I was pleased. That night was the awards dinner where our team came third to last (out of more than 30 cars). We each walked away with a prize of a t-shirt and two bottles of palm oil. We also had a great time, which is what really counts, isn't it?

It seems like the only things that happen which are interesting happen on the weekend... I guess it was like that in the US too... Anyway, there was a regional meeting for our bank network, CAMCCUL, in Douala the following Saturday. I met George at 7am at the bus and two hours later we were in Douala (an hour longer than it should've taken). The meeting started about 11:30 (three hours after schedule) and after sitting there confused as to why I was there at all, left around 4pm, before the metting had ended to catch a bus to see Brooke. Brooke lives about two hours on the other side of Douala in a village called Muyuka. I had never been to visit her (she was the previous generation of business volunteer), and now she was about to return to the US after two years of service. She had asked me to come up for a visit long before and now wanted help with moving and wanted to give me some very valuable items (kool-aid, wooden spoons, nice pots, etc). I got there just after dark and we went out for grilled fish. Brooke warned me that her "fish mommie" used lots of piment (hot pepper), but I wasn't fully prepared for the extreme heat that was inescapable. I had to track down a kid selling tissues to wipe the sweat off my brow and drank my beer quickly. It wasn't enough. I was able to finish the fish, and found the town's ice cream guy to cool down the body. The next day, we loaded a good portion of Brooke's stuff on the top of a mini-bus and headed back to Douala. She sent her stuff onwards to Yaoundé and returned to Muyuka for the rest while I met up Kristina who was coming down for a visit during her spring break (she's a teacher).

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