Saving the World

While saving the world is one of our Peace Corps objectives, we were allowed a brief respite last night.

Actually, our training schedule truly is intense. We have a 7pm curfew, which is good in that it ensures that we are spending some quality time with our ‘Roonian families. Plus, that way, when I am home at 8pm I don’t feel like I am missing out on any fun, cause I know we are all having home-time! So, through careful negotiations, we got our curfew extended to 9pm last night.

A few general photos:

My new friend David is not quite sure about this.

The girls are showing off/checking out our newest Cameroonian fashion statements.

Whiskey is sold here in little plastic sacks. We strongly support that industry. It’s especially tasty when mixed with the local grapefruit soda, demonstrated here. Even tastes healthy!!

Local Cameroonian cookie. Another industry I like.

Amigas Melissa and Siobhan.

To prove that I am doing legit technical training, I got elected as Secretary of the model Village Savings and Loan Association. The trainees are running this among ourselves, with real cash, as part of our training. I am learning a lot! Past Peace Corps volunteers have effectively started such associations at their posts.

Finally, it’s funny how when I am so surrounded by people, I crave a little time to myself, to read, write, and remember why I am here and what I want out if it. Yet at the same time, it’s during these needed moments alone that I get waves of old memories—friends’ faces from Haiti, DC, even back to Canada—flooding over me, and I feel a twinge of loneliness. I know that loneliness is part of the package PC promises every volunteer. So I am currently trying to balance the sometimes overwhelming social options of the training environment, where all of us trainees live in the same village, with the fact that during the next two years of service, I will be relatively isolated and my best friends might be some bushes/camels!

Hope every one is doing well! :)

Arrived Alive!

I’m HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERE!!

Sorry it took so long to post that most basic update! I arrived in Cameroon on June 7. A couple words to describe life since then: Whirlwhind! Muddy! Funny accents!!

So far, I’m happy with Peace Corps! I’m stimulated by the new people—we are a group of 38 trainees undergoing this new experience together. I’m excited to be here in Cameroon—absorbing the new culture and trying to fit into my host family, where I’ll be staying throughout this initial 3-month training period. I now have an African “Ma,” as I call her, and three younger brothers. Although living under somebody else’s roof is sometimes challenging, it was exactly this type of integration and understanding that I wanted back when I was in Haiti. The French here definitely has a different accent to it, so I ask “Comment?” a lot. I’m starting to get used to the new sound, and am even finding myself adapting my speech so I have a little more African ring.

We are plenty busy—classes all day long in cross-cultural integration, French, and the technical training, which is my favorite part! Coursework in Cameroonian economy and history, different types of microfinance organizations, NGOs, and my role in all of that for the next two years. On July 12^th we find out where in Cameroon we will be posted for our two years. It’s most likely that I’ll either stay in this central area where we are currently training (google “Bangante” if you are curious), or that I’ll get shipped to the Extreme North. Yes, that is the name of a province!

That’s big deal because if I go North, I’ll learn Fulfulde, which is spoken by populations not only in the ‘Roon, but also Mali, Senegal, Nigeria, Niger, and Chad. The north is also seen as more traditionally African, with fewer western influences, and a much stronger Muslim population. I hear it’s also hard to get fruit up there! (uh oh. I have been eating pineapples and papayas down here in the South like it is my job!) I just hope their girls play soccer. The chicas are definitely kicking it down here, and Cameroonians are good!

So a few highlights of life so far:

· Twice now, on my way out the door, Ma asks me “Katy, est-ce que tu portes un bustier aujourd’hui? Il fait froid là, tu ne veux pas devenir malade!” Kate, are you wearing a bra today? It’s cold outside, you don’t want to get sick!

· After about five consecutive meals when I’ve pleaded with Ma that I have NO MORE ROOM in my stomach, and that I really cannot finish those plantains/rice/unidentified starch occupying half my plate, she is convinced that I am not kidding. I swear she can eat three times as much as me! I am going to waddle out of this town in 3 months.

· On the waddling note, I got up early Monday morning to join Ma for her early morning aerobics program, which she does following along a local TV program. Lying on the floor, doing butt squeezy exercises til I thought I could never squeeze my butt again!

· Last weekend, I somehow got myself into a dance-off competition with a local 16 year old, at a birthday party I wasn’t even invited to. I’m an awful dancer. But I won! Way to represent the US government and your taxpayer dollars.

· Last night, we had a soccer game with almost all the PC trainees and trainers. Think teams of approximately 15 v. 17. Madness. And we played on red red dirt. At the end of the game, when I thought I could hardly walk, I took a good look down at my shins and realized I’d gotten about 4 shades REDDER from all the dirt! Half of us STILL have red legs today. And we do shower!!

· Finally, I somehow managed to anchor a successful relay team. The race? Girls v. boys, teams of five. Put the condoms on the Sex-ed model “prosthetic.” Peace Corps wants to make sure we get these important things right! The girls, despite our natural disadvantage, won the race. I was so nervous my hands were shaking! And they smelled like latex for the rest of the day. (The condoms were expired anyway—no worries, we weren’t wasting good rubber.)

Weird Cameroonian food tasted for the day: Spaghetti with tomatoes, avocados, mayonnaise, and sweetened condensed milk?! Nasty!

I have limited internet access, but love all the messages, comments, or singing telegrams you wanna send!

My mailing address:

Kate Fleurange

U.S. Corps de la Paix

B.P. 215 Yaounde, Cameroon

I have a phone! 011 237 4979 6028. And yes, I’m going by the middle name here cause there are really way too many Kates in the world!

Lots of love to all :)

The transition

May 27, 2008

Last night in DC, I told some of my best friends Estera and Elizabeth that I am at a point in my life where I have a lot of love to give, that I am happy, doing exactly what I want to be doing with my life right now. At times like this when I feel overcome with love for the people around me, I just want to cry. Which in fact is what I am doing now as I sit in the Washington Reagan airport, at 5:30 am waiting for a flight back to Lafayette, LA.

The last time I felt this surge of teary love was actually about four weeks ago, standing in my sister’s bedroom, just after she left the house. Since that time, I’ve had the chance to have a virtual People I Love Parade. I’m flying back to Lafayette after a three-week tour of DC-and-everywhere-in-a-6-hour-driving-range: Charleston WV, Roanoke, Charlotte, New York, some woods in WV… it has been busy!

At this time yesterday, I was sleeping in a tent on cold roots and rocks in a West Virginia campground, surrounded by 15 friends, both old and new. It was a weekend that so perfectly typifies what my life in DC has been during the three years before I moved to Haiti. I’m still amazed at the new people I meet here, and thrilled to watch the mingling of those I’ve known for years, with those I’ve known only for months. I love discovering new friends of friends, who I would steal for myself if I were in DC longer! I told Estera last night that a weekend like this is like a Veggie Delight sub from Subway, where every bite tastes different, a unique blend of assorted vegetable goodness—one bite lots of olives, another is a huge chunk of cheese... So is each moment a unique blend as my diverse friends come together to share, bond, and form a whole new type of veggie camping combo.

Many people have asked how I’ve felt to transition from the shock of poverty that is Haiti, back to the known territory of the US. The transition has been so much smoother than I might have expected, mainly for two reasons. First, I know my time in the States is temporary. As I sat in a fabulous restaurant for dinner with a friend recently, I fully enjoyed my surroundings, at the same time holding a twinge that said, “Thank God I won’t be expected to do this on a regular basis, this is exactly the type of luxury my colleagues in Haiti could only dream about.” Knowing I won’t be splurging for fancy dinners in Cameroon made it easier to enjoy my time in the States, partaking in dinners that would have seemed entirely normal to me six months ago, pre-Haiti. It’s this same knowledge of temporary-ness that has allowed me to buy the $2 cups of coffee I’ve consumed every other day of this trip. If I were back in the States for good, I would have to, for my own good conscious, do more to reconcile my American lifestyle with what I experienced in Haiti.

The second reason my transition out of Haiti has been less awkward is the joy I’ve felt in being with my family. Three times now, we’ve asked, “Does Dad have cancer?” and we’ve had to assume the worst. For now, after months of medical tests and the stresses of uncertainty, the answer is no, and another layer of gratefulness is added to my life. I can go to Cameroon not wondering how I will tell the Peace Corps that I need to leave and get back to Louisiana. When Dad was first checked into the emergency room for tests in March, I knew, “if Dad were in Haiti, he’d be a dead man. Period.” My family’s access to health insurance and the best medical care available have made me embrace the seeming excesses of American wealth, as opposed to shunning them as I might have done otherwise. When it’s your Papa on the line, you’re reminded why living in a developed country has its advantages.

Less than a week, and I’m off to Cameroon. Holy cow. :)

Dominican Republic

A few weeks before I left Haiti, my friend Estera hopped down from DC. We met up in the Dominican Republic, the nation that shares the other side of the island with Haiti. It was fabulous to discover a new place with an old friend. The people of the DR are a beautiful mix of colors and races, like in Brazil. Estera and I still stuck out as pale tourists, but it was a relief to be able to drop my guard a bit from Haiti.

The Dominican Republic is acutely more developed than Haiti. I went wild seeing all the chain restaurants I hadn't seen in months--Baskin Robbins?! KFC?! What is this place?! I was happy to see their lush greenery, developed infrastructure (lane markings and street signs!) and significant amounts of foreign investment. At the same time, it's disheartening to see what Haiti could be...

Yep, that's my boarding pass--laminated and re-usable!

This nice Dominican soldier volunteered to take a picture with me at some important monument. :)

Mangoes are gifts from the gods!!! (At least Estera and I think so, and eat them freely on Dominican national monuments.)

That plant must have said something really funny.

Roadside snow-cone stand!



The oldest cathedral in the Western hemisphere! Santo Domingo, the capital city, was a base for many of Columbus's explorations.

The island of Hispaniola. Haiti takes up the western third, the Dominican Republic is the eastern two thirds. I'm pointing to where I live in Port-au-Prince!



A group of friendly Dominicans kindly volunteered to take our group of gringas out dancing! Despite my warnings of being an awful dancer, they persisted in teaching us the meringue, and it was a grand time!!



Playa Rincon-- a totally isolated beach in the northeastern corner of the country. We had to take a boat just to get to it! I have never been so red in my life as I was after a day here--like a LOBSTER!!


Hanging in the back of a guagua, the trucks that criss-cross the country, our favorite muy cheapo form of transportation. (Thank goodness Estera could speak Spanish and help us get around!!)

You're never too old to be a monkey in a banana tree.



Estera busts a dance move after we hiked to the base of a waterfall. Hot!! :)

favorite last Haiti pics

As a last view of Haiti, here are some assorted pictures. Hope you enjoy!


THE taptap!! This is how you get around in Haiti! Plop in the back of that sweet-smelling truck and pay a fat twelve cents to get yourself across town!



Sunrise view from my balcony. In the bottom left Gustav, my neighbor/the groundskeeper, is cutting the grass with scissors. The street where I could see the running during the riots is straight ahead, beyond the white gate.


Kanaval in Port-au-Prince!! That's Creole for... Mardi Gras! This was the day after I got back from Brazil, and so got more Mardi Gras/Carnaval in one year than I had since high school!

Kanaval parades and dancing in the streets!

A rara band, in front of the Presidential Palace. This is the same palace, about a 6 minute walk from my house, that got stormed in the food riots.

Kanaval parades

This is a hole in the wall. My kind of restaurant! Good spot for beer-drinking and people watching during Kanaval.

Cape Haitian-- looks like New Orleans!! No surprise, they're both former French strongholds.

Cape Haitian, second largest city in Haiti, on the northern coast. The city was burned at least twice in their revolution for independence.

Not posed! From a hike with the Hash group. I really am looking for a trail.

My dear friend Andy, post hiking.

Here, I'm about to get "baptized" into the Hash House Harriers. It's a group that hikes/runs and then most folks drink beer. I thought it was goofy and frat-like at first; I don't even like beer! Regardless, it's an awesome way to get out, exercise, and see more of Port-au-Prince and Haiti. I made some amazing friends through this group.



This was one of my most eye-opening weekends in Haiti--the reality of hunger and no job opportunities everywhere, evident in the desperate begging. Andy took me to a village where she's been working for years. Here she is with her god-daughter, Ludni. Every kid in the village is so malnourished they look about three years younger than their actual age.

A new friend! This smart little cookie knew exactly what to do with a pair of sunglasses she found lying on a shelf!

At Fonkoze, (note the ever-present peach-and-purple background!) my co-worker Ermithe in the accounting division.

In the kitchen at Fonkoze. Every morning, Milo here made juice and I would ask him, "Kisa li ye kom fwi la?!" What kind of fruit is that?! which is how I learned all the tropical fruits I'd never heard of: kowosol, kashimen...! He's always smiling and singing along to the radio, and I loved seeing him when I went to get my morning coffee!



On my street, avenue Christophe. I took this photo on the way to work, on my last day in Haiti. It was about 6am, before the streets got too crowded, and the vendors were just setting up shop. These folks were preparing to deep fry some Haitian tastiness, to sell to the passing school kids for breakfast.


This is the only picture I have of its sort and it's one of my favorites because it is so classically Haiti--the market women who sit all day, every day, waiting to sell whatever produce or goods they have. I first had to ask the woman permission to take her picture, then negotiate with her how much it would cost me (about 20 cents, which is all the Haitian currency I had left!)

It's also the type of picture I was so loathe to take... up until it was time to leave. Who wants to document poverty, singling yourself out as an outsider waving an expensive camera, when you are trying so hard to fit in and be part of a community? Thus, it's my perfect final picture from a country of extremes.

Food Riots in Haiti

Hola todos!

I’m back in Louisiana and re-integrating into Americana. In an effort to avoid unnecessary worry, I waited to post this entry til now, from my parents’ cozy living room...

Tuesday April 8, 2008

It feels like one of those moments in a movie that gives me goosebumps, when violent war or eery protest scenes flash on the screen, voices are yelling, and it's overlayed by some apocolyptic Ave Maria type music. It's usually the climax of a movie, and afterwards leaves me exhausted, without words, to stare dumbly at the credits as they roll by.

Except this is my office, my morning cup of coffee, and the radio rudely blaring of news of the ongoing violent protests in Haiti. Meanwhile, the church music is coming from another co-worker's computer. My Haitian co-workers are nervously scuttling back and forth. Everyone is trying to get news of the outside. I finally ask if we can turn off the protest news, because I'm in no comforts of an air-conditioned dark movie theatre, and my head is starting to hurt from the barrage of noise and information.

The gunshots started yesterday afternoon when I was in my boss's office. With no clue of what was about to begin, I laughed and asked if I could get a ride home instead of my usual walk. The shots continued throughout the afternoon. At one intense point, they sent us hiding under our desks and away from the windows. My laughing was replaced by an empty, tight feeling in my stomach, and wide-eyed alertness.

The culprit, rising food prices. Talk here is that drug-involved gang leaders ousted from the slum of Cité Soleil could be sparking the protests, or at least taking advantage of the situation and fueling the flames for their own purposes. Here's a brief background: http://edition.cnn.com/2008/WORLD/americas/04/08/haiti.food.riots/

Yesterday, police helped all our employees get out the gates safely. Fonkoze's walls are thick and high, so I haven't been worried while I'm in here. A co-worker who'd somehow been outside though, had returned to the accounting division holding an orange-sized rock, streaked with blood. Friends of mine picked me up from work yesterday. They had me stay with them last night, as my apartment is just minute's walk from the thick of the protests around the Presidential Palace. They picked me up from Fonkoze, dodging the rocks in the road, and flying past any bystanders left in the streets. Roads around the city are blocked with demonstrators and flaming barricades. Stepping outside yesterday afternoon, I had my first intake of the distinctly unforgettable smell of burning tires. They're banging on the gates of Fonkoze as I write, I'm waiting here until things calm down. The Haitians are leaving the office now; I'll stay here with my boss where I feel safer.

All my friends have been amazingly good to me, passing me odd canned goods from their pantries until I can safely get to a grocery store. I'm home in less than three weeks, and not sure if I'll see the climactic war movie scenes in quite the same light anymore...

Wednesday April 9, 2008

Last night the rain pounded on my roof more furiously than ever before, since I’ve arrived in Haiti. It comforted me though, drowning out any other sounds, as I lay in bed waiting for sleep. Who wants to riot in the rain?! It was the end of day two of the riots—a day filled with gunshots and BOOMS! By late last night though, the sound of the rain was mostly filling a void, an abnormal silence, actually. The streets were cleared of the average pedestrian and even the usual rooster calls were missing. (Yes, roosters here crow any time they get the itching to do so!) Earlier in the evening, my electricity had gone out and I was sitting at my neighbors, reading. She’d noted the only noise left was the crickets.

Yesterday morning, we all got out of Fonkoze by about 10am, before the roadblocks became truly impassable. At home in the afternoon, from my bedroom window, I could see people running in my street. Gunshots were alarmingly too close by. The explosions continued all afternoon, loud booms of I-don’t-know-what. Throughout the day, friends and I kept in touch by phone. Mostly, my friends called me, because I’m running out of pre-paid cell phone minutes, and can’t go out on the street to buy more minutes from a vendor! Some amigos of mine got home yesterday by armored convoy. (I walked home with another Fonkoze employee.) The Embassy gang passed through the thick of downtown, in front of the Presidential Palace. They reported that anything that could be thrown in the streets was. People everywhere, and the front gates of the Palace were seriously mangled. The crowds thronging the Palace yesterday weren’t successful breaking in because armed UN guards held them off, which was probably the sounds of gunshots I heard.

Andy, a friend of mine who teaches at a school further from downtown, was stuck at school for hours. (Sounds like a teacher’s nightmare!) Some of her students who’d tried to leave had to turn around and come back because they just couldn’t get through the roadblocks. A parent who was driving to the school to get her kid was forced out of her car en route, the car was stolen, and the mom walked the rest of the way to the school, through the chaos. Another parent left two separate vehicles at the various roadblocks, and finally got to the school on a motorcycle taxi to find her child. People are in such a desperate frenzy to get where they are going that they’ll hit your car and just keep going. The roadblocks, protests, and shootings have spread throughout town now, even in the zones where the rich blans normally go to feel safe.

Today, day three, nobody is going to work—no way to get around! Hope you’re not in labor! My neighbors are in the compound with me, which reassures me. I did a food inventory, and should have enough for ten days. About half of that is straight rice though. Fortunately for me, some former tenant left behind an abnormally large amount of tarragon and balsamic vinegar. (Who eats balsamic vinegar in Haiti?!) I bet I can make something snazzy with that though! Rumors are saying the protests should last only three days. President Préval is supposed to address the nation today… (He was supposed to speak yesterday afternoon, then last night…) Hmmm, we’ll see.

Truly, my greatest worry is that my Mom will find out what is going on in Haiti! My Dad has been seriously ill and in the hospital for over four weeks now. I think Mom would implode if she has one more factor to make her stress right now. It’s her birthday today, too. Knowing I probably wouldn’t have internet today, I craftily sent the early Happy Birthday e-mail last night, (“Look what a punctual early-bird daughter I am, Mom!) so that hopefully she won’t suspect a thing. J She’s so composed, but just doesn’t need to know this now. She’s helpless in the situation and it would only cause her worry. I’ll be home so soon anyway, a bit over two weeks. In a moment of lucidity, Dad had joked a couple weeks ago that he wasn’t in the shape to come get me if I got kidnapped. I promised I’d behave…! I doubt our local Lafayette Daily Advertiser covers Haitian news. (More likely to find schedules of the Rayne Frog Festival, the Delcambre Crawfish Carnival, and Zydeco Joe’s next musical appearance!) If any well-meaning neighbor or friend says anything to her about the situation down here, I’d want to sock him in the face!

Tuesday April 15, 2008

By the Thursday morning of April 10, day four of riots, friends and I had an elaborate scheme of crack-of-dawn maneuvering to extract me from the craze of downtown Port-au-Prince. Not knowing which way rioting would turn or how long it would last, I welcomed the chance to get out of the haze and stay in the security of my friends residential neighborhood. I felt guilty though that I was going to enjoy a day with friends, at their apartment complete with pool, while the real reason we were even liberated from working was everything opposite of such comforts!

Haiti is FULL of these dichotomies.

I was ready for action by sun-up at 5:30am, Operation Skedaddle Out! At which point my BOSS calls me! (Surprise!) In a turn of events, I was out the door by 6am for a field visit to one of the Fonkoze’s branch offices in the rural North instead. As Boss and I drove to the airport, we saw the charred black leftovers of burnt-tire barricades everywhere. The gas station quickie mart around the corner from my front door was completely looted—huge glass windows all busted. The pattern of destroyed windows, some raided offices and stores, and overturned dumpsters in the streets repeated itself all the way to the airport, where I caught a flight North.

By the time I got to our cozy Fonkoze-peach-and-purple branch office in Lenbe, it felt decidedly like Haiti, but a world away from the craze of downtown capital.

PS—I still plan to post some last best-of-Haiti pictures... :)

Leaving Fonkoze

Fonkoze’s Port-au-Prince branch office, resplendent in barbed wire :)

Friday, April 18, 2008

I’m not ready to leave Haiti!!

It’s my last Friday night in the country. No, I’m not out on the town… in typical I-live-in-Haiti fashion, I didn’t have a ride for an evening out, so I’m hanging out with Ramen noodles, garbanzo beans, and a good book tonight! I don’t mind, I need a chance to gather some thoughts, and a bigger bash is planned for tomorrow night.

There were times when I was ready for this moment of departure—almost counting down. And now it’s here, and I don’t want it. Even in the thick and the mess of the violent food riots, or on crutches, this is where I’ve wanted to be.

I just said goodbye to my boss. We both got teary. And I needed a hug. It’s in my genes—Mom cries just as easily! I wasn’t expecting the thoughtful gifts and kind words my boss left me with, and it set off the sentimental switch. It is an amazing feeling though, when a boss tells you, if things don’t work out in Cameroon… you are welcome back here any time.

And my Haitian colleagues. The chief accountant, who sits back-to-back from me with about 2 feet of separation in our cozy quarters, constantly cracks me up with her favorite emphatic expressions, so much so, I’m sure I’ll be repeating “MezANMI!” and “ohOO!” plenty once back in the States. The deputy director, who when he is nervous, makes an endearing high pitched “Eeeeeee!” noise while smiling and laughing. My accounting colleagues—the ample and patient help I’ve gotten from so many of them when at times I was feeling like a very impatient blan. I really appreciate them. Even the adorable kids of my colleagues, who often come into accounting and traipse around after they’ve gotten out of school—I just had to squeeze one of them’s pigtail puffs today!

I realize—well—I like to work. I like to contribute. I like to see that I’m making changes in an organization for the better. During my six months at Fonkoze, I had taken the place of one of their senior accountants, who unexpectedly quit just as I arrived. So I had ample opportunity to really get into the weeds of my work. Of course in DC I worked an insane amount, and here, it’s toned down toward normalcy, but I still comfortably put in ten hours a day on no salary. There’s a piece of me that knows I could really help Fonkoze and could contribute even more… if I stayed. I think my boss and I both know it, thus the tears, and feelings of mutual appreciation. In general, Haiti is a place that brings out the strong feelings in you. Life here is just more intense.
(Like, for example, the fact that I am going to work til about 1pm before my 4pm flight on Thursday! :)

But to end on a lighter note that gives you a little feel of my Fonkoze day-to-day, there is an ad painted on the wall directly outside the office. I see it everyday coming in and out, but never knew for the longest time what it was! A soccer team? no. Another friend had thought… a security service? Nope! The ads are so thoroughly ubiquitous, friends and I have even played a game of “how many Pantè ads can you spot?!” while driving through rural towns. So, mes amis, guess this product! The winner gets a cookie. :)