Along with my anti-malarial, I took a daily dosing of
defeat. I knew that that was all
too common and just plain normal when opening a new post, so I kept telling
myself things were soon going to change -- keep trying different ways,
something has to pan out. Things,
however, did not really seem to be changing and time was too quickly
disappearing. My remaining hope
began to feel simply naïve, and I realized I did not want keep doing the same
thing for another year. My battle
of trying to integrate and work with my community was lost. I was embarrassingly beaten and had no
desire to confess it. Perhaps, it
was due to the timing in which I was placed with my host organization, or it
was because of the feeling of continuously being lumped in with an unloved
nearby foreign company and the accompanying large helping of indifference that
was served with it, or maybe it was a lack of that little bit of luck, or more
feasibly and simply, it was me and my improvement-needing personality. For whatever collection of reasons, I
called it quits on my post and am moving on.
Well, moving up.
Peace Corps Cameroon granted me a post transfer. So in July, I’m headed some 35 hours
from where I currently am to Maroua, the regional capital of the Extreme North
(pop: 200,000 – big city livin’!) and close to both the Nigerian and Chadian
borders. I’m trading in my small
tropical rolling hill town of 20,000 with its heat and humidity, amazing
rainfall, fruit-producing dark soils, big spiders and mosquitos, and nearby
beach for a Sahel border town of extremely hot and dry heat, scorpions,
meat-a-plenty, leather and carved wood artisanal markets, and nearby mountain
ranges that boast moon-like formations.
I’m getting the super special Cameroonian 2 for 1 deal. This predominately Muslim region has
been said to conjure up the same images from Star Wars’ Mos Eisley (the desert spaceport) with its red and
brown streets and beige buildings yet bustling with a cast of colorful
characters (that include the Fulani and Chadians). Supposedly as a shoulder-and-knee covered female, I will get
harassed less in the North, but only because in this more conservative area
women aren’t worth as much time.
As a fellow vagina-bearing volunteer in the area put it, it’s more like “ah,
look, isn’t that just too cute” complemented with a patronizing head pat. Getting respect might be a little
harder to come by – but everywhere has its challenges.
I’ll be working with a Community Initiative Group called
L’Association Avenir des Femmes which works in a variety of areas to help
improve the lives of women and children living with HIV/AIDS and also helps
girls, who for whatever reason (often familial constraints/obligations or lack
of money) were unable to finish school, learn some sort of trade. Although I’m definitely going to miss
some of the great perks of my current post – not to mention some friends who I
wish I could just roll up and put in my fanny pack, I’m super excited for this
little second year fresh start. My
first year was definitely not a waste, and I will surely be forever grateful
for all the things I learned and experienced with Njombe, but it’s time to hit
the road again. So, stay tuned for
Part 2 of my Cameroonian adventures…
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