So an old woman spat on me today. It was a typically beautiful Sunday in Meiganga, sunny with foreboding purple-grey clouds in the distance waiting for their typical late afternoon turn to play. I had spent the morning cleaning my mansion of a house for a single woman. I sweated in the garden, had a young visitor stop by and ask random questions about America and went to a meeting with a community group of restaurateurs. Then a small girl with no shoes called out my good name “white lady”. I slapped her wrists and told her to call me al. She asked me something in Fulfulde and said my best friend’s name, Nina. Instantly I knew who she was and what she wanted. So I threw on my sandals and most fashionable muumuu and followed her through the maze of corn stalks and mud walls. Sometimes in Cameroon you feel like a puppy dog, powerlessly following someone to your next awkward yet great adventure.
My best friend Nina is 13 years old. She has lived in Meiganga her whole life and is an orphan living with her six brothers and sisters in their grandmother’s home. She is fascinated and I mean fascinated with the “world of white people”. This is something she has divulged to me. She has declared herself betrothed to my brother, loves touching my terrifyingly pale skin and always stops by with a small gift. I do manage to repay these gifts and one day Nina came to me talking about her grandmother’s back pain. So I gave her a small bag of aspirin and ordered a big dose of rest. So today when I arrive at the house with the bare-footed petite, I am greeted by Nina’s grandmother with open arms. Her grandmother starts to work herself up into some sort of frenzy. She starts to shake her fists at me, which is actually a sign of respect here, not offense. She is hugging me, shaking my hands, and saying something in Fulfulde. All of a sudden she spits on me and places her hands on my forehead. The American part of me didn’t really know how to react, but I just went along with it and figured Nina would have salvaged the situation if I had caused any sort of wrongdoing. In the end, she was very thankful for the drugs and all the pain they alleviated. Things continued well enough and think I will be going to work with them in their corn fields next week!
Last night I attended my first ever birthday bash. I had planned to go out dancing with my friend, but then we had to make a pit stop at a party of a schoolmate. Well I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. First of all, I arrive at her house and she is in the process of wrapping a package of menstrual pads. I felt bad about not having a gift and crashing the party, so I ended up giving her a beautiful wrapped box of biscuits. It was recommended to me to give her a box of condoms, which as a health volunteer I was in full support of. But then I realized crashing her party and then giving her condoms was a bit much for me. So there is no power in Meiganga and the building of the party is one of the sole buildings glowing with florescent lights and Rihana. When we enter the party, each one of us is carefully shown to a specific place at a specific table. I look around the room and it is littered with awkward boy and girls starting at the ceiling. Each table has potpourri of unopened drinks, ranging from soda to boxed wine. The center of the room has a massive spread of meat, chicken, popcorn,ect. I realize this is a SERIOUS party, but the best part about it all is no one is eating or drinking a thing. So finally enough people fill the room and the party officially starts. Some boys and girls perform the standard lip-synching performances. I am asked to perform but respectively decline. I am sure I could have shown those Cameroonians how to shake their hips. Then each table one by one gets up to get their food. This is the perfect time for all the girls to check out each other’s outfits. I realize my shabby jeans and sweater don’t really compare to the skin tight, ruffled skirts and elaborate 80’s style pagne dresses. I am embarrassed and quickly shuffle to my seat.
So eventually the party turns into an all out high school affair. Kids start pouring massive cups of whiskey and opening beer bottles with their teeth, only to let it spill all over themselves. Girls have trouble walking and no one is paying attention to the birthday girl. It’s my party and ill cry if I want to. Then we all line up to one by one hand the birthday girl her gift. I attempt to hide mine in my sweater, in fear of being realized as the only white chick who showed up with biscuits as a gift and mud streaked jeans. We finally make a swift exit and leave the glowing florescent building for the stark black streets of Meiganga. There was no dancing that night, we returned home and recounted the night’s events amidst giggles and blankets.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Raining Cats and Dogs
Rainy season is in full force here in Meiganga and life in every form has erupted. Mangoes and avocados rain from the heavens. It is so fun to tell Cameroonians how much a mango is in the states, how it is such a treat. I make mango salsa almost daily and have mastered tortillas from scratch. I found myself mid mango the other day wondering, how many is too many? It is almost the end of the school year and the beginning of real work in the fields. My own mini-champ is growing beautifully. I can now say that everything tastes better homegrown. I just finished the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and urge all to follow. In a year and a half I will meet you all in the Appalachian Mountains eating your locally raised turkey.
At the end of March I met up with all my stage mates in Maroua for a weeklong conference. It was a delight, just to be on vacation and see all the people I came to consider family during my first few months here. It was nice to share war wounds and gain perspective on things. I also picked up the new love of my life, Moses. Yes, some would consider him spiritual guru, but my version is much hairier and the only miracle he performs is pooping in his litter box. But really, my new addition is great company at night and loves to cuddle. I couldn’t be happier with him.
I have kept busy with work activities. Spend two days at the hospital, teach computers at the women’s center and meet with community groups. My work helping to organize the community groups has now come to depend on the level of commitment of the members themselves. It has been the most challenging work so far; there is no quick fix, no map, and no answer. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t just waste people’s time here. I am trying to plan a new project for the prevention of mother to infant transmission of AIDS and general nutrition. I am putting together a crack team of experts, so hopefully I can just sit back and relax and let them do all the real work. I mean that’s what sustainable development is right?
Today I celebrated Private Industries Day and all I got was a fully belly and a sunburn. It was actually a lot more fun than I expected of typical Cameroon fetes. There is always a general formula for national holidays: march in front of all the local authorities, wear some matching outfit and then eat and be merry. I have avoided marching in the past few fetes, as everyday tends to feel like a parade in front of the good people of Meiganga. Today I marched with the Lutheran Hospital in a t-shirt that said, “We treat, Jesus heals”. Gotta love it. After waiting in the sun for an hour and taking several pictures with strangers, I successfully marched without falling in front of hundreds. The Cameroonians are very serious about keeping in straight lines and marching in time. One of the nurses’ overly exuberant husband kept barking orders on how, when and who to salute during our time in the sun. Although it is usually a serious affair, another nurse managed to bring a wheelchair, mask and blood pressure machine. So we reenacted a mock procedure as we marched by the grandstands. I thought it was hilarious. It seemed to be a common pattern though; the radio station had microphones, bakery had loaves, cattle association had bull horns and raw meat (swarming with flies of course), the bars brought bottles of beer and shook them up and the moto drivers sped through massive crowds (thank god the hospital staff was there!). Festivities continued at a local bar where we all ate endless amounts of fish, beef, bread, batons of manioc and beer. After hours in the sun and beer-free for several weeks, I had to literally peel myself from the festivities and go home to lather myself in lotion. All in all, it was a grand day.
After much pressure and demand, I have agreed to the unthinkable. No, not shark diving or the Atkins diet, but to have my hair braided with synthetic extensions. Basically a pale Beyonce with less curves and more attitude. I keep thinking of Monica from Friends when she gets her braids caught somewhere inconvenient. All the girls I teach and my girlfriends have begged me and if I don’t do it in my twenties, when will I ever do it? It is required by schools and general standards of beauty to braid hair with multi-colored, textured extensions in Cameroon. It is a true form of self-expression and as I have said before, it can change the entire look of a woman. Not to fret, pictures will be taken. I am a little worried about pain and all my hair falling out though.
So one of the great things in Cameroon is that you can order custom made wooden furniture for an extremely affordable price. The other day I was walking home a new set of items (desk, screen door, chair and shelves). I had been waiting at the shop to have the guys lacquer the goods and find someone to pus-pus (wheelbarrow) it home. Halfway home, the dark violet clouds ominously float in and it begins to pour. At first a light sprinkle and in what seemed like seconds a raging storm. The problem was that there was nowhere to shelter this giant pile of stuff, so we blazed on through. All of a sudden I hear a crack and every single items has fallen out of the pus pus and into the mud. I forfeit my umbrella and help the guy pick up the scattered pieces. Immediately I see that the screens on the door have been sliced and he starts to stack items on top of each other in a completely disorganized and leaning tower of Pisa manner. So I pick of several pieces, but we are a few blocks from home and I have taken way too much and can barely lug them a few feet. I look around for help and not a soul can be found. At this point the rain is so strong I can barely see the guy with the pus pus in front of me and he has no idea where he is going. My thoughts are to just bulldoze through it all, but he keeps stopping at every door on the street and barely speaks French. After what seemed like hours we made it to my front door and we are soaked. In the end nothing was broken terribly and not badly damaged since the pieces were partially lacquered. It made the furniture all the more worth it!
Well, that’s it for this installment. Evenings are pretty slow here in Meiganga so I think of you all nightly. I miss you and hope none of you went to Mexico lately. Every now and then I catch the French news at a friends house. Lots of people wearing masks and not just in China.
I continue to get packages and thank my lucky stars for every morsel, thanks so much. Keep on with the random bits of news and Americana. I miss it more than ever.
Much love,
Al
At the end of March I met up with all my stage mates in Maroua for a weeklong conference. It was a delight, just to be on vacation and see all the people I came to consider family during my first few months here. It was nice to share war wounds and gain perspective on things. I also picked up the new love of my life, Moses. Yes, some would consider him spiritual guru, but my version is much hairier and the only miracle he performs is pooping in his litter box. But really, my new addition is great company at night and loves to cuddle. I couldn’t be happier with him.
I have kept busy with work activities. Spend two days at the hospital, teach computers at the women’s center and meet with community groups. My work helping to organize the community groups has now come to depend on the level of commitment of the members themselves. It has been the most challenging work so far; there is no quick fix, no map, and no answer. Sometimes I wonder if I don’t just waste people’s time here. I am trying to plan a new project for the prevention of mother to infant transmission of AIDS and general nutrition. I am putting together a crack team of experts, so hopefully I can just sit back and relax and let them do all the real work. I mean that’s what sustainable development is right?
Today I celebrated Private Industries Day and all I got was a fully belly and a sunburn. It was actually a lot more fun than I expected of typical Cameroon fetes. There is always a general formula for national holidays: march in front of all the local authorities, wear some matching outfit and then eat and be merry. I have avoided marching in the past few fetes, as everyday tends to feel like a parade in front of the good people of Meiganga. Today I marched with the Lutheran Hospital in a t-shirt that said, “We treat, Jesus heals”. Gotta love it. After waiting in the sun for an hour and taking several pictures with strangers, I successfully marched without falling in front of hundreds. The Cameroonians are very serious about keeping in straight lines and marching in time. One of the nurses’ overly exuberant husband kept barking orders on how, when and who to salute during our time in the sun. Although it is usually a serious affair, another nurse managed to bring a wheelchair, mask and blood pressure machine. So we reenacted a mock procedure as we marched by the grandstands. I thought it was hilarious. It seemed to be a common pattern though; the radio station had microphones, bakery had loaves, cattle association had bull horns and raw meat (swarming with flies of course), the bars brought bottles of beer and shook them up and the moto drivers sped through massive crowds (thank god the hospital staff was there!). Festivities continued at a local bar where we all ate endless amounts of fish, beef, bread, batons of manioc and beer. After hours in the sun and beer-free for several weeks, I had to literally peel myself from the festivities and go home to lather myself in lotion. All in all, it was a grand day.
After much pressure and demand, I have agreed to the unthinkable. No, not shark diving or the Atkins diet, but to have my hair braided with synthetic extensions. Basically a pale Beyonce with less curves and more attitude. I keep thinking of Monica from Friends when she gets her braids caught somewhere inconvenient. All the girls I teach and my girlfriends have begged me and if I don’t do it in my twenties, when will I ever do it? It is required by schools and general standards of beauty to braid hair with multi-colored, textured extensions in Cameroon. It is a true form of self-expression and as I have said before, it can change the entire look of a woman. Not to fret, pictures will be taken. I am a little worried about pain and all my hair falling out though.
So one of the great things in Cameroon is that you can order custom made wooden furniture for an extremely affordable price. The other day I was walking home a new set of items (desk, screen door, chair and shelves). I had been waiting at the shop to have the guys lacquer the goods and find someone to pus-pus (wheelbarrow) it home. Halfway home, the dark violet clouds ominously float in and it begins to pour. At first a light sprinkle and in what seemed like seconds a raging storm. The problem was that there was nowhere to shelter this giant pile of stuff, so we blazed on through. All of a sudden I hear a crack and every single items has fallen out of the pus pus and into the mud. I forfeit my umbrella and help the guy pick up the scattered pieces. Immediately I see that the screens on the door have been sliced and he starts to stack items on top of each other in a completely disorganized and leaning tower of Pisa manner. So I pick of several pieces, but we are a few blocks from home and I have taken way too much and can barely lug them a few feet. I look around for help and not a soul can be found. At this point the rain is so strong I can barely see the guy with the pus pus in front of me and he has no idea where he is going. My thoughts are to just bulldoze through it all, but he keeps stopping at every door on the street and barely speaks French. After what seemed like hours we made it to my front door and we are soaked. In the end nothing was broken terribly and not badly damaged since the pieces were partially lacquered. It made the furniture all the more worth it!
Well, that’s it for this installment. Evenings are pretty slow here in Meiganga so I think of you all nightly. I miss you and hope none of you went to Mexico lately. Every now and then I catch the French news at a friends house. Lots of people wearing masks and not just in China.
I continue to get packages and thank my lucky stars for every morsel, thanks so much. Keep on with the random bits of news and Americana. I miss it more than ever.
Much love,
Al
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Me Against the Grasshoppers
Not to worry, no news is good news here in Cameroon. I have almost six months here and I hate to say it but it doesn’t feel like it. The days have blurred together and it feels like less. It has been the longest time since I have seen my family and good friends. It often feels like the rest of the world is frozen in time and waiting for me while I am figuring things out here. I have officially decided to go steady with Meiganga. I have pledged my commitment, gone to first base and tried to meet all the parents. It is a pretty good fit and I see a bright future full of kids, birthdays and twilight strolls home.
The real love affair is with my garden. Now I might be the last to figure it out, but gardening is quite the exhilarating act. Each morning I jump out of bed to see what new development has taken place during the dog-howling night. It kicked my ass to get started, but since the moment I saw the first green head pop up, I have had my nose in my gardening book and have declared war against grasshoppers. All of my friends and neighbors are so supportive. My “future sister-in-law” even brought some sproutings of a spinach-like vegetable from her garden, to share with me. Everyone has some tip and wants to show me their own. As a community largely based in agriculture, with almost every family maintaining a garden on their own, it has helped me to fit in here. I can’t wait until things are ready and I can show all the new products I brought over from the States.
Mango season has begun and my eyes are glued to the sky. Way before they are ready to eat, they are plucked from above. It is the post-school activity to pillage the trees. The tactic: throw rocks or punch the branches with a long stick. Either way, my computer students can’t wait to get out of class and chase them down. It is raining mangos. I have a tree right outside of my garden, but none seem to be ready yet. I am hoping to leverage free reign on the fruit with neighborhood kids to get them to do the grunt work.
The international day of women just passed. There are several national holidays per year celebrating youth, teachers or women. I would large the largest component of them is matching pagne and marching. I was warned several weeks ahead of time that the pagne is a necessary purchase. So I jumped on the bandwagon and crafted a stylish frock. The fabric has pictures of women doing different tasks, with words honoring their presence in Cameroonian society. The day of the holiday I took a motto to my friend’s house. Although it was somewhat early morning, to my horror not a single female was sporting the blue, pink or green fabric. My first thought was oh man they played a prank on the new white chick. Fortunately, heading to the main stadium in the center of town I found myself in a sea of matching ensembles. Different women’s groups marched past the town’s officials, really just showing off how creative Cameroonian women get. There were some dogs sporting the pagne and several groups of cross-dressing men which even coming from San Francisco was quite delightful. Then the real party began in bar row. These women know how to celebrate! I joined some friends for a drink around noon and the place was busting with dancing, drinking, singing, eating, breast-feeding and general noise. The women who usually rest at home had their day in the sun and it was great to observe. I had to cut out early however, feeling like quite the lame duck. Surrounded by the energy of the women, I felt like the little sister sipping her glass of milk.
Work can feel like an uphill battle. Just figuring out where to work, what do with them and communicating it all can leave a girl exhausted. I started training on how to evaluate and plan for development projects with several community groups I became connected with. It is something that volunteers usually just do, but I wanted to teach it to a few members, who would then complete the exercises with their groups. Without the help of my counterpart explaining everything over again after I said it, it wouldn’t have gone over so well. But I think everyone grasped the importance of it. Now I have started meetings where they teach the material. It is quite interesting to see the translation. I have continued work at the hospital, pre-natal consults and organizing the pharmacy. I have been teaching a computer class at the women’s center. I tried to pair it with a life skills/future-planning class, but discussion based/critical analysis with the girls didn’t go over well. I have to change things up somehow. No idea. But they seem to really enjoy the computers. I am sure much like English, teaching something that I grew up doing can be extremely difficult. How to use the mouse and open and close windows is a whole new ballgame. Especially being quite the computer illiterate person I am. Exploring some options working with a radio station and there will be new volunteer here in August for small enterprise development, so hopefully we can collaborate.
Walking over to use the internet today I was again used a tool of fear. It is a common practice here, next to the smiling faces and children running to greet me, people will sometimes bring their small toddlers over to me, causing an incredible sensation of fear. They start to cry and squire to get out of it. It is odd to be so feared, even with the friendliest smile.
I have probably mentioned the love of female hair styling here before, but it can often completely change the identity of someone. On a monthly, sometimes weekly basis, women will change their weave or wig. Long hair becomes short, purple becomes blond. This renders them completely unrecognizable and I often take second looks just to spot a good friend. I don’t know how they do it, or where they get them from, but you never know what version of your friend will show up at your door.
Guess that’s all I can come up with for now. The dust is begining to settle, welcoming the rains, which I can't wait for. I will have a new roomate soon. A new kitty will join me after our in-service training in Maroua. Ideas for names? I waiting to see what I can channel upon our meeting. I will post some photos soon. I miss everyone so much and look forward to everyone’s news, even the smallest bits.
The real love affair is with my garden. Now I might be the last to figure it out, but gardening is quite the exhilarating act. Each morning I jump out of bed to see what new development has taken place during the dog-howling night. It kicked my ass to get started, but since the moment I saw the first green head pop up, I have had my nose in my gardening book and have declared war against grasshoppers. All of my friends and neighbors are so supportive. My “future sister-in-law” even brought some sproutings of a spinach-like vegetable from her garden, to share with me. Everyone has some tip and wants to show me their own. As a community largely based in agriculture, with almost every family maintaining a garden on their own, it has helped me to fit in here. I can’t wait until things are ready and I can show all the new products I brought over from the States.
Mango season has begun and my eyes are glued to the sky. Way before they are ready to eat, they are plucked from above. It is the post-school activity to pillage the trees. The tactic: throw rocks or punch the branches with a long stick. Either way, my computer students can’t wait to get out of class and chase them down. It is raining mangos. I have a tree right outside of my garden, but none seem to be ready yet. I am hoping to leverage free reign on the fruit with neighborhood kids to get them to do the grunt work.
The international day of women just passed. There are several national holidays per year celebrating youth, teachers or women. I would large the largest component of them is matching pagne and marching. I was warned several weeks ahead of time that the pagne is a necessary purchase. So I jumped on the bandwagon and crafted a stylish frock. The fabric has pictures of women doing different tasks, with words honoring their presence in Cameroonian society. The day of the holiday I took a motto to my friend’s house. Although it was somewhat early morning, to my horror not a single female was sporting the blue, pink or green fabric. My first thought was oh man they played a prank on the new white chick. Fortunately, heading to the main stadium in the center of town I found myself in a sea of matching ensembles. Different women’s groups marched past the town’s officials, really just showing off how creative Cameroonian women get. There were some dogs sporting the pagne and several groups of cross-dressing men which even coming from San Francisco was quite delightful. Then the real party began in bar row. These women know how to celebrate! I joined some friends for a drink around noon and the place was busting with dancing, drinking, singing, eating, breast-feeding and general noise. The women who usually rest at home had their day in the sun and it was great to observe. I had to cut out early however, feeling like quite the lame duck. Surrounded by the energy of the women, I felt like the little sister sipping her glass of milk.
Work can feel like an uphill battle. Just figuring out where to work, what do with them and communicating it all can leave a girl exhausted. I started training on how to evaluate and plan for development projects with several community groups I became connected with. It is something that volunteers usually just do, but I wanted to teach it to a few members, who would then complete the exercises with their groups. Without the help of my counterpart explaining everything over again after I said it, it wouldn’t have gone over so well. But I think everyone grasped the importance of it. Now I have started meetings where they teach the material. It is quite interesting to see the translation. I have continued work at the hospital, pre-natal consults and organizing the pharmacy. I have been teaching a computer class at the women’s center. I tried to pair it with a life skills/future-planning class, but discussion based/critical analysis with the girls didn’t go over well. I have to change things up somehow. No idea. But they seem to really enjoy the computers. I am sure much like English, teaching something that I grew up doing can be extremely difficult. How to use the mouse and open and close windows is a whole new ballgame. Especially being quite the computer illiterate person I am. Exploring some options working with a radio station and there will be new volunteer here in August for small enterprise development, so hopefully we can collaborate.
Walking over to use the internet today I was again used a tool of fear. It is a common practice here, next to the smiling faces and children running to greet me, people will sometimes bring their small toddlers over to me, causing an incredible sensation of fear. They start to cry and squire to get out of it. It is odd to be so feared, even with the friendliest smile.
I have probably mentioned the love of female hair styling here before, but it can often completely change the identity of someone. On a monthly, sometimes weekly basis, women will change their weave or wig. Long hair becomes short, purple becomes blond. This renders them completely unrecognizable and I often take second looks just to spot a good friend. I don’t know how they do it, or where they get them from, but you never know what version of your friend will show up at your door.
Guess that’s all I can come up with for now. The dust is begining to settle, welcoming the rains, which I can't wait for. I will have a new roomate soon. A new kitty will join me after our in-service training in Maroua. Ideas for names? I waiting to see what I can channel upon our meeting. I will post some photos soon. I miss everyone so much and look forward to everyone’s news, even the smallest bits.
Monday, January 26, 2009
A little taste of life
So now that I am wasting time in Yaounde, here are pics from actually a long time ago.
My homstay mother wanted to take pictures with the ancestors, I evidently thought it was histerical.
Damari
My stylish family getting ready for a church event
I mean come on.
Edith and I
Deviled Egg Judgement, taken very seriously, cued by caitlyn's sweaty back and ashley's hand on heart
More scary fruit cutting on concrete with Aubrey, Thea, Jessie and Katie
Breanna and Brad warming up Thanksgiving
Classic Phil
Anitha, Ashley, Emily
Serious Deviled Egg competition
Le couple, Brian and Jessie. Brian looks quite good in pink, better than Jessie anyway.
Cara and Kauleen's sweaty back(sorry)
Making some sort of squash dish for Thanksgiving and basically slicing their hands up with the makeshift concrete cutting board.
Phil, Jessie, Brad, Kauleen, Aubrey, Brian, Adam, Thea
Pool party after site visits, some happy and not so happy campers.
Halloween:costumes were a little hairy, but we have charlies angels(Cara, Katie, Aubrey), fanta girl(anna), cara lookalike(caitlyn), sarah palin(breanna), chiquita banana(me) and hula girl(Kauleen). At one point I had live, rotting bananas in my hair wrap.
My homstay mother wanted to take pictures with the ancestors, I evidently thought it was histerical.
Damari
My stylish family getting ready for a church event
I mean come on.
Edith and I
Deviled Egg Judgement, taken very seriously, cued by caitlyn's sweaty back and ashley's hand on heart
More scary fruit cutting on concrete with Aubrey, Thea, Jessie and Katie
Breanna and Brad warming up Thanksgiving
Classic Phil
Anitha, Ashley, Emily
Serious Deviled Egg competition
Le couple, Brian and Jessie. Brian looks quite good in pink, better than Jessie anyway.
Cara and Kauleen's sweaty back(sorry)
Making some sort of squash dish for Thanksgiving and basically slicing their hands up with the makeshift concrete cutting board.
Phil, Jessie, Brad, Kauleen, Aubrey, Brian, Adam, Thea
Pool party after site visits, some happy and not so happy campers.
Halloween:costumes were a little hairy, but we have charlies angels(Cara, Katie, Aubrey), fanta girl(anna), cara lookalike(caitlyn), sarah palin(breanna), chiquita banana(me) and hula girl(Kauleen). At one point I had live, rotting bananas in my hair wrap.
White Picket Fences
Here is a sampling of my house in Meiganga for the parents. I worked hard, but I just want to warn others that I live in the lap of PC luxury. I guess they just realized how special I was and that a queen deserves a palace.
My pride and joy.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Bobble Head Babies and Environmental Sustainability
I am settling in nicely to life in Meiganga. The house is pretty settled, although I constantly have house repairs to complete. But I feel like I have nicely fused my old ways of life with new tips I have picked up from the Cameroonians. I am making some friends and the children in my neighborhood are sort of starting to learn my name. The part that still makes me smile is the look I get from the 2-3 year old children. As I walk by, they freeze in their tracks, their eyes widen to a moon shape and in bobble-head fashion their heads follow my movement. It always makes me laugh and well generally feel like an alien. Such interactions incite a “ketchup on your face” sensation. The children constantly amaze me here. They could not be more adorable especially when they repeatedly yell out “white lady” after you have passed them half a mile down the road. I think I have seen maybe two stuffed animals here, but besides that toys are not a commonplace. Instead, in the most environmentally sustainable manner, they craft toys out of leftover parts and trash. The old tire and a stick bit still reigns. They make wooden cars and push them all around the quartier. Sometimes they put other little bits of trash in them, to carry around, give some purpose to their play. A few days ago I noticed a group of boys huddled around outside my house. I thought maybe they are plotting the overthrow of terrorism, or maybe just looking at porn. But no, in the ground they dug out holes in the ground to create an all-natural Mancala game. It was genius and although have yet to play, I am confident I will kick some butt.
So babies and children here at SO completely different than those found in the US. I know some people have “great babies” but not like here. The best example can be found in the terrible bus rides through the Adamoua region. The types of bus called “prison cars” have no windows, basically metal benches and always squeeze in one more extra person into each row. The roads are unpaved and quite bumpy and dusty. Already an unpleasant experience, but during the latest ride of seven hours, a maybe one and half year old was placed in the lap of another stranger as his mother already had three others to deal with. So the women’s lap he is placed in was well not “thin”, the man in front had no backrest and he kept falling asleep and therefore into our laps. So basically this baby is being smooshed into a tiny little crevice from all sides and angelically sat in silence or sleep for the entire ride. At various times during the trip his mother would pass back some water or food and strangers would help feed him. If I weren’t sitting next to him, I wouldn’t have known he was there. This is common with all the other bus rides I have taken. You barely hear babies cry and these are long, dusty and bumpy trips.
When I moved into the house, the side door that connects to the garden and water pump was broken. So before I went out to buy a new lock I tried to unscrew the old to make sure I got the right type. Well after a good two minutes of trying, genius realized it was welded to the door. Which is a common place in Cameroon, so the next realistic solution is to have them take the door away. So this morning a man came, took the entire door, put it on a motorcycle and returned five minutes later with a new lock on it. I took advantage of this open hole in my house to do some dishes outside. A single part of the lock was broken and so the entire door is taken away. It couldn’t have taken more than 8 minutes and cost maybe 4 dollars. If that is not efficiency, I don’t know what is.
I was hanging out in the yard of some friends yesterday and all of a sudden a young boy appeared from nowhere yelling something carrying a sack over his shoulder. Like sharks to blood, young children from every nook and cranny of the neighborhood emerged to gather around the boy. The family erupted in laugher and encouraged the young man of family to join in. Turns out that these kids can bring their broken shoes to this boy and he will give them small candies in exchange. It is sort of like the Cameroonian version of the Goodwill, but instead of tax write-offs you get a bon bon. I can be halfway around the world, but life here can be so familiar.
I started what I consider my first week of work here. I spent each morning at the private hospital basically shadowing the staff. It is a small facility, with maybe six staff members. Monday and Tuesday I observed pre-natal consultations, Wednesday was infant vaccinations, Thursday I worked in the pharmacy. I just wanted to get an idea of what goes on there. All in all, an eye opening experience. I got to feel where a baby was positioned in a pregnant woman, hear a baby’s heartbeat through the belly and weigh dozens of skinny, fat and generally adorable babies. It is popular here to decorate your baby in knitted cotton sets. As if your grandmother made an outfit for every single Cameroonian child. At one point during infant vaccinations I was helping a nurse weigh and register babies, she plopped a baby on the scale and just disappeared. After ten minutes, the mother was understandably starting to get irritated and I looked out at a sea of mothers and babies waiting. I searched the entire hospital (which isn’t very much, there are only about four rooms) only to find her in the last room, well, delivering a baby. No one said anything. I didn’t hear any screams-being four feet away. It was the strangest thing.
I have a feeling I will settle in nicely here. I just have to figure out exercise and some sort of routine. If anyone was worried, I had my dose of grilled fish again. Really you all should visit just for the fish. I miss everyone dearly and erupt in joy with every letter, email, package. The only thing missing from this place is lox and you.
So babies and children here at SO completely different than those found in the US. I know some people have “great babies” but not like here. The best example can be found in the terrible bus rides through the Adamoua region. The types of bus called “prison cars” have no windows, basically metal benches and always squeeze in one more extra person into each row. The roads are unpaved and quite bumpy and dusty. Already an unpleasant experience, but during the latest ride of seven hours, a maybe one and half year old was placed in the lap of another stranger as his mother already had three others to deal with. So the women’s lap he is placed in was well not “thin”, the man in front had no backrest and he kept falling asleep and therefore into our laps. So basically this baby is being smooshed into a tiny little crevice from all sides and angelically sat in silence or sleep for the entire ride. At various times during the trip his mother would pass back some water or food and strangers would help feed him. If I weren’t sitting next to him, I wouldn’t have known he was there. This is common with all the other bus rides I have taken. You barely hear babies cry and these are long, dusty and bumpy trips.
When I moved into the house, the side door that connects to the garden and water pump was broken. So before I went out to buy a new lock I tried to unscrew the old to make sure I got the right type. Well after a good two minutes of trying, genius realized it was welded to the door. Which is a common place in Cameroon, so the next realistic solution is to have them take the door away. So this morning a man came, took the entire door, put it on a motorcycle and returned five minutes later with a new lock on it. I took advantage of this open hole in my house to do some dishes outside. A single part of the lock was broken and so the entire door is taken away. It couldn’t have taken more than 8 minutes and cost maybe 4 dollars. If that is not efficiency, I don’t know what is.
I was hanging out in the yard of some friends yesterday and all of a sudden a young boy appeared from nowhere yelling something carrying a sack over his shoulder. Like sharks to blood, young children from every nook and cranny of the neighborhood emerged to gather around the boy. The family erupted in laugher and encouraged the young man of family to join in. Turns out that these kids can bring their broken shoes to this boy and he will give them small candies in exchange. It is sort of like the Cameroonian version of the Goodwill, but instead of tax write-offs you get a bon bon. I can be halfway around the world, but life here can be so familiar.
I started what I consider my first week of work here. I spent each morning at the private hospital basically shadowing the staff. It is a small facility, with maybe six staff members. Monday and Tuesday I observed pre-natal consultations, Wednesday was infant vaccinations, Thursday I worked in the pharmacy. I just wanted to get an idea of what goes on there. All in all, an eye opening experience. I got to feel where a baby was positioned in a pregnant woman, hear a baby’s heartbeat through the belly and weigh dozens of skinny, fat and generally adorable babies. It is popular here to decorate your baby in knitted cotton sets. As if your grandmother made an outfit for every single Cameroonian child. At one point during infant vaccinations I was helping a nurse weigh and register babies, she plopped a baby on the scale and just disappeared. After ten minutes, the mother was understandably starting to get irritated and I looked out at a sea of mothers and babies waiting. I searched the entire hospital (which isn’t very much, there are only about four rooms) only to find her in the last room, well, delivering a baby. No one said anything. I didn’t hear any screams-being four feet away. It was the strangest thing.
I have a feeling I will settle in nicely here. I just have to figure out exercise and some sort of routine. If anyone was worried, I had my dose of grilled fish again. Really you all should visit just for the fish. I miss everyone dearly and erupt in joy with every letter, email, package. The only thing missing from this place is lox and you.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
PICTURES!!!!!
A dimly lit shot of the living room in Pitoa
Familial Pit Latrine
Practicing being a health volunteer with the youth group
Me, Caitlyn, Sonia(taught me french), Cara in our matching Swearing-In pagne
The language and tech trainers at Swearing-In Ceremony
Love it
The famdamily-Edith, Me, Diane, Cedric, Flo, Damari, Hassiya
My beautiful sisters(and baby) Damari, Flo, Cedric and Edith
My quaint room during training in Pitoa
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