There is a two-week break from classes and those who can, it seems, have left town. Even my Turkish friends have left for the south and the beach, by car in their 4x4. Now that’s the way to go. There are certainly fewer 4x4s in town at the moment although the town centre is still very busy – the normal humdrum with moto-taxis whirring about everywhere. There was the first graduation ceremony for the university almost two weeks ago. My air conditioner in the office was and is still broken and before the ceremony, everyone was far too busy with whatever else. Then I fell sick, diarrhea and gastro problems and a week later, stultifying headache and then runny nose with a cold. Just run-down symptoms – really need a mental break.
Christmas is in my thoughts but not in the air. There is no outside sign of Christmas at all except at the hotels ¬- I spent a quiet hour in the garden of Porte Mayo last weekend and there, there was a tree. I still wish “bonnes fêtes” to everyone – “happy celebrations” because all can join in in sharing and in being together. New Year I’m told is party time so I’ll see what that holds. Just hoping to be with someone whose company one enjoys – friendship is a strange quality here where you are the outsider for most. There are those few here who are away from home, friends and family have any inkling of what distance and separation means. And families are big here and sufficient unto themselves from the forces without.
But let me tell you that the baker made some great croissants (French influence here means they have the know-how to do this well) and this is a nice way of sharing with those who have been particularly kind. I’m not up to cooking so Christmas eve I’ll go to Amos’ casual outdoor restaurant where the dishes have a European flavor and New Year’s eve, well that’s still a week away. For now, I’m simply looking forward to a break, letting go, swimming a bit and allowing time to roll on, slowly. I also look forward to catching up with my mail, and writing. I am thinking of you all, wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy and Prosperous New Year 2011. Take care in your travels, relish the moments of joy and peace at home. I look forward to blogging again in January . . . (time of writing – 23rd December 2010).
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Cockroaches, crickets and dust
The past weeks have been highlighted by cockroaches, crickets and dust. With the end of the rainy season, the weather is again hot but now dry with a slight cooling early morning. There have been cockroaches and crickets everywhere – in the ceiling with their piercing nocturnal sound and from under the door from the corridor outside. I don’t like killing bugs but the onslaught was just too much. One night I caught six (and they’re really big!), a relatively small number if you consider how many there could be if you were living at ground level. Then the dust just seemed to settle on the outside balcony, inevitably making its way into the apartment through the window opening, cracks in the wall and under the door. So I have to clean the balcony ever so much more frequently. The mist they speak of here and that we’re beginning to see in the evenings is not a cold mist but rather one of dust. They tell me there is yet to come some cold weather, which I have yet to see and believe.
Two weeks ago, I hosted a dinner party for a select number of colleagues from the university. It was a huge amount of work for I had to start from scratch purchasing crockery and cutlery, buying in necessary foodstuffs and drinks. Nothing can be purchased in one place here so this meant going in all different directions, finding what I needed and somehow getting it back home. All small details were attended to and the table originally set for eight then seven looked quite lovely. All enjoyed themselves and were appreciative of the opportunity to get together in a relaxed setting. The one lady guest was not able to attend so I found myself entertaining six men – quite a strange feeling at first but “normal” when you realize how male dominated the workplace is here.
Classes have started and the first two weeks, there was no electricity in the rooms. One is still without and I don’t think there’s much chance of it being wired up. You see, the university rents classrooms from other institutions and there is enormous pressure on room usage. In the master’s seminar group there are 39 students, in the bachelor first year group 94 and another third year group I’ll have for the first time next week, 280 or so I’m told. The pressure of numbers is huge creating a nightmare at assessment time. The seating is basic – wooden desks and bench seats – and there is a blackboard. I have prepared all work in powerpoint to be able to interact better with the students but there sheer numbers determine how successful this will be.
Last Wednesday was the Muslim "Fête du mouton" or sheep celebration where households purchase a sheep, slaughter/sacrifice it and then prepare it for a family gathering. The sharing of this meat is an important part of the celebration and I was touched when the plumber had a small amount brought over from his home and also when a particular friend came by. It was nice to be able to return the gesture by giving some to my Turkish friends who have had me to dinner at their place several times. It is a festival all about remembering others, something like the spirit of Christmas I think.
There has been no Internet connection at the university for three weeks now and I’m totally handicapped – no email, no checking up on information. On Monday I received my snail mail as I eventually made it to the VSO office. A strange thing getting mail months after it was written, something that takes one back in time, but a feeling of connectedness all the same. Next week I’ll have to seek some other alternative if the Internet connection is still down. In this place, you’re left to your own resources to sort out whatever. You can’t rely on what someone ways and you’re left wondering where your place in all this is. At the time of writing, it is Friday 19th November and hopefully I can access the web soon to post this blog.
Two weeks ago, I hosted a dinner party for a select number of colleagues from the university. It was a huge amount of work for I had to start from scratch purchasing crockery and cutlery, buying in necessary foodstuffs and drinks. Nothing can be purchased in one place here so this meant going in all different directions, finding what I needed and somehow getting it back home. All small details were attended to and the table originally set for eight then seven looked quite lovely. All enjoyed themselves and were appreciative of the opportunity to get together in a relaxed setting. The one lady guest was not able to attend so I found myself entertaining six men – quite a strange feeling at first but “normal” when you realize how male dominated the workplace is here.
Classes have started and the first two weeks, there was no electricity in the rooms. One is still without and I don’t think there’s much chance of it being wired up. You see, the university rents classrooms from other institutions and there is enormous pressure on room usage. In the master’s seminar group there are 39 students, in the bachelor first year group 94 and another third year group I’ll have for the first time next week, 280 or so I’m told. The pressure of numbers is huge creating a nightmare at assessment time. The seating is basic – wooden desks and bench seats – and there is a blackboard. I have prepared all work in powerpoint to be able to interact better with the students but there sheer numbers determine how successful this will be.
Last Wednesday was the Muslim "Fête du mouton" or sheep celebration where households purchase a sheep, slaughter/sacrifice it and then prepare it for a family gathering. The sharing of this meat is an important part of the celebration and I was touched when the plumber had a small amount brought over from his home and also when a particular friend came by. It was nice to be able to return the gesture by giving some to my Turkish friends who have had me to dinner at their place several times. It is a festival all about remembering others, something like the spirit of Christmas I think.
There has been no Internet connection at the university for three weeks now and I’m totally handicapped – no email, no checking up on information. On Monday I received my snail mail as I eventually made it to the VSO office. A strange thing getting mail months after it was written, something that takes one back in time, but a feeling of connectedness all the same. Next week I’ll have to seek some other alternative if the Internet connection is still down. In this place, you’re left to your own resources to sort out whatever. You can’t rely on what someone ways and you’re left wondering where your place in all this is. At the time of writing, it is Friday 19th November and hopefully I can access the web soon to post this blog.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Traditional village and African living
I finally made it to a traditional village. In fact, the mayor of the commune invited me and had his driver show me around. It was market day and the village of Meri was alive with stallholders and those selling from their mats spread out on the ground. Plastic ware, local vegetables – tomatoes, yam, red onions, hot peppers, some spices, dried beans and food being prepared for immediate eating. There’s a white dried bean that’s ground into flour and then made into a small croquette and fried. Quite delicious. There’s also another type of fried beignet made from flour. Traditional food preparation uses a lot of oil, cotton-seed oil I believe for deep frying and palm oil (the red variety) for mixing in with and making other dishes. In fact, the amount of oil consumed and the deep frying pose health problems as they seem to feature at all meal times. But in a village like this where people eat, that is the main thing. I walked through fields of corn and millet, planted almost adjacent to where people live – the people and their crops in the same living space, so to speak. All was well ordered and clean and the community feel was palpable and alive.
I was also invited by a friend to his home for breakfast! Now, that was pretty special. To be invited “home” is a true sign of friendship and it just doesn’t happen. It took years in Mexico to be accepted within the family group; I don’t know how long it will take here. But the visit was lovely. We ate beignets made by “grand-ma”, an endearing older lady living close to the house. There was a “coolish” breeze and sitting outside under the veranda reminded me a little of Kyneton days. To get there it was a motorbike ride along badly maintained dirt roads to the foot of the mountain, past the blacksmiths’ area and the local abattoir. Possibly a four-wheel drive would make it through but a regular vehicle would definitely have to take the long way round through the town centre.
I don’t think I’ve told you about the wonderful lady who makes yoghurt and fruit “juices”, what in Mexico we called “agua”. It means liquefied fruit strained and mixed with water and sugar. The most delicious one is ginger juice – great for digestion and the intestinal flora. It also clears the throat when there is dust in the air. I buy ginger juice and yoghurt on a regular basis and now Asta is saving the very best of the yoghurt for me, thickened I believe with the curds from when the milk is boiled. Now Asta doesn’t speak French or the local lingua franca – Fulfulde. She speaks Mafa, the language of another ethnic group here. But with her few words of French and a woman’s understanding, we communicate and I make a special effort to go by her stand (an esky, table and bench on the side of the road) whenever the “special” yoghurt is ready.
October is rapidly coming to a close and one wonders where the time has flown! It is dark by 6 p.m. now and it seems so strange as the days are hot. The rains are almost finished and with them their cooling effect but they tell me there should be some coolness in November and December – we’ll see. Of course, if you live in a traditional African house and have the choice, doors and windows would face east to get the best of the breeze and no afternoon sun. Well, my apartment is at the front of the building and faces west – an architecture not really suited to the local climate conditions. But there you are. If there were awnings on the outside, it would be fine but there are not so I do my best by closing the curtains during the day.
I was also invited by a friend to his home for breakfast! Now, that was pretty special. To be invited “home” is a true sign of friendship and it just doesn’t happen. It took years in Mexico to be accepted within the family group; I don’t know how long it will take here. But the visit was lovely. We ate beignets made by “grand-ma”, an endearing older lady living close to the house. There was a “coolish” breeze and sitting outside under the veranda reminded me a little of Kyneton days. To get there it was a motorbike ride along badly maintained dirt roads to the foot of the mountain, past the blacksmiths’ area and the local abattoir. Possibly a four-wheel drive would make it through but a regular vehicle would definitely have to take the long way round through the town centre.
I don’t think I’ve told you about the wonderful lady who makes yoghurt and fruit “juices”, what in Mexico we called “agua”. It means liquefied fruit strained and mixed with water and sugar. The most delicious one is ginger juice – great for digestion and the intestinal flora. It also clears the throat when there is dust in the air. I buy ginger juice and yoghurt on a regular basis and now Asta is saving the very best of the yoghurt for me, thickened I believe with the curds from when the milk is boiled. Now Asta doesn’t speak French or the local lingua franca – Fulfulde. She speaks Mafa, the language of another ethnic group here. But with her few words of French and a woman’s understanding, we communicate and I make a special effort to go by her stand (an esky, table and bench on the side of the road) whenever the “special” yoghurt is ready.
October is rapidly coming to a close and one wonders where the time has flown! It is dark by 6 p.m. now and it seems so strange as the days are hot. The rains are almost finished and with them their cooling effect but they tell me there should be some coolness in November and December – we’ll see. Of course, if you live in a traditional African house and have the choice, doors and windows would face east to get the best of the breeze and no afternoon sun. Well, my apartment is at the front of the building and faces west – an architecture not really suited to the local climate conditions. But there you are. If there were awnings on the outside, it would be fine but there are not so I do my best by closing the curtains during the day.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Small blessings and infinite gratitude
The past month has gone by quietly yet productively. I’ve started preparing the courses I’m to take in the new semester starting October, and I’m pleased to be working on something palpable in terms of my experience. I’m now also attached to the Department of Bilingual Studies and the courses I’m taking are linguistics – language related. What’s so difficult is that there are no materials here, I mean, no books, and the Documentation Centre (beginnings of a library) has some references but nothing near adequate to answer all the needs of a diverse range of academic departments. So I have to rely on all that reading that is somewhere in my head while accessing memory prompts and articles on the Web. This in itself is an instructive and revealing exercise given the sheer quantity of material available.
With the university being new, there is no university life to speak of, and this hampers collegiality. For a newcomer like me, this has negative consequences for with no organized cultural activities or excursions, it is only with time that you can find a place. The courtyard space in the front of the building is where you meet whomever, greet the colleagues you know and smile at others. Bumping into someone in an ad hoc fashion is not very sure but if you don’t put too much thought into it and just let things flow (the only remedy available) sometimes miraculous things happen like seeing the person you’ve been trying to see for ages or meeting up with someone you didn’t expect to see but have been thinking of and wondering how to be in touch. It’s all very organic – there’s no option but to give over to the flow of time.
A couple of weeks ago I was contacted by the cable supplier for my area. The quotes I had been given were far too much but this supplier said it would (only) cost me four reels of cable and two boosters – about AUD$100 worth. Satellite TV is also available but to get the good cultural, educational channels you have to pay extra and the equipment plus subscription just didn’t come within my budget. Anyway, cable it is for now and after two weeks of hiccoughs – poor, fuzzy reception – I seem to be getting a more regular reception quality. France 24 is very good – mainly news but the channel I love best is TV5, the international French channel, because it broadcasts the news from France 2 (I get to see my two favourite presenters who I have watched faithfully for years) and they also broadcast cultural programs and some good films. Unfortunately the reception quality cannot always be relied upon and I have to keep at the supplier to see if somehow it can be improved.
Yesterday was the end of Ramadan, a day of great celebration. Half of Maroua seemed to be at the main mosque, all dressed in their best attire for the occasion. Many have new clothes made and if you can afford it, hand embroidered. Now, these boubou that the men wear can be quite magnificent and when you see so many together, the impression is one of splendor heightened by the sartorial elegance of the local sultan and his advisors, the former afforded great reverence. The turban-type headdress reminds one of Lawrence of Arabia and together with horse riders and their dress (of the riders and horses), the atmosphere is one of pageantry not to be missed. Yesterday, no horses – too many people – but the splendor was there all the same. Dress here is a function of status and on such a special day of faith, all dress the best they can by way of reverence to god.
Mid-morning I went to visit my Turkish friends and neighbours on the first floor – mum, dad and two girls, a lovely family. They speak little French or English for that matter, but somehow we get by. If it is mealtime, they always have me stay and yesterday, a late breakfast was most welcome. The mum makes Turkish sweets and cakes and yesterday I was spoilt with delicious cake with cream Chantilly (brought from Turkey, unavailable in Maroua). Over the past couple of months we have been able to get to know each other a little with the help of a local young man who studies in Turkey and was back home for holidays. He was able to translate from French into Turkish and vice versa – a slow but invaluable way of getting to know you.
The water has been cut since Tuesday (today is Saturday 11th September at the time of writing) because of some breakdown in the pumping systems some two hundred kilometers away. I tested my stored water capacity and yes, it is sufficient to last three days. But the blessing is there has been a trickle from the tap and leaving the containers under the tap for a length of time, I have been able to refill them on a daily basis. Just ever so grateful for goodness knows when we’ll get good water pressure back sufficient to shower!!
With the university being new, there is no university life to speak of, and this hampers collegiality. For a newcomer like me, this has negative consequences for with no organized cultural activities or excursions, it is only with time that you can find a place. The courtyard space in the front of the building is where you meet whomever, greet the colleagues you know and smile at others. Bumping into someone in an ad hoc fashion is not very sure but if you don’t put too much thought into it and just let things flow (the only remedy available) sometimes miraculous things happen like seeing the person you’ve been trying to see for ages or meeting up with someone you didn’t expect to see but have been thinking of and wondering how to be in touch. It’s all very organic – there’s no option but to give over to the flow of time.
A couple of weeks ago I was contacted by the cable supplier for my area. The quotes I had been given were far too much but this supplier said it would (only) cost me four reels of cable and two boosters – about AUD$100 worth. Satellite TV is also available but to get the good cultural, educational channels you have to pay extra and the equipment plus subscription just didn’t come within my budget. Anyway, cable it is for now and after two weeks of hiccoughs – poor, fuzzy reception – I seem to be getting a more regular reception quality. France 24 is very good – mainly news but the channel I love best is TV5, the international French channel, because it broadcasts the news from France 2 (I get to see my two favourite presenters who I have watched faithfully for years) and they also broadcast cultural programs and some good films. Unfortunately the reception quality cannot always be relied upon and I have to keep at the supplier to see if somehow it can be improved.
Yesterday was the end of Ramadan, a day of great celebration. Half of Maroua seemed to be at the main mosque, all dressed in their best attire for the occasion. Many have new clothes made and if you can afford it, hand embroidered. Now, these boubou that the men wear can be quite magnificent and when you see so many together, the impression is one of splendor heightened by the sartorial elegance of the local sultan and his advisors, the former afforded great reverence. The turban-type headdress reminds one of Lawrence of Arabia and together with horse riders and their dress (of the riders and horses), the atmosphere is one of pageantry not to be missed. Yesterday, no horses – too many people – but the splendor was there all the same. Dress here is a function of status and on such a special day of faith, all dress the best they can by way of reverence to god.
Mid-morning I went to visit my Turkish friends and neighbours on the first floor – mum, dad and two girls, a lovely family. They speak little French or English for that matter, but somehow we get by. If it is mealtime, they always have me stay and yesterday, a late breakfast was most welcome. The mum makes Turkish sweets and cakes and yesterday I was spoilt with delicious cake with cream Chantilly (brought from Turkey, unavailable in Maroua). Over the past couple of months we have been able to get to know each other a little with the help of a local young man who studies in Turkey and was back home for holidays. He was able to translate from French into Turkish and vice versa – a slow but invaluable way of getting to know you.
The water has been cut since Tuesday (today is Saturday 11th September at the time of writing) because of some breakdown in the pumping systems some two hundred kilometers away. I tested my stored water capacity and yes, it is sufficient to last three days. But the blessing is there has been a trickle from the tap and leaving the containers under the tap for a length of time, I have been able to refill them on a daily basis. Just ever so grateful for goodness knows when we’ll get good water pressure back sufficient to shower!!
Friday, August 6, 2010
August - the month before the beginning of the end of the year
I’m slowly getting a grip back on things and I note the changes, changes in me more than anything for such a reality check leaves its mark. I appreciate my apartment space more than ever and have rediscovered music CDs that I haven’t listened to since Mexico days. Thank goodness I have them with me as without TV reception, the DVD and TV set are poised to play whatever I have on hand. I also have all the recorded material I purchased at the Ayurveda / Yoga conference last year. Not only is it instructive, but also healing to the soul and calming to the mind.
Getting about has become somewhat difficult particularly when the weather turns. It was great walking from the hotel to my office but now I am on the other side of town. The university car that picked me up and dropped me off in the first month or so is no longer operable which means I have to take a ‘moto-taxi’ – those motorbikes that shuffle people everywhere. You get used to them after a while but there’s no ease when you need to dress appropriately for work, possibly walk into town, carry a backpack of necessary whatever for the day, all while endeavouring not to overheat. And when it rains - it’s now officially the rainy season – well, it’s impossible to get around. I simply move to plan B – stay at home, read, do whatever and wait until the rain eases.
My apartment is on the third (top) floor of the building. The ceiling is non-insulated and the roof is corrugated iron. When the heavens open, all I hear is a muted thunderous sound blocking out all other sounds – impossible to listen to the radio or to music. I would describe it as like living in a tin shed with the edge taken off the strident noise of the rain on the roof. But then, this is a dry area and there are only a couple of months of rain and I have yet to experience what the month of August brings in terms of downpours. But the cement distribution centre opposite partly floods as does the road while the water gives new life to plants and trees which give off a delectable fresh smell. Even the rocky outcrop in the distance becomes green – quite impressive in the barren landscape of a month or so ago.
In town, there are always people wherever you go. You simply can’t enjoy the personal space that you enjoy on a daily basis in Australia. That’s why the home space is so important to me – it represents that personal space that you don’t get elsewhere. And the markets are always busy if not crowded but in many cases, they’re the only places to buy what you need. The upside of people concentration are the surprising finds you make along the way – like the avocado and banana vendor on the roadside on the way home or the omelette maker down the road from the university. He makes omelettes in a well-worn pan over a small fire on the ground fuelled with sticks, and sells bread and tea. You can sit down at his food stand and enjoy the shade of the tree and the breeze that does flow when in an open space.
Getting about has become somewhat difficult particularly when the weather turns. It was great walking from the hotel to my office but now I am on the other side of town. The university car that picked me up and dropped me off in the first month or so is no longer operable which means I have to take a ‘moto-taxi’ – those motorbikes that shuffle people everywhere. You get used to them after a while but there’s no ease when you need to dress appropriately for work, possibly walk into town, carry a backpack of necessary whatever for the day, all while endeavouring not to overheat. And when it rains - it’s now officially the rainy season – well, it’s impossible to get around. I simply move to plan B – stay at home, read, do whatever and wait until the rain eases.
My apartment is on the third (top) floor of the building. The ceiling is non-insulated and the roof is corrugated iron. When the heavens open, all I hear is a muted thunderous sound blocking out all other sounds – impossible to listen to the radio or to music. I would describe it as like living in a tin shed with the edge taken off the strident noise of the rain on the roof. But then, this is a dry area and there are only a couple of months of rain and I have yet to experience what the month of August brings in terms of downpours. But the cement distribution centre opposite partly floods as does the road while the water gives new life to plants and trees which give off a delectable fresh smell. Even the rocky outcrop in the distance becomes green – quite impressive in the barren landscape of a month or so ago.
In town, there are always people wherever you go. You simply can’t enjoy the personal space that you enjoy on a daily basis in Australia. That’s why the home space is so important to me – it represents that personal space that you don’t get elsewhere. And the markets are always busy if not crowded but in many cases, they’re the only places to buy what you need. The upside of people concentration are the surprising finds you make along the way – like the avocado and banana vendor on the roadside on the way home or the omelette maker down the road from the university. He makes omelettes in a well-worn pan over a small fire on the ground fuelled with sticks, and sells bread and tea. You can sit down at his food stand and enjoy the shade of the tree and the breeze that does flow when in an open space.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The tide has turned ...
Cultural studies tell us that the first three months of being in a new place makes up the ‘honeymoon’ phase. Yes, it’s true and then you go into a phase of denial and rejection. I was mentally prepared for this ‘depressive’ phase but not in the way it came about. The weather had been particularly hot and given that it had started to rain, although not a lot, there had been humidity in the air and just walking the few metres between the hotel and the office meant I arrived face and body bathed in perspiration. You feel rung out before you start and the only solution is to change.
Then you start to feel the pinch of being left out, of being left aside. There’s little inclusiveness here and in this male-dominated world, you need some sort of support mechanism to help you survive. From the VSO point of view, there are the volunteers but it doesn’t go hand-in-hand that putting a group of Westerners together, they’ll become buddies overnight. There was a Canadian girl I met in the beginning but she left a few weeks later. Then there was Georgette who, because of our work circumstances, I took a while to get to know. She’s returned to France, perhaps to return, she doesn’t know.
Circumstances being what they were, there was a guy who befriended me in the hotel who was attentive and concerned. When I moved, this same person was there to help in the final stages (I had already exhausted myself with getting the furniture assembled, cleaning the place, getting down to the market place to buy this and that to make the apartment space operable). Somehow, he managed to get away with my (second) computer (the one I was going to use at home), small electrical equipment and cords, brand new zoom camera and all my reserve money (the information I had received had said that there were no ATMs in Maroua). To add insult to injury, six days later, I notice my bank account down to zero, and I knew that this person was a professional con-man and defrauder.
A wonderful Cameroonian who is married to a Quebec girl and waiting for his Canadian visa to come through has been a great support. Then Kate came back a few days ago – she had returned to the US for a wedding. Kate’s on a Fulbright scholarship and is returning definitively in three weeks. She’s welcomed me several times at her place to use her internet connection. It’s good and I can phone out on Skype. At the office, the connection is really unreliable during the day, sometimes there is no connection, at others it is intermittent. To use Skype, I need a sustained good connection and this seems to be accessible only from early evening – good for taking to France and America, but Australia is then in the wee hours of the morning.
These events put me into a state of shock and initial trauma. I’m working my way through and beside the headaches of late, I sleep well at night. Talking to others, I have been told that theft and deception is commonplace and that if push comes to crunch, you let the intruders take what they demand rather than your life. On certain routes north of here, highway banditry is well known. Yet the people continue to live in their villages and surrounding areas. Life, for better or worse, goes on.
When a motorbike taxi driver tries to overcharge me because of the colour of my face, I tell him he is cheating me and to go away. I then take another bike at the right price. When you go down town, you slowly become aware of the higher prices that some vendors try to charge. It’s hard in the beginning and it’s quite an art to knock them down. The thing I learnt is to know someone reputable and get them to do the purchasing for you – it works well but is not always possible. There are those honorable souls, of course, and then there are a few fixed price stores (a fabric shop and the small grocery stores) but shopping is not a relaxing outing as in Australia, you have make an effort to meet the fray and always be a little on your guard.
So, I am grateful that this thief and con-man only took money and physical possessions. I am still here and able to tell the tale. You don’t go to the police because corruption is such that payments under the table would be required to undertake any and every stage of an investigation, and to what purpose? All I would wish is that the person amends his ways and learns the value of the work required to earn the money in the first place. But poverty is everywhere and gaining a quick buck becomes a ‘respectable profession’ in the eyes of the perpetrator. A pretext for a way of life that flaunts the law and puts others in fear.
Then you start to feel the pinch of being left out, of being left aside. There’s little inclusiveness here and in this male-dominated world, you need some sort of support mechanism to help you survive. From the VSO point of view, there are the volunteers but it doesn’t go hand-in-hand that putting a group of Westerners together, they’ll become buddies overnight. There was a Canadian girl I met in the beginning but she left a few weeks later. Then there was Georgette who, because of our work circumstances, I took a while to get to know. She’s returned to France, perhaps to return, she doesn’t know.
Circumstances being what they were, there was a guy who befriended me in the hotel who was attentive and concerned. When I moved, this same person was there to help in the final stages (I had already exhausted myself with getting the furniture assembled, cleaning the place, getting down to the market place to buy this and that to make the apartment space operable). Somehow, he managed to get away with my (second) computer (the one I was going to use at home), small electrical equipment and cords, brand new zoom camera and all my reserve money (the information I had received had said that there were no ATMs in Maroua). To add insult to injury, six days later, I notice my bank account down to zero, and I knew that this person was a professional con-man and defrauder.
A wonderful Cameroonian who is married to a Quebec girl and waiting for his Canadian visa to come through has been a great support. Then Kate came back a few days ago – she had returned to the US for a wedding. Kate’s on a Fulbright scholarship and is returning definitively in three weeks. She’s welcomed me several times at her place to use her internet connection. It’s good and I can phone out on Skype. At the office, the connection is really unreliable during the day, sometimes there is no connection, at others it is intermittent. To use Skype, I need a sustained good connection and this seems to be accessible only from early evening – good for taking to France and America, but Australia is then in the wee hours of the morning.
These events put me into a state of shock and initial trauma. I’m working my way through and beside the headaches of late, I sleep well at night. Talking to others, I have been told that theft and deception is commonplace and that if push comes to crunch, you let the intruders take what they demand rather than your life. On certain routes north of here, highway banditry is well known. Yet the people continue to live in their villages and surrounding areas. Life, for better or worse, goes on.
When a motorbike taxi driver tries to overcharge me because of the colour of my face, I tell him he is cheating me and to go away. I then take another bike at the right price. When you go down town, you slowly become aware of the higher prices that some vendors try to charge. It’s hard in the beginning and it’s quite an art to knock them down. The thing I learnt is to know someone reputable and get them to do the purchasing for you – it works well but is not always possible. There are those honorable souls, of course, and then there are a few fixed price stores (a fabric shop and the small grocery stores) but shopping is not a relaxing outing as in Australia, you have make an effort to meet the fray and always be a little on your guard.
So, I am grateful that this thief and con-man only took money and physical possessions. I am still here and able to tell the tale. You don’t go to the police because corruption is such that payments under the table would be required to undertake any and every stage of an investigation, and to what purpose? All I would wish is that the person amends his ways and learns the value of the work required to earn the money in the first place. But poverty is everywhere and gaining a quick buck becomes a ‘respectable profession’ in the eyes of the perpetrator. A pretext for a way of life that flaunts the law and puts others in fear.
Maroua, a potted history
The origins of the name of the city of Maroua can be traced to “Bi-Marva”, chief of the Guiziga people in the XVIII century. In the XVI and XVII centuries, Maroua was known by another name, that of the Guiziga chief, “Masfay” or “Matfay”. Maroua, a village in the Guiziga period, developed progressively during the Peuhl period. During the colonial period, Maroua was first ruled by the Germans (1902-1915) and then by the French (1915-1960). It is worth mentioning that after the First World War, Cameroon became a French-British protectorate under the League of Nations.
Maroua is an old urban centre dating from the first Guiziga village. Some think that the present-day pronunciation of the name Maroua comes from the Peuhl pronunciation “maruwa” of the Guiziga “marva”. The first Peuhl people came to the region in the XIX century and succeeded in ousting Bi-Marva’s successor Jomkoy who was killed in battle. In the Peuhl era, it was the first Iman and Lamido (Muslim political and religious leader), Doodibbo Hamman Damagaram, who became the true founder of the city of Maroua.
The first administrative, civil and military structures were built by the Germans. Under the French administration, the principal town artery Kakataré Avenue was widened, the main mosque was rebuilt and the central market place was established. However, just as under the German administration, the population was subjected to their new governors economically, politically and socially. After the Second World War, Maroua became the capital of the region and many of the local, non-Muslim peoples left the neighbouring plains and mountains to settle on the outskirts of the town. In 1952, the French constructed the steel “green bridge” over the Kaliao Mayo (river).
Cameroon achieved independence on 1st January 1960 as the Republic of Cameroon and on 1st October 1961, the British Southern Cameroons joined the Republic. As of this time, the country has had only two presidents: Ahmadou Ahidjo (1960-1982) and Paul Biya (1982 to present day). In the case of Maroua, independence brought many changes to the power of the Lamido, notably the establishment of an urban commune with a mayor at the head which reduced the powers of the Lamido - he would no longer have control over land. The town continued to grow particularly towards the east. Road works and drainage were carried out by the first mayor and in 1980, a second bridge, the “red bridge” was constructed over the Mayo Kalio.
When Paul Biya came to power in 1982, Maroua became the provincial capital of the Far North of Cameroon. The Renouveau (named after the then mayor) period brought changes and improvements to the city of Maroua, the first among which were the opening of the Renouveau Boulevard in 1985 which improved traffic flow, the widening of the roadway and infrastructure reorganization and restoration.
However, it wasn’t until 1992 that the roads around the market and certain main roads in the central district were sealed. There are virtually no sealed footpaths. Dust and sand blend with the roadsides the roads and the walking space is shared with workshop traders whose small area under cover leaves them no option but to work outside. Furniture makers, cobblers, plastic ware, goods and shackles all outside.
Geographical location
Maroua is the capital of the Diamaré department in the region of the Far North. It is situated between 10°35 N. and 14°20 E. The district of Maroua in 2005 covered an area of 1,453 km2. Maroua is one of the most important cities in the north of Cameroon. Its position at the northern tip of the country makes it a hub in proximity with the neighbouring countries of Tchad and Nigeria. Maroua is 1,285 kms. from the capital Yaoundé by road. The city is built at the meeting of two rivers, the Mayo Tsanhaga and the Mayo Kaliao and overall, the tree-lined main access roads are well laid out. The main roads are sealed but not well maintained (lots of potholes and jagged edges). Side streets are unmade and dusty.
The city of Maroua is located on a vast plain dominated by a mountain chain which sometimes serves as a natural division with other adjacent administrative units, especially to the north and west. The average altitude is 400 metres. To the north of the city is the Hosséré (Mt.) Maroua (722 m.) and to the south and south-west, the Hosséré (Mt.) Makabaï, Mirdjingré. The most important of the streams which traverse the city is the Mayo Tsanaga which crosses the south and south-east parts. All streams and rivers are dry in the dry season. The locals dig holes in the riverbed of the Kaliao Mayo which are used as bathing and washing holes. The riverbeds are ill-defined and water levels rise rapidly in the wet season.
Maroua has a Sahelian type climate. It is hot and dry in the dry season and milder (so they say) in the rainy season. The dry season lasts from October – May and the wet season from June – September. Rainfall is approximately 850 mm. in the south-west district and approximately 750 mm. towards the north. The wettest month is August while the months of June and July have irregular and unevenly distributed rainfalls. The average temperature is between 35o and 22o with the highest temperatures in the high 40’s in March-April and even May and the lowest temperatures in December-January. But even the locals say that the climate is hotter than before.
There are two main winds. The Harmattan blows during the dry season. It is a steady, dry wind that blows from the north to the east. It can be at times very strong and together with a dry mist, is the harbinger of colds for a lot of those living in Maroua. The Moussa is the other wind that blows from the south to the west. It is unsteady and humid and is the wind that determines the rainy season. There are virtually no winds from other directions.
Socio-economic environment
Living conditions in the city are not easy and each is out for himself. The economy of the city is characterized by both traditional and modern commercial activities. But nothing looks modern. There are some regular-type shops but most are lean-to’s or concrete walls covered over with corrugated iron. There is a large proportion of the population engaged in agricultural activities outside of the town.
There are three classes of main crops. Food-producing crops are made up of wet season sorghum and dry season sorghum, millet, corn, peanuts and white beans. Vegetables are also grown in the marshlands around the rivers – onions, tomatoes, carrots, lettuces, chile, gombo and eggplant. However, such crops are affected by irregular rainfall, climatic change and insufficient availability of land. Animal husbandry is the second economic activity in Maroua – cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, poultry, etc. However, Maroua’s demographic explosion has forced the population to spread onto pasture zones and animal corridors for agricultural purposes.
Trade is based mainly on manufactured products and agricultural products from Tchad or Nigeria, other departments or regions or from Maroua itself. The shops and grocery stores are mainly in and around the central market and sell cloth, construction materials, basic foodstuffs and personal toiletry items. There are also the informal traders - street vendors selling food, some clothing items and household wares. Imported goods are expensive so just buying cleaning products and basics such as olive oil and mustard adds up to a goodly amount.
Without a car or bike, the only option for getting around town is by “moto taxi” – motorbike taxis that literally flood the streets. Most are Chinese these days and the drivers have little respect for pedestrians trying to cross the road. It’s a question of venture out and cross when you can. Little buses (the combi-van type) travel to the villages and neighbouring departments.
Cotton was once an important crop in the area. Today, Maroua is known for its leatherwork and other hand crafted products. There are also small producers of construction materials, metalwork and joineries, building constructors, banks and bakeries (some of which make really good French baguettes and croissants).
Linguistic situation of Maroua.
Linguistic situation
There is a diverse range of languages spoken in Maroua. French and English have been the official languages of Cameroon since Independence in 1960. French is the language spoken in Maroua while English is little known. Of the numerous national languages spoken in Maroua and the twelve or so that have broadcast slots on local Cameroun radio, Fulfulde is the most widely spoken. Fulfulde was originally the language of the Peuhl people and is also used today by those of different ethnic origins. It is the vehicular language used in daily administrative and commercial activities and it is also the language used at home by many of non-Peuhl origin.
Maroua is an old urban centre dating from the first Guiziga village. Some think that the present-day pronunciation of the name Maroua comes from the Peuhl pronunciation “maruwa” of the Guiziga “marva”. The first Peuhl people came to the region in the XIX century and succeeded in ousting Bi-Marva’s successor Jomkoy who was killed in battle. In the Peuhl era, it was the first Iman and Lamido (Muslim political and religious leader), Doodibbo Hamman Damagaram, who became the true founder of the city of Maroua.
The first administrative, civil and military structures were built by the Germans. Under the French administration, the principal town artery Kakataré Avenue was widened, the main mosque was rebuilt and the central market place was established. However, just as under the German administration, the population was subjected to their new governors economically, politically and socially. After the Second World War, Maroua became the capital of the region and many of the local, non-Muslim peoples left the neighbouring plains and mountains to settle on the outskirts of the town. In 1952, the French constructed the steel “green bridge” over the Kaliao Mayo (river).
Cameroon achieved independence on 1st January 1960 as the Republic of Cameroon and on 1st October 1961, the British Southern Cameroons joined the Republic. As of this time, the country has had only two presidents: Ahmadou Ahidjo (1960-1982) and Paul Biya (1982 to present day). In the case of Maroua, independence brought many changes to the power of the Lamido, notably the establishment of an urban commune with a mayor at the head which reduced the powers of the Lamido - he would no longer have control over land. The town continued to grow particularly towards the east. Road works and drainage were carried out by the first mayor and in 1980, a second bridge, the “red bridge” was constructed over the Mayo Kalio.
When Paul Biya came to power in 1982, Maroua became the provincial capital of the Far North of Cameroon. The Renouveau (named after the then mayor) period brought changes and improvements to the city of Maroua, the first among which were the opening of the Renouveau Boulevard in 1985 which improved traffic flow, the widening of the roadway and infrastructure reorganization and restoration.
However, it wasn’t until 1992 that the roads around the market and certain main roads in the central district were sealed. There are virtually no sealed footpaths. Dust and sand blend with the roadsides the roads and the walking space is shared with workshop traders whose small area under cover leaves them no option but to work outside. Furniture makers, cobblers, plastic ware, goods and shackles all outside.
Geographical location
Maroua is the capital of the Diamaré department in the region of the Far North. It is situated between 10°35 N. and 14°20 E. The district of Maroua in 2005 covered an area of 1,453 km2. Maroua is one of the most important cities in the north of Cameroon. Its position at the northern tip of the country makes it a hub in proximity with the neighbouring countries of Tchad and Nigeria. Maroua is 1,285 kms. from the capital Yaoundé by road. The city is built at the meeting of two rivers, the Mayo Tsanhaga and the Mayo Kaliao and overall, the tree-lined main access roads are well laid out. The main roads are sealed but not well maintained (lots of potholes and jagged edges). Side streets are unmade and dusty.
The city of Maroua is located on a vast plain dominated by a mountain chain which sometimes serves as a natural division with other adjacent administrative units, especially to the north and west. The average altitude is 400 metres. To the north of the city is the Hosséré (Mt.) Maroua (722 m.) and to the south and south-west, the Hosséré (Mt.) Makabaï, Mirdjingré. The most important of the streams which traverse the city is the Mayo Tsanaga which crosses the south and south-east parts. All streams and rivers are dry in the dry season. The locals dig holes in the riverbed of the Kaliao Mayo which are used as bathing and washing holes. The riverbeds are ill-defined and water levels rise rapidly in the wet season.
Maroua has a Sahelian type climate. It is hot and dry in the dry season and milder (so they say) in the rainy season. The dry season lasts from October – May and the wet season from June – September. Rainfall is approximately 850 mm. in the south-west district and approximately 750 mm. towards the north. The wettest month is August while the months of June and July have irregular and unevenly distributed rainfalls. The average temperature is between 35o and 22o with the highest temperatures in the high 40’s in March-April and even May and the lowest temperatures in December-January. But even the locals say that the climate is hotter than before.
There are two main winds. The Harmattan blows during the dry season. It is a steady, dry wind that blows from the north to the east. It can be at times very strong and together with a dry mist, is the harbinger of colds for a lot of those living in Maroua. The Moussa is the other wind that blows from the south to the west. It is unsteady and humid and is the wind that determines the rainy season. There are virtually no winds from other directions.
Socio-economic environment
Living conditions in the city are not easy and each is out for himself. The economy of the city is characterized by both traditional and modern commercial activities. But nothing looks modern. There are some regular-type shops but most are lean-to’s or concrete walls covered over with corrugated iron. There is a large proportion of the population engaged in agricultural activities outside of the town.
There are three classes of main crops. Food-producing crops are made up of wet season sorghum and dry season sorghum, millet, corn, peanuts and white beans. Vegetables are also grown in the marshlands around the rivers – onions, tomatoes, carrots, lettuces, chile, gombo and eggplant. However, such crops are affected by irregular rainfall, climatic change and insufficient availability of land. Animal husbandry is the second economic activity in Maroua – cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, poultry, etc. However, Maroua’s demographic explosion has forced the population to spread onto pasture zones and animal corridors for agricultural purposes.
Trade is based mainly on manufactured products and agricultural products from Tchad or Nigeria, other departments or regions or from Maroua itself. The shops and grocery stores are mainly in and around the central market and sell cloth, construction materials, basic foodstuffs and personal toiletry items. There are also the informal traders - street vendors selling food, some clothing items and household wares. Imported goods are expensive so just buying cleaning products and basics such as olive oil and mustard adds up to a goodly amount.
Without a car or bike, the only option for getting around town is by “moto taxi” – motorbike taxis that literally flood the streets. Most are Chinese these days and the drivers have little respect for pedestrians trying to cross the road. It’s a question of venture out and cross when you can. Little buses (the combi-van type) travel to the villages and neighbouring departments.
Cotton was once an important crop in the area. Today, Maroua is known for its leatherwork and other hand crafted products. There are also small producers of construction materials, metalwork and joineries, building constructors, banks and bakeries (some of which make really good French baguettes and croissants).
Linguistic situation of Maroua.
Linguistic situation
There is a diverse range of languages spoken in Maroua. French and English have been the official languages of Cameroon since Independence in 1960. French is the language spoken in Maroua while English is little known. Of the numerous national languages spoken in Maroua and the twelve or so that have broadcast slots on local Cameroun radio, Fulfulde is the most widely spoken. Fulfulde was originally the language of the Peuhl people and is also used today by those of different ethnic origins. It is the vehicular language used in daily administrative and commercial activities and it is also the language used at home by many of non-Peuhl origin.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
This is the heat they talk about
The last few weeks have been really hot, I mean 45 degrees plus and the nights hot too. I am fortunate to be in air-conditioning but the drain on the electricity is such that often the power simply goes out – not only no power but also no internet (slow at the best of times) until things fire up again.
The nights in the garden have been more than balmy – hot, with perspiration running down my face. The locals say it should have started to rain by now, but not so. We have had a couple of heavy showers but they only served to raise the heat from the earth. On the weekends, I walk to the centre of town and to the apartment to see how work is progressing. In whatever way, one needs to face the heat and not flee from it although I must say, all in moderation...
I’ve been out of Maroua to two towns where I was involved in student assessment. There are hamlets and villages of thatched, mud-brick huts along the way and the landscape is dry. People walk the pot-holed roads, cycle or travel on motorbike and there’s always the possibility of cattle crossing the road. The local food is good – simple and tasty – and African hospitality is such that our hosts had something organised to share in the local tavern at the end of our assessment tasks. Conviviality is very important here and people do spend time together – chatting, waiting, sharing.
Then back in town, life goes on in the heat. And everyone is feeling it – a common form of greeting is “how are you going in the heat?”. I try to sit outside in the mornings and evenings to acclimatise, so to speak, and then there’s the pool, the precious swimming pool where the air seems to be that much cooler. I think it’s like living in a cold climate only in reverse. An air-conditioned office is an agreeable temperature haven just as a heated office is in cold and icy climes – a real plus for settling down to work!
The nights in the garden have been more than balmy – hot, with perspiration running down my face. The locals say it should have started to rain by now, but not so. We have had a couple of heavy showers but they only served to raise the heat from the earth. On the weekends, I walk to the centre of town and to the apartment to see how work is progressing. In whatever way, one needs to face the heat and not flee from it although I must say, all in moderation...
I’ve been out of Maroua to two towns where I was involved in student assessment. There are hamlets and villages of thatched, mud-brick huts along the way and the landscape is dry. People walk the pot-holed roads, cycle or travel on motorbike and there’s always the possibility of cattle crossing the road. The local food is good – simple and tasty – and African hospitality is such that our hosts had something organised to share in the local tavern at the end of our assessment tasks. Conviviality is very important here and people do spend time together – chatting, waiting, sharing.
Then back in town, life goes on in the heat. And everyone is feeling it – a common form of greeting is “how are you going in the heat?”. I try to sit outside in the mornings and evenings to acclimatise, so to speak, and then there’s the pool, the precious swimming pool where the air seems to be that much cooler. I think it’s like living in a cold climate only in reverse. An air-conditioned office is an agreeable temperature haven just as a heated office is in cold and icy climes – a real plus for settling down to work!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Life goes on
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been lodged in the hotel. A pleasant change for finally my room at the mission was booked in advance – it was certainly the time to move. I say ‘the’ hotel for everything concerning the university seems to happen in this hotel, which is almost opposite on the other side of the road. After the Presentation of Oaths ceremony in February, the Rector hosted a cocktail for all participants (academic and non-academic staff) and the pool at this hotel has been my repose for exercise and a mental break. So now I can swim to my heart’s content although this past week, tummy upsets had me feeling somewhat weak and I wasn’t able to enjoy the water as much as I would have liked.
The skies here are finally clearing after nearly a week of dry mist mixed with an enormous amount of dust brought down from Chad by the Harmattan wind. When this northerly blows hard, you have to protect your airways – those pictures you see of desert dwellers with cloth wrapped around their faces start to have real meaning! The locals say that the wind and quantity of dust is exceptional but then they say, climate change is affecting everything. Last weekend, the dust cover in my office was such that I took my computer to the hotel to work. The cleaner got to my office on Monday and finally I was able to reinstall . . . Everyone was in the same position but we finally got back to our desks.
One of the joys of being at the hotel is being able to sit outside in the garden at night and enjoy a simple evening meal. The nights are so balmy here and generally calm and clear. To see the trees behind the garden walls and feel embraced by the night sky is so calming and worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the street. I am so very grateful to have this moment of transition from one place of living to another. It gives me another perspective on life here and I feel supported while waiting to move into my apartment. It’s all happening and the move is not very far away.
Perhaps some photos to show you a little of Maroua. There are many more I would like to take but I have given much time to settling in to the university and less, it must be said, to getting to know my environs. However, I’m feeling at home in Maroua and learning much about its people and history.
The skies here are finally clearing after nearly a week of dry mist mixed with an enormous amount of dust brought down from Chad by the Harmattan wind. When this northerly blows hard, you have to protect your airways – those pictures you see of desert dwellers with cloth wrapped around their faces start to have real meaning! The locals say that the wind and quantity of dust is exceptional but then they say, climate change is affecting everything. Last weekend, the dust cover in my office was such that I took my computer to the hotel to work. The cleaner got to my office on Monday and finally I was able to reinstall . . . Everyone was in the same position but we finally got back to our desks.
One of the joys of being at the hotel is being able to sit outside in the garden at night and enjoy a simple evening meal. The nights are so balmy here and generally calm and clear. To see the trees behind the garden walls and feel embraced by the night sky is so calming and worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the street. I am so very grateful to have this moment of transition from one place of living to another. It gives me another perspective on life here and I feel supported while waiting to move into my apartment. It’s all happening and the move is not very far away.
Perhaps some photos to show you a little of Maroua. There are many more I would like to take but I have given much time to settling in to the university and less, it must be said, to getting to know my environs. However, I’m feeling at home in Maroua and learning much about its people and history.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Speaking of challenges
Finally in Maroua and settling in at the university at the Ecole Normale Supérieure (Higher Teachers’ Training College). Perhaps the first challenge to speak of is not having been able to access the Internet to update my blog. There is so much happening here and everyone is doing their best but sometimes the network is down and at others, technicians have been working on it to strengthen the signal. So, I’ll update the blog when I can. Still trying to get some sort of routine established and with unexpected happenings being more the norm than otherwise, this is a little more difficult than you would expect.
Maroua is a good place to be. Some say it’s more like a big village than a city. It’s flat, dusty and spread out but not so big that you can’t walk the major part in an hour or two. There are no high rise to mar the horizon, no supermarkets, in fact, nothing much that reminds one of the packaged, commercially driven pace of what so many elsewhere take for granted. The buildings are concrete and many of the small dwellings of mud brick. The back laneways lead to a labyrinth of courtyards, dwellings and shelters where people live. All is dust and dirt and the depth of the gutters along the main sealed road shows the volume of water that flows when it does rain. But that’s a way off yet and until it does, it’s dust and sometimes a breeze which although pleasant, in town raises the dust.
I’m still at the Baptist Mission where I’ve been lodged since arriving in Maroua. All are very friendly and helpful there and I’m able to prepare a simple meal, hostel style. My stay there has been extended waiting for more permanent accommodation to come available. With the opening of the university, Maroua has suddenly become a university town with the concomitant needs that that implies. Within the past year, there have been 10,000 more people to accommodate, students and university staff, and this pressure has put housing at a premium. So with much patience, we will see what comes about.
Before ending, let me tell you about the ‘moto taxis’ or motorbike taxis that take everyone everywhere. There’s a plethora of them, mostly Chinese the low cost of which has seen ever so many on the roads. Observance of road rules seems sometimes non-existent and pedestrians have to learn to dash and dart in between these two-wheeled movers to cross the road. Even cars have to toot to show they’re there and get the bikes to move to one side. I’ve been fortunate to date to have had most considerate motorbike taxi drivers and when you consider the number of bikes around and potholes in the roads, the calm and reflective riding of your taxi man is all important. The other day, I was taken by bike to see the local tannery on the other side of the (dry) river – two on the bike plus driver. This is not unusual. You even see a child seated in front of the rider and another in front of a female passenger behind. If it’s not a child, you may see a goat – now that really looks like a happy family.
Maroua is a good place to be. Some say it’s more like a big village than a city. It’s flat, dusty and spread out but not so big that you can’t walk the major part in an hour or two. There are no high rise to mar the horizon, no supermarkets, in fact, nothing much that reminds one of the packaged, commercially driven pace of what so many elsewhere take for granted. The buildings are concrete and many of the small dwellings of mud brick. The back laneways lead to a labyrinth of courtyards, dwellings and shelters where people live. All is dust and dirt and the depth of the gutters along the main sealed road shows the volume of water that flows when it does rain. But that’s a way off yet and until it does, it’s dust and sometimes a breeze which although pleasant, in town raises the dust.
I’m still at the Baptist Mission where I’ve been lodged since arriving in Maroua. All are very friendly and helpful there and I’m able to prepare a simple meal, hostel style. My stay there has been extended waiting for more permanent accommodation to come available. With the opening of the university, Maroua has suddenly become a university town with the concomitant needs that that implies. Within the past year, there have been 10,000 more people to accommodate, students and university staff, and this pressure has put housing at a premium. So with much patience, we will see what comes about.
Before ending, let me tell you about the ‘moto taxis’ or motorbike taxis that take everyone everywhere. There’s a plethora of them, mostly Chinese the low cost of which has seen ever so many on the roads. Observance of road rules seems sometimes non-existent and pedestrians have to learn to dash and dart in between these two-wheeled movers to cross the road. Even cars have to toot to show they’re there and get the bikes to move to one side. I’ve been fortunate to date to have had most considerate motorbike taxi drivers and when you consider the number of bikes around and potholes in the roads, the calm and reflective riding of your taxi man is all important. The other day, I was taken by bike to see the local tannery on the other side of the (dry) river – two on the bike plus driver. This is not unusual. You even see a child seated in front of the rider and another in front of a female passenger behind. If it’s not a child, you may see a goat – now that really looks like a happy family.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Beginning the journey
It's been almost a month since I last wrote - so much to do, so much to prepare to get myself packed up and away in two suitcases! Well, yes, the luggage was overweight but that's the way it goes with many things to take that may be either unavailable or very expensive in Cameroon. There were more training days in Melbourne at the AVI (Australian Volunteers International) office at the beginning of January and then just a few days to say goodbye to family and friends before departure. I would like to thank all those who helped me in many little ways and Barbara, Michael, Kristine and Naic who facilitated my departure at the airport. Your help was invaluable.
Arrival in Cameroon went smoothly, quickly learning about Cameroonian time with a 45 minute wait for the luggage to come from the aircraft. A VSO representative was there to pick me up and take me to the hotel. The warm night air reminded me of being in Veracruz, Mexico, and the single story dwellings and city buildings painted a picture of a low-lying, sprawling urban landscape.
The VSO office is located in an old house in the international part of town. There are the dusty and broken-up sidewalks but there are also some trees and with good air circulation, the office maintains a pleasant temperature. Younde is indeed over 700 metres above sea level so it is cooler than Maroua at just over 300 metres a.s.l. in the Far North, making it a good stepping-stone before heading for the hotter climate. The journey by road takes two days, by train and bus a full 24 hours and by plane, well a day given the several hour wait at the airport. So, tomorrow I'm off by plane feeling the weight of mental overload with all the new cultural and logistic information to assimilate. There are challenges still to grapple with but more of those in my next posting.
Arrival in Cameroon went smoothly, quickly learning about Cameroonian time with a 45 minute wait for the luggage to come from the aircraft. A VSO representative was there to pick me up and take me to the hotel. The warm night air reminded me of being in Veracruz, Mexico, and the single story dwellings and city buildings painted a picture of a low-lying, sprawling urban landscape.
The VSO office is located in an old house in the international part of town. There are the dusty and broken-up sidewalks but there are also some trees and with good air circulation, the office maintains a pleasant temperature. Younde is indeed over 700 metres above sea level so it is cooler than Maroua at just over 300 metres a.s.l. in the Far North, making it a good stepping-stone before heading for the hotter climate. The journey by road takes two days, by train and bus a full 24 hours and by plane, well a day given the several hour wait at the airport. So, tomorrow I'm off by plane feeling the weight of mental overload with all the new cultural and logistic information to assimilate. There are challenges still to grapple with but more of those in my next posting.
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