Village Justice

Back in March, I eluded to the justice system in village, and the amusing ways that news get around. Last week, I was once again reminded just how things operate here, and how different it is from the justice system that we are so used to in the modern world.

Last Monday, on my way to Market Day, my moto guy pointed at the Gendarme car that was parked outside someone's house as we drove through. He asked if I heard the news, I said no. Apparently, the night before, a 18-year old chopped off the head of his 6 year-old brother with a machete, because someone told him the heads can get him a lot of money.

Friends, this is not a story you read in some African story book. This happened down the street from me.

I was pretty stunned by the news, but then quickly wrote it off as just another misfortune that often occurs in village. Few days later, I was on another moto, and I inquired what happened to the 18-year old. My moto friend Charlie, replied nonchalantly, "oh, we beat him until he died." Just like that. Almost as if how silly of me to even ask such question. What else would they do? Of course this kid was going to live another day after having done something like that.

This gives our death penalty debate in the U.S. a whole other perspective, huh? Yes, granted the crime committed here in Cameroon, especially in villages, are usually not very elaborate and not intricately planned to the point where advanced forensics are required to find out the offender. Yet, even if we know someone committed murder with 100% certainty, there is no way we would just "beat him until he dies" in the U.S., or most places in the modern world.

Few days later, I invited the new volunteers over for some American goodness (onion rings, ranch potatoes, salad) and one told me she heard the village story on BBC or some mainstream news. I was quite surprised. I mean, I suppose a kid getting his head chopped off is a pretty big deal. Julie told me that the news mentioned something about albino's and that there is some sort of sorcery relating to albino body parts. So later, I verified with another moto guy and he said no the kid was just a regular kid, not albino, but he was doing it for money.

Anyway, moral of the story - village justice is crazy business! Don't kill someone in a small village, because the villagers will beat you to death. And if you can't tell, moto guys are my primary source of village gossip! ahh, I will miss this sense of community, albeit crazy!

Special Thank You

After months of incessant money begging via all the desperate measures that I could come up with using my only tool - the Internet, I somehow managed to raised $11,500, with the help of Kate, Siobhan and Laura. This is a special post to thank all of you that have helped me in one way or another throughout this process.

The begging began in July. Since I did not come from money, nor went to a school that had a lot of really rich people as friends, I had to beg strangers - a lot of them. I began by bugging people on Facebook and Twitter via my status updates. Then, I sent out press releases to local papers and journal in the St. Louis area where I spent the last 10 years of my life.

Desperation makes you do really crazy things. I wrote emails - countless number of them - first to personal friends and acquaintances, then to teachers of schools that I went to, organizations from my university, companies in the St. Louis area, etc. When those email didn't seem to yield the result that I was looking for, I began using social media tools, posting individual messages on 300+ members on CameroonVibes, individual messages on 500+ members who had committed to blog for the International Literacy Day, 600+ individual messages on my friends' Facebook wall, and thousands of individual messages on random RPCV's page on Peace Corps Connect, to the point of slight trouble.

All the effort became worthwhile when the project was fully funded on October 28th. Through it all, I came in contact with really supportive individuals that have offered their support in one way or another. Yesterday, I submitted our order form to Books For Africa for a shipment of 19,000 books and 7 computers. In addition, the Cameroon Studens Association is giving us 4,000 books. This leads to a total of 23,000 books that we will distribute to over 30 libraries across Cameroon. In the name of full disclosure, you can see how we will make this happen through a very colorful spreadsheet and flowchart. Okay, I really just wanted to share that!

Anyway, thank you all again for your immense support through the past few months! Please follow us on our Facebook page as the project progresses, and I'll try to be good about uploading pictures!

Past. Present. Future.

Yesterday, I sent off my graduate school applications to my European schools of choice. Today, I feel free for the first time in a while to think about updating this neglected blog. Even though I still have three more applications to sent for American schools, having done those three felt like a major step forward - this is really happening, the next step is not just a cloud of ideas in my head.

Recently, I've been in more frequent contact with those French friends who made my first three months at post such wonderful bliss. I've been thinking back on those times a lot as of late - they were carefree, exciting, and the connections I had with that particular group of friends were so immediate and intense that even a year later, the memories are still fresh in my mind. I thought perhaps I am feeling nostalgic because now a year later, I am still in the same place, but with less magic happening in my daily life. However, in the past few weeks, conversations with Juliette and Gary have proved that I am not the only one reminiscing that period in time.

With just a little over 8 months left of my service, I am at a strange place. Things on the work front are going relatively well. I have plenty of tasks to accomplish during my remaining time in this country. Socially, while I am no longer having fantastic parties or going on wild adventures, memories are still being created via the daily village life. Some days are still lonely, and dull. But I am attempting my best to soak in each present moment, and take it for what it's worth.

The future is fast approaching. I have applied or am applying to six graduate programs, three in the U.S. and three in Europe. If all these fine institutions accept me, I will have the opportunity to spend the next two years in either Paris, London, New York, Bologna/D.C. or New Have, CT. And let's all cross our fingers and pray at least one of these fine schools will grant me acceptance, if for nothing else, that they take pity upon the fact I just spent two years living without running water. I've decided to take the "go big, or go home" route, and in a very literal sense. None of my schools is a "back-up", so either I get into one, or I go home and live with my parents in St. Louis... oh my god...

On this November day, I reminiscent on this past year in Cameroon with nostalgia, appreciate life in the present with gratitude, and look forward to the future with great anticipation.

GRE in Cameroon

October came and went, and as I indicated in the previous posts, I've spent most of the month cramming esoteric vocabulary words into that tiny brain of mine, and also remembering how to do 7th grade math.

This GRE is a re-take for me. Last time I took this painful exam was in the U.S., at Saint Louis University in a testing room with my own computer. The test was computer-adaptive, which means it was half the length, but the question gets harder as you answer them correctly. Also, the computer version of this test gives you the pleasure/horror of finding out the test score right away.

Since I am living in a developing country, I was able to take the paper-version of the test. The experience was so amusing that it deserves its own blog entry.

Rewind to the night before the test - about a dozen other volunteers were also suffering through this experience. We all found ourselves cramming last minute words and math concepts at the Peace Corps transit house in Yaoundé. People had flash cards, and a general sense of exam stress linger the air. At one point of the night, I sat down with Trevor to go over problems from a practice exam. To be very honest, I was glad to face with that healthy level of academic stress again. It felt good, and I felt my brain churning; though it would be better if I was cramming information that actually matters. I suppose if nothing else, this indicates that I am ready, at least mentally, for graduate school studies.

Test day rolled around, we left in groups for the testing center. The rain came in a downpour so most of us were half wet by the time we reached the American Language Center in Bastos. Then, there were all the Cameroonians who were also taking the test. Cameroonians were all dressed nicely in dresses, slacks, some even suits, for this grand event. Where as the dozen of us Americans all came in jeans and other form of comfortable clothing.

I was brought back to high school era of taking the ACT/SAT. We filed into the rooms with number two pencils and ID. The process of getting everyone situated took a while. Although people who had taken it at this testing center had warned us about the horror of people taking 2 hours to complete the bubble scantron with personal information.

The proctor came in and was following direction on the book rigidly - really quite funny because I don't think she really knows what is suppose to go on. Anyhow, the process didn't take as long as the horror stories, but it was still amusing to see people struggling to figure out how to fill in their names/address and the corresponding scantron bubbles. We've all been taking scantron tests since probably second grade, can you imagine if that was the first or second time you've ever done that? I am pretty sure the guy next to me did not complete his scantron the right way...

Finally, the exam began. For the next 3 and a half hour, my brain cells were on overdrive. The first hour or so was the essay section where I had to write them by hand in a booklet. It brought me back to the days of college exams and blue books. It's been over a year since I had written anything by hand; my ability to spell or even construct sentences without spell/grammar-check had declined significantly since being in the Peace Corps. By the end of the essay section, my hands were so tired. We had a break and while I was lining up for the bathroom, some guy said to me, "you wrote a lot!" I thought, "um yeah... that's what you are suppose to do."

I can't imagine taking this test as a Cameroonian. It's tough for us Americans, imagine what it's like for them. When the proctor calls the 5-minute warning on each section, there was always a general gasp/groan coming from test takers. Anyhow, two hours and two math and verbal sections later, the test was over. Now, we wait patiently for the results...

I am just glad 3 of the schools I am applying to are in Europe and do not require the GRE.

Blog Action Day: Cold in Africa

I really didn't plan on writing a blog post for this year's Blog Action Day because I honestly don't have all that much to say about climate change. But I think the weather this week wanted me to. We are now heading toward the end of October, and normally here in Cameroon, that means the beginning of dry season - months without rain, the heat, dust everywhere, dry season sickness - oh the horror. However, this past week, you would have thought we were in June - the midst of rainy season.

Like any culture, talking about the weather is the primary subject of small talk. This past week or so, everyone in village has been commenting on the bizarre weather this year - the constant rain and low temperature. I am not sure if I've just acclimated to the weather or it really is colder, but two days ago, I found myself bundled up in a cashmere sweater, sweat pants, socks and a fleece blanket while sitting with a cup of hot tea because it felt like winter where there is snow on the ground.

The temperature was likely only 60 degree at most, and this means this next winter, when I will actually spend it somewhere with snow, I may just freeze over. Anyway, the point is the abnormality of the weather. Whether or not the globe is warming up and the North Pole is melting away, the climate is absolute not the same. Is this the natural progression and evolution or is this due to our carbon footprint? I don't know. This is why I wasn't going to write a post - I don't have anything intelligent to say regarding the matter.

What I do know is, while this may not effect the everyday lives of people in the industrial world, its effect is immediate in places where agriculture is the main source of livelihood, such as with people in my village. In the rainy season, the rain usually comes in the afternoon, so people plan to go into the farm in the morning to work and return home before the afternoon downpour. But these past two weeks, the rain comes whenever it feels like it. People have no way of planning their days.

Few days ago, I took a moto to visit the lycée regarding my library project. The lycée in Batié is sort of in the mountains and not very easy to get to. Just as I was wrapping up with the meeting, the rain came, and not the typical rainy season rain where it pours for 15 minutes and stops. This was the annoying London kind of rain where it rains continuously and just hard enough where I couldn't take the moto back; I had no other option but to wait. So I waited - for three hours. On this particular day, I made the fatal mistake of forgetting my book at home. Those were three very long hours.

The repeated conversation I've had with villagers this week about the strange weather motivated me to write this not-so-in-depth post on climate change. Whether it's getting cold or getting hot - the weather is changing, and already affecting lives of people in some corners of the world.