Appreciation and Birthdays Cameroonian Style

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.