Having been hired by Center for Victims of Torture to be embedded into a Cameroonian organization called Center for Rehabilitation and Abolition of Trauma, I happily landed into my country of residence (at least for the next 11 months). I visited the CRAT Yaounde office, touched base with the American Embassy, visited the Peace Corps office and touched bases with a couple of other NGO
s. Within 5 days, I was on the journey to Bamenda, my new city of residence. Bamenda is in the Anglophone Northwest Region (although it really is central west, neighboring Nigeria). It is gorgeous, tropical, hilly-almost-mountainous, and colorful with all the women and men in brightly colored African cloth. The city of Bamenda (maybe 200,000) is a wild array of dirt and tar roads, with potholes worthy of being called wells or ditches. The Central Market is a vast expanse of tiny stalls of vendors selling anything and everything an African could want. Bargaining is the norm, especially as a White person, where the prices might be doubled or tripled for the initial start point. It really helps to have a Cameroonian along for the shopping as they can both report on what is a normal price and then also help with the negotiations. Fish is one of the staples here and I have been enjoying fish dinners on a regular basis. Huckleberry plant is the green vegetable that is in season now, and chopped with a little pepper and onions, it is delicious. Fu-fu is the staple made from corn meal that has little flavor but is a good vehicle for gravy or soups.
After a week of house-hunting, I found a large place, ridiculously big for a single woman and also ridiculously cheap by American standards. I have Papaya trees and pineapple plants in my yard. I even have a view off my back veranda of one of the waterfalls that surrounds Bamenda. There is alot of room for gardening and growing vegetables if I can get myself motivated. There is the perpetual African problem of intermittent water and electricity. So I am learning to fill up the water barrels and trying to remember to pack a flashlite around the house in the evenings.
