A Case of the Tuesdays? I'm new here.

With all the shit that's being thrown out at us from every shady corner around town, I needed a day dedicated to not taking it. [hello tuesday]. Birth control police, homophobic world leaders, your parents, your new boss and/or measly paycheck, public transit, the stomach flu*, there's just no time for it all and I certainly don't have the patience. So tuesdays will be about sticking it to the haters, external ones or that voice in your head that sneaks its way into making you feel shitty. Geared toward reaching in and locating that inner gumption that gets you through the day, the week, and life while we're at it.

I have been in NJ/NY for officially two weeks. Sitting at home in the Midwest just three or four weeks ago, I daydreamed about the new, scared, chaotic feelings that come parallel with new spaces, people, and ways of life. I craved that chaos though, sitting home in the snoozy comfort of Ohio. And yet, just this morning's mere hours between 7am and 9am have exemplified the overwhelmed reality that comes with it all, the sh*t really.

My list:

- I could not figure out the parking payment system at the train in NJ, while rushed men in business suits tapped their feet behind me.

-Trains to Penn Station were out, so I hopped on a train to Hoboken, having no clue what I was doing but hoping for the best.

-Couldn't figure out how to hold my coffee and read the paper without it taking over me and the man next to me.

-Nobody else has their tickets out? Ugh, was I not supposed to put it on the seat yet?

-Made it to Hoboken, follow the crowds. Miss the first subway.

-Made it to Christopher street, but not before having to stop and pull out my map

-(and just when I think I'm in the clear) I stand at the entrance to the park gate for 5 minutes trying to figure out how to unlatch it.

Does this non-exhaustive list mean I'm inadequate? No. What it means, is that I'm new here. Everything I've been doing these past few weeks has been first time around: driving Bill's car, navigating Summit and Manhattan, understanding the subway, getting a hold of the day to day of this new job, living with Patsy, budgeting for this city, etc. All of it, and the trials and errors that come with the new, can leave one feeling ridiculous and incompetent. But I'm refusing to let myself go down that path of self-critique- I'm not taking that shit. Post-grad life is so ______ (annoying, lonely, weird, tumultuous) that I know I have to take all these new feelings and run with them, optimistically. They're fleeting. We all have our new phases, new cities, new jobs, new relationships. We will slip up, we will fuck up. But laugh at yourself and ask advice from strangers in the process because there are too many people in this city not to say hello.

heyo tuesday, bring it.

(*hope you're feeling less dehumanized Miller.)

Green Gchat Icons: Break-Ups in a Google Era

Routinely, I open my Gmail, and in the months since our break-up, I instantly feel the nausea. She’s there, on the left, a small green video icon next to her name. She’s here. Separately, invisibly, and without one exchange of text, we acknowledge each other. Like walking into a room and she’s there just standing in the corner, casually talking to others and as I walk in she glances up from the conversation to make eye contact. There’s a nod, maybe even a smile. Understandable and respectful distance. We do not say hi, we do not joke, we do not send links that desperately remind us of one another, like earlier days. Rather, we sit idly in the left side bar of our open gmails, each silently ruminating on the other’s virtual presence. Facebook, tabs of articles to read, job applications I should be working on, my Twitter account (incessantly loading up new tweets), my other Gchat conversations, are all blurred by the oxymoronic “Go”-green color of her Gchat icon. I do not go. I sit, numbly overwhelmed by the nature of twenty-first century, twenty-something relationships. Excuse me, break-ups. I can’t even check a fucking email without being reminded of her presence, standing in the virtual room, reminding me of us.

The past year. The beauty of us, the dull sadness. The waking up in the morning, staring at the ceiling. Get up, stop thinking about her, you have to get up. And listlessly, I pull myself out of the very empty bed and hope the first cup of coffee will distract me from the dream that she, once again, played a part in. But those are all the things one might expect from a break-up. The narrative we’re told. The crying, the little heartbreaking reminders found in a song, found in her model of car driving along next to me, found in well, everything. But I didn’t know how to prep for the punch of that little green Gchat icon. That, see, I’m still here. I’m still living my life parallel to yours, on these virtual plains. Every. Single. Day.

I’m reminded and stuck on the way our conversations flowed, the way we could flirtatiously type for hours. At work, during exams, when I should have been sleeping, there was always time. Connected and attracted despite our distances. I stare at my screen, and imagine hers, full and organized in her unique way, scarily similar to my own. And I can picture myself on her own screen, on the left, staring back at her from my own virtual and iconic place. Courtney Baxter (available to chat). And it’s true. I’ll always be available for her conversation, ready to see that box open on the bottom of my window, the thought bubble replacing her green. I will always light up inside, stop breathing for 2 or 47 seconds (I can never really tell) and feel her walking slowly across the room. “_______ is typing....”. I’ll always be green for that, for her.

A Life Worth Writing

To be of worth, to be of worth.

This statement sits on my shoulders, both the angel and devil side, as I begin a time that is often cutely categorized as postgrad. Or, just a continual path, plain-old normal "life", depending on how you chop it up. I was recently g-chatting with Maddie, one of my closet friends (despite our distance) and who I consider a life mentor in some sense, confidant really. We were talking about love (#predictable) and how going through this current break-up* has left me fairly calm though desirous to write down my reactions, and emotions, as if I'm some journalist or academic chronicling the processes of love and loss* of love. As I described to Maddie, I feel like i'm in some in-process analysis, understanding our capacity to love, how we do it, why we do it, and what and who we love.

*(not really accurate words, but haven't articulated the right ones yet)

But this new phase of writing isn't just going to be about love, though I find it a foundation of the lives we, a collective of connected individuals, lead. It's about giving my life a worthwhile meaning, despite the fact that this dehumanizing job-search and big-city/ new-city vibe constantly remind me of my place at the "entry level". But, you know, when I start using a lens that looks at all the seemingly insignificant moments of my day as worthy of writing down, thinking about, then these days seem worth waking up for. And really, it's a process all for me. It's not like I have a really large array of readers, though if the fewww people who are reading find some meaning from it too, bonus.

So here's to writing, and wandering around lonely, and being pregnant with optimism. Oh, and being lost as shit, but knowing that's better than some google-mapped out version of life.

Woah America

Well I made it, thirty-two hours after I left Yaounde, but safe and happy despite the many hours. I'm glad to be home, but feeling a very confusing mix of emotions. I left Cameroon with a sense of guilt, feeling too privileged to be able to just fly out of the country to America, "land of gold and opportunity" in the eyes of most Cameroonians. But at the same time, I left unbelievably happy to see my family, friends, eat cereal with cold milk, etc. Luckily I have easy access to internet and my non-pay-as-you-go cell phone to keep up with my other SIT friends who are going through similar emotions. It's a lot of thinking and I don't know if I'll ever make sense of some of my questions. But I'm okay with that as long as I keep asking questions.

Now that I'm home I thought I'd try and share some of the pictures I promised. The two links are my facebook albums and the boat photo is one of my favorite pictures from one night in Kribi.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2040998&id=1433160036&l=561f0c2ee1

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2034018&id=1433160036&l=47aeae636d

Thanks again for reading and hopefully I'll keep writing more "bodacious reports" (as my grandparents like to call them) when I feel the need!

Love from America,

Courtney

A Forty-Eight Page above the World Homestretch

Well, I can say proudly that I am finished with my ISP. After sitting in the same wooden chair in the cyber for 4 days straight I created the finished 48 page product, "On ne Souvent pas le Choix (One doesn't often have a Choice): Why Girls Leave School and Become Filles Libres in Kribi, Cameroon". I ended up discussing the four main reasons girls are leaving school in Kribi and becoming prostitutes( poverty, early pregnancy, lack of parental guidance, and the result of Kribi being a tourist town), what the schools are currently doing to address these issues, and potential solutions. It was a really rewarding experience and I'm proud of what I've done, despite the fact that I don't think I can read my paper again for another few weeks. But in reality all my friends here did really amazing research and I'll be excited to hear about it all during presentations this week. It's so cool to see what a group of 20 year olds can do when given four weeks to research.

So after all that writing and editing and drafting, the reward was a trip to Buea, Cameroon to hike Mt. Cameroon with five friends. We all planned our ISP time around this, finishing early so that we could make this trek and let me tell you, trek is an understatement. Mt. Cameroon is the second tallest moutain in Africa but a hidden treasure in terms of African tourism. Phoebe, Zach, Laura, Liza, Sonja, and I started hiking the 29th with our guide Joesph and six porters who carried our food and minimal belongings in potato sacks on their heads while wearing flip flops. We started on the trail passing a pituresque prison on the hillside with prisoners yelling "good luck!" and "don't give up!" as we began which was pretty amusing to all of us. The moutain starts off with about 3 hours in the rain forrest which was really unique, but also had a similar feel to a lot of hiking I'd done before. However it was when we emerged out of the rain forrest to the open slope of the moutain when we started hiking in some of the most landscape I've been lucky enough to experience. We did a little song and dance/prayer with the guides and porters for the mountain god Eekgaca (?) to keep us safe. So we spent the next five hours hiking straight uphill, passing a few huts and a magic tree on the way up. We made it to our homey campsite around 430 with a few of about 4 Cameroon towns/cities, and clouds swooshing past below us. I felt like I was no longer really on earth but in a middle space if that makes any sense, and the only visual I can give is that of being in an ascending airplane looking at the window. The next day we got rained in, and Joesph told us it was too dangerous to climb to the summit in the weather so we hung out, had random conversations and drank tea in our little cooking hut around smokey fires. We met a man named David from Holland who told us he was climbing to the summit the next morning and he invited us to join him so four of us woke up at the ungodly hour of 3am and starting the upmountain climb with the help of headlamps and warm clothes. We saw the sunrise at 645, an hour shy of the summit, but still awe-inspiring as it it climbed over the moutain and over us in what seemed like seconds. And finally around 730 we reached the 12,000 or so feet, freeeeeezing which is ironic considering I've been sweating for three months, and look out over what we had just climbed as the ocean and sea-level was spread out below us. Bascially it was one of the wildest things I've ever done and despite the fact that I know it's hard to hold on to images like the it, the feeling of being on top of the summit while the rest of Cameroon was waking up will be hard to erase.

The descent took about 6 hours in total with a few breaks. I suppose the combination of all that physical activity, the lack of good food in my stomach (a handful of spaghetti, a piece of bread, some peanuts, and a lollipop) freaked my body out and my legs kind of crapped out. I was really angry as about 3/4s of the way down I couldn't actually walk without the help of Joesph but then I decided I shouldn't be mad and just laugh as the worst possible time for your legs to go out on you might be the second tallest mountain in Africa. I laughed along with my friends at the rediculousness of the situation and was unbeliveably grateful to the porters and guides who got me, and everyone else, down the steep incline in one piece. And I suppose it's a good story to tell that I "rode" down a portion of the moutain on the back of a prince! No need to worry though, after a little protein my legs are back in action.

So now after many a reunion I'm back in Yaounde with the group preparing for reentry into America and saying goodbye to life here. I'm ready but also completely in shock and unsure of how to make sense of all I've learned. I'll probably write once more before the days of traveling home, so until then happy May! Shout out to Meegy Meegs for making it to the big 3-0 in a few days.



Lots of loveeee.

Radio Celeb

Sorry for the ten day lapse, I’ve been in the thick and heavy of research and it is going SO well. One, the independence of ISP is just wonderful. I figured without the structured time and fullness of our group, in a foreign country nonetheless, that I might be bored or too much out of my element but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The freedom has been so refreshing and has let me get to know the country without someone ‘holding my hand’. And I wouldn’t necessarily say SIT holds our hands in anyway, quite the contrary really; but during ISP you’re not waiting for a field trip, student night, or doing a homework assignment with your homestay family. I’ve been all around this city talking to this person and that person, delegates, teachers, students , NGOs, neighbors, etc. I have a little recorder, I write interview transcriptions, I frantically am writing down notes or new realizations throughout my days, not to mention my beach visits. I’m living such a weird life, but I absolutely love it. And it’s going to be over, well at least this chapter, shockingly soon. One week, ISP is done. Then off to Mt. Cameroon, and then only one more week spent in Yaounde. So. Wild.

Anyway before I start getting all worked up about leaving and the simultaneous sadness and excitement that comes along with it, I’ll share a few highlights from my past ten days.

1. I was on the radio today! I feel like a Cameroonian celebrity. This radio DJ person found out about my research and wanted to interview me on air. So Veronique (host mom extraordinaire and head of the NGO I’m working with) and a friend Carole who also as an NGO, talked on the radio for about 45 minutes about my research, my time in Cameroon, and my suggestions about helping young girls stay in school and out of the streets, etc. I certainly don’t feel like an expert on this issue but I’ve learned so much in my past three weeks that I actually could feel my progress while explaining to the DJ man. Anyway, point is I feel famous and it was a lot of fun, and better yet if people actually listen to Kribi FM 95.5 then maybe people learned some things?

2. I had a Women Writing for a Change writing circle yesterday with a group of ‘filles/femmes libres’ or free women /some of them would consider themselves prostitutes. For those of you who know what WWfaC is, it was a really rewarding experience doing it with these women for so many reasons. (For those of you who don't, www.womenwriting.org, WWfaC is a writing school/community that I'ven been a part of for a few years and where I learned how to lead creative writing circles, and thus did one with this group of women here.) Veronique really doubted it working, because a lot of the time filles libres aren’t very educated (hence my research) and it’s very un-Cameroonian to do a creative anything really. Not that Cameroonians are uncreative, but they just like to follow life by the books and writing circles for women do not fit into their books. But I decided to do it anyway because I felt like it couldn’t hurt and it turned out so well. The women shared what they wrote and despite the fact that the whole thing happened in French in a boiling little room in Cameroon the presence of WWafC was clearly there.

3. Veronique is wonderful, as I’ve mentioned. Well I met her husband for the first time this week (he’s a marine biologist and has been travelling for work) and it makes sense that they’re married. He’s very chatty, loves to eat but is on a strict diet (which apparently allows for stealing and eating my french toast), and plays tennis every night in the whitest outfit you’ve ever send with pants that stop above his ankles. So my nightlife at home has become that much more lively.

Ah okay, enough for one post. Hope that you all are doing well, and special shout out to Katie Grimm, Maddie Katz, Liz Smith, and Catreena Besb for the lovely mail.

Love from Cameroon,
Cootenay Booster (how the DJ referred to me the entire show)

Kribi is my Jam

Well, I must say that I'm living the good life. ISP (independent study project) is turning out to be really amazing, which I never doubted, but I'm more in love than I thought I might be. I wake up early in the mornings under my mosquito net with a whole list of things to accomplish. In the United States, this might cause some stress but here I feel absolutely no weight of anxiety. I walk down to the beach which is a mere 2 minutes from my homestay, take my journal, book, and watch the local fisherman bring in the mornings catch in these wooden canoes that litterally look like hollowed out trees misplaced in the ocean. I come back after an hour and eat some bread, eggs, jam, coffee etc. and gear up for a day of research. At the internet cafe I wait frustrating hours as the connection is often slow or non-existent and the power is always touch and go. But I've learned to be more patient then I thought possible, I now often transcribe interviews by hand, and get in quality reading time during these times of waiting. When I'm not doing secondary research, I'm walking around the small city finding the delegations/ delegates, NGOs, and randoms who I can interview for their perspectives on why young girls leave school to become prostitues in Kribi. My evenings are spent relaxing with Laura, another SIT-er who is sharing the same homestay with me (she's studying fisherman) talking about wide varieties of things that could range from religion to delevopment to our love for coffee; last night we indulged with chocolate and wine and candles as the power was out, again. Veronique, our host mom and my project advisor, is often there at night too and so we'll end up talking in French the whole night- last night it was marriage, her woes on gaining weight, and pygmy kids in school. She's an unbelievable woman who has such a passion for helping others, I feel so lucky to be learning from her. Before bed I normally take a shower, always cold (have still only taken one hot shower in my 11 weeks) but that is for the best because the cold water helps bring my core temp down so I can sleep- the heat here is unlike any other place I've been. I am always drifting off a little too hot for comfort but also always undeniably happy.

More updates to come. Hope all is well with everyoneeee!