Welcome to Bogo! - Bienvenue à Bogo

Jabbaama! I arrived in Bogo on a warm Thursday evening, accompanied by the Inspector for basic education (my employer) after a drive along a dusty bumpy road. Bogo is only approx. 35km from Maroua  but it takes close to an hour to get there because the road conditions are so bad no one goes faster than 60km/hr and even that is going a bit fast...

My welcoming party in Bogo was not all I had hoped it would be. The fact that most of those present had eight legs and inhabited my bathroom was not very comforting. Needless to say I didn’t sleep much the first night and my first act as a resident of Bogo was to empty the can of insecticide I had brought with me in my house then to sit out on my front porch and wait for the air to clear. Upon re-entering the house, I improvised some protective equipment and went to work attacking cobwebs and killing spiders. I procrastinated going into the bathroom though and peed outside a few times before eventually gathering the courage to go in there broom-a-swinging! Then in the morning I found a cockroach in my stuff! Luckily I haven’t seen any more live ones, though I have come across a few dead ones while cleaning. The insecticide seems to work. I’ll have to stock up when I go to Maroua. A dose of that once a week or so should keep my house creepy-crawly free!

I am finding that I have to be a tidier person here than I ever was in Canada. There is so much dust everywhere! And I have minimal storage space, so I try to keep my stuff neatly put away. Though I am still unpacking and moving in to my new home. Without the cobwebs, it’s actually a really nice place; A little worn, but big for one person. My house, including the courtyard, is at least ten times bigger than most of the other huts around me.  My neighbour is the owner of my house and most of the properties in my area. His house and courtyard are even bigger than mine, but then again, he has three wives and a lot of children and some grandchildren, so it makes sense that he would need more space.  He doesn’t speak any French, but his daughters speak a little bit. They will help me with my Fulfulde and hopefully, will also teach me somewhat how to cook. I pretty much starved my first day here. Then the next day, I asked Biena, my national volunteer, to take me the market and I bought some bread and beans to at least see me through the day.  I’ll eventually figure out how to feed myself, either that or I’ll become a regular at one of the two restaurants I’ve seen so far in town.

Luckily, I have Djawe; my guide, chauffeur, friend and general helper for everything I need. Djawe was sort of unofficially assigned to help me out since he had worked closely with past volunteers and seemed to know “white people” or at least he knows how to speak French.  If I need anything I just have to ask. He fetches things for me at the market, drives me places (including other villages nearby), helps fix things in my house, and even cooks for me! Officially, he was supposed to be showing me how to cook fulleri, but in turned into a bit of a free meal for me. I have to be careful not to spend too much time with him and not to have him at my house late, so that it doesn’t raise any questions or start rumours, but it feels nice to have at least one friend in this very foreign place.

Although, I have mostly been well received here, I often feel like I am an alien (which I guess I am..). People will stare at me, but most are too afraid to approach me, let alone talk to me. So it gets a bit lonely. Not to mention, that most people only speak very basic French or none at all, so I am going to have to work hard on learning Fulfulde and fast. The other day, I was walking around the village and two girls came up close to me with mischievous little smiles. They greeted me (probably the only thing they knew how to say in French) then they quickly reached out to touch my arm and ran away laughing. I think their friends’ maybe dared them to do it; like being dared to pet a sleeping lion. Maybe because I have a different skin colour they thought I would also have a different skin texture like sandpaper or JELL-O. Maybe they were expecting to feel scales under my shiny white skin? Yesterday though, after a visit from the landlord’s daughters’ some of the younger girls came back with their friends, who then brought their friends...Pretty soon my courtyard was filled with kids jabbering away at me in a language I don’t understand, playing around with my guitar and my camera (my old one, not my fancy new one!). It was nice to be distracted for a bit by the antics of children. But after awhile, I had to get Djawe to come over and teach me the word for “go home!” in Fulfulde. The kids were back today, and I pulled out some chalk I found in my bag and traced a hopscotch board in my driveway. I don’t even know what the point of hopscotch is, and I definitely don’t remember playing it much as a kid, but the girls were pretty entertained by it and hopped around my yard for a good hour before I used yesterday’s Fulfulde lesson to send them home. They didn’t go very far though, I can still hear them knocking on my gate asking to be let back in. Djawe warned me that they would never leave me alone now that I have let them in once. It doesn’t bother me. I like kids and they go to one of the schools that I will be working with so it is good for me to establish a relationship with them.

I am slowly building a picture of the state of education in Bogo and it is incredibly complex. On the one hand, I shouldn’t have to face too much resistance. So far, everyone I have spoken to has been strongly in favour of education (granted most of the people I talk to are educated, because how else would they learn French?). The real problems seem to be in the infrastructure and management of schools, and for the most part these problems seem to be systemic. Needless to say, I have my work cut out for me. On the bright side, I have the full support of the sous-prefect, mayor (who is also a traditional leader) and various other officials. On my first day, I did the rounds to meet all the important people in Bogo and to visit the schools that I will be working with. I found the dynamics at play fascinating in what is a very hierarchal system;  for example, the way that those without authority will lower their heads and say “oui, monsieur” to those of authority and the order of who gets to go through the door first. Luckily, since I am a foreigner I am exempted from most of these formalities and forgiven if I step out of the order. I was well received by everyone I met and in particular by the mayor who is a very jovial and friendly man who I immediately liked and felt at ease with. From the sounds of it, one of the volunteers that was here before me was very well liked by the authorities and the community in general, and she became good friends with the mayor (facebook friends even!).  Hopefully, I will be able to do as much good work as she did and leave a positive impression on Bogo like she did. Luckily, I have the full cooperation and support of the officials. To the point that the mayor even gave me his number and instructed me to call him anytime I wanted to talk about the project or had some ideas to share. So although, I might still encounter some resistance at the local level, at least I have the full political weight and influence of the hierarchal order backing me! I haven’t yet met the highest ranking traditional leader, the lamido, who is also the first mayor (there are several mayors...it’s complicated!), but I may get the chance to later on and hopefully at that point my Fulfulde will have improved.

I have been in Bogo for four days now and although the days are long and uneventful, it feels as though so much has happened already. I guess it’s in the details of everyday living. It’s all the little changes like waking up at 6am and showering outside with a bucket of water (at least until I finish cleaning my bathroom); taking naps in the afternoon because it is too hot outside to do anything (and the hot season doesn’t even start for another month!); finding a boy to bring me water in the morning; learning how and what to buy in the market (it’s not like going to the grocery store); filtering my water so that it is safe to drink. It’s strange when not everything in your life is automatic and at your fingertips every second of every day. Suddenly, I have to slow down and take the time to do all those things that I never took the time to do back home (like cooking for example!). I’ve been making a list of all the things to do when I go to Maroua where I’ll be able to have internet access (and post this blog) and make international phone calls, and even eat yogurt! Ha! The things we take for granted, it really makes you think doesn’t it? But I kinda like my life here and I think once I buy more cleaning supplies and fix up my house a bit more, that I will settle in just fine to life in Bogo.

The world in black and white - Le monde en noir et blanc

Nasara! Nasara! C’est à moi qu’on parle. Ici, c’est comme ça qu’on m’appelle : la blanche. Les premières semaines c’est comme ça, je suis reconnue par la couleur de ma peau. Dans quelques jours j’arriverai dans mon village où je pourrai bâtir des relations et m’intégrer dans la communauté, où l’on me connaîtra sous mon nom. Mais pour l’instant je suis nasara.

Nasara! It rolls off your tongue nicely. I kinda like the sound of it, almost like Natasha. It means white and it’s a word I hear repeated at least a hundred times a day. It means me. When I arrive in my village, I will be able to build relationships and use my name, but for now I am recognized only as a white foreigner.

There are advantages to being white in Africa. For example, newlyweds want you in their wedding picture even though you are complete strangers. And a street vendor might let you taste what he is selling in the hopes that you will buy more. You may also be given first priority of seats in the bus despite the crowd of others who are waiting to get on.  On the downside of being white, groups of men might surround your vehicle while you are trying to buy a phone (from inside the vehicle none the less, they just bring you what you want to your window) or they might also follow you around the market and down the street soliciting your attention.  Occasionally, you get ripped off by the guy in the grocery store who claims he doesn’t have any change. And have to pay a higher price on items in the market (at least until your bargaining skills improve).

Since arriving I have experienced the usual assault on your senses in terms of pollution, noise, traffic, heat and the discomfort that comes with being faced with extreme poverty and the knowledge that my skin colour and birthplace give me privileges that most people here will never know nor can even imagine. Even things as simple as eating ice cream on a hot day while small children try to sell you fruit that they can’t even afford to eat. Being nasara occupies a position of privilege for better or for worse...

Depuis mon arrivée au Cameroun, j’ai été témoin de tous les symptômes qu’on imagine avoir dans une grande ville au tiers monde : la pollution (on ne voit même pas le ciel à Yaoundé) et l’odeur âcre des ordures brûlés mélangé au parfum des fleurs; le trafique; le bruit (parfois agressant comme le klaxon des voitures, parfois apaisant comme les chorales d’églises, mais toujours sans cesse); la sollicitation des mendiants et des vendeurs de rues; la négociation avec les marchands; et surtout, l’immense contraste entre les riches et les pauvres.  Il y a plein d’avantages et de désavantages à être blanc au Cameroun. D’un côté, ça attire beaucoup d’attention, donc il faut s’habituer à se faire solliciter de tous les bords à tout moment : dans la rue, au marché, par les taxis, dans les restaurants… De l’autre côté, il y a l’hospitalité des gens; une soirée de bouchées et cocktails au Haut Commissariat de l’UK; ou une invitation chez une Sénégalaise (déménagée au Cameroun) pour un repas typique sénégalais où tout le monde mange dans la même assiette.

Chose certaine, c’est qu’ici on mange bien, peu importe notre couleur de peau ou provenance. À tous les coins de rues, il y a quelqu’un qui vend du poisson (capitaine frit), des bâtons de manioc, des ananas, des sandwhichs aux œufs… Je me suis aventurée avec les autres bénévoles dans le quartier musulman un soir pour goûter au soya (des petites brochettes de viandes grillées sur un gros tonneau de feu sur le bord du trottoir). Chaque petite brochette coûte quelques cents, alors pour pas cher tu peux acheter un paquet et rajouter un plantain grillé si tu as encore faim. D’autres spécialités de la région, inclus le capitaine frit (poisson) et les rôtisseries de poulet (avec frites plantains) et un jus de gingembre très fort que j’aime bien.

The best part about being a foreigner in a new place, though, is receiving the hospitality and warm welcome of locals who want to show the best their country has to offer (which somehow always implies food..). This includes having dinner with the friend of a friend of a friend who then became my first Cameroonian friend. Or being invited for a Senegalese meal where everyone eats off the same plate at the house of a Cameroonian fashion designer who also collects African art and tells great stories (and has a peacock in her front yard!).  It may include making friends with the driver who then wants to tour you around the city. Or it could simply mean spending an evening at the British High Commission having drinks and finger food with your new colleagues.  And if you happen to like restaurants where the staff wear colourful t-shirts, the cook plays 90’s pop music, and they serve huge plates of good local food (choice of fish or meat, rice or plantain) for a reasonable price- then you are in for a treat at San Tropez.

Alors peu importe les difficultés que nous rencontrons quotidiennement dans ce pays étranger, les positifs surpassent toujours le négatif.  Je suis peut-être nasara, mais je suis aussi une invitée, une amie, et une collègue de travail. Je suis venue pour m’intégrer et vivre tout ce que le Cameroun à offrir. J’arrête pas de répéter à ceux que je rencontre qu’il ne faut pas penser que je suis une étrangère parce qu’à partir d’aujourd’hui et pour les prochains deux ans, je suis Camerounaise…

A week from now I’ll be putting on my new pang (traditional dress), strapping on some leather sandals bought from the market, and hopping on the back of a motorcycle, looking just like a local... with just a minor difference in skin tone...

The world in black and white - Le monde en noir et blanc

Nasara! Nasara! C’est à moi qu’on parle. Ici, c’est comme ça qu’on m’appelle : la blanche. Les premières semaines c’est comme ça, je suis reconnue par la couleur de ma peau. Dans quelques jours j’arriverai dans mon village où je pourrai bâtir des relations et m’intégrer dans la communauté, où l’on me connaîtra sous mon nom. Mais pour l’instant je suis nasara.

Nasara! It rolls off your tongue nicely. I kinda like the sound of it, almost like Natasha. It means white and it’s a word I hear repeated at least a hundred times a day. It means me. When I arrive in my village, I will be able to build relationships and use my name, but for now I am recognized only as a white foreigner.

There are advantages to being white in Africa. For example, newlyweds want you in their wedding picture even though you are complete strangers. And a street vendor might let you taste what he is selling in the hopes that you will buy more. You may also be given first priority of seats in the bus despite the crowd of others who are waiting to get on.  On the downside of being white, groups of men might surround your vehicle while you are trying to buy a phone (from inside the vehicle none the less, they just bring you what you want to your window) or they might also follow you around the market and down the street soliciting your attention.  Occasionally, you get ripped off by the guy in the grocery store who claims he doesn’t have any change. And have to pay a higher price on items in the market (at least until your bargaining skills improve).

Since arriving I have experienced the usual assault on your senses in terms of pollution, noise, traffic, heat and the discomfort that comes with being faced with extreme poverty and the knowledge that my skin colour and birthplace give me privileges that most people here will never know nor can even imagine. Even things as simple as eating ice cream on a hot day while small children try to sell you fruit that they can’t even afford to eat. Being nasara occupies a position of privilege for better or for worse...

Depuis mon arrivée au Cameroun, j’ai été témoin de tous les symptômes qu’on imagine avoir dans une grande ville au tiers monde : la pollution (on ne voit même pas le ciel à Yaoundé) et l’odeur âcre des ordures brûlés mélangé au parfum des fleurs; le trafique; le bruit (parfois agressant comme le klaxon des voitures, parfois apaisant comme les chorales d’églises, mais toujours sans cesse); la sollicitation des mendiants et des vendeurs de rues; la négociation avec les marchands; et surtout, l’immense contraste entre les riches et les pauvres.  Il y a plein d’avantages et de désavantages à être blanc au Cameroun. D’un côté, ça attire beaucoup d’attention, donc il faut s’habituer à se faire solliciter de tous les bords à tout moment : dans la rue, au marché, par les taxis, dans les restaurants… De l’autre côté, il y a l’hospitalité des gens; une soirée de bouchées et cocktails au Haut Commissariat de l’UK; ou une invitation chez une Sénégalaise (déménagée au Cameroun) pour un repas typique sénégalais où tout le monde mange dans la même assiette.

Chose certaine, c’est qu’ici on mange bien, peu importe notre couleur de peau ou provenance. À tous les coins de rues, il y a quelqu’un qui vend du poisson (capitaine frit), des bâtons de manioc, des ananas, des sandwhichs aux œufs… Je me suis aventurée avec les autres bénévoles dans le quartier musulman un soir pour goûter au soya (des petites brochettes de viandes grillées sur un gros tonneau de feu sur le bord du trottoir). Chaque petite brochette coûte quelques cents, alors pour pas cher tu peux acheter un paquet et rajouter un plantain grillé si tu as encore faim. D’autres spécialités de la région, inclus le capitaine frit (poisson) et les rôtisseries de poulet (avec frites plantains) et un jus de gingembre très fort que j’aime bien.

The best part about being a foreigner in a new place, though, is receiving the hospitality and warm welcome of locals who want to show the best their country has to offer (which somehow always implies food..). This includes having dinner with the friend of a friend of a friend who then became my first Cameroonian friend. Or being invited for a Senegalese meal where everyone eats off the same plate at the house of a Cameroonian fashion designer who also collects African art and tells great stories (and has a peacock in her front yard!).  It may include making friends with the driver who then wants to tour you around the city. Or it could simply mean spending an evening at the British High Commission having drinks and finger food with your new colleagues.  And if you happen to like restaurants where the staff wear colourful t-shirts, the cook plays 90’s pop music, and they serve huge plates of good local food (choice of fish or meat, rice or plantain) for a reasonable price- then you are in for a treat at San Tropez.

Alors peu importe les difficultés que nous rencontrons quotidiennement dans ce pays étranger, les positifs surpassent toujours le négatif.  Je suis peut-être nasara, mais je suis aussi une invitée, une amie, et une collègue de travail. Je suis venue pour m’intégrer et vivre tout ce que le Cameroun à offrir. J’arrête pas de répéter à ceux que je rencontre qu’il ne faut pas penser que je suis une étrangère parce qu’à partir d’aujourd’hui et pour les prochains deux ans, je suis Camerounaise…

A week from now I’ll be putting on my new pang (traditional dress), strapping on some leather sandals bought from the market, and hopping on the back of a motorcycle, looking just like a local... with just a minor difference in skin tone...