Getting out alive!

5/24/2015-  Ok, it's Memorial Day weekend now and I'm not finished with this blog! Life gets busy in the 1st World I guess.... So, it's not done but here it is. I may post a couple of humorous stories later that I would like to share. On the other hand, I may not!

Special an sincere thanks to all of the financial supporters through GoFundMe and my generous, missions-minded family of Elk Creek Church in McCall. Over $5000 was raised and supplied everything from 1st aid supplies to training materials to usable knives and the very 1st microwave ever owned by the CBC training center kitchen staff! Thank you all so much. The program we started exploded with popularity and support. Per the CBCHS Director, it will now be standard for all drivers to get the 1st Aid training and an emergency kit for all vehicles!


Thursday & Friday, April 9-10th:

 

     Thursday and Friday went by in a blur. Students in the final class began arriving full of energy and excitement on Wednesday night. A barrage of introductions to wonderful, smiling faces with hard-to-remember names poured into the rest house where our rooms were. I did my level best to plug their names into my mental Rolladex. Over years of being terribly forgetful, particularly with names, I've gotten good at faking it. In addition to all of the students, 30 plus expected, 50-60 doctors and nurses arrived for a two day conference finalizing a distance learning class on treating patients with HIV/Aids. There is still a learning curve in treating that disease in Cameroonian hospitals and clinics, but, as I've mentioned, they've made incredible strides. What's remarkable is how dedicated these people are to bettering themselves through education so they can serve their country and people. They are so driven to make Cameroon better- it's inspiring.

 

     The only drawback to their inspiring behavior is that the training center is a very busy place. Rooms were quickly full to bursting, the kitchen staff became overwhelmed- feeding 100 people out of a tiny, inadequate kitchen, and Paul and I lost our spacious classroom. We were moved to the  "Welty Building," second floor above Central Pharmacy. We had a more average sized classroom to stuff close to 40 students into and try to break into areas for practical sessions. The single AC unit above the window couldn't keep up with the body heat. We did our best to stay focused and engaged as educators and students in the hot, body-odor laden room. We were able to secure a couple of offices for skills stations. I don't know how anyone working in these office spaces can be productive with the nearly constant activity in their buildings. As everyone has learned to do when they're accustomed to not having perfect circumstances, they bent with the challenge like elephant grass in the wind.

 

     Class three was markedly different from one and two. The primary reason was that Paul and I gave the majority of instructional duty to our freshly minted trainers. Each trainer had at least one section to teach with some pregame coaching from Paul and I. Subject matter comprehension was better by orders of magnitude with students being taught in native tongue. Their practices were more comprehensive and efficient and we accomplished as much or more with a larger class and limited space. Proof that the train-the-trainer concept is such a successful model especially when a language barrier exists. I was impressed by our selected trainers' comfort and eloquence in the teaching role. They all demonstrated an uncanny ability to take complex medical concepts and practices and boil them into a logical and comprehensive coalescence. In other words, they're good at making hard stuff seem simple. Paul and I learned a great deal from their teaching style and terminology. I've no doubt the program will be propagated successfully in their hands.

     Difference number two with the final class was that it was attended by Pius Tih, CBCHS Director and Cameroonian "Big Man." As I've written before, Pius is an inspirational, humble and revered public figure here. I'm admittedly nervous to have him learning the bulk of our program from instructors who are teaching it for their first time. Pius was an engaged participant that added wisdom and support to the rest of the class of drivers. His demonstration of buy-in showed the students that they won't be "stepping out" in their new found skills without the full backup of the CBCHS. It was an honor to have Pius sit in and just be a student and, as expected from a truly inspirational leader, he made Paul and I feel like honored guests and accomplished educators. Pius, being the Big Man that he is, also added an undercurrent of excitement to class by inviting the NATIONAL new media to cover the inception of the Good Samaritan Program, something he truly believes is an important development in Cameroon. The media arrived on day two and Pius instructed me to perform a practice scenario from start to finish for the camera. I did so with my best efforts to remember each step and skill that we're preaching and to narrate it in a clear and concise manner while trying to stay in character. I have no idea how it turned out except to see it on Tom Welty's phone later in raw form. It was going to air several days after Paul and I returned home. I'm waiting eagerly to speak with the Weltys to find out how the attention was received.

     Our final class ended in an organized and jubilant graduation of a rather large class. Each student held their certificate up high and posed just a few seconds too long for photos, ensuring every camera had an opportunity to own an image of that glory. One of our students was uncharacteristically emotional to the point of tears during the ceremony. I was touched that it meant so much to him. Another student explained to us, however, that the man had found out just after lunch that his mother had died during the course of the day. He wanted to complete class before attending to his mother's remains and family business. The dedication when an educational opportunity is presented is remarkable. Penn Azamah, the Cameroonian native studying nursing in Maryland who I mentioned before, pointed out our casual American attitude towards education to me stating, "I can't believe that not everyone in America goes to all the school they can! My American friends just tell me that they don't really want to." As we chatted on the plane to Douala she expressed her genuine frustration at our flippant disregard of educational opportunities in the U.S. I understand now how cultural this belief is in Cameroon. An educational opportunity can make the difference between a nurse and a "free woman" here. It was humbling to teach such an eager group of learners and it made me want to do better for them all. We all parted satisfied with our efforts to make the roadways of Cameroon a safer place. Pictures were taken after class and email addresses exchanged. I extended heart-felt invitations to come visit McCall anytime to so many that if they actually all showed up at once my yard would like a refugee camp. I will truly miss them all though.

     Saturday and Sunday gave Paul and I a little time to explore without as tight of a schedule. We played another round of volleyball with the usual suspects. It was much warmer this time so we followed up with fresh picked mangoes from the super-security CDC tree and lots of water. After showers we jumped in a truck with Nurse John, new 1st Responder trainer, and a driver who could take us to the big market in Tiko. Paul and I wanted to buy a few more souvenirs for home including traditional African outfits for church the next day and more bottles of ground nuts to snack on. I also picked up a few knives for the kitchen staff in an effort to make their lives easier and their fingers stay attached longer.

     I retreated to my accommodations again to prep for the long 30+ hours of travel to start the following afternoon. Shower laundry in my trusty 50franc, thick plastic bag and preliminary packing. I hung my clothes in direct sun after chasing the colorful lizards out of the piles of dry leaves on the ground under the clothesline. I was acutely aware of the parasitic possibilities with line drying my "dress" (local vernacular for clothes that left me confused when someone told me I was wearing a "nice dress") outside, but with humidity hovering around 1000 percent I figured the sun was my only chance to avoid moldy clothes in my suitcase. These kind of afternoons are challenging when traveling in far-away places. I always try to milk every minute I have on foreign shores in order to become as close to local as possible. My family and I call it "checking off the map." It's nothing more than getting your money's worth out of the travel expenses. When I get home from trips and people ask the ubiquitous (and wise) question, "what was your favorite part of the trip," that mental goulash of memories proves that it's the small moments, the true moments with people, that resound. So on these final evenings when the last grains of sand slip the fastest through the waist of the hour glass, you feel that you don't have enough time to go explore and create those moments. If you're an OCD, 6-hours-for-one-bag packer like me, those last moments turn into folding your moldy, parasite-ridden clothes for the 4th time at around midnight. Again, that's when the malaria mosquitoes come out to play. Mom never told me that being an anal retentive night owl was bad for my health.

     Our last of Gladys' breakfasts and a quiet campus greeted us on our last morning. After two weeks enduring my zeal to learn about everything in Cameroon, I think Paul, Edie and Tom still liked me a little. We were all sad to end our trip and this rewarding project we've undertaken. I showed up in my traditional African dress (see, it immediately puts an image in your head) for breakfast, prompting "oooooooo, Freeeddieeeee. Thees ees very good, African dress." I was hoping to blend in with the local at the larger church service at the Baptist church in Mutengene. You know, the still pastey white guy that's eight inches taller than everyone dancing like Steve Martin in the jerk when he discovers "music" kind of blending in. I think the thought was too awful for my fellow travelers so we went for a walk instead.

     As it turns out, you can make those "moments" in small windows of time. And, they can be as ephemeral and permanent as a quick photo snapped at just the right moment. Beyond the back wall of our training center compound lies the recently developing CDC neighborhood where the expansive rubber tree plantations once were. Crude roads were worn into the grass and litter in whatever direction one of Cameroon's ailing vehicles needed to go. Surprisingly spacious and modern-looking homes with garages and security walls of their own were popping up along these roads like concrete-block-grey monuments to the peoples' wishes. Houses with arched doorways, columns, architectural window openings and shaded by colored tin roofs loomed empty on unmarked lots. Paul observed that the builders here must not use levels because window openings were often askew by enough degrees as to be noticeable. None of the new houses were complete and some were boarded or blocked shut permanently with ominous messages spray painted on them saying "project abandoned" or "not funded" or the like.
    
     The homes became more modest and long-standing as we closed in on the quarters closer to the highway in the East. Four small children ranging in age from about four to eight walked towards us, uphill on the road with their bare feet. They were carrying plastic buckets full of turbid water, the kind of bucket we might pick up at a gas station on the way to the beach because we forgot ours. They were fascinated by our white faces and friendly barrage of American-style greetings. They smiled, posed for our phone cameras then followed us with their eyes as far as a hundred meters while we walked away. They didn't stop waving and yelling goodbye to us until we were out of sight. They were the dirtiest, most beautiful little group of kids and I wanted to bring them all home and spoil them rotten. Who knows though, they may feel spoiled rotten already. We can't impose our standards on everyone right? The next walker we passed was a badly disfigured man with terrible traumatic scars to his head, face and neck. His hands were barely usable stumps. One of his eyes was large and bright while the other was forced to an ominous and uneven squint. He did his best to mumble his "good morning" and a few other inquiring words to us as we passed. Paul and I somberly speculated as to the nature of his trauma based on the more dangerous forms of labor we've learned of here. Could've just been a car wreck that an angry mob decided to light on fire instead of assist.

     We found the well that the kids had dipped their water from. It was a concrete block, barrel-shaped, open well to an inky-black wavy pool at the bottom.

 

One of the volleyball kids picking us mangoes from the top of the high security U.S. mango tree. Best mangoes ever.



My friend "Smiley" managing a quick cell phone chat while balancing five dozen eggs from the market.

A fancy Sanili motorcycle with only two men on it! The motoumbrellas were common and are shaped to accommodate multiple passengers. Dude wasn't happy with my entertainment in taking this picture.

The Baptist Hospital Mutengene Pharmacy. This is where Dr. John whipped up some medicinal cream for what turned out to be standard issue sun reaction rash catalyzed by malaria medication, confirmed by a P.A. at our clinic in McCall. No parasites thank you.

Not up to American pharmaceutical labeling standards, but, I trust my Nigerian Dermatologist- Thanks Dr. John!

Public Service Announcement Cameroon Style. They're still trying to educate everyone on the efficacy and availability of vaccinations in stopping epidemics that we haven't thought about for a hundred years in the U.S.

We treated ourselves to some "French" pastries at the boulangerie on our last Saturday night. They actually had cold Heinekens! Who knew it was a dessert beer?



One of our adept trainers who will take over stewardship of the 1st Responder Program, Nurse John, holding one of his twins. He has one older girl who is also adorable!

Gladys, Edie and Annette gettin' low. There was singing along with this dance.

Paul and I with our gracious hostesses. Great cooks, guides and mothers to us while we visited.

The long walk to the quarter 11 open well for a bucket of water. Toughest little feet around and the softest hearts. Cameroonians are the most genuine and gracious people I've ever encountered.

Well in Quarter 11. This is a new neighborhood and farming development seeded by the Cameroon Development Corporation (CDC). They cleared acres of rubber trees that had outlived their productivity and offered the ground to settlers for farming.

In lieu of church our final Sunday morning, we walked the dirt paths of quarter 11 behind Mutengene. People were getting out of services and walking home in their Sunday best. These four girls weren't sure about us following them but they liked to have their pictures taken in their outfits!

Banana and unknown, dried, sinewy meat product that no one could identify. It's for sale though.

Cameroonian Ice Cream Man?! From Alaska no less? This guy set up shop behind a church during service when all of the parents were inside and kids outside. Brilliant!

Church nursery. Send 'em outside.

The ice cream man spoke only French. My French wasn't good enough to ask what flavor these were.

A common sight on Cameroonian roadways. Edie emailed me a couple of days after I arrived back in the States to tell me about a young man on a motorcycle who had been hit by a car in Mutengene. The man was injured but a crowd gathered to beat up the car driver who they believed to be at fault. The next step, logically, is for the mob to set fire to the car of the party at fault. Happens frequently and was discussed as an impediment to patient care in all of the classes we taught. This car is one such victim.

 

 

Dr. Tom Welty warms up the third and final class. CBCHS Director Professor Pius Tih, seated in yellow at the front tables, honored us by attending our final class.

Lead instructor of our trainer group, Promise Yosimbe, a skilled and amazing nurse from the Baptist Hospital Bamenda many hours north of Mutengene. He is an impressive natural teacher.

Annette prepping okamobong leaves for lunch.

Chopped cow beef finds its way into many side dishes. They cook beef to very well done which is good since it sits in hot plastic bags for some time before it's prepped. Nothing on a cow is wasted. They eat the skin, nose, even the hooves.

I saw 80 y.o. women carrying more than this. How the heck? I'm certainly not going to use my cell phone with 50 pounds of plantains up there!

This Eveline. Another fantastic RN and gifted teacher. When she talked, we listened!

A common vantage that Paul and I had while offering ourselves up as practice patients.

Practical skills stations were crowded and rushed in all of the classes due to larger than expected numbers of students. They made up for the lack of practice repetition by being passionate and zealous during their turns. Great imaginations.

The honorable Prof Tih modeling the space blanket for trauma victims.

After Pius graduated and received his diploma, we presented him with the Idaho State flag that had been retired from service at the McCall Fire Station as a gift for hosting Paul and I and facilitating a CBC-wide training. Prof Tih brought in the national news media for us to demonstrate the system we were teaching to all of Cameroon. It aired after we left.

Our five instructors from left, Promise, Emmanuel, Eveline, John and Divine (all nurses) holding their Good Samaritan 1st Responder Trainer certifications. Certificates are a HUGE deal for students as it proves education and achievement. It is a source of pride and honor for their whole family. My friend and only non-nurse trainer, Denis, had to leave prior to the photo.

A gesture made by every student! Celebration of a certificate and education.

Prof Tih's personal driver and head driver for the CBC, Edwin. I spent some time with Edwin outside of class and campus in town one evening. He was one of our most engaged and bright students. A true asset of the CBC and 1st Responder program.

Prof Tih presented Paul and I with the custom-made, fine wax cloth of the CBCHS as a gift of gratitude. I plan to have scrubs made out of my fabric! Just getting to know the people there and learning about their culture was gift enough.

Some of the guys flossin' after graduation! The blue tarp roll on the right is the 1st Responder kit that will eventually be standard issue in all CBCHS vehicles. The tarp serves three purposes- bag for supplies, patient stretcher and vehicle protection from bodily fluids and contaminants.

Tomatoes covered in corn husk for freshness. About $5 for a large basket.

Mutengene tomato market. This space was on the road side on the way to our compound. You'd see a variety of produce and goods for sale here. Just happened to be tomato day.

 

777 to Paris. Such a huge, modern plane seemed like a glaring contrast to my experience over the two weeks of my stay.

 

 

 

Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris is fancy and oh so...Paris. The glamour of it was like a bucket of ice water to the face after Cameroon. This sculpture in the concourse reminded me that putting your feet on the ground to experience the corners of the world with your own senses makes the Earth seem so much smaller, and your mind much more open. 

 

 

   

Monday- April 6^th:  It’s Monday evening after day one of our second class session. So two Cameroonians, a Nigerian and a white guy walk into a bar…. There’s no punch line, we just walked into a bar. Well, not really a bar but a balcony restaurant overlooking the teeming highway. It’s really an experience to be in Mutengene doing as the locals would do, not ferried around by a guide in an air conditioned vehicle. I bought the group some drinks. Not cold, but room temperature, which means 85 degrees here. I listen hard to their mix of pidgin and English and my ears are finally starting to catch up as is my fake Cameroonian accent. Miraculously it helps them understand me. It’s easy enough to imitate the way someone talks as long as it’s not truly another language. I’m sure I sound like an idiot but it’s fun to try. Even passing at almost highway speeds and with me a story above the street, people in cars and motorcycles pick me out and stare at me like my head is on fire. It’s so funny. I just wave and cope with the fact that they could see me from space probably. I guess they’re honest enough to stare.

The Nigerian in the story is a Malaysian and Kenyan University trained dermatologist. He is in town staying at our training center and working shifts at the local hospital to teach the other docs how to treat the myriad, exotic skin conditions that exist in this country. I have one of those conditions currently. My itchy eyes developed welts and blisters across my eyelids and corners. Dr. John from Nigeria told me I am having an environmental allergic reaction and that he will go to the laboratory and make a cream to fix it. I haven’t seen the cream yet but I have cortisone and Benadryl which is working. I complained to the Welty’s about some small bites I was finding in the morning upon waking. They diagnosed it as bed bugs. Not uncommon here, especially in transitory housing like ours. There isn’t a night these beds aren’t used. They have a full house keeping staff that keeps us comfortable with clean towels, sheets and pesticide. I sprayed everything down, moved rooms then did laundry in scalding hot water followed by ironing. Then I sprayed down the whole closet and new bed with deet. I’m told that will do the trick. So far so good. They don’t have good enough electrical current to operate dryers here so they are non-existent. You have to hang your clothes outside (tricky in rainy season) then iron them. They iron everything- socks, underwear, everything. The ironing kills the fly larvae that are deposited on line-dried materials. The larvae burrow into an unsuspecting wearers skin then have to be extracted later.

 



Common form of mass transit. We taught a session on triage for highway accidents for this reason.



 

4.6% national HIV/Aids rate. Huge public awareness and education has dropped this from over 10% with less transmission to newborns.



Morning arrives too soon as we prepare for the second class to begin. This time we have the assistance of Manjong Denis, a driver who we are proctoring to be a future trainer. It’s good he’s here because it’s hard for the students to understand our dialect and, it turns out, 30 drivers decided to show up instead of the 15 we requested. So Cameroon is the largest American thrift store on the planet. The streets and markets are replete with make-shift booths hocking used slogan T-shirts and interpretations of what we would wear at home. It is so awesome. I laugh out loud every day at some of the stuff I see. I was talking to Gilles, a housekeeper, who was wearing a vintage Public Enemy shirt. I asked if he was a “supporter” of the group and he just laughed uncomfortably while pointing to his black t-shirt repeating “pooblik inime, pooblik inime.” No clue. The best was when Denis arrived big and proud to be a trainer of his peers. He was looking sharp and important in his ironed, bedazzled jeans and a khaki sport jacket opened just to proudly display his black and chrome emblazoned t-shirt proclaiming “World’s Greatest Mom.” I couldn’t suppress laughing out loud then I tried to convince him that I was impressed with his “dress.”

Denis, I'm sure you would be the World's Greatest Mom. Miss you already!

I'm not following the connection?

 



Denis is a natural teacher though he was a bit overzealous, immediately straying off of the subject matter in his PowerPoint and launching into the entire point of the course. I had to interrupt his lecture to reign in his genuine enthusiasm. He did his very best but we ended up two hours behind schedule which compressed day two and allowed less time for hands-on practice. I was guilty of the same disregard of schedule though. 

 



Invite 15, you get 30!



 



Slow down Denis, it's just the intro! A natural born teacher.
 



Old hat for Paul. He has been here two weeks longer than I and taught trauma care to nurses in Bamenda, a town to the northwest. He's also done this twice in Haiti.

 

 



My solution to the question "what if your vehicle doesn't have seatbelts?" I give you, the Cameroonian seatbelt!



 

That evening, Professor Pius Tih Muffih, the director of the entirety of the vast CBC Health Services, arrived at the Welty house to stay and work with them. It’s a big deal that Pius is here. Even the Governor of the Southwestern province we are in comes to pay his respects to Prof Tih, as he is known here. He is the godfather. Dr. John the dermatologist and the head driver, Edwin came with Pius. Paul and I were summoned to meet Prof so we of course hurried to house five. Pius is immediately recognized as a humble man with amazing charisma and oozing leadership. I liked him straight away. He graciously accepted my thanks for his invitation to Cameroon which landed me a Visa in four days flat. Edwin, Dr. John, Denis and I headed to the Baptist hospital in Mutengene to run an errand then found our way to the previously mentioned restaurant. I had a late supper at the compound with Benadryl for dessert.

 



Housekeeper, Gilles, unloading Pius' supply of papas or papaya. He has a Public Enemy t-shirt.
 



Nicoline's (right) cousin, in the yellow, is a tailor. We walked by her shop/house in Mutengene on the way to the hospital and met her and her understudies. Nicoline has her cloth made into dresses by her cousin for 3500 cfa or around $6. If tailors can barter to keep any trimmings of fabric they can make clothes and sell them for extra money.





Baptist Hospital Mutengene. Dr. Ndasi's surgical theatre is in the new building on the right. They see frequent cases of measles encephalitis, polio, malaria, etc. and have public education campaigns on getting children vaccinations. Just think, it's a luxury here. A 4 year old of one of the drivers died today of sudden, unknown causes. He took the child's body and drove 8 hours to Bamenda so his family could mourn and have a burial. I've seen many people who are suffering from polio-related handicaps - something I never thought I would see.

 



Tuesday, April 7^th: We opened class this morning with a prayer as we do every day. The students are again electric about their new skills and anticipation of practicing on each other. Denis is ready to teach bleeding control and shock management wearing his freshly minted McCall Fire Department t-shirt, a downgrade from his mother’s day proclamation. We are told that our class made it on the local news with footage and our unscheduled interview. People in town are expressing interest in attending the class but 30 is double our limit and practical skills lab is impossible with all of Mutengene in the room. We get back on schedule; have some sage words from Dr. Ndasi then proceed with a more well-organized graduation. Because we don’t have thirty 1^st Aid Kits to distribute, the battle began over which driver was the more deserving candidate for the tarp roll and coveted headlamp. We left this to Dr. Ndasi.

 

 

 

Hilda and Nicoline practicing in traditional African "dress." The fabrics here are fun to see.

 





My driver from the airport, Stephen. They were then instructed not to wrap this way.



 

We call this the "ski patrol lift." Having no idea what ski patrol is, I renamed it the basket lift.

 



 



skills practice day 2



 

 

Wednesday, April 8^th: After a rather American breaky of pancakes with maple syrup, papaya and coffee, Paul and I hitch a ride with Edwin to Beau, the gateway town to Mt. Cameroon. We climb 1800 ft in elevation and find the town cool and refreshing with a large and reputable university. The mountain looms over the town and its Palatial President’s “cabin” like an Emperor Penguin protecting its egg on its feet. On the other side of the mountain from this town there are a sparse few mountain elephants and likely a group of gorillas hidden in its impressive bulk. We make a quick drive around the loop road at the highest part of the town to take in the view then head to the hospital to pick up six people, including the Weltys and Pius, from the hospital. They were cleaning house of a few bad staff doctors and nurses extorting patients for money. We made a quick stop at the ecotourism office to get information on guided climbs on the mountain. A day trek to Hut Two is around $40 US. There is a marathon from Beau to the top and back, just over 24 miles with over 9000 ft of elevation gain. It happens the second week of February and costs $16 to enter. Bucket list! A woman won the race something like five years straight and the government built her a new house for her final victory.

 

 

 Upon returning to the complex, Paul and I had lunch with Pius teasing me about my inability to eat “pepe.” We kidnapped Gladys from the kitchen for an hour to hit the big market in Mutengene for some souvenirs. That night we were invited to Dr. Ndasi’s personal residence for dinner. I was expecting to drive into Limbe, the beach town where he was rumored to live, but instead we turned just off the squalor of highway at mile four, a local landmark and roadside marketplace. We opened a gate manually and pulled up to a very humble rental flat with a dirt parking area and found Dr. Ndasi eagerly awaiting our arrival. We were welcomed to his leather couches in a nicely appointed but humble house. His wife, Olivia, sister, Ken, and three boys; Jason, Ethan and Allan were raucously playing and enjoying Pius’ company. African top-40 was playing in the background and a lavish spread was laid out on the table. Rice, bread, ndole with beef hide, fish, chicken, spicy white beans and fresh avocado and tomato salad with dressing were heaped on plates. Henry’s wife and children visited each of us on the couch with a pitcher of water, spray bottle of soap and a bowl. They poured water while we washed and their middle son offered us towels. Such servitude. While eating, Henry refilled our glasses with Coca Cola “for the Americans.” Dessert was the best fruit salad ever made in crystal cocktail goblets. Classy guy that Henry Ndasi.

 

 



The WAY overworked kitchen and housekeeping staff. Left to right: Nicoline (course logistics), Erica (background), Gladys (kitchen supervisor), Annette (who Sailor chatted with on Facetime)



Annette chopping okomobong leaves for ndole.



 

 

Fellow Seahawker



It's a good thing I like fish



Sailor's bracelets were a popular graduation token. Red for unity, yellow for savannahs of the North and Green for the forests of the South.

Beau (pronounced boy-ah) and Mt. Cameroon

I laughed about this one. They have some crazy names for their businesses!

The FBI has dispatched a lot of agents in Cameroon apparently.

The Obama Restaurant with American and Cameroonian flags on the sign.

This is why they don't let people hike or run Mt. Cameroon without a guide. 10 ft. high elephant grass obscures the "trail."







 

Don't let them tell you they're not hot! Pepe in Mutengene market.

Fast and the Furious garage, Cameroonian style. Looks stable enough I guess.

View of Mt. Cameroon on the Limbe road to Dr. Ndasi's.

View from his porch

Washing Professor Tih's hands before our generous dinner with the Ndassis. Ethan (left), Jason and Henry's sister Ken.