Translation into English, “Yes, we can!” That was the motto for our moto (motorcycle) project. Thanks to the many generous contributors who donated we were able to raise all the funds on time and carry out the seminar May 7th and 8th.
In the day leading up to the seminar twelve PCV’s asked twenty-five Cameroonians to “Soyez a l’heure!” and miraculously, soyez a l'heure they did! African time is much different than American but on day one over half of the moto drivers were there at least a half-hour early and on both days we were able to start on time.
The morning sessions on Day 1 consisted of a brief explanation of Peace Corps, a run through of our expectations with the participants then having to list theirs, facts and myths about HIV/AIDS, and a presentation on what is HIV/AIDS, how it’s contracted, etc by the hired health official. All went really well- the health official I picked did an excellent job & after our director explained several times that the drivers would not be receiving brand new motos after the project, they still remained very attentive and participative. :) For the afternoon: a session on stigma followed by a sad, yet uplifting testimonial, and finally the chance for all participants to take an AIDS test themselves. Everyone driver took one (including yours truly), which makes me think they really got it: that once they become peer educators and start lecturing others on knowing their status, it's important they take the brave step as well. The only hang up from the day came from the cater--the only one who didn’t seem to respect time. When she decided coffee break would take place at 12pm not 10am and lunch at 3pm and not 12pm (which was not sufficient when it arrived) we had to get a little creative with our program. Thus, after a quick re-shuffling all was OK. If there's I know for sure: you won't make it here if you're not flexible!
Test results came in on the morning of Day Two. Not a single participant left so we can hope that signified good news for all. What is a peer educator/how to be a great one followed by practical’s they can carry out during their demonstrations took up the rest of the day. Condom races were a hit and the demonstration on how to use a female condom was very interesting for them. I'm pretty sure for most, it was the first time they had ever seen one and they were surprised to know they could find them at most pharmacies. A closing ceremony with certificates (very important in Cameroon), several photo ops, and appetizers for all closed the evening. One village chief, a few mayors, and several important delegates showed up to give their support. Beep Your Horn also received a lot of radio press throughout the week, which I believe really helped participants take their job seriously.
Over the next few months the moto drivers with some help from PCV's will be carrying out the très important part: demonstrations in their respective village where each motos driver will take over as the trainer. I have no doubt that mine will be fantastic. At the moto seminar he approached me about marching for the 20 Mai, a national holiday here celebrating unification, and he wasn’t kidding. In the weeks following Dallas had a Beep Your Horn plaque along with 15 more t-shirts (which soon turned into 45) made. On 20 Mai three PCV’s along with 50+ Cameroonians associated with Dallas's moto association marched waving condoms and various other props to "lutte contre le SIDA". We certainly got a lot of attention!
I’m certainly not done working with my moto men and I look forward to updating everyone on upcoming HIV/AIDS related work. THANKS again to all who made it possible!!!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
La vie en plein air
Wrote three posts the other day which will be put up in weekly installments. Next one a report/pics on the recent finished projects. Stay tuned...
It occurred to me the other day that after writing a post all about the sort of special attention that’s been bestowed upon me I forgot to explain how the attention was so easily received. You see it’s not that I’m throwing myself at others, stopping into business after business, waltzing into people’s homes, or behaving in a manner that warrants being noticed. No actually, just the opposite. All it takes to be noticed is to walk outside my front door. “Why?” because in Africa life happens on the outside.
Everyday I awake to the sound of neighbor women chatting, the roar of a moto’s engine bringing a patient to the hospital, and/or volcanic gravel (that I call soil) squishing under the weight of children’s feet as they run to fetch water. My immediate neighbors, Razack, Mabel, and Soule, are going back and forth from the house to the latrine for their morning washing. Neighborhood women are frying beignets (donuts) on their front lawns to sell; their children will then walk all over town selling them off of a platter carried on their head.
I’m on my living room couch reading by 6:30am where once again all the same sounds and smells can be heard and seen just this time through a different window. Around 7am Blanche opens her door, slides the large rock (aka our door stopper) under her door and says “Kaaaate?” Je dis “oui”. Elle dit “bien dormi” et je dis “oui, et toi”. En Afrique you always greet everyone, especially in the morning. Kids on their way to school and adults heading to the market pass in front of my house. With no school buses or cars to take them they’ll walk and converse along the way. When I step outside my door I’ll find Blanche on the porch washing clothes or dishes from the night before, patients from the clinic waiting in the open air waiting-room, and all the other women from nearby houses doing the same as Blanche. At the center of town I’ll find tiny magasin after magasin, all with stall doors wide open, half their products displayed outside, and the person managing sitting outside on a stool. If he’s male he’ll likely have one or two of his friends sitting around with him, if it’s a woman she’ll have the children too young to attend school. I’ve “checked out” a few times where a.) I was offered a beer or b.) it was a struggle for the cashier to reach the coin box because she was breastfeeding. The bars have a steady stream of customers starting around 10am all of whom sit on around an open porch. All day every day the market mommies will be selling their vegetables from roadside stands. All over town moto drivers are parked in groups idly chatting and cracking jokes with one another as they wait for their next customer. At the Total station employees stand around the pump waiting to serve you. There’s a refrigerator outside selling cold beverages but don’t bother going inside—all you’ll find is the manager’s desk with maybe a few odds and ends. The list goes on and on but what strikes me most related to this topic: that once back in America with all the windows, doors, and walls, how different life will sound.
It occurred to me the other day that after writing a post all about the sort of special attention that’s been bestowed upon me I forgot to explain how the attention was so easily received. You see it’s not that I’m throwing myself at others, stopping into business after business, waltzing into people’s homes, or behaving in a manner that warrants being noticed. No actually, just the opposite. All it takes to be noticed is to walk outside my front door. “Why?” because in Africa life happens on the outside.
Everyday I awake to the sound of neighbor women chatting, the roar of a moto’s engine bringing a patient to the hospital, and/or volcanic gravel (that I call soil) squishing under the weight of children’s feet as they run to fetch water. My immediate neighbors, Razack, Mabel, and Soule, are going back and forth from the house to the latrine for their morning washing. Neighborhood women are frying beignets (donuts) on their front lawns to sell; their children will then walk all over town selling them off of a platter carried on their head.
I’m on my living room couch reading by 6:30am where once again all the same sounds and smells can be heard and seen just this time through a different window. Around 7am Blanche opens her door, slides the large rock (aka our door stopper) under her door and says “Kaaaate?” Je dis “oui”. Elle dit “bien dormi” et je dis “oui, et toi”. En Afrique you always greet everyone, especially in the morning. Kids on their way to school and adults heading to the market pass in front of my house. With no school buses or cars to take them they’ll walk and converse along the way. When I step outside my door I’ll find Blanche on the porch washing clothes or dishes from the night before, patients from the clinic waiting in the open air waiting-room, and all the other women from nearby houses doing the same as Blanche. At the center of town I’ll find tiny magasin after magasin, all with stall doors wide open, half their products displayed outside, and the person managing sitting outside on a stool. If he’s male he’ll likely have one or two of his friends sitting around with him, if it’s a woman she’ll have the children too young to attend school. I’ve “checked out” a few times where a.) I was offered a beer or b.) it was a struggle for the cashier to reach the coin box because she was breastfeeding. The bars have a steady stream of customers starting around 10am all of whom sit on around an open porch. All day every day the market mommies will be selling their vegetables from roadside stands. All over town moto drivers are parked in groups idly chatting and cracking jokes with one another as they wait for their next customer. At the Total station employees stand around the pump waiting to serve you. There’s a refrigerator outside selling cold beverages but don’t bother going inside—all you’ll find is the manager’s desk with maybe a few odds and ends. The list goes on and on but what strikes me most related to this topic: that once back in America with all the windows, doors, and walls, how different life will sound.
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