Integration

With derivatives completed it was now time for integration, (Wooo, math humor!). My house was settled and I had established some basic daily routines. I finally felt like I could exhale, relax, and begin preparing for the next task at hand, gaining the acceptance and support of my community. I have talked with many former and current volunteers and have heard that integration is not something that comes easy. I saw this to be true as I arrived in my village, where I was initially only known as "white man." A few of my neighbors and my landlord were able to learn my name, but for many people in the village the name David was as foreign to them as Mbah, Teku, and Ashu are to me. I quickly discovered that many people in the village speak very little or no english. The local dialect is Mughamo, and after that pidgin is the next most common language. Pidgin is quite interesting, it is made up of many English words, however they often have different meanings. With Cameroon having been settled by the Portuguese, Germans, and French, as well as the English, words from all these languages can be found in pidgin. This language is very important in the Northwest and Southwest regions of Cameroon. Although these regions are classified as anglophone many people in the rural areas speak no english at all. And with there being so many different dialects, (for example, Bali is only a 15 minute drive from Batibo, but when you get there you will find the people speaking a new dialect), pidgin is used as the unifying and most commonly understood language for the Northwest and Southwest regions. So here I am, the only white man for miles, (side note, Cameroonians also refer to American women and African Americans as "white man") and I had spent most of training learning french, a language spoken by a select few in the village. How was I even supposed to begin integrating into this community? Well to start, I decided why not simply put one foot in front of the other. For the first month before school began I walked all over the village greeting everyone I passed, doing my best to communicate coherently. I quickly learned how friendly and welcoming everyone was. As more and more people learned who I was my title began to change from "white man" to "prof" or "sir" to show respect for my position as a teacher. I found that another great place to meet people was at the local catholic church. Those in attendance were very happy to see me join them for mass, although somewhat to the dismay of the parishioners of the local presbyterian church which is just a few steps from my house. Sunday is also the village market day which has proven to be another great venue to meet people while getting a few fresh vegetables and other necessities. All of these interactions have helped to improve my pidgin, although it still has a long way to go. Currently my sights are set on learning the local dialect. The villagers assure me that I will be able to pick it up quickly, but with it being a tonal language I think it might be a bit more difficult than they anticipate. With every word it's not just what you say, but it's how you say it. But after living here for two years I think I should at least be able to construct some basic phrases.

So just as I was beginning to get settled in and accustomed to the village, my name changed once again. One night as I was sharing a few drinks with some locals they explained that they were surprised to see me drinking the "white stuff", (palm wine). I enjoy it for a variety of reasons. It has a very unique, and I think good taste. It is much much cheaper than beer. And it's also much less alcoholic, so it prevents people from getting overly rowdy or drunk. However, it does somewhat "trouble the stomach" for those who are not used to drinking it. But I think my body has been adapting to it well. One other good reason to drink it which I did not think of until they mentioned it was that they said it " brought us together." Many whites they had met before would never drink it, likely because of the stomach troubling issue, or maybe simply because they preferred beer. But by choosing the mimbo over 33 I had let them know that I wanted to do everything I could to adapt to their culture and way of life. That night they informed me that my new title would be "Werabaneck", that I was now the head of the local quarter (subset of the village), and that I would soon be named a sub chief. Now I'm not entirely sure if they were kidding or actually being serious, but we'll see where this leads. However, if I receive a country hat with a red feather in it, well, I guess that means I'm integrating faster than I ever imagined possible.

Bamboo Bungalow

So with construction crews finally out, (for the most part), I began the task of moving in. I said my goodbyes to Kumbo and headed back to Enyoh, in a small two door car, with eight people packed into it. Fortunately the car was only going to Bamenda where I would then find another car going to Batibo. Without this intermission I think I would have lost circulation to every part of my body due to how tightly they pack everyone into cars here. During my brief stop in Bamenda I purchased a mattress, which the driver of the car heading to Batibo somehow shoved into the trunk along with everyone else's luggage. Of course it was not able to close at this point, but while living here you learn to just hope for the best while expecting the worst. So I expected that my mattress would likely end up on the side of the road along with everyone else's luggage. However when we got to Batibo everyone was pleasantly surprised to see that miraculously nothing had fallen out. I then found a bike that would take me up to Enyoh with my queen size mattress strapped on the back. Yes, it looks just as ridiculous as it sounds. It was also raining just to make the journey slightly more challenging. After everything was strapped in tight with bungee cords we were on our way.
Upon arriving to Enyoh in one piece my landlord gave me the tour of my new home and showed me that he had indeed acquired a bed frame for me along with a table and two chairs. After having my first nights sleep harassed by moths and other flying plagues I got to work early the next day. I purchased materials to make screens for all my windows, a broom, and essentially a large squeegee to wash my floors. Construction crews had been there just the day before and the mud they had tracked through the house was still everywhere. I began my mission to keep what's outside out! Within no time I had the tile floor in my parlor sparkling. Unfortunately the concrete floors in my bedroom, guestroom, and kitchen didn't glisten quite the same. I saved cleaning the bathroom for another day. Although it had been finished, it had to be redone due to leaking pipes so there would be a plumper working on it for the next few days, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. After the initial cleaning I was very hungry and realized I needed to get my kitchen set up. I walked into the room designated for food preparation. There was a floor, walls, a window, and a ceiling; I couldn't imagine anything better.
So my house was essentially a blank slate for me to do exactly what I wanted with. Many volunteers move into homes that previous volunteers have lived in. This makes the initial transition immensely easier and cheaper. However, in another life I fancy myself as an interior decorator so having the opportunity to make this home my own was something I embraced. At this point my bedroom has been completed. Most notably, the bamboo desk, and dresser are prized possessions of mine. Plastic flooring that looks like black and white tiles is definitely a step up from the constantly damp concrete floor. And with the majority of my clothes hanging freely on a wooden clothing rack the threat of mold growing on them, a result of the incredibly damp climate, is somewhat reduced. My parlor has come together very nicely as well. Coffee table and chairs made from bamboo in one corner and a wooden dining room table and chairs in the other. Now it may seem somewhat frivolous of me to be furnishing my home almost entirely of bamboo furniture. However, as it turns out, it's by far the cheapest option. After asking around one day at market I came across a man who was an expert in bamboo. So once a week I have been asking him to make one or two items for me. I have to say everything to a friend I met who runs a local shop at the weekly market who then translates my request into the local dialect. I am never sure if what I'm asking for has been understood, and everytime I pick up what has been made it is much different than what I was expecting. However, it always comes out great, so at this point I just give a general idea of what I want and leave the rest to the artistic vision of the bamboo artisan. And anything that ends up not being fit for the house will work perfect as patio furniture.
Now bringing all this from the market to my home is just as difficult as bringing the mattress was, if not more. The method of choice is me being sandwiched between whatever furniture I am transporting that day and the driver. The coffee table with chairs was quite a squeeze rivaled only by my last purchase, the dresser. During my last trip it started pouring rain on the ride back. We drove through two rivers that had flooded the road and we had to pull over halfway to let the rain somewhat subside. But at this point, my home has come quite a ways. The guest room might as well be a dungeon, but I don't anticipate having too many guests any time soon. After everything I've done to make this home my own it is good to know I'll be able to enjoy for the next two years.

Cloud City

Well  moving into my new home was certainly an interesting experience. My community host drove me from Bamenda to Enyoh and on the way let me know that my house had just been completed and that they had put in a bed, table, and a few chairs to help me begin the task of furnishing the place. We get there in the pouring rain and I finally see where I will be living for the next two years. It was a good thing I'd already been in Cameroon for a few months because at this point nothing surprises me. Whenever things went wrong during training we quickly reminded each other to never ask questions because there would never be a sensible answer. So when my host said the house was finished and ready to be moved into what he meant to say was that there were no doors, both the inside and outside needed to be painted, and the bathroom was mostly an idea at this point. Perfect! But all was well, my village is very close to Bessi Awum, where I had my site visit. I stayed with the volunteer there for a few days and then went to a village called Kumbo a few hours away to see some of my other friends. Kumbo turned out to be awesome and I plan on visiting again soon. So even though I had to wait over a week before moving into my home I was able to make the best of the situation and had a great time staying with friends of mine and seeing other villages.

But back to Enyoh. The village is very rural and is only accessible by car when the roads are in good condition, which is seldom. The main way to get to this village is by motorcycle taxi. This is the most common means of transportation in Cameroon and I had used it here and there during training in Ebolowa. However, in Ebolowa I used any other means of transportation first because riding on the back of a motorcycle in a busy city didn't seem like the most prudent thing to do. However, out here where an asphalt road is something only spoken of in myth and folklore I feel much more comfortable. The drivers know these dirt roads like the back of their hand and there are only ever a handful of vehicles along this route. So to get to my new home I negotiate a reasonable price with the moto drivers in Batibo. 500 francs for a 20 minute ride (1$), sounds reasonable enough. We bump along the dirt road which has been heavily eroded by daily rainfall. We cross over two large streams and go up and down a few very steep hills. Then we cross into Enyoh. We begin to climb higher and higher. Suddenly everything we have just traversed over is in plain sight. Batibo is now just a mere speck out in the distance. We cruise along this ridge and it is reminiscent of my commute in San Diego along La Jolla Scenic Drive. We climb over the final peak, where a small catholic church is located. We then descend slightly into a village square and just after this I arrive at my home. It's strange to think that I will know this home better than any other I have had since leaving my parents home for college. The longest I have lived in one place since then has been eleven months. So the thought of being settled in one place for two years is something very new to me, and something puts me at ease.

I spent my first few days in Enyoh walking around, eating food prepared by women who sold it at their doorsteps, and having a few drinks with the locals. The first bar I went to was interesting to say the least. It was a cold cloudy day. Much colder than I ever thought possible for Africa. Was I even close to the equator? However, the Northwest region has a climate very different from what one would expect for Cameroon. I ordered "export" the local brew also called "33" or "trente trois." Most of the people here were drinking palm wine. This is very common in the villages of Cameroon. The locals go into the bush and tap wine from palm trees that naturally ferments during the day. It is very inexpensive and is commonly referred to as "white stuff", aptly named for its color. People quickly began asking me the usual questions of who I was, what I was doing here, and if I would marry their daughter. I explained that I was from the US, that I would be a teacher at they local government high school, and that of course, I would marry all there daughters. Polygamy is a wonderful thing! Our conversation carried on for some time with much welcoming of me to the village and many other seemingly odd questions, but ones that I was very accustomed to by this point. As it became colder I began to see clouds rolling in through the windows straight into the small, one room, mud brick bar. Everything and everyone were quickly covered in a white mist. There is no way a picture could've captured this moment. I simply say back, listened to people speaking pidgin along with the local dialect, and did my best to take it all in. Like many places I have been in Cameroon, there often seems to be a lack of distinction between the natural world and that built by humans. The way these clouds rolled into this bar could not have exemplified this point any better. The people here live directly in and with their surroundings. It is truly a beautiful thing to observe. As I got up and began walking home it was not exactly clear when I had left the premises of the bar. Being engulfed by a cloud made it impossible to be aware of anything other than your immediate surroundings. I have never been to Scotland, but I imagine walking through the highland is something like this. It is an eerie feeling, to be so high up and to be able to see so much around you on a clear day, but then to have your entire line of sight obscured at a moments notice. The dry season will come soon and I will have a 360 degree view as far as the eye can see. But I know when it comes a part of me will be anxious for the rainy season to return. During these moments worries and cares disappear, shrouded by clouds, and the only thing left to focus on is the small reality around you which has not yet been covered by the overwhelming haze.

Marketing 101

So swearing-in went great, all 37 of us made it this far, wahoo! And my bubu was finished in time, although I did have to spend an hour with the tailor making last minute adjustments. Guess my French wasn't at intermediate high three weeks ago when I dropped it off. But in the end, it turned out great. My pidgin teacher came up to me before the ceremony and said, “You are killing it!” This was quite high praise from a man who is always impeccably dressed. The Cameroonian style hat I had made to go with the whole ensemble was the finishing touch. Oh yea, and of course I had a ridiculous mustache just to make it clear just how serious I was taking the whole thing. Later that evening we had a bonfire with all the newly sworn-in volunteers and some of our trainers joined in for the festivities. It was a great evening, and good to be able to say goodbye to everyone. The next morning we all woke up at dawn and prepared to head out. There was 11 of us going to the Northwest region so we all rode in one van together. It was sad knowing that we won’t see most of the others until in-service training, which will be in three months, so I guess relatively soon. 

So goodbye Ebolowa and hello Bamenda. Many of us stayed a few nights in the volunteer common house. We all need to start buying things to furnish our new homes. The main items would be beds, tables, chairs, dressers, kitchen accessories, etc. So naturally I looked for none of this and spent all my time in market searching for a guitar. After a lot of walking, asking questions, and pantomiming playing a guitar, I finally found a man who told me he knew just the place. He immediately abandoned his shop so he could show me the way. We zig-zagged through the market for about another seven minutes, crossed a few streets and then found the shop he had spoken of. Almost instantly an electric guitar was placed in my hands. Drats! This was not what I was looking for. I was hoping to purchase an acoustic guitar and began wondering how I could explain what the difference was. I told the shop owner that I wanted, “ A not electric guitar.” She seemed confused initially, and then left the shop entirely. Perhaps it simply wasn't meant to be. I began thinking about buying the electric guitar. But then I’d need to buy an amp. And then I’d need to plug that in and hope the electricity was working. Yea, that didn't sound like a good option. And fortunately it was an option I would not need to pursue as the shop owner returned with an acoustic guitar. It was clearly not of the best quality but I was just looking for something I could play. However, it was yet to be determined if this would even function as a guitar. I began the long and arduous task of attempting to tune this guitar. As I began tightening strings I quickly began to doubt that this instrument would be able to serve as anything other than a glorified drum. As the wooden neck creaked under the tension of the strings I began to wonder if it would be the strings or the neck that would break first. Somewhat concerned about this I asked if there were any other guitars of better quality. The shop owner left once again while I continued to carefully tune the first guitar. By the time she returned I had the guitar I was working on somewhat tuned and now had some level of confidence in what was being sold to me. However, I noticed the newest guitar looked of reasonably improved quality. I began tuning this one and noticed that it was indeed much better. I asked for the price, “150 thousand.” “And for the first one?” “The same.” Indeed, I was going to need to employ some bargaining tactics for this one. In typical haggling fashion learned in Bali I told her I could pay 25 thousand and that was being generous. She laughed at that notion and began talking in French to another woman in the shop, telling her I was insane to think I could buy a guitar for that price. I began my rebuttal in French to make it clear that I had understood what she just said and began explaining that this was the worst guitar I had ever seen in my life as I pointed out that it had been made in China. This strikes a cord with Cameroonians, and I can understand why. After being here for only a few months it seems that anything manufactured in a Chinese factory that is not acceptable for standard distribution is sent to an African country such as Cameroon. Everything from markers to flip flops seem to barely last beyond the first use. I remember looking for basketball shoes my first week in Ebolowa and finding a few great looking pairs for very cheap. However, after trying them on I realized that the soles were simply made of hard plastic and would not be useful at all as shoes. So after noting the guitar’s Chinese origins the woman seemed much more willing to negotiate. I told her the most I could pay was 40 thousand but would need to run some other errands first and left. I stopped at the bank to finish opening my account which I had started earlier that day. I asked the man I was working at how much he thought a guitar should cost. He said he didn't know, but maybe around 35 thousand. So when I went back I told the shop owner I was ready to pay the 30 thousand we had agreed to. She told me we that was incorrect, we had agreed to 50 thousand. I see, so we were both playing the same game. We quickly came to terms at 40 thousand (a little over $80) and I was the proud owner of a brand new, terribly constructed guitar. Ahhhh, market life in Bamenda, I can’t wait to revisit you.

Not sure when my next post will be with my internet outlook being bleak. But for now, as always, cheers!

Closing Time

So the end is finally in sight. I passed my language test and ended up scoring a level higher than I needed to. Guess I'm pretty much an expert in all languages at this point. Everything with model school and other random assignments we've had have finished up as well so thing's have been pretty relaxing this week. Although I am still waiting on my Bubu to be tailored, it should be finished today, two days before swearing-in, cutting it close.

Been making plans for when I get to post, really excited to be there. Definitely going to build a chicken coop, for all the chickens I plan on buying. Fresh eggs every morning sounds fantastic. Pidgins been going well, 'All things goo waka fine'. I've only learned a few things so far but once I get to Enyoh I'll start practicing a lot. One of the PCV's I visited last month speaks pidgin really well so I plan on learning as much as I can from her. School won't start until September 8th as well, so I'll have a few weeks to get my new life situated which will be nice.

A couple other random things. We had a sports club at school on Wednesdays. We taught the kids kickball and volleyball, and I also began to teach them rugby which they were picking up pretty quick. We had a short kickball demonstration for the whole school that went really well. Our center fielder made an Ozzie Smith like catch which was worthy of a spot on Sports Center Cameroon's top ten. The principal really enjoyed watching it and was impressed with how well the kids understood the rules. When we were teaching them initially it was pretty chaotic and on the brink of mayhem. Trying to explain the rules in French was difficult with only a month of French under my belt. But once a few of them got the hang of it everyone seemed to figure it out. However, some of the kids had no idea how to catch a ball which was pretty entertaining to watch play out. And although not one person could throw a ball either, every one of them could kick the ball from any point on the field and get it to go exactly where they needed it to. As I'm describing this I feel like I'm not doing it justice, but it was really cool watching them pass like this.

I also really enjoyed my physics class. I spent the entire three weeks on magnetism and most of the kids did really well on my final exam. I also got to talk to them about my old job and dot matrix printers for one class which was fun. Solenoid coils, inductance, ferromagnetic cores.....uh oh, I feel like I'm losing readers. Ok, back to Africa.

So other than that, well I guess a lot has already changed for me. I've only been here for two months but it feels like much longer. Some of the things that I currently take for granted in my daily routine take me by surprise when I stop and think about it. Like, when I eat fish it's entirely with my hands, cutlery isn't even an afterthought. It's the safest way to get all the bones out and it's the easiest way to get to all the meat. When I'm finished there is never anything remotely edible left on my plate. Also, bucket bathing in the same place I poop just seems to make sense now. And I kinda like the huge flying insects that keep me company as I splash water all over myself. Generally, seeing enormous bugs everywhere is normal and I mostly just leave them be. Although I think a mouse crawled in my bed one night and I told him he had to leave and if he wanted to try something like that again he better at least have the decency to buy me dinner first. And there's plenty of other things that I can't think of right now. You'll just have to visit me so you can see it all for yourself firsthand.

Oh yea, can't forget about Mamou! So last month two kids that I assume are my host siblings cousins moved in with us. One was a little girl named Mamou who is the cutest thing I have ever seen. She is singlehandedly the reason my French has progressed to it's current level. She loves talking to me and is very quick to correct any and all grammatical errors I make. And pretty much everything she does melts my heart. Watching her eat dinner while sitting on the floor is adorable. She also loves any and all technology. Although, after letting her play with my phone I'm pretty sure she thinks that everything is a touch screen. She still seems very confused when she touches the screen of my laptop and nothing happens. Also, everyone in this country hates dogs, which makes sense, because most of them are rabid and bite and kill people. So the most common reaction of people here is to either kick them or throw rocks at them. Yea, it seems cruel, but in reality it makes sense. But my host family has a dog named police which is really nice and is vaccinated as well. It functions as the family guard dog, sleeps on the other side of the path in front of our house, and is our last line of defense against Boko Haram. Police knows me really well at this point and comes running whenever he hears my voice. I assume the main reason we get along so will is the fact that I don't kick him or throw rocks at him. But when I was teaching little Mamou how to play rugby yesterday he came running to join in on the fun. Mamou is apparently terrified of dogs, and for good reason because this is Cameroon after all. She ran into hiding, but then came back with a handful of rocks to throw at him. Watching her yell in French and throw rocks as hard as she could, which only ending up going a few yards, was absolutely adorable. I think police felt bad so he trotted away so Mamou could feel as if she had scared him off. So yea, all in all, I'm really going to miss her along with the rest of my host family. I'll be sure to visit them more than a few times over  the next two years.

So yea Ebolowa, it's been real. I'll see you in a few months for in-service training. But for now, next stop, Enyoh!

Cheers!

Burgies avec fromage Américain

Success never tasted so good!

So my Cameroonian mama has been asking me to prepare an American dinner for awhile now. Initially my plan was something simple, pasta...with red sauce from a jar, and maybe some pieces of meat thrown in. But after seeing how hard Jacqi works on prepareing her own sauce for fish, chicken and everything else, I quickly realized my method would not be acceptable. After talking about my predicament with a friend I learned he had successfully made burgers for his entire family. I was under the impression that it would not be possible to acquire all the ingredients necessary in my small village. However, he assured me that it could be done. 

With a new found sense of determination I set off to market at dawn this past weekend. The main street was still very quiet, and only few shops and stands were open for business at this hour. I first went to the butchers and saw no meat. The man there told me they would be receiving their cow in thirty minutes. So I marched on to get the next necessary ingredients. On the way I stopped by a cart stand to purchase a spaghetti omelette sandwich. Yes, it was amazing. Onions, peppers, tomatoes, hot sauce, all mixed in with eggs and spaghetti, then put into a small baguette to create a breakfast on the go rivalled only by San Diego's early morning burritos. I paid the omelette man 300 Cameroonian francs ($0.60), and thought about what else I needed to buy while enjoying le petit dejeuner. I walked into the local supermarket (a one room store with a wall of goods) and was pleasantly surprised to find that they had ketchup! I had bought mayonnaise and mustard the other day but couldn't find ketchup so I was worried I was going to have to attempt to make my own. I know, disaster avoided, phew. I now went looking for hamburger buns. The bakery attached to the one aisle supermarket I was just in had none. Then it turned out the other main bakery had nothing as well. This wasn't looking good.

I still needed meat as well so I went back to the butchers. As I approached I saw a large pile of bloody skin covered in flies, excellent, the meat had arrived. In Colombian fashion, I explained that I needed two kilos of his finest product. He obliged, but mentioned that their meat grinder wasn't working so I would have to wait for someone to take it to another shop for grinding. As I was waiting the grinding seemed to be taking a long time. I began to wonder if my French had let me down and if I had completely miscommunicated what I needed. Thankfully after thirty minutes I had a plastic bag full off beef, dripping with blood on my lap. 

Still in need of hamburger buns I decided to go back to both bakeries to see if they had received any fresh goods. If not, I would have to settle for chopping up baguettes. The morning sun began climbing overhead and I knew I would need get back soon. As I was walking, I spotted a street stand that appeared to have hotdog buns. This might work. Wait, hamburger buns too! I immediately asked to buy all fifteen. Scratch that, fourteen, the last one was completely moldy and covered with ants. As I brushed the ants off of my newly purchased victory I thought about the remaining items I needed. 

Back to main street, which was now bustling at this point. I bought fresh avocados, tomatoes, onions, garlic, peppers and potatoes. Finally I purchased the finishing touch, sliced cheese. (I bought mozzarella and an labeled brand. The unlabelled brand turned out to taste just like American cheese so I ended up using that and gave the mozzarella to my host siblings in exchange for help while preparing dinner.)

Preparing this feast was quite interesting. I had a friend of mine come over to help. She cut potatoes into french fries and I seasoned the meat and made the patties. The whole time there were at least four other people in our tiny kitchen all watching what we were doing and not minding that they were completely in our way. After a little more than two hours, we had everything prepared. A golden mind of french fries, fourteen thick cheese burgers, and a bowl of egg salad. I also bought coke for everyone to make it the most typical American meal possible. Everyone loved the hamburgers and the fries were gone almost instantly. I couldn't believe how well the meat turned out, considering I've never seasoned meat before, but whatever I did worked.

As I sat back in my chair slowly digesting two delicious cheeseburgers I couldn't have felt more full. I was full of pride, delight, and satisfaction. We had truly done America justice, and I know that whenever my host family thinks of the US, that meal will be the first thing on their mind.

Model School of Hard Knocks

Dear diary, it's been two weeks since my last entry. Food supplies run thin and moral is at an all time low. The amount of excrement in this cave is unfathomable. Time is a meaningless notion here, days come and days go, but no one knows why or how. All we can do now is hope and pray for some semblance of the reality we once knew. If this becomes my last entry, someone.... please tell my story.

So yea, everyone is really anxious to get to post. Training has been great and we've learned a ton, but it's also been seemingly endless. It will be really nice when we are all somewhat in control of our own lives and schedules again. Although I will miss mama Jacqueline's cooking. Spaghetti omelettes are now a staple of my diet. Her fish and chicken are excellent as well. I particular like the head and brain of the chicken, although I enjoy other parts of the fish more than the fish head and eyes. But when you're hungry, really anything is edible. Also, killing the food makes eating it much more satisfying. I helped kill a chicken which was very interesting. My host brother chopped off it's head, threw the chicken in a bowl, and then had me hold a lid down over it. The feet were kicking and the wings were flapping for at least two minutes. Eventually the headless chicken lost the will to continue struggling, at which point we poured boiling water over it. This made the defeathering process quite simple. Now that I've seen it done I'm allowed to machete the head off of the next chicken, I'm excited.

What else has gone on? Seems like a ton. We started model school two weeks ago which has been awesome. I'm quickly learning how difficult teaching is. Fortunately I'm teaching in English, and the topic is magnetism which I enjoy. I'm giving my kids a test tomorrow and they're really smart so I expect most of them to do well. They start learning physics at a much younger age here and know much more than I ever did at their age. Right now there are only twelve kids in my class, but at post I'm expecting between 50 to 100 which will be really challenging to manage. Once I go to post I will also find out which specific subjects I will be teaching, I'm hoping for upper level math or physics.

French has been going well, although the accent is definitely difficult for me. I came in at the lowest level and moved up three levels after my first test so now I only have one more level to go to pass the language criteria. I've also started learning pidgin which I'll be using a lot at post. It's relatively easy to understand what people are saying but it's a lot harder to speak it. I think once I'm speaking it in my day to day life I'll pick it up quickly.

Other things...

Our training group all bought matching pagne (fabric with printed designs) to make clothing out of for our swearing-in ceremony. I just was at a tailor putting in my request. I'm getting a Bubu made, sorta a fancy long man dress with matching pants, can't wait! The tailoring doesn't come cheap though, 16 american dollars for the whole ensemble, geesh. When I'm near Bamenda I plan to start getting all my clothes tailored. I'm through with wearing garments that weren't made for my precise dimensions.

Last things, pretty sure I'm going to get a cat, to hunt and kill any and all mice at my soon to be new home. Convinced myself today that I'm going to get a baby goat as well, because they are SOOOOOO CUTEEEE! Still not sure about getting a puppy yet. I'd love to have one, but they do need a lot of attention, and when I leave, there's a 50 50 chance that whoever I leave it with will end up eating it. I won't mind if my cat or goat gets eaten, I might even eat them both myself. But I don't know if I could emotionally handle not knowing the fate of my little pup.

And oh yea, great job team USA. That final game vs Belgium was exciting. Glad to see we didn't pull a Brazil! Too soon? Feel free to ask questions about anything.

Cheers!