#80 15 Dec 1996 Dear Everyone: For Janice the training operations at OIC are enjoying a month's vacation and for me this is the last week of classes. Now we are thinking about our plans for Bill's visit in a week. Also we expect to see some of our PC colleagues, many of whom will start travelling in the next few days. Wednesday two former Niger PCVs appeared on our doorstep and ended up using our house as a base camp until today when they headed for the twin lakes and Bamenda, planning to follow, in reverse direction, the route we took in September. It was refreshing to talk some Americans and also to compare the similarities and differences between the cultures of Cameroon and Niger. To reduce (is elimination possible?) cheating, I give four different versions of my tests so that copying from a neighbor is likely to unproductive, but on the first test in 209, I found two papers that were clearly copies, and I gave both students zeroes. No student complained. The day after the second test, which was given on Wednesday evening, a student came to ask for a make-up tests, explaining she was unaware of my announcement of two weeks ago that the test had been rescheduled from yesterday. She said she had been away and had missed the test during class on Wednesday, arriving on campus in the afternoon. I told her she had been on campus (or at least nearby), during the test, which was in the evening, and that she would get a zero. After objecting a bit to this news, she asked to have her first test paper returned, her being one of the handful that yet had to be returned. She told me her student number, which I use to code the test papers, and I returned the test. She opened the test paper to look at the grade, gulped, and walked out. My curiosity piqued, I checked my grade book and learned she had received a zero for cheating. Ten minutes later a second student came in to retrieve her test paper. My checking of my grade book confirmed what I strongly suspected, that this student was the partner in crime. Janice and I are often asked whether we regret not having a car here, given all the inconveniences of public transportation. We now know that our daily use of taxis is the most important factor, by far, in our acculturation here, and we are really glad not to have a car. Invariably, when we ride in the taxis in Buea, all 5-passenger vehicles, there are three in back and two sharing a bucket seat in front, plus the driver, so that our contact with Cameroonians is intimate. Of course, conversation in the taxi is incessant, so that a great deal of information, news, and gossip circulate this way. Much of the talk is in Pidgin, so we get free language training. By now our Pidgin is good enough to follow most conversations readily. Our fluency in understanding Pidgin was confirmed last weekend when two female passengers got into a heated and complicated argument in Pidgin with the driver, and we had us trouble following the argument. Aside from providing, a great cultural education, our taxi rides give us an endless supply of stories to share with each other. There are many subtleties to be understood in another culture, adn it takes years to fully undestand them. Nevertheless, our education in teh subtleties of using taxis seems complete. But of what use will this knowledge be when we return we return to the states? The Cameroonian mail conspiracy continues, and we can only thank Rose Wilansky for a letter. Love, Dad (Edwin) #80.5 22 Dec 1996 Dear Everyone: With a rush of grading of tests and totalling of scores, classes for the semester ended on Friday, and final exams will start on 6 January. Now we have two weeks of "vacation" during which the faculty can fret about the preparations of final exams, and the students can fret about taking them. I originally thought that during our second year here we would become attuned to the more subtle differences between US and Cameroon culture. Instead, I am seeing some changes in Cameroon, or at least that part I come in contact with. For one thing, the economic climate seems modestly improved. I see more construction and I see more intercity traffic in the form of much busier motor (taxi) parks. On the down side, the university is eroding as an island of organization in a sea of chaos. I and the students left campus yesterday for vacation without knowing the cams schedule, which has yet to be constructed, in part because the Arts faculty (who else?) have yet to submit all the semester's registration forms (due around 1 November). I warned my students that it was quite likely, but not guaranteed, that my final would be offered on the day they return. On a lighter note, on Friday, just like everybody else, I received my invitation to yesterday's (Saturday) holiday party at the vice-chancellor's house. The food at the party was served 3 1/2 hours late because of a transportation foul-up that stranded the food at OIC. As far as Janice can learn, OIC received the order for the food (for 150) on Friday (around the same time I received my invitation?). Tomorrow we go into Douala to pick up Bill who will visit for a week before going to Nairobi and we know not what. Our plans for his visit are only tentative, as we await his input. I have been slowly repairing the bicycle I borrowed, hindered by extreme scarcity of parts and newly discovered problems, e.g. a split sidewall on the front tire and a bent chain ring. Today I have some hope of taking a ride to Beautown market (about 3k. gek). I hope Bill brings some parts I requested. We will supplement whatever he brings with purchases in Douala when I take Bill on a tour of that town. Now a taxi story. Taxis are somewhat of an exception to the rule that every price is (highly) negotiable. Each town has a fixed fare of 30 cents for what is called a "drop." A drop is some well known distance. For example, in Beau any ride is one drop. In Kumba, any ride from the edge of town to the center is one drop. Thus a ride across town is two drops. A stranger to a town is at the mercy of the taxi drivers, a ruthless and uncharitable lot. Whites are always assumed to be strangers who know neither the fare nor what is a drop. Thus we constantly do battle with larcenous drivers who try to charge 5 to 10 times the correct price. We are always armed with knowledge of the drop price of 30 cents, and in unfamiliar places we try to determine the drop distance before engaging a taxi. While paying rent on our post box I saw numerous bags of unopened mail laying about. Whether incoming or outgoing I know not, but the sight did not inspire confidence int eh mail system and may explain the present drought, which continues. We can thank Linda Sumner, Carolyn Corliss, and Melody Weisman for letters. Love, Dad (Edwin) #81 28 December 1996 Dear Everyone: When we received a letter from Bill telling us he was going to visit us and fly via American Airlines, we groaned. When we went to the airport Monday and tried to confirm his flight out this coming Tuesday we learned the flight had been cancelled (possibly because of the few passengers) we groaned again. When we greeted Bill we learned that in choosing between leaving today or a week from today he opted for today, and we groaned yet again. The brevity of his stay forbade any real traveling, and we spent our five days together exploring the local area, mostly on foot. The longest of these walks was a 20 km stroll to Limbe, which turned out to be quite nice. We stayed overnight, which gave us enough time to spend the afternoon at Mile 6 Beach and be entertained by a family of monkeys that has taken p residence. Also, we were invited to dinner two evenings by different Cameroonian families, exposing Bill to excellent examples of Cameroonian cuisine. Today we finished Bill's whirlwind tour with some shopping at the Artisinart Centrale in Douala where he made some choices and I did the bargaining. He bought (with our money) a table cloth and a wall hanging from the same artisan from whom Gwen bought her wall hanging depicting giraffes. We originally intended to visit Korup National Park with Bill but could not. Although the details are still up in the air, tomorrow Janice and I will head for Korup despite Bill's not being with us. Bill was kind enough to bring along some bike parts. Today, in Douala I bought enough supplementary parts to finally get the Peugeot functioning well. Now I have learned PC is going to give us mountain bikes on 11 January, at long last. [originally for PCVs in CAR, pre-evacuation. gek]. While the Peugeot is good for the road, the mountain bikes will give us quite a bit more freedom to explore the more remote areas in the South West Province. Some more on taxis, especially since today we were doing constant battle with the numerous taxi drives whose vehicles we rode. one rule of the fare negotiations game states that if neither party says anything, then the standard "one drop" fare of 150 CFA (in Buea) or 149 CFA (in Douala) applies. (Although 500 CFA = US$1, the best perspective on the 150 CFA fare would involve comparing it to my 160,000 CFA monthly pay.) The two major gambits n response to the silent acceptance of the standard fare are the passengers' payment of exact change and the driver's giving short change when given a large amount. today's experience was a tour de force of all the variations of these themes. We gave exact change, we got short change, we negotiated and negotiated and negotiated. Although we get to the airport by paying one drop, all the drivers wanted a whopping 2500 to get out, so we walked the 200 meters to the main road and negotiated a one-drop ride back into Douala. We received marvelous letters from Margaret Krawiec, the Laskys, the Avitzurs, Mimi Stanford, Nan Rubin, and Gwen. We thank Gwen and them. Love, Dad (edwin) LETTER #82 5 January 1997 Dear Everyone: Today's letter, mostly about our trip to Korup National Park, is a joint effort. Janice wrote the first part, then I inserted some parenthetical commands and also wrote the second part. The trip to Korup: A Review What a grand adventure. This four-day experience was shared with four other PCVs (including Prabasaj) and two friends visiting Prabasaj. Prabasaj was the tour director, having made plans to travel from Idenau by boat to Mundemba, location of the park headquarters. We were well organized; the plan: meet at about 8 at the Mile 17 Taxi Park, 12/29. On the 29th, at 5:30 Ed goes for a run, and I stay behind to bake chocolate chippers for s surprise birthday party for Ed the next day. I also make great spaghetti omelets from leftovers. Dear Pam (PCV) makes a surprise visit at 7:15! A change of plans. Prabasaj biked to Limbe to confirm arrangements with Seagram's Travel Agency (better named Fly-By-Night Bumblers) so we need not be at Mile 17 for 8. No sooner do we arrive at Prabasaj's then Prabasaj arrives with a vehicle and a Seagram's driver. We are to drive directly to the docks at Idenau (rather than the time consuming city taxi to Mile 17, intercity taxi to Limbe, intercity taxi to Idenau routine). We are comfortably seated (a rare treat to have only 3-across in a mini-van) and whisked away. By 12:30 we are at Idenau, a small fishing port (and trans-shipping point for smuggling goods from Nigeria), bustling with activity: gendarmes drinking, women roasting fish, men packing bales of greens for market, others milling around on the beach and a bridge over the inlet. The tide was out, so we can't leave right away (so Seagram claims, but I think they were having trouble making instant arrangements). We eat. Traversing the town we discover a small sunny cove (which to American eye looks like a great place to swim but to African eyes looks like a great place for an outdoor outhouse, which the American eyes and noses soon discover). Some of us get into swimsuits to take a dip. As we prepare to plunge into the ocean, Prabasaj arrives to say the boat is ready. So let's go over to the pier and pile i. We do so at 3:00, but something goes awry (the skipper takes his pay but then refuses to leave because of Seagram's previous debt; negotiations must be consummated with a second skipper); we don't get off until 5:30 (in a different boat). Our speed boat (an open fiberglass tub with a 75hp motor hung on the back) cuts through the open seas (thankfully serenely calm), heading up the west coast of Cameroon. The sun over our left should is lowering toward the horizon (will we get to our destination before dark?). Of course it is a gorgeous sight. The sea air is gentle and mild. The sky darken and stars come out (our only source of light). We stop for petrol at one village, for a flashlight at a second village (why doesn't the skipper have one?) to guide us up a river channel. The pilot skillfully cruises up a river way banked by silhouettes of mangrove plants (it is actually close to pitch black, and the pilot conserve the flashlight batteries by occasionally flashing it to get bearings, especially when we appear to be heading for the mangroves). The phosphorescent sea life (stirred by our wake) is a spectacle to behold (thankfully alerting other boats to our presence and doubtless responsible for our avoiding collisions with other boats, also unlit). Probably because of an ongoing skirmish between Nigeria and Cameroon over the Bokassi Peninsula (and its underlying oil) we are unable to boat to Mundemba, and our destination changes to Ekondo Beach. On the approach to Eknod Beach we are pulled over by gendarmes asking for our IDs. The processing was quick. Unfortunately the pilot had no papers, but he was allowed to pass (and warned that he would be shot if he tried to return down rive that night). He was going to drop us off and return to Idenau, so he told the officials. It is 9:30. In Ekond Beach we go through customs (why customs when we never left Southwest Province?) displaying our Peace Corps IDs. The officials are curious (why not take the much easier and less costly over-land route? Are your really going to walk into town?) but do not delay us. Now we are ready for a 4km trek to a hotel in Ekondo Titi (town). The walk was a great way to stretch our legs, and we managed no to fall in any ditches in the road (not counting the unpaved road itself, which was one big ditch). At the hotel there were two vacant rooms with overhead fans (the other vacant rooms were stifling). A patron vacated a third room for Ed and me, and an effective table fan was brought in. There is no running water in Ekond Titi (in the dry season), but the proprietor provided large buckets of water for bathing (more than one might expect for $6 per room per night). Not well publicized, the hotel did have a "shower." Receiving deference for my age, I wastaken to the secret shower. BY 11:00 I was comfortably in bed, and by 11:15 I was asleep (having spent a full day traveling about 150 miles). The day dawned bright on the 30th, and off we went to meet more unexpected adventures. [switch to Dad-mode now, faithful reader. gek] All but Janice and I piled into a Corrolla taxi (6 being the standard load of passengers in that area) for the 65 km trip to Mundemba. Janice and I waited 1 1/2 hours for the next taxi to get its quota of six and caught up with the others, who meanshilw had paid park fees, bought food, and hired guides for a 3-day trip in Korup. The park is only accessible by foot via a spectacular suspension overlooking a rocky gorge. In our three days in Korup we covered around 45 km in one of the world's prime tropical rain forests, noted for its great biodiversity in both plants and animals. Although it teems with wildlife, we must have been on the wrong teem [I dint't write this! gek], because we saw essentially none; we did hear many ominous sounds, and we did see lots of jungle. My suspicions that we were foolish to expect our boat pilot to live up to his agreement to meet us a Ekond Beach for the return trip were well-founded. We gave him an extra hour to show up and then took the arduous overland route back to Buea, adding a number of good taxi stories to my extensive collection. Finals start on time tomorrow, but just barely. The schedule was released last Thursday, and most professors have been at the university getting their exams copied over the weekend, the paper having been brought in last Friday. On the home front, we have been confronting a cooking gas shortage for three months. We worried about the problem abstractly until tonight, when we ran out of gas. The mails are starting to move again, so we can thank Barbara Rubin, the Ticho-Lotts, Kathy Barrett, the Clumps, Bill, and the Delphs for letters. Love, Dad (Edwin) #83 12 January 1997 Dear Everyone: I am now in the midst of grading final exams, as both of my courses had their exams on Monday, the schedule having been posted the previous Friday. About half of my students in abstract algebra had a conflict with a management final, which my department head resolved half an hour before the particular exams were to begin, by telling the students they would take the management exam and then be herded by me to the algebra exam. In the next thirty minutes I informed the management teacher of the problem and negotiated the logistical details. For the last four weeks OIC students have been on vacation, so Janice has spent all of her time in the Pavilion kitchen preparing her various specialties. She has also been preparing notes for lectures on various cooking procedures. The students return tomorrow, and shortly Janice will go back to instruction, her favorite activity at OIC. PC finally gave us our bicycles, an after effect of the evacuation of PCVs from CAR. I now have the use of a Trek 830 and Janice of a Trek 850. Janice brought my bike home by taxi, and i rode Janice's home, my first real mountain bike experience except for our riding our Burley Rock 'n Roll (tandem). I was quite surprised how well the bike handles dirt roads: it is especially well suited to Buea's pot-holed roads. I am looking forward to some extensive exploration of some of the more isolated villages around Buea. Yesterday we traveled to Kumba for a quarterly meeting of the South West province PCVs, some of whom swore in last week and appeared quite over-whelmed. We stopped in Mayuka along the way to talk with one of my recitation instructors and then continued on in a 5 person but 6-passengers-plus driver Corolla which was supposed to take us to downtown Kumba rather than to the taxi park at the outskirts. This violates the rules that distinguish intra-urban from inter-urban taxis, but our Corolla looks like an inter-urban taxi. Near Kumba, however, we were traded into an interurban mini-bus which dropped us at the taxi-park, which then required us to spend addition monies to get to town. Usually I make a fuss about such things and Janice gets impatiently exasperated, but this time I shrugged and Janice commenced to put u a big stink with plenty of shouting and gesticulating. I patiently waited for her to lose the argument, although she was right. I was astounded to see her win the argument and get us a free ride into town in the mini bus, which was being taken to town for fuel. The untrustworthiness of Cameroonian banks has been a nagging worry all during our time here. About 20 of 27 banks have failed here over the past ten years. (Strangely, none of them are covered by FDIC.) We are afraid to keep our pay in cash at the house because it is paid quarterly, which makes the sum substantial. We are somewhat less afraid, but afraid to keep it in a bank. At present, we have the money spread out in three banks. Hearing rumors of problems at one bank, we pulled most of our money out, but now the bank is in deep trouble,a nd the remaining small amount appears lost. We n ow suspect the second of our banks to be in trouble and will try to withdraw much of our money tomorrow. What we will do with this money is unclear. The mail is picking up again, with Prabasaj receiving a package mailed last February (and including some stale Mike & Ike candies from Bethlehem) and our being able to acknowledge letters from Dave Kniager, Bill (dated 15 October and marked Missent to Malaysia!?!), Rose Wilansky, Sumners (both copies), Smackeys, Chava Weissler, Roy Vella, Gwen, Talia, Stephanie Katz, and Barbara Johnson. Love, Dad (Edwin) #84 19 Jan 1997 Dear Everyone: Last February, the night the results of the country-wide municipal elections were announced, our friends the Bechems took us to a local mimbo house (bar). There we met Zachary Nko, who that night had had a bit to drink, and who was gleefully and repetitively citing the results as a bad omen for the governing party, because about 1/3 of the municipalities were opposition hands. Around that time, our shortwave radio was stolen, and I replaced it with an inexpensive AM-FM with the intention of weaning myself from the VOA and the BBC in favor of a steady diet of news from the local station. I soon came to admire the work of one radio announced and eventually realized this was the person I had met in the mimbo house. Zachary delivers his material, which is quite flowery but extremely well craft and which is clearly written by him, slowly and with long pauses that allow it to sink in. Overall, the effect is quite powerful, although reminiscent of the Bob and Ray routine, the Slow Talkers of America, a tape of which I hope to eventually send him. Over the intervening months since meeting him, I have become fairly friendly with Zachary, because I often see him walking between the radio station and his house which is somewhere in our neighborhood, as is the radio station. A few months ago, he prevailed upon me to be interviewed for his weekly sports show, which was a bit awkward given my ignorance of the only real Cameroonian sport, football (soccer). This week he asked to interview me again, because he got wind of my probably running of the Mt. Cameroon race in a few weeks. His original plan of taping the interview foiled by faulty equipment, he interviewed me live, toward the end of the hour long program, after the voluminous football reportage. I was astounded to see with my own eyes that Zachary's "copy" consisted of 12 lines (I counted) of notes and that everything else was extemporaneous, complete with elaborate references to past sports and political events, including names, dates, scores, etc. I now realize that participating in the interview and stating my intention to run the race was a major blunder, because it seems that almost everyone in Buea listens to the program and feel I have made a commitment. On the plus side, I have learned a lot about Zachary's background as I have talked with people about the interview. He is extremely well respected, with many people considering him the best journalist in Cameroon. He has traveled the world, announcing football matches for Cameroon, matches including a number of Olympics and a number of World Cups. But what is he doing in the bush league town of Buea? Why isn't he in the show in Yaounde? Apparently Zachary is an opposition "militant," an impolitic act when the government owns the radio and TV networks. Today, Terry Lushen, the PCV from Kumba, joined me in a training run part way up the mountain, as he will also enter the race. It looks like I won't be the first American finisher. A dam broke, and we received a flood of mail this week, with 13 pieces arriving on one day. So, we thank Gwen five times, the Melcherts, Chava, Ann Loux, Jean Davis, Barbara Epstein, Marge May, Brenda Schultz, Adair Dingle, Joanne Feigl, the Lindgrens, and Don Davis. Love, Dad (Edwin) #86 24 Jan 1997 Dear Everyone, It has been an eventful week, so I will apologize now for what is likely to be a long letter. With marking of finals pretty much completed, I and Prabasaj planned a two-day, 180 km bike trip around Mt. Cameroon, starting Tuesday morning. Monday afternoon I urinated a stream of what looked like dark red blood. Somewhat taken aback, I called PC to confirm what I thought they would advise, that I go to Yaounde for medical tests. I reached Yaounde Tuesday afternoon to begin a round of urine and stool tests, sonograms, etc. At the Yaounde PC office there is a medical section consisting of a nurse, a lab technician (armed with a fairly complete lab) and two doctors. Some of my examinations and tests were done in-house, with a culture test being done by a more extensively equipped lab in Yaounde, some blood samples sent to Washington for extensive analysis, and the sonogram performed by a urologist who consults for PC. Although the diagnosis is not yet definitive, my doctor thinks I have a urinary tract infection and is treating it with a five-day course of antibiotics which finishes tomorrow. I will return to Yaounde in two weeks to confirm a cure and thus the diagnosis. The medical care seemed quite good. It was noteworthy for the candor of both my PC doctor and the urologist. Without my prodding or prompting they kept me fully aware of what they were doing, why they were doing it, and the status of the diagnosis. This is in marked contrast to the way medical personnel behave in the states. I am unsure of the reason for the difference. Perhaps doctors here are less prone to see themselves as authorities wielding (and monopolizing) great power. Perhaps here whites are seen as educated and intelligent and thus capable of understanding medical information. I asked both physicians at length about the implications for running the Mountain Race. Without commenting on the sanity of the enterprise, neither thought the infections, which should be absent by then, presented any problem. Yesterday, Janice and I accepted an invitation to visit a French volunteer in Limbe who lives in quite different circumstances than we do. He has just bought a new four-wheel drive car, and he leases a beautiful house on the ocean. The house sits on a promontory overlooking a series of rocky coves and viewing a string of tropical islands just off-shore. His kitchen is equipped with a combination gas and electric stove (which makes it easy to deal with gas shortages; just switch to the electric burners) and with can only be described as a walk-in refrigerator. The volunteer, Jean-Claude, has a cook and a caretaker. Jean-Claude arranged a boat ride out to the tropical islands, which have a quite unusual geological background. A (geological) while ago a huge lava flow created a peninsula. Subsequently, sea action washed away the less durable material, leaving behind a string of small islands honey-combed with caves and arches. Also left behind on the same string were small monoliths. We landed on one of the islands which rises about 300 feet and covers perhaps 30 acres. We ascended to the top where we inspected an abandoned village which used to have about 150 occupants in very close quarters. I suspect the villagers inhabited such an inhospitable place for defensive purposes. While on our way to inspect an island covered in jungle, we were accosted by the harbor police, whose main job consists of interdicting goods smuggled from Nigeria. They arrested our pilot for having an unsafe boat (true--it was a leaky hulk made from a large log but in roughly the same class as most of the other boats in Limbe) and for lacking life jackets (true--but until saw the life jackets of the smug harbor police, I had seen as many snowballs as life jackets in Cameroon). We were towed to Limbe where we took a taxi back the few miles to our point of embarkation, and the skipper and his crew entered into serious negotiation with the police, who were threatening to destroy the boat. We are quite sure there is at least one unopened bag of mail at the post office, but we can thank Don Davis, Norm Melchert, the Waldemans, and Dave Kniager for letters. Love, Dad (Edwin) #87 31 Jan 1997 Dear Everyone: This letter will be short, because I am writing earlier in the week than usual and because it has been a quiet week. First, the anti-biotics were effective, and my urine is free of blood. We finished assigning grades sin the Math department, and I was praised for my high pass rates (75%, 78%) and for being the department stalwart with 435 grades assigned. Yesterday, after celebrating the end of the semester with the department we went to Douala to pick up Barbara and Nan Rubin. Tomorrow we leave for a tour of NorthWest and West Provinces. Now, for a change of pace, three immigrant stories. The father of PCV #! was born to a wealthy family in the Ukraine. Unfortunately the Russian Civil War occurred there, and the family tried to leave. Successive attempts at bribing border guards failed until the money was exhausted and the family was smuggled out. I am PCV #1. The great grandparents of PCV #2 tried o enter the US in Seattle but were turned back to China because of illness, a child being born during the brief stay. That child, a US citizen by birth, emigrated at age 18. PCV #2 is Maia Hightower (whose father is part Cherokee, so I suppose can't tell an immigrant story). PCV #2 was born in New Haven, while his parents were post-docs at Yale. At age 1, he and his family moved to Bengali, India. Wishing to attend the U of Utah graduate school, he went to the Indian Embassy for an exit visa and learned the was not an Indian citizen but a US citizen who was illegally in India because his passport expired. A quick trip to the US embassy produced the needed document. PCV #3 is Prabasaj, my officemate. Thanks to Gwen, Steve Krawiec, Talia, and Marianne Cunningham for letters. Love, Dad (Edwin) #88 7 FEB 1997 Dear Everyone: Again I am writing a little early. This week we are taking Barbara and Nan to Limbe Sunday and Monday, and I am running the mountain race tomorrow, something I will write about next week. I will say now that in addition to me and Terry, a PCV, Amare Worku, is running. Amare is a naturalized Ethiopian emigre whose immigrant story m ay be intersting, but all I know is that he entered the US when in college. Alan Wolfe, who returned to PAID for a second volunteer stint, joined Janice, Barbara, Nan and me for a tour of the NorthWest Province. This trip repeated previous trips to Bandjoun, Bafoussam, Foumban, Bamdenda, and Sabga, thus allowing us to anticipate most problems that came up. to make the bush taxi experience e more palatable we bought an extra seat so that we could have three people occupying a seat designed for three people--such decadence, given that the Cameroonians seat four across. Our trip was similar to previous trips to the NorthWest so I will only mention a few details. We went to visit PCV Rita Pluaenkanski in Bafut and then walked into town. Rita volunteers at a private school occupying about 2 hills outside Bafut. She lives in a Swiss-style chalet guest house of three bedrooms. Made of stone, native wood, and ceiling to floor glass, it is quit large--now in first place for the nicest PCV house in Cameroon, a stark contrast to the minuscule two room mud hut of the PCV we visited in the hills of Sabga. Our walk into downtown Bafut was about 5km on a mostly dirt road and gave us a literal taste of the dry season inland in Cameroon. We were tramping through finely granulated dirt, 1-4þ thick on the road. The air was quite dusty because of sand blown down from the Sahara by the Harmattan wind and because of the monumental billows of dust raised by passing cars. When we travel by bus to Bamenda there are numerous stops for military checkpoints and toll gates, and a rest stop in the town of Kekem. At each checkpoint and toll gate there is a loud clamor as food vendors shout the names of items they are trying to sell through the windows of the bus--tangerine, sugar cane, pineapple, carrots, cabbage, honey, cola nut, etc. Often the end of a transaction occurs with the bus moving away and the vendor trying to get money or make change. Kekem, by some mysterious arrangement, is a rest spot for all buses traveling form Littoral and SouthWest Provinces to Bamenda. The vendors made the speed of American as food look sluggish. They crowd around you as you descend from the bus, offering various African delicacies-- calabash seed pudding, thin strips of roasted meat, roast plantain--and more mundane items like cake and yogurt. Behind the narrow strip of buildings is þporta-bushþ the African comfort station A little slow to finish this letter, I can report on þAscension du Mt. Camerounþ after all. I will concentrate on the differences from my last race up the mountain. This race started lower on the mountain, and was about 6 miles longer. From the start to the summit the rise was 3467 meters (11,375þ). On my topographical map the one-way distance was 16.25km. Thus the average grade was 21%. Taking the grade into account (a rare necessity--John Sumner, are you reading this?) yields the actual one way distance of 16.61km and a total displacement of 29.65 miles. About 6 miles into the race, because of the very steep ascent, I (and all the competitors around me) hit þthe wallþ as we exhausted the glycogen in our muscles. Then the þraceþ turned into an agonizingly slow crawl up the mountain as our bodies metabolized fat for energy. Despite having to walk slowly and rest often near the summit, I could run on descending, perhaps because I was using different muscles. Because I favor my bad knee, I was low coming down, finishing in 10 hours, missing a medal by 30 minutes. I have yet to see Terry Luschen, but he finished in 8 hours, and Amare dropped out. The race was better organized than the last one, but they ran out of water, an egregious sin given the crystal clear weather and bright tropical sun. Nevertheless, I stayed quite hydrated. On the mountain automatic-weapon-equipped militia were quite effective at turning back illegal race entrants. Toddy, my worst pain comes form a mild sunburn on my calves. At 8 this morning an enterprising photographer from another province found my house and sold me three pictures o of me from the race. This week I thank Dave & Bertha Kniager, Don Davis, Gwen, Margaret Krawiec, and Chava Weissler for letter. Love, Dad (Ed #89 16 Feb 1997 Dear Everyone: Things are almost back to usual as we got Barbara and Nan to the Douala airport and their Air France flight without incident. The pace of their visit was a bit easier this week as we spent two days in Limbe and included a taxi ride (rather than our previous treks with our Cameroonian friend Fred and with Bill) to the Engleberg Mission and Catholic Church in Bonjango. this Limbe trip began the day after the Mt. Cameroon race but the worst after effects for me was a mild sunburn on my calves. School was supposed to start this past Wednesday, following public holidays on Monday & Tuesday, but the class schedule was not available until Thursday. Also, many students apparently will not return to campus until tomorrow. In each of my two Thursday classes about 25 of 200 showed up, so I began the semester. This semester, by the way, I am teaching two different calculus courses for non-majors, one with about 360 students, the other with about 100 students. Our plans for returning home are now fairly clear. Janice will fly home about 20 May, and I will fly home about 26 June. For the rest of this letter, I will talk about the Cameroonian family. To set the context, I note that because both Muslims and a number of tribal traditions include polygamy, the law allows Cameroonian men to have multiple wives. Some traditional leaders, called fons, in the NorthWest Province have as many as 30 wives, although some (many?) of them are inherited from deceased brothers and father and are therefore wards rather than for romantic relationships. Many Cameroonian men who are neither Muslim nor indulging in traditional practices take advantage of this law and take multiple wives. To further set the context, I note that Cameroonians are very tolerant of pre- marital and extra-marital affairs. Thus, a good proportion of Janiceþs female students and colleagues are single parents. Now, the Cameroonian family is an extended family. Any given household has a head, direct off-spring, perhaps a spouse (or two), numerous c cousins, nephews and nieces, and some other people of unclear relationship. Today, for example, I visited the Njohþs so I could fix their sonþs bike, armed with parts I bought yesterday in Kumba. I was sure to find someone home, because the Njohþs have their children, Hanþs brother, Gladysþs brother, the children of Gladysþs recently deceased sister, and about three other people who always seem to be about and I assume live there. (I am told that some Fonsþ compounds might house 30 or more children who call each other sister or brother but who are unclear exactly of how they are all related.) These households are created by a simple principle: Those who have take care of those who have not. This principle unfortunately encourages the quite common practice of couples living apart because of different employment locations. For example, when Mrs. Toh, one of my recitation instructors, talked of study in the U.S., I simply assumed, quite correctly, that she planned to leave her husband and children here during the three to four years of study. The large households and large families also lead to diffuse child care. The infant is tended by the mother, but the weaned child is cared for by an older sibling or one of the other members of the household. Children are often shipped out to grandparents or aunts or uncles. In a nutshell, the immediate American family is much more tightly knit than the immediate Cameroonian family, but the extended Cameroonian family is much more interdependent and caring than the extended American family. Thanks to Glenn Blanck, Jean Davis, the Longs, Rona Roberts, and John Sumner for letters. Love, Dad (Edwin)