Previous to last Thursday, my interactions regarding the UN included:
1. A tour of the UN with my family in 9th grade
2. Dickinson Model UN trips to Montreal/DC where we went clubbing instead of attending meetings
3. And, a love of the movie, “The Interpreter.” Great movie AND takes place in the UN.
Luckily, my wealth of experience helped me out when I accidently – truly, without meaning to – attended a UN meeting. Oops.
What happened was Claire and I who intern together a “Cameroon Youth and Students for Peace” went in Thursday instead of Wednesday. Totally our fault, our boss even emailed us saying come in on Wednesday but we missed the email. So we get to internship and Eugene, our fantastic boss, just says “Well, I meant to see you on Wednesday – today I am giving a presentation at UNFP. You guys can come along.” I didn’t realize what the UNFP was (hint: United Nations Food Program) but I knew something was up when we went to Basto, the richest and nicest neighborhood in Yaoundé. Then we get greeted at the gate and go through security. And, most notably of all, there is AC in the building. Um, whaaaaaaat.
Anyways, so then we go inside a conference room where everyone is dressed to the nines except Claire and I who look ridiculous in our cotton skirts and tank tops. If being the only white girls under the age of thirty wasn’t enough, my style of dress is actually offensive.
The meeting was largely non-profit, for-youth groups giving presentations to UN officials. Nothing exciting to report (especially since I was everyone was speaking French) but we did get included – no, forced – to join the “photo with the UN family.” Absurd.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Not quite cameroonian
Without a doubt, I am the strangest thing that has ever entered the Ebai household. On a daily basis I do something so bizarre, so completely ridiculous that the entire family looks at me and will repeatedly ask, "Anne, what ARE you doing?" To begin with, sitting on the ground is absolutely a no. The first time I did it, the entire family commented "Anne what are you doing on the floor?" and then before I had a chance to respond, asked whoever else was around, "Why is Anne on the floor? Get her a chair." Helen's response was the most memorable, "Anne, are you a Muslim? You sit like one." I mean, sitting on the floor made perfect sense -- it was a beautiful day and everyone was outside cooking so I just wanted to be where the fun was. They sweep they ground everyday too, so its not even dirty. Nevertheless, I definitely crossed a cultural norm with that one.
Then there is the subject of braiding my hair. Melanie and Helen truly can't fathom why I like my hair braided and think I have no sense of style when I asked if they can braid it for me. Of course, as students in school they have to wear there hair in cornrows and only on Sundays can they style it which is always a big to-do.
Reading for fun is also considered if not a waste of time, then just REALLY weird. At least twice a week I have a conversation that goes something like this:
Helen: "Is that book for school?"
Me: "No, just for fun."
Helen: "Do you have to read it?"
Me: "No."
Helen: "Why are you reading it then?"
Me: "Because I like to read.”
Helen: “But you just read a book last week.”
After this, I can count on Helen to mutter, “Anne loves to read...” [To be fair, I am reading an awfully lot here. Little to no access to TV or internet has definitely upped my reading habits and I’ve read at least 12 books this semester. Glorious. Amazing what I can do without facebook...]
Exercise is an interesting topic too which whenever I mention it, my parents warn me that I could “die.” Yes, death is apparently a common result of physical activity. Whenever I walk to school, I repeatedly told how far the walk is (well, that would be 50 minutes) and how that I will get dehydrated and DIE. My decision to climb Mount Cameroon was literally meet with shock and Auntie Susan, in the absolutely kindest way possible said, "People die on the mountain each year” (Sure, the mountain was cold and a tough hike, but I can definitively say death was never an option).
Most recently, I found out that it is unheard of for women to eat street food -- soya, sliced fruit, popcorn, boiled eggs, spaghetti sandwiches, beignets etc. This is actually absurd -- at this point I have offended the entire country of Cameroon since ALL I eat is street food and on a daily basis proclaim it the best thing on earth (and why not? For six cent I can buy the best beignets I’ve ever had).
Even my toothpaste is a subject of debate which Helen described as "the worst taste in the entire world -- I would rather die than brush my teeth with that." Umm. well, okay.
I could definitely continue this list..probably write a book the subject, but I'll leave it hereee
Then there is the subject of braiding my hair. Melanie and Helen truly can't fathom why I like my hair braided and think I have no sense of style when I asked if they can braid it for me. Of course, as students in school they have to wear there hair in cornrows and only on Sundays can they style it which is always a big to-do.
Reading for fun is also considered if not a waste of time, then just REALLY weird. At least twice a week I have a conversation that goes something like this:
Helen: "Is that book for school?"
Me: "No, just for fun."
Helen: "Do you have to read it?"
Me: "No."
Helen: "Why are you reading it then?"
Me: "Because I like to read.”
Helen: “But you just read a book last week.”
After this, I can count on Helen to mutter, “Anne loves to read...” [To be fair, I am reading an awfully lot here. Little to no access to TV or internet has definitely upped my reading habits and I’ve read at least 12 books this semester. Glorious. Amazing what I can do without facebook...]
Exercise is an interesting topic too which whenever I mention it, my parents warn me that I could “die.” Yes, death is apparently a common result of physical activity. Whenever I walk to school, I repeatedly told how far the walk is (well, that would be 50 minutes) and how that I will get dehydrated and DIE. My decision to climb Mount Cameroon was literally meet with shock and Auntie Susan, in the absolutely kindest way possible said, "People die on the mountain each year” (Sure, the mountain was cold and a tough hike, but I can definitively say death was never an option).
Most recently, I found out that it is unheard of for women to eat street food -- soya, sliced fruit, popcorn, boiled eggs, spaghetti sandwiches, beignets etc. This is actually absurd -- at this point I have offended the entire country of Cameroon since ALL I eat is street food and on a daily basis proclaim it the best thing on earth (and why not? For six cent I can buy the best beignets I’ve ever had).
Even my toothpaste is a subject of debate which Helen described as "the worst taste in the entire world -- I would rather die than brush my teeth with that." Umm. well, okay.
I could definitely continue this list..probably write a book the subject, but I'll leave it hereee
Party like its 1975
I’ve been here for nearly four months so you would’ve think I had a handle on African time by now, which I’ve already been existing on for the past twenty-one years of my life anyways. Last Thursday my Dad invited me to be his guest at his high school reunion and tells me that we will leave at 4 PM on Saturday. So, at 4 PM I start getting dressed, shower, and enjoying what I know will be late start to the day, even putting on make-up and cleaning my room knowing I will have time to spare. This was naive on my part, we didn't leave until 9(!) pm....five hours later....
When we finally did get to the reunion (where I was only white girl there, and only person under 40), the party hadn’t even started and my Mom complained “If it was me, I would’ve left at 10. What was Dad thinking....?” Despite the late start, it was a fantastic night and after a short set of speeches and dinner, we the party began. Great nite, until I asked my Dad how long the reunion went to, "Well we stay here until 7:30 am and then go to church." UM, WHAT. Thankfully, we left "early" at 3 am.
When we finally did get to the reunion (where I was only white girl there, and only person under 40), the party hadn’t even started and my Mom complained “If it was me, I would’ve left at 10. What was Dad thinking....?” Despite the late start, it was a fantastic night and after a short set of speeches and dinner, we the party began. Great nite, until I asked my Dad how long the reunion went to, "Well we stay here until 7:30 am and then go to church." UM, WHAT. Thankfully, we left "early" at 3 am.
Mont Cameroun
Okay, well this was EASILY one of the coolest things I’ve done and without a doubt the most athletic (hah, as if that was even in question).
On Friday, we took a public bus to Buea, a town five hours and home to Mt. Cameroon. We got in around 4:30 pm and spent the evening organizing our backpacks, buying food supplies (chocolate, raisins, cookies, & peanuts were the main snacks), and grabbing dinner. We all went to bed by 10 am except for the boys who, and really I’m incredibly impressed with this, decided to stay up and drink before the hike. Meanwhile I went to bed early and spent the night somewhat anxiously anticipating the climb. Mount Cameroon is the tallest mountain in West Africa and if that wasn’t enough it is the second tallest mountain in Africa which was pretty impressive/terrifying to me.
The next morning, we headed out by 7 am and after meeting our guide and porters started hiking at 8 am (even though we had porters, we each still had a backpack to carry filled with our change of warm clothes, water, and food). For me, the hardest part of the hike was the first thirty minutes where you gradually begin the climb. I mean arguably this part of the hike wasn’t even uphill, but I was actually grasping for breath (& sweating profusely) and knowing that I was already struggling but had only just left was disconcerting to say the least. After crossing the open field, we entered the rainforest an hour later which was a lot more enjoyable -- its beautiful and a lot cooler with the shade and by 1030 am we reached Hut One where we took a thirty minute break. After that, we entered the savanna (grassland) and considered the hardest part of the mountain since it is so steep and there is no solid ground to step on, just small rocks which slide out from under your feet. At noon, we made it to the middle hut/had lunch. At this point, we were just above the clouds and it was gorgeous. The weather was perfect -- sunny but not extremely hot and the wind was pushing the clouds so they seemed to rolling right pass us on the green mountaintop. At 1 pm, back to hiking. This part of the hike was realllllly steep and when you look down the mountain disappears as if it is a 90 degree angle. By 4:30 pm we reached Hut Two.
The sun was setting and it got cold fast. I spent the entire night sitting in front of the campfire bundled up in my two socks, leggings, tank top, long sleeve shirt, jacket, scarf, and gloves and was still freezing The best of the night was in the evening when most of the group had gone to bed and it was just a few of us and the porters around the campfire listening to traditional African tales. Then, in order to please the god of the mountain who is half-human/half-stone, the porters had us honor the god and dance around the fire while they chanted in the village language. We went to bed soon after where I was one of the unlucky ones who had to share a sleeping bag since we were short. We did get to sleep in tents which while far away from the campsite and impossible to get to was much better than the rat-infested huts.
The next day we were up by 4 am for breakfast and then started hiking at 5 am. This part of the hike was not too hard, just bitter cold, and by 9:15 am we reached Hut There where we quickly ate, had water, and put on more layers (I looked a green monster...dressed entirely in army fatigue green). After that, it was only a 45 minute hike to the top. The weather and landscape was amazing -- the wind was strong enough to push us over and the whole placed looked like scorched earth (which it is -- Mount Cameroon is an active volcano). Finally, we reached the summit at 10 am. Really one of the most unbelievable moments, I don’t really have words for the sense of accomplishment we all felt. Hiking Mt. Cameroon is not a part of the study abroad program, but we still had nearly the entire group come and all of us who did made it to the top which made the whole experience even better.
From there, we turned around and hiked down. Easier on the lungs, but a lot harder on the legs and when we finally reached the bottom of the mountain at 7:30 pm I could barely move my legs. They didn’t even hurt, I just simply couldn’t feel them.
Whew. So that’s that. Mount Cameroon. Done and done.
On Friday, we took a public bus to Buea, a town five hours and home to Mt. Cameroon. We got in around 4:30 pm and spent the evening organizing our backpacks, buying food supplies (chocolate, raisins, cookies, & peanuts were the main snacks), and grabbing dinner. We all went to bed by 10 am except for the boys who, and really I’m incredibly impressed with this, decided to stay up and drink before the hike. Meanwhile I went to bed early and spent the night somewhat anxiously anticipating the climb. Mount Cameroon is the tallest mountain in West Africa and if that wasn’t enough it is the second tallest mountain in Africa which was pretty impressive/terrifying to me.
The next morning, we headed out by 7 am and after meeting our guide and porters started hiking at 8 am (even though we had porters, we each still had a backpack to carry filled with our change of warm clothes, water, and food). For me, the hardest part of the hike was the first thirty minutes where you gradually begin the climb. I mean arguably this part of the hike wasn’t even uphill, but I was actually grasping for breath (& sweating profusely) and knowing that I was already struggling but had only just left was disconcerting to say the least. After crossing the open field, we entered the rainforest an hour later which was a lot more enjoyable -- its beautiful and a lot cooler with the shade and by 1030 am we reached Hut One where we took a thirty minute break. After that, we entered the savanna (grassland) and considered the hardest part of the mountain since it is so steep and there is no solid ground to step on, just small rocks which slide out from under your feet. At noon, we made it to the middle hut/had lunch. At this point, we were just above the clouds and it was gorgeous. The weather was perfect -- sunny but not extremely hot and the wind was pushing the clouds so they seemed to rolling right pass us on the green mountaintop. At 1 pm, back to hiking. This part of the hike was realllllly steep and when you look down the mountain disappears as if it is a 90 degree angle. By 4:30 pm we reached Hut Two.
The sun was setting and it got cold fast. I spent the entire night sitting in front of the campfire bundled up in my two socks, leggings, tank top, long sleeve shirt, jacket, scarf, and gloves and was still freezing The best of the night was in the evening when most of the group had gone to bed and it was just a few of us and the porters around the campfire listening to traditional African tales. Then, in order to please the god of the mountain who is half-human/half-stone, the porters had us honor the god and dance around the fire while they chanted in the village language. We went to bed soon after where I was one of the unlucky ones who had to share a sleeping bag since we were short. We did get to sleep in tents which while far away from the campsite and impossible to get to was much better than the rat-infested huts.
The next day we were up by 4 am for breakfast and then started hiking at 5 am. This part of the hike was not too hard, just bitter cold, and by 9:15 am we reached Hut There where we quickly ate, had water, and put on more layers (I looked a green monster...dressed entirely in army fatigue green). After that, it was only a 45 minute hike to the top. The weather and landscape was amazing -- the wind was strong enough to push us over and the whole placed looked like scorched earth (which it is -- Mount Cameroon is an active volcano). Finally, we reached the summit at 10 am. Really one of the most unbelievable moments, I don’t really have words for the sense of accomplishment we all felt. Hiking Mt. Cameroon is not a part of the study abroad program, but we still had nearly the entire group come and all of us who did made it to the top which made the whole experience even better.
From there, we turned around and hiked down. Easier on the lungs, but a lot harder on the legs and when we finally reached the bottom of the mountain at 7:30 pm I could barely move my legs. They didn’t even hurt, I just simply couldn’t feel them.
Whew. So that’s that. Mount Cameroon. Done and done.
Monday, April 25, 2011
A Cameroonian Easter
I have to admit, I had low expectations for Easter here, no cadbury eggs AND church service at 5:30 AM -- the situation looked dire. But, I totally lucked out, not only did the family skip church service because they were afraid of traveling in the dark (though, don't for a second think my family isn't religious, my Mom attended two church services on Good Friday) but instead I spent the day cooking and partying at baptism reception for Anna's host siblings. In the morning, after exploring Mendong and even making it to the outskirts of Yaounde, I helped my host Mom make 100(!) meat pies. Afterwards, I went to Anna's where I think I morally offended her host Dad when I said that one beer was more than enough for me. Bon Fete.
Far North
Whew. So back from the Far North. I felt like a globetrekker -- nothing about the journey there was easy -- but it was fantastic and showed me another side of Africa. It would be a real wasted effort to try and summarize the past nine days so instead here are the most memorable moments:
- Travel: 36 hours on the train (eight of which were a breakdown) + over thirty hours in a bus. I think I could've handled the extreme heat/lack of AC & cramped quarters but I've lost my iPod which did not do me any favors...whine.whine.whine.
-Waza. This is the national park where we went on safari. We saw giraffes, monkeys, antelopes, wild boar, vultures, and lions. So neat. And, to give an idea how hot it was in the North, our "hotel" (re: room with bed) didn't have AC and in the end the whole group risked the bugs/possible wild animals to sleep outside just on our mattresses.
-Maroua. This is the capital of the Far North and excluding the oppressive heat the city is beautiful. The quiet dusty streets are lined with shady trees and the architecture feels like something out of the Middle East. A far cry from chaotic and crowded Yaounde.
-Muslim influence. The Far North is largely Muslim so not only is the style of dress much different (conservative, less western) but people's behavior is too. Whereas in the South of Cameroon, I am constantly bombarded as a white, here I left in peace and even the aggressive market vendors let me pass largely undisturbed. Of course, while I think there is something to be said for this, the Muslim influence also dictates strict gender roles. I hate the idea of being culturally imperialistic, but there is no way around it for me, some of the practices in the north I think undeniably violate human rights, including:
-Female Genital Mutation
-Acceptance for women as young as twelve marrying men of any age
-Shame associated with being an unmarried woman
-Expectation that women should never been seen by other men and are thus confined to the home and are nothing more than objects.
The list goes on and the necessity of keeping a woman "pure" for her husband results in bizarre ways -- there are few taxis since men hate the idea of their wives sitting next to strange men in the car and city lacks storey buildings because of the fear that men who live in upper level apartments could look down to a another courtyard and see another man's wife.
-Village life: We only drove on main roads, but nevertheless the villages we passed were so isolated and consisted just of mud huts with straw roofs and maybe a mosque. While I can do without TV/cell phone/internet for a period of time, I really can't imagine a community entirely absent of all this.
-And, best of all, we went on a six mile hike that took us over the Cameroon border and into Nigeria. No border patrol, you simply pass a small rock that marks the line and then are in Nigeria.
Obviously this doesn't even begin to describe the trip, but it was really was terrific and, because my sister is great, I even had a camera to take lots of pictures which really illustrate everything I am trying to say.
- Travel: 36 hours on the train (eight of which were a breakdown) + over thirty hours in a bus. I think I could've handled the extreme heat/lack of AC & cramped quarters but I've lost my iPod which did not do me any favors...whine.whine.whine.
-Waza. This is the national park where we went on safari. We saw giraffes, monkeys, antelopes, wild boar, vultures, and lions. So neat. And, to give an idea how hot it was in the North, our "hotel" (re: room with bed) didn't have AC and in the end the whole group risked the bugs/possible wild animals to sleep outside just on our mattresses.
-Maroua. This is the capital of the Far North and excluding the oppressive heat the city is beautiful. The quiet dusty streets are lined with shady trees and the architecture feels like something out of the Middle East. A far cry from chaotic and crowded Yaounde.
-Muslim influence. The Far North is largely Muslim so not only is the style of dress much different (conservative, less western) but people's behavior is too. Whereas in the South of Cameroon, I am constantly bombarded as a white, here I left in peace and even the aggressive market vendors let me pass largely undisturbed. Of course, while I think there is something to be said for this, the Muslim influence also dictates strict gender roles. I hate the idea of being culturally imperialistic, but there is no way around it for me, some of the practices in the north I think undeniably violate human rights, including:
-Female Genital Mutation
-Acceptance for women as young as twelve marrying men of any age
-Shame associated with being an unmarried woman
-Expectation that women should never been seen by other men and are thus confined to the home and are nothing more than objects.
The list goes on and the necessity of keeping a woman "pure" for her husband results in bizarre ways -- there are few taxis since men hate the idea of their wives sitting next to strange men in the car and city lacks storey buildings because of the fear that men who live in upper level apartments could look down to a another courtyard and see another man's wife.
-Village life: We only drove on main roads, but nevertheless the villages we passed were so isolated and consisted just of mud huts with straw roofs and maybe a mosque. While I can do without TV/cell phone/internet for a period of time, I really can't imagine a community entirely absent of all this.
-And, best of all, we went on a six mile hike that took us over the Cameroon border and into Nigeria. No border patrol, you simply pass a small rock that marks the line and then are in Nigeria.
Obviously this doesn't even begin to describe the trip, but it was really was terrific and, because my sister is great, I even had a camera to take lots of pictures which really illustrate everything I am trying to say.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Traveling
Going to the Extreme Nord tomorrow!! This is honestly the most excited I've been for a trip in, well, ever. Obviously coming to Cameroon had its share of anxieties pre-departure and other trips around the US/Europe have had a level of familiarity that maybe took away from the adventure. The Extreme Nord is the very end of Cameroon and the region furthest away from the Atlantic Ocean and is the part of Cameroon wedged between Nigeria and Chad. It's brutally hot -- 39 degrees Celsius...which while I do not know what that translates to in Fahrenheit I can assume I will probably die if Cameroonians call it hot. The region is predominantly Muslim and has Waza National Park where there are lions. Here's to you, Simba.
You just got to roll with it.
Last weekend was one for the books. It started Friday morning with our last French class. I love my French prof, Candice and she is sincerely one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, but its nice to have my Thursday and Friday mornings free to explore the city or cook with my host Mom. Anyways, in honor of the occasion, the French professors (terribly) organized this plan for us to cook a Cameroonian meal. I’m not exactly sure what they were thinking -- initially plans involved us killing a chicken, preparing dishes that take more than a day to put together, and cooking in strangers homes but we modified so that we just cooked in the apt. and prepared fish instead of slaughtering chickens. Highlight here was scaling, gutting, and cutting the fish. I’m proud to say I’m not squeamish and I’m looking forward to the day when I can use this new “skill” in the states. Felt like I was Bear Grills (Grylls?).
Then on Saturday, I picked up a dress Sarah’s host mom made for me and it is without a doubt the coolest thing I will ever own, even beating out my Quebec sweatshirt. It’s that great. It is a strapless dress and the fabric is a scene of the African landscape filled with lions, hippos, giraffes, rhinos. I definitely could keep writing about the dress, but that is 1. boring 2. superficial so I will stop here.
After picking up The Dress, Grace’s host Dad, Papa Martin, brought us out on...well, I don’t really have words for it...but it was nothing less than a tour of the city. First he brought us to this restaurant where we had the best salads. I use to hate salads, but now that I am thousands of miles away from pizza and buffalo fingers, salads are quickly becoming my meal of choice. Clear example of the positive benefits of study abroad. Then, he brought us around to his friends homes where we would visit for no more than ten minutes while Papa Martin said a quick hello. This is very Cameroonian to just stop in and say hi without much ado. The last home we went to was his elder brother which was incredibly different than any home I have seen yet in Yaounde. We were in the city, but after following a steep dirt road, it felt like we were in the village and the houses were made with wood with tin roofs and dirt floors -- a far cry from the cement and tiled homes of our host families. The family was so happy to see Papa Martin and with good reason. He is a well to-do doctor but his personality is that of a lovable five year old -- jumping up stairs one foot at a time and teasing everyone. He also adores Grace and when a men shouted “Madame!” at Grace, he shouted back “Pas Madame! C’est ma fille!” (Not madame, it’s my daughter!).
Finally, Papa Martin brought us to a “cow market.” These cows are not your pretty black & white diary cows, but look more like what I pictured ox to look like. Of course, I have no idea what the difference is between cattle/cow/ox so this simply me projecting my city-girl perception...But it was unreal to see these hundreds of cows just roaming a hill in the center of the city. Yaounde never ceases to surprise.
Then on Saturday, I picked up a dress Sarah’s host mom made for me and it is without a doubt the coolest thing I will ever own, even beating out my Quebec sweatshirt. It’s that great. It is a strapless dress and the fabric is a scene of the African landscape filled with lions, hippos, giraffes, rhinos. I definitely could keep writing about the dress, but that is 1. boring 2. superficial so I will stop here.
After picking up The Dress, Grace’s host Dad, Papa Martin, brought us out on...well, I don’t really have words for it...but it was nothing less than a tour of the city. First he brought us to this restaurant where we had the best salads. I use to hate salads, but now that I am thousands of miles away from pizza and buffalo fingers, salads are quickly becoming my meal of choice. Clear example of the positive benefits of study abroad. Then, he brought us around to his friends homes where we would visit for no more than ten minutes while Papa Martin said a quick hello. This is very Cameroonian to just stop in and say hi without much ado. The last home we went to was his elder brother which was incredibly different than any home I have seen yet in Yaounde. We were in the city, but after following a steep dirt road, it felt like we were in the village and the houses were made with wood with tin roofs and dirt floors -- a far cry from the cement and tiled homes of our host families. The family was so happy to see Papa Martin and with good reason. He is a well to-do doctor but his personality is that of a lovable five year old -- jumping up stairs one foot at a time and teasing everyone. He also adores Grace and when a men shouted “Madame!” at Grace, he shouted back “Pas Madame! C’est ma fille!” (Not madame, it’s my daughter!).
Finally, Papa Martin brought us to a “cow market.” These cows are not your pretty black & white diary cows, but look more like what I pictured ox to look like. Of course, I have no idea what the difference is between cattle/cow/ox so this simply me projecting my city-girl perception...But it was unreal to see these hundreds of cows just roaming a hill in the center of the city. Yaounde never ceases to surprise.
Briq
For my Creative Writing course, we take a field trip each week to a neighborhood/business/personality in Yaoundé and then write a reflection on the experience. This is mine from Briq, the Muslim neighborhood. I've been to Briq countless time and it is by far my favorite place in Yaounde -- culturally its a world apart from the rest of the city and has the best food & fabric to be found. I’m not pretending this is good writing, but its a quickly written blog post!
When I think of Briciterie, I imagine a silent film. The silence may be deafening, but it only makes the movie better and focuses the audience not on endless babble, but rather on the magnificent scene before you. Or maybe, Briciterie is more like a dream where the sounds and shouts never resonate and only come out sounding like whispers.
As I wander the dusty red streets, the quiet hangs in the air and unlike the rest of Yaoundé which feels as if it is in revolt with the honks of the taxis, the catcalls, and the shouts of a good bargain, Briciterie feels like a pious older sister who is content to merely observe and knows full well the merits of restraint. Here, I can walk the streets undisturbed, able to freely step in and out of shops without explaining why I won't buy and instead focus on the colors -- the rust red blood of the slaughtered cow, the faded blue signs for kossam, the pale yellow of the Mosque tiles. From the storefront, fabric hangs in the air forming a fantastic swirl of purples and greens, yellows and reds, and orange and blues that dares not to move in the heavy, still heat.
Turning the corner, suddenly smoke fills the air and my eyes begin to burn as we head towards the soya stands. On the grill, laying out on the brown paper are the countless sticks of soya piled next to a delicate pyramid of peppers and spices. Nearby a woman patiently sells kossam, doling out the paper cups of milk as she sits under her umbrella, avoiding the blistering heat.
And then finally, there is the children. The boys dressed in the traditional agbada and girls covered in headscarves who from the street corners and storefront stare out at us with a solemn look in their eyes.
When I think of Briciterie, I imagine a silent film. The silence may be deafening, but it only makes the movie better and focuses the audience not on endless babble, but rather on the magnificent scene before you. Or maybe, Briciterie is more like a dream where the sounds and shouts never resonate and only come out sounding like whispers.
As I wander the dusty red streets, the quiet hangs in the air and unlike the rest of Yaoundé which feels as if it is in revolt with the honks of the taxis, the catcalls, and the shouts of a good bargain, Briciterie feels like a pious older sister who is content to merely observe and knows full well the merits of restraint. Here, I can walk the streets undisturbed, able to freely step in and out of shops without explaining why I won't buy and instead focus on the colors -- the rust red blood of the slaughtered cow, the faded blue signs for kossam, the pale yellow of the Mosque tiles. From the storefront, fabric hangs in the air forming a fantastic swirl of purples and greens, yellows and reds, and orange and blues that dares not to move in the heavy, still heat.
Turning the corner, suddenly smoke fills the air and my eyes begin to burn as we head towards the soya stands. On the grill, laying out on the brown paper are the countless sticks of soya piled next to a delicate pyramid of peppers and spices. Nearby a woman patiently sells kossam, doling out the paper cups of milk as she sits under her umbrella, avoiding the blistering heat.
And then finally, there is the children. The boys dressed in the traditional agbada and girls covered in headscarves who from the street corners and storefront stare out at us with a solemn look in their eyes.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
absurdly long post...
Wow. Fantastic weekend. Don't even know where to begin, but my experiences this weekend are exactly what I hoped to get out of study abroad.
On Friday after French class, we drove to the city of Bamenda in the Northwest region. It was a solid five hours drive and I did not have my iPod (which I am currently counting on being momentarily misplaced and not, well, lost) so I expected it to be a looong five hours but honestly the trip flew by -- the scenery was just that gorgeous (and my nap, unexpectedly long). The trip took us from the Centre Region, which is known for its dense, lush rainforest to the Nord-Ouest grassland zone. The grassland zone was gorgeous: rugged, rolling hills and in the valleys you can see scattered farm plots and homes made from bricks or wooden houses with tall, tin triangle roofs. I'm doing an absurdly terrible job describing the scene, but it was stunning. It was pretty funny here Prof. Muitia describe the grassland zone as "prettier than Scotland" but then learning that he only had seen Scotland in the movie "Braveheart."
By 6 PM we arrived in Bamenda, the capital of the region. Three immediate reasons why Bamenda is amazing:
1. English-speaking region
2. Dry heat. Yaoundé is beyond humid, especially now that we are right before the rainy season but Bamenda was hot without being stifling. Cameroonians even describe Bamenda as cold.
3. Nicer people/less chaotic. That's a huge generalization, of course, but I did find people to be much less aggressive than those in Yaoundé.
On Saturday, we got up and headed to an Artisan Workshop near Top-Station. Top Station is the highest point in Bamenda and is the location of the first German colonial offices before their lost their hold in Cameroon after WWI. Today though, there are still the 19th century European homes made from stone. But the artisan market, so great. We all went nuts there and spent a large chuck of our stipend buying souvenirs. Tourism doesn't really exist in Cameroon so the goods you are buying are traditional and authentic and not like a lot of the juke you see in American cities. I mainly bought souvenirs to bring back for family and friends at home, which if you're reading this, probably includes you. Elite readership here. For myself though, I bought a pair of bronze candlesticks with fish carved out of the stand and wicker bowls. Without a doubt though, I spent more money here than I have spent in an entire single day my whole time in Yaoundé.
Afterwards, we went to the palace of the Chief ("Fon") of the Bafut tribe. It is less of palace than a compound, but the Fon has over eighty wives so this is no joking matter. The Bafut tribe is noteworthy because of how well it stood up against the Germans when they tried to take over. The Germans did eventually win against the Bafut but only after years of fighting a losing guerrilla war and with the forced aide of the surrounding tribes that had previously conquered. Before the tour, we attended a tribal dance that apparently only happens once every two years. Drums, masks, stilts, Grass skirts. Everything that you think of when you imagine Africa and truly amazing. The only hint of westernization was the Cameroonian man in the corner, filming the event in his hand-held movie camera.
Then we headed back to the hotel to freshen up and see the central market of Bamenda. We didn't make it there until nearly closing at 5 PM but I did get to wander inside for a fifteen minutes. Once again, Bamenda Marchee was better than the marchees in Yaoundé -- instead of wooden stands crowding the pathways; here the Marchee had set small closets for each vender to sell their goods from and were organized clearly by product. I ended up buying a western style dress for six dollars and a maroon knit sweater that is sold for the Bamenda school uniforms. Obviously, I would buy a heavy maroon sweater while in Cameroon, but I really do love it and plan on sporting it all next year.
Next day, we began our journey home stopping halfway at Baffossum in the Ouest region. At this point, we are back in Francophone territory n the transitional zone, so not quite rainforests but by no means grasslands. After getting to Baffossum, we followed this dirt road up a steep winding road until we got to the village where we were going to spend the night. I am about to do a terrible job describing the day at the village, but before I do, I can honestly say the next twenty-fours were unbelievable and easily lists as one of the most inspirational days in my life.
The village where we were staying is home to Mr. Kumdra, a young man - perhaps thirty-five - who after attending university in Germany started his own coffee company which seeks to fix the huge disparity in between the pathetic price that Cameroonians sell their coffee beans for and the absurd profit that European/American companies make when they sell the finish product. Basically, its neo-colonialism since this big transnational organizations under the label of "Free Trade" go into Cameroon (and countless other third-world countries) and buy the raw resources for dirt cheap (because the farmers have no choice to sell since to attempt to negotiate for a higher price is financial suicide) which they then make into a finished product and sell to the rest of the world for an absurd jacked up price. Mr. Kumdra though is trying to stop this cycle, building a collective of thirteen small organic farms from his village and the surrounding area, buying their coffee at a fixed fair price and then selling it to Europe, at this moment just companies in Germany but Dickinson is trying to set up a partnership with his company. In doing so, he guarantees the women who sell the coffee a set income that is independent of market prices and the bully of big business. It's Free Trade v. Fair Trade.
Previous to this, I think I would've argued for Free Trade. Sure, I knew that Fair Trade was better for the workers, but I had taken the outlook that for a country to lift itself from poverty it was necessary to build up the economy as a whole, which was best done through Free Trade. And sure, the theory holds for the US and other European powers. But in Africa and Central America, this essential allows big business to step in, avoid environmental regulations that exist in their home country, and promote unsustainable economic and environmental practices for their profit. Hello Dickinson, I get it now.
Mr. Kumdra took us on a tour of the workshop where the women sort their coffee and bag the product before shipping it abroad. Then, we saw the village hospital that was built at the help of the money that Mr. Kumdra business brought in. It's only an eight room hospital with a pharmacy closet, doctor's office, three patient rooms, maternity ward, and reception area but the other option is traveling back down to town, easily a thirty minute ride in the car.
And there is Mr. Kumdra himself. He is young, kind of looking like a black Kramer or Einstein and speaks five different languages fluently: German, English, French, and two village languages. He is incredibly hard-working, living in the village for only four months a year, spending four months in Germany, and then traveling the world for the four months trying to promote his company. He was so happy to have us, taking countless photos with camera. Literally he would standing up, talking, walking us around the coffee fields and then in his right hand, just snapping pictures without looking. I'm sure we were a sight: nine young white women in this little, rural village. (Peter had returned early to Yaoundé to pick up his parents).
At night, we had a true Cameroonian feast, attended a village dance put on for our benefit which we then joined in on (dancing, terribly, I'm sure) and then finally crashed in our bedrooms where I actually, unbelievably, was freezing, bundled up in my jeans and sweater but still shivering -- it had poured earlier in the day, the temperature had finally dropped, and we were without a blanket. Whew. Next morning, we returned to Yaoundé.
So, there is my long winded description of the weekend, but it was amazing. I am definitely going to back a bigger effort to buy Fair Trade products and am going to try to only buy coffee Fair Trade which is certainly manageable considering how "hip" it is in the US.
On Friday after French class, we drove to the city of Bamenda in the Northwest region. It was a solid five hours drive and I did not have my iPod (which I am currently counting on being momentarily misplaced and not, well, lost) so I expected it to be a looong five hours but honestly the trip flew by -- the scenery was just that gorgeous (and my nap, unexpectedly long). The trip took us from the Centre Region, which is known for its dense, lush rainforest to the Nord-Ouest grassland zone. The grassland zone was gorgeous: rugged, rolling hills and in the valleys you can see scattered farm plots and homes made from bricks or wooden houses with tall, tin triangle roofs. I'm doing an absurdly terrible job describing the scene, but it was stunning. It was pretty funny here Prof. Muitia describe the grassland zone as "prettier than Scotland" but then learning that he only had seen Scotland in the movie "Braveheart."
By 6 PM we arrived in Bamenda, the capital of the region. Three immediate reasons why Bamenda is amazing:
1. English-speaking region
2. Dry heat. Yaoundé is beyond humid, especially now that we are right before the rainy season but Bamenda was hot without being stifling. Cameroonians even describe Bamenda as cold.
3. Nicer people/less chaotic. That's a huge generalization, of course, but I did find people to be much less aggressive than those in Yaoundé.
On Saturday, we got up and headed to an Artisan Workshop near Top-Station. Top Station is the highest point in Bamenda and is the location of the first German colonial offices before their lost their hold in Cameroon after WWI. Today though, there are still the 19th century European homes made from stone. But the artisan market, so great. We all went nuts there and spent a large chuck of our stipend buying souvenirs. Tourism doesn't really exist in Cameroon so the goods you are buying are traditional and authentic and not like a lot of the juke you see in American cities. I mainly bought souvenirs to bring back for family and friends at home, which if you're reading this, probably includes you. Elite readership here. For myself though, I bought a pair of bronze candlesticks with fish carved out of the stand and wicker bowls. Without a doubt though, I spent more money here than I have spent in an entire single day my whole time in Yaoundé.
Afterwards, we went to the palace of the Chief ("Fon") of the Bafut tribe. It is less of palace than a compound, but the Fon has over eighty wives so this is no joking matter. The Bafut tribe is noteworthy because of how well it stood up against the Germans when they tried to take over. The Germans did eventually win against the Bafut but only after years of fighting a losing guerrilla war and with the forced aide of the surrounding tribes that had previously conquered. Before the tour, we attended a tribal dance that apparently only happens once every two years. Drums, masks, stilts, Grass skirts. Everything that you think of when you imagine Africa and truly amazing. The only hint of westernization was the Cameroonian man in the corner, filming the event in his hand-held movie camera.
Then we headed back to the hotel to freshen up and see the central market of Bamenda. We didn't make it there until nearly closing at 5 PM but I did get to wander inside for a fifteen minutes. Once again, Bamenda Marchee was better than the marchees in Yaoundé -- instead of wooden stands crowding the pathways; here the Marchee had set small closets for each vender to sell their goods from and were organized clearly by product. I ended up buying a western style dress for six dollars and a maroon knit sweater that is sold for the Bamenda school uniforms. Obviously, I would buy a heavy maroon sweater while in Cameroon, but I really do love it and plan on sporting it all next year.
Next day, we began our journey home stopping halfway at Baffossum in the Ouest region. At this point, we are back in Francophone territory n the transitional zone, so not quite rainforests but by no means grasslands. After getting to Baffossum, we followed this dirt road up a steep winding road until we got to the village where we were going to spend the night. I am about to do a terrible job describing the day at the village, but before I do, I can honestly say the next twenty-fours were unbelievable and easily lists as one of the most inspirational days in my life.
The village where we were staying is home to Mr. Kumdra, a young man - perhaps thirty-five - who after attending university in Germany started his own coffee company which seeks to fix the huge disparity in between the pathetic price that Cameroonians sell their coffee beans for and the absurd profit that European/American companies make when they sell the finish product. Basically, its neo-colonialism since this big transnational organizations under the label of "Free Trade" go into Cameroon (and countless other third-world countries) and buy the raw resources for dirt cheap (because the farmers have no choice to sell since to attempt to negotiate for a higher price is financial suicide) which they then make into a finished product and sell to the rest of the world for an absurd jacked up price. Mr. Kumdra though is trying to stop this cycle, building a collective of thirteen small organic farms from his village and the surrounding area, buying their coffee at a fixed fair price and then selling it to Europe, at this moment just companies in Germany but Dickinson is trying to set up a partnership with his company. In doing so, he guarantees the women who sell the coffee a set income that is independent of market prices and the bully of big business. It's Free Trade v. Fair Trade.
Previous to this, I think I would've argued for Free Trade. Sure, I knew that Fair Trade was better for the workers, but I had taken the outlook that for a country to lift itself from poverty it was necessary to build up the economy as a whole, which was best done through Free Trade. And sure, the theory holds for the US and other European powers. But in Africa and Central America, this essential allows big business to step in, avoid environmental regulations that exist in their home country, and promote unsustainable economic and environmental practices for their profit. Hello Dickinson, I get it now.
Mr. Kumdra took us on a tour of the workshop where the women sort their coffee and bag the product before shipping it abroad. Then, we saw the village hospital that was built at the help of the money that Mr. Kumdra business brought in. It's only an eight room hospital with a pharmacy closet, doctor's office, three patient rooms, maternity ward, and reception area but the other option is traveling back down to town, easily a thirty minute ride in the car.
And there is Mr. Kumdra himself. He is young, kind of looking like a black Kramer or Einstein and speaks five different languages fluently: German, English, French, and two village languages. He is incredibly hard-working, living in the village for only four months a year, spending four months in Germany, and then traveling the world for the four months trying to promote his company. He was so happy to have us, taking countless photos with camera. Literally he would standing up, talking, walking us around the coffee fields and then in his right hand, just snapping pictures without looking. I'm sure we were a sight: nine young white women in this little, rural village. (Peter had returned early to Yaoundé to pick up his parents).
At night, we had a true Cameroonian feast, attended a village dance put on for our benefit which we then joined in on (dancing, terribly, I'm sure) and then finally crashed in our bedrooms where I actually, unbelievably, was freezing, bundled up in my jeans and sweater but still shivering -- it had poured earlier in the day, the temperature had finally dropped, and we were without a blanket. Whew. Next morning, we returned to Yaoundé.
So, there is my long winded description of the weekend, but it was amazing. I am definitely going to back a bigger effort to buy Fair Trade products and am going to try to only buy coffee Fair Trade which is certainly manageable considering how "hip" it is in the US.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Goat killings, Clubbing, and Kossam.
All of this was on Saturday, plus a lot more so needless to say it was fantastic, or if in defense of animal rights, at least incredibly interesting (and, for the record, I didn't kill the goat, my friend Peter did. Impressive).
Once again, I was the lazy one in the family sleeping in to 7:30 which by that time everyone except for nine year old Ivy had been up for at least two hours, if not more. This family is honestly super-human. I am not sure when any of them sleep. Anyways, up and at 'em though and by 8 am I am cooking over open fire making ground nut paste. TIA. Then, I had a quick breakfast of bread and coffee, with the necessary Vache Qui Rit. Then, more cooking where I helped to make this really fantastic cabbage dish, fried potatoes wedges, and Eru (super Cameroonian and universally disliked by all of us. It is basically really spicy mowed grass). We cooked straight until 2 pm and probably would've continued to work had the rains not come putting us inside. Had the day ended there, I would've considered it an excellent Saturday already.
Afterwards though, I hung out with Melanie and Helen. Melanie had told me that the Senegalese man at the corner store was asking where I was (and no, he doesn't even call me La Blanche, but knows my name!). I thought this was incredibly flattering. After all, what is more indicative of your integration into a new place than being known at the corner store by name? Driven by that then, Melanie, Helen and I walked down to the store to buy water. Even better, I found out the corner store sold Kossam which is this yogurt, milk thing for 100 francs (~25 cents) and it is delicious. I first had it in Briquetrie, the Muslim neighborhood, and assumed you could only get it there so finding out right in Mendong obviously made my day. That said, it is slightly risky to eat it since it is milk product and could have bad bacteria. Considering how much work Krissy put into to making the soft serve fit health codes at Nona's (and, which it many times fell short of), I probably should be more apprehensive but it is Kossam and just too good...
Then, I went over to Anna's for and hung out with her family who I adore. First off, the whole family is absurdly beautiful and I have to stop myself from commenting endless on each of their good looks. On top of their stunning good looks, (and really, they are gorgeous) I have so much fun there. Even though they are Francophones and my French is terrible, I can go over and joke around with the family which makes me feel at home and is great practice for my French.They do some what force feed Anna which is hilarious for me as Anna struggles to finish each of her giant meals that her host family insists she would simply starve without.
At 7 pm, I headed over to Peter's for what he described as a "reunion" but seemed to be a meeting an entire village -- everyone was dressed in the traditional African wear, speaking the mother tongue, and boozing hard. Apparently, they had been a serious business meeting before I came, but by the time I was there it was simply a party. Also, Peter killed a goat for the occasion which he describes as being put on him as "Hey, Peter, wake up. We need your help" and then, well, being given the goat. Poor goat. But we all agree, even though we all feel uncomfortable killing the animals ourselves, it is simply a reality that Americans have the privilege to sterilize and avoid thinking about, buying our meat neatly packaged in the grocery store.
Finally, and okay, this post is getting far too long, all us -- the majority of the students and our Cameroonian friends -- went to the bar for a couple of hours before going out to the club which, from my limited clubbing experience, was more or less like any club just with lots more African music.
Whew. So there is Saturday. Long day, but I got a crash course in Cameroon.
Once again, I was the lazy one in the family sleeping in to 7:30 which by that time everyone except for nine year old Ivy had been up for at least two hours, if not more. This family is honestly super-human. I am not sure when any of them sleep. Anyways, up and at 'em though and by 8 am I am cooking over open fire making ground nut paste. TIA. Then, I had a quick breakfast of bread and coffee, with the necessary Vache Qui Rit. Then, more cooking where I helped to make this really fantastic cabbage dish, fried potatoes wedges, and Eru (super Cameroonian and universally disliked by all of us. It is basically really spicy mowed grass). We cooked straight until 2 pm and probably would've continued to work had the rains not come putting us inside. Had the day ended there, I would've considered it an excellent Saturday already.
Afterwards though, I hung out with Melanie and Helen. Melanie had told me that the Senegalese man at the corner store was asking where I was (and no, he doesn't even call me La Blanche, but knows my name!). I thought this was incredibly flattering. After all, what is more indicative of your integration into a new place than being known at the corner store by name? Driven by that then, Melanie, Helen and I walked down to the store to buy water. Even better, I found out the corner store sold Kossam which is this yogurt, milk thing for 100 francs (~25 cents) and it is delicious. I first had it in Briquetrie, the Muslim neighborhood, and assumed you could only get it there so finding out right in Mendong obviously made my day. That said, it is slightly risky to eat it since it is milk product and could have bad bacteria. Considering how much work Krissy put into to making the soft serve fit health codes at Nona's (and, which it many times fell short of), I probably should be more apprehensive but it is Kossam and just too good...
Then, I went over to Anna's for and hung out with her family who I adore. First off, the whole family is absurdly beautiful and I have to stop myself from commenting endless on each of their good looks. On top of their stunning good looks, (and really, they are gorgeous) I have so much fun there. Even though they are Francophones and my French is terrible, I can go over and joke around with the family which makes me feel at home and is great practice for my French.They do some what force feed Anna which is hilarious for me as Anna struggles to finish each of her giant meals that her host family insists she would simply starve without.
At 7 pm, I headed over to Peter's for what he described as a "reunion" but seemed to be a meeting an entire village -- everyone was dressed in the traditional African wear, speaking the mother tongue, and boozing hard. Apparently, they had been a serious business meeting before I came, but by the time I was there it was simply a party. Also, Peter killed a goat for the occasion which he describes as being put on him as "Hey, Peter, wake up. We need your help" and then, well, being given the goat. Poor goat. But we all agree, even though we all feel uncomfortable killing the animals ourselves, it is simply a reality that Americans have the privilege to sterilize and avoid thinking about, buying our meat neatly packaged in the grocery store.
Finally, and okay, this post is getting far too long, all us -- the majority of the students and our Cameroonian friends -- went to the bar for a couple of hours before going out to the club which, from my limited clubbing experience, was more or less like any club just with lots more African music.
Whew. So there is Saturday. Long day, but I got a crash course in Cameroon.
Getting on African Time
Well it is two months into the program and classes are starting to pick up here. Actually, that is a tremendous lie if I am compare my workload to America, but nevertheless, I am starting to actually feel "busy." My schedule is as such:
Monday: French Lit. class 10-12, Contemporary Cameroon 2-4, African dance class 6-8
Tuesday: IR of African states 2-4
Wednesday: Free!
Thursday: French 9-12, Creative Writing course 2-4, Dance class 6-8
Friday: French 9-12
Mind you, I have absolutely no work for these classes. Really the bare minimum in terms of what is due. My complete homework of the past two months culminates to: reading a short French novel, writing a handful of short paragraphs for French, and then two 1 page reflections for Creative Writing. It hasn't exactly been tough, but nevertheless I keep my To-Do list never gets any shorter (Also, To-Do list? I think this goes directly against the African spirit). But that said, I am happy to say that the reason why I feel busy are only reflective of how much there is that I wish to do. I love to explore the neighborhoods, go shopping in the markets, hang out in Mendong with my family, learn to cook with my host Mom, take a lazy lunch with a beer (which is justifiably a cultural experience), visit friends' host families, study French, try a new bakery, hang out with Cameroonian friends -- and of this is on top of "classes," chores, and the sparse time spent on the internet or reading/writing.
Monday: French Lit. class 10-12, Contemporary Cameroon 2-4, African dance class 6-8
Tuesday: IR of African states 2-4
Wednesday: Free!
Thursday: French 9-12, Creative Writing course 2-4, Dance class 6-8
Friday: French 9-12
Mind you, I have absolutely no work for these classes. Really the bare minimum in terms of what is due. My complete homework of the past two months culminates to: reading a short French novel, writing a handful of short paragraphs for French, and then two 1 page reflections for Creative Writing. It hasn't exactly been tough, but nevertheless I keep my To-Do list never gets any shorter (Also, To-Do list? I think this goes directly against the African spirit). But that said, I am happy to say that the reason why I feel busy are only reflective of how much there is that I wish to do. I love to explore the neighborhoods, go shopping in the markets, hang out in Mendong with my family, learn to cook with my host Mom, take a lazy lunch with a beer (which is justifiably a cultural experience), visit friends' host families, study French, try a new bakery, hang out with Cameroonian friends -- and of this is on top of "classes," chores, and the sparse time spent on the internet or reading/writing.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Huit Mars, La Journee de la Femme
March 8th, International Women's Day.
alors, Bonne Fete!
Honestly, this was one of my favorite days in Cameroon and will always be something I remember.
So after waking up and having a special breakfast of fried dough , I put on specially bought hot pink Women's Day kaba and went off to school. Now, for weeks, all the seamstresses have been displaying this year's fabric from their storefronts and LaKing, the big fabric store in Centre Ville has been having lines out the door as women rush to buy their fabric. But nevertheless, as I went to take my taxi, I felt terribly self-conscieous. I just had that feeling you have right before you go to school on Halloween and you wonder if you're the only person in costume. But, by the time I got to the main road, everyone was shouting out to me "Bonne Fete!" and I am pretty sure I have never been recieved so well in Cameroon.
At 9 am, after taking the necessary group photos of all us in our traditional Women's Day dresses, we headed downtown to watch the parade. I was afraid it was going to be similar to Youth Day, but downtown was hopping and the women were all lined up to march and were shouting out to us to join. We all would've died of heat exhaustion had we tried to walk so sitting and watching was more than enough. All the women who work in varying government dept. and some businesses (hospital, insurance, a nursing association etc.) marched by in this giant groups, wearing -- bien sur -- this years fabric, and just waving and smiling. Again, much better than Youth Day where you had the principals yelling at students to improve their match formation. I could go on attempting to describe the scene, but hopefully I'll find a way to upload photos here.
Afterwards, we went to a popular local bakery and bought some street food. Ahh street food. Again, something worthy of its own blog post (and again, here I am writing about food). But anyways, for 300 francs, I had a baguette filled with avacado, egg, sausage, piedmont (hot HOT spices), maggi (soy sauce-ish), and tomatoes. Then we headed to Chicken&Beer of earlier fame which while normal quite on a weekday was packed,filled with the African Mamas who were hanging out with their girlfriends and just boozing in the middle of the day. Bonne Fete. The Mamas --and this is truly their name, reach middle age and strangers call you Mama or Ma Mere -- were wild, starting their own dance floor and just holding court in the bar. It was fantastic. Nothing though compared to when we joined in dancing. They flipped! It was so wonderful to see the women so happy and pleased with us for, despite the wild difference in age and nationality, joining in and fully embracing the culture. Not only did the women crowd around us and kick up their dancing to even greater intensity, but everyone else in Chicken&Beer started taking photos of us!
So that was our day, parade and bar. And really, it was such a great day. Everyone just seemed to so happy and you couldn't help but see the feelings of sisterhood.
alors, Bonne Fete!
Honestly, this was one of my favorite days in Cameroon and will always be something I remember.
So after waking up and having a special breakfast of fried dough , I put on specially bought hot pink Women's Day kaba and went off to school. Now, for weeks, all the seamstresses have been displaying this year's fabric from their storefronts and LaKing, the big fabric store in Centre Ville has been having lines out the door as women rush to buy their fabric. But nevertheless, as I went to take my taxi, I felt terribly self-conscieous. I just had that feeling you have right before you go to school on Halloween and you wonder if you're the only person in costume. But, by the time I got to the main road, everyone was shouting out to me "Bonne Fete!" and I am pretty sure I have never been recieved so well in Cameroon.
At 9 am, after taking the necessary group photos of all us in our traditional Women's Day dresses, we headed downtown to watch the parade. I was afraid it was going to be similar to Youth Day, but downtown was hopping and the women were all lined up to march and were shouting out to us to join. We all would've died of heat exhaustion had we tried to walk so sitting and watching was more than enough. All the women who work in varying government dept. and some businesses (hospital, insurance, a nursing association etc.) marched by in this giant groups, wearing -- bien sur -- this years fabric, and just waving and smiling. Again, much better than Youth Day where you had the principals yelling at students to improve their match formation. I could go on attempting to describe the scene, but hopefully I'll find a way to upload photos here.
Afterwards, we went to a popular local bakery and bought some street food. Ahh street food. Again, something worthy of its own blog post (and again, here I am writing about food). But anyways, for 300 francs, I had a baguette filled with avacado, egg, sausage, piedmont (hot HOT spices), maggi (soy sauce-ish), and tomatoes. Then we headed to Chicken&Beer of earlier fame which while normal quite on a weekday was packed,filled with the African Mamas who were hanging out with their girlfriends and just boozing in the middle of the day. Bonne Fete. The Mamas --and this is truly their name, reach middle age and strangers call you Mama or Ma Mere -- were wild, starting their own dance floor and just holding court in the bar. It was fantastic. Nothing though compared to when we joined in dancing. They flipped! It was so wonderful to see the women so happy and pleased with us for, despite the wild difference in age and nationality, joining in and fully embracing the culture. Not only did the women crowd around us and kick up their dancing to even greater intensity, but everyone else in Chicken&Beer started taking photos of us!
So that was our day, parade and bar. And really, it was such a great day. Everyone just seemed to so happy and you couldn't help but see the feelings of sisterhood.
"Cool Temper"
Pidgin for "Chill Out" and otherwise completely unrelated to what I am about to write. But I love pidgin, so there's that.
Anyways, this weekend. Friday night all of us went to Chicken&Beer, our name for the restaurant down the street from the Dickinson apartment that seems to sell, well, chicken and beer. Sure, it's a limited fare, but oh man, this chicken is really worth noting. (Honestly, I should just stop blogging about Cameroon as a whole and really just keep to the food here because, for better or worse, it something else). For 2,500 francs, you get a plate of fried chicken and plantains all covered in green sauce with some raw onion sliced over it all. No clue what the green sauce is but it is fantastic. Then to drink, a giant bottle of beer which costs about a dollar.
As for the restaurant, it is just an outdoor patio with tables and chairs that is right along the main road. When we go to Chicken&Beer during lunchtime it is always completely empty except for maybe one or two customers who are nursing a beer and watching the soccer game on the TV. But Friday nights its absolutely packed with a live DJ and the whole place is really wild. You can't hear yourself talk, so you just take in the scene. It's wonderful, chaotic, and completely Cameroon.
Unfortunately, my Saturday and Sunday though this weekend were shot. I had been sick earlier this week and started taking the medicine this weekend which, I am not kidding, knocked me out. On Saturday, I thought it was just a fluke that I slept for four hours in the middle of the day. But Sunday was even worse. I took the medicine at 9 am and then from 11 am to 4 pm was dead asleep. It wasn't so much asleep as completely immobile. I would wake up here and there, feeling so guilty for sleeping in the middle of the day but just couldn't move. My body just felt so heavy. I ended up calling the doctor and asking if I could stop the medication. In the packet for the medicine, it did list "somnolence" as a side-effect, but this is a HUGE understatement.
On Saturday night though, after my four hour nap, I did manage to make it a short trip to the market with Melanie and help cook a bit. Then at night, my host brother Njako (pronounced Jacko) and I went to my friend Elizabeth's bar (er, the bar of her host family) at Monte Jouvence. We had a real gang there, just five Americans but we all brought our host sibs or Cameroonian friends so that in the end it was at least a group of twenty.
I really feel this deserve its own post, but what I love about the program here is how intergrated Dickinson students become with Cameroonian society. Our host families provided us not only a place to stay, but are the main fixture of our social lives. I was terrifed of living with a host family and pictured myself spending all my time in my room with my door closed and always feeling awkward and out of place. Nothing could be further from the truth, I make a point to keep my bedroom door opened whenever I am there and if, for some reason it is closed, I count on my family to knock and come in sooner rather than later. In America, privacy is the ideal but here, the community is everything and privacy, well, I can't really say it exists. While I may cherish my time alone in the US, here it is wonderful to always be in the company of my host family.
Anyways, this weekend. Friday night all of us went to Chicken&Beer, our name for the restaurant down the street from the Dickinson apartment that seems to sell, well, chicken and beer. Sure, it's a limited fare, but oh man, this chicken is really worth noting. (Honestly, I should just stop blogging about Cameroon as a whole and really just keep to the food here because, for better or worse, it something else). For 2,500 francs, you get a plate of fried chicken and plantains all covered in green sauce with some raw onion sliced over it all. No clue what the green sauce is but it is fantastic. Then to drink, a giant bottle of beer which costs about a dollar.
As for the restaurant, it is just an outdoor patio with tables and chairs that is right along the main road. When we go to Chicken&Beer during lunchtime it is always completely empty except for maybe one or two customers who are nursing a beer and watching the soccer game on the TV. But Friday nights its absolutely packed with a live DJ and the whole place is really wild. You can't hear yourself talk, so you just take in the scene. It's wonderful, chaotic, and completely Cameroon.
Unfortunately, my Saturday and Sunday though this weekend were shot. I had been sick earlier this week and started taking the medicine this weekend which, I am not kidding, knocked me out. On Saturday, I thought it was just a fluke that I slept for four hours in the middle of the day. But Sunday was even worse. I took the medicine at 9 am and then from 11 am to 4 pm was dead asleep. It wasn't so much asleep as completely immobile. I would wake up here and there, feeling so guilty for sleeping in the middle of the day but just couldn't move. My body just felt so heavy. I ended up calling the doctor and asking if I could stop the medication. In the packet for the medicine, it did list "somnolence" as a side-effect, but this is a HUGE understatement.
On Saturday night though, after my four hour nap, I did manage to make it a short trip to the market with Melanie and help cook a bit. Then at night, my host brother Njako (pronounced Jacko) and I went to my friend Elizabeth's bar (er, the bar of her host family) at Monte Jouvence. We had a real gang there, just five Americans but we all brought our host sibs or Cameroonian friends so that in the end it was at least a group of twenty.
I really feel this deserve its own post, but what I love about the program here is how intergrated Dickinson students become with Cameroonian society. Our host families provided us not only a place to stay, but are the main fixture of our social lives. I was terrifed of living with a host family and pictured myself spending all my time in my room with my door closed and always feeling awkward and out of place. Nothing could be further from the truth, I make a point to keep my bedroom door opened whenever I am there and if, for some reason it is closed, I count on my family to knock and come in sooner rather than later. In America, privacy is the ideal but here, the community is everything and privacy, well, I can't really say it exists. While I may cherish my time alone in the US, here it is wonderful to always be in the company of my host family.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Rise and Shine
Cameroon mornings start early. VERY early. Like 4 am early. My bedroom is on the first floor and every morning at 4 I wake up to Jacko washing the car outside (no really, everyday they wash their car, its like the hobby of choice here). After that, Susan, Melanie, and my Mom come downstairs and start preparing breakfast, boiling water and well, I'm not actually sure what else because it is 5 am and I am still asleep. Either way, I am up by 6:30 am -- 7 am at the very latest -- otherwise my Mom knocks on my door and asks "Anne are you awake?" Classes don't start until 9 am, and even then the majority of my classes aren't until the afternoon, but regardless I am out the door by 7:30 am. The first Saturday here, I slept until 8 am which was clearly a mistake because the rest of the day my family asked if I was "feeling alright" since I slept "so late."
Everyday for breakfast I have either a pancake (different than American pancakes and certainly no syrup) or bread and Vache Qui Rit. Really, I should a whole paragraph on Vache Qui Rit considering the absurd amount that I eat. Vache Qui Rit is just the Laughing Cow brand of cheese that we have in the US and that I never really liked before. But here I am, in Cameroon, and it is ALL I EAT. This really has nothing to do with Cameroon, rather it is a bizarre side effect of my stay here. Maybe it is because I am missing dairy from my diet, but regardless all of us are constantly picking up Vache Qui Rit from the bakery (That said, there isn't any other brand of cheese unless you head to Score, the one of the two supermarkets in Yaounde and tres cher).
After breakfast, I walk to Anna's house which is short ten minute walk. My host sisters taught me a shortcut, so instead of walking along the roads, I cut across a soccer field, government housing area, Catholic elementary school, construction site, and finally down the road to Anna's house. The walk is all dirt roads and filled with chicken and goats wandering around, reminding me just how far I am from Dickinson. Along the way, I past all the families bringing their kids to school and I think I must look pretty weird-- a white, clearly an outsider, who isn't completely out of sorts. Even more so, I live in Mendong, a neighborhood far away from the rich Centre Ville and Basto area where it is fairly common to see whites. Honestly, I'm becoming such a snob when I see other whites, we all point them out to each other ("Did you see the blanche?") and then we stare and try to guess their nationality or why they are in Cameroon. It's one thing to see an old white guy and just assume he works for business or government, but today we saw five young women and Anna and I just couldn't wrap our heads around it. If this what I think about whites, I can imagine just how bizarre I look to Cameroonians.
Oh, and well for those who are interested (ie: Mom) here are the classes I'm taking:
1. French. 6 hrs/week (everything else is only 2 hrs/week)
2. Contemporary Cameroon. Mandatory course that covers current issues in Cameroon.
3. Le Roman Camerouniase. French lit. class on Cameroonian novels.
4. Orality and Language. Creative writing course with field trips around city. Best prof.
5. International Relations of African States. Much more interesting in a state with a "benevolent dictator"
Everyday for breakfast I have either a pancake (different than American pancakes and certainly no syrup) or bread and Vache Qui Rit. Really, I should a whole paragraph on Vache Qui Rit considering the absurd amount that I eat. Vache Qui Rit is just the Laughing Cow brand of cheese that we have in the US and that I never really liked before. But here I am, in Cameroon, and it is ALL I EAT. This really has nothing to do with Cameroon, rather it is a bizarre side effect of my stay here. Maybe it is because I am missing dairy from my diet, but regardless all of us are constantly picking up Vache Qui Rit from the bakery (That said, there isn't any other brand of cheese unless you head to Score, the one of the two supermarkets in Yaounde and tres cher).
After breakfast, I walk to Anna's house which is short ten minute walk. My host sisters taught me a shortcut, so instead of walking along the roads, I cut across a soccer field, government housing area, Catholic elementary school, construction site, and finally down the road to Anna's house. The walk is all dirt roads and filled with chicken and goats wandering around, reminding me just how far I am from Dickinson. Along the way, I past all the families bringing their kids to school and I think I must look pretty weird-- a white, clearly an outsider, who isn't completely out of sorts. Even more so, I live in Mendong, a neighborhood far away from the rich Centre Ville and Basto area where it is fairly common to see whites. Honestly, I'm becoming such a snob when I see other whites, we all point them out to each other ("Did you see the blanche?") and then we stare and try to guess their nationality or why they are in Cameroon. It's one thing to see an old white guy and just assume he works for business or government, but today we saw five young women and Anna and I just couldn't wrap our heads around it. If this what I think about whites, I can imagine just how bizarre I look to Cameroonians.
Oh, and well for those who are interested (ie: Mom) here are the classes I'm taking:
1. French. 6 hrs/week (everything else is only 2 hrs/week)
2. Contemporary Cameroon. Mandatory course that covers current issues in Cameroon.
3. Le Roman Camerouniase. French lit. class on Cameroonian novels.
4. Orality and Language. Creative writing course with field trips around city. Best prof.
5. International Relations of African States. Much more interesting in a state with a "benevolent dictator"
Limbe
This past weekend we went to Limbe, a beach town in the Anglophone region. There is a definite difference between the Anglophone and Francophone regions, not only is it a matter of language, but also behavior. Anglophones are considered to be more reserved than Francophones which I definitely felt -- for the first time, no one called out to us on the streets with "La Blanche!" or "Watt!" (Watt is the Francophone Cameroonians attempting to say "White" in English). The trip to Limbe was pretty uneventful/I was asleep for the majority of it, but I did get to see a bit of Douala. Douala is the biggest city in Cameroon, whereas Yaounde, though much smaller, is the capital so it's kind of like New York City v. DC in the US. The most memorable part of the ride was waking up to everyone shouting and seeing cattle being herded on the highway. The whole scene was pretty spooky because there wasn't any street lights, just the herder's flashlight and our van's headlights and out of the shadows were the cattle, with their sharply curved horns and bony, brown bodies.
We didn't get to the hotel until 8:30 pm, so we just had dinner and went straight to bed. The next day we woke up at eight and had breakfast at the hotel and then were off to Buea, a nearby town. There we saw a tea plantation (which is to say a green field) and this famous Cameroonian artist Max LastNameIForget?. Max's paintings were pretty cool -- lots of bright colors and very impressionistic, but I was a little confused about all the fuss. At one point, the UN offered to buy one of his paintings for ten million francs and he said no on the basis that he only sells his work after feeling that he has a positive exchange with the customer. Meanwhile, he has come to Dickinson and spoke at Hope Station, the community center in Carlisle where I ran Girl Scouts last semester. Best part of this was his navy sweatsuit with "Harrisburg" written across the front. How fantastic? I'm across the world and there it is, the glorious central PA.
Afterwards, we watched the Mount Cameroon race that was going on in Buea. Insane, these runners run up and down Mount Cameroon, the second tallest mountain in Africa, in six hours! Afterwards we headed to the zoo/rescue shelter and saw all the monkeys/crocs/pythons. Finally, at 2 we were at Semme Beach which was beautiful. At Semme, we swam, ate an excessive amount of ice cream, and even got to ride horses on the beach. It really wasn't a long ride, but at one point our guide started trotting ahead which then my horse tries to catch up with him -- I definitely was not ready for this and only barely managed to hang on. Then we headed back to the hotel to shower and get ready for dinner. After dinner, Julio, our driver, brought us to downtown Limbe. Julio's family was there too, so all of us went to this bar overlooking the water and just relaxed outside until 11. Next day, we headed home bright and early and got back to Yaounde at three pm.
Friday, February 18, 2011
"Give them beauty"
We didn't have water for the past two days, and while I can skip on the shower (probably too easily, hygiene has definitely taken a hit here) and ignore the rat's nest that is becoming my hair, I definitely miss just washing my hands or flushing the toilet. The list of things that I'm becoming grateful for is endless: clean tap water, good roads, constant electricity, fast Internet, no cockroaches(!), dishwasher, washer & dryer, public restrooms etc. etc. Basically, after this, I'll have no right to complain again. No fun.
Yesterday was fantastic, I had my environmental class at 9 am and then afterwards, Grace, Anna, and I went to the artisan market. So great, I can't even describe how many neat things they had: Masks, bronze figurines, beautiful beaded necklaces, wooden cravings, leather bags, swords, bow & arrows, really everything. Plus you know that it's not cliche tourist-y stuff (being that tourism isn't really a concept here). I bought a red beaded necklace for five dollars and a bronze bracelet for a little less than four dollars. The bracelet was especially rewarding since I bargained down for 6,000 francs to 1,800 francs. IN FRENCH. Then we relaxed around the house until our meeting w Mr. Teku and got another stipend (more on the stipend because the amount of money we are given is absurd). Then, home around 5 pm where I took a moto for the first time! ;aklsdjfadkjfasdjk. Insane experience and totally addicting. I was terrified, of course, holding onto to my friend, Peter, for dear life, but it wasn't too bad once I got use to it. Then at home, I showed my host mom my necklace, she was so proud -- saying "Aww, you are a true African woman. That is wonderful."
I can't even explain how truly amazing my host family is. My host mom has completely taken me under her wing and will bring me to the market, narrating Cameroon for me and answering all my questions. She understands that my stomach can't handle Cameroonian food just yet and when teaching me how to cook, will says phrases such as "Give them beauty" (saying telling me to cut the green beans at an angle). Love host Mom, LOVE. Then my sisters Melanie and Helen hang out with me all the time -- Helen even brought me home a valentine on Monday. Best yet, the family doesn't even judge me for my completely psychotic fear of cockroaches. Instead of writing me off as "ridiculous, spoiled American" they see my fear more as this endearing trait, laughing that the white girl is terrified of cockroaches (I get a lot of credit though for not being bothered by the lizards, so at least I appear slightly brave in one way).
Also, last Saturday I went to a club soccer game at the stadium where the Cameroonian national team plays! We even got to go onto the field after the game and go down to the locker rooms. I could go on about soccer in Cameroon, but to sum it up, it is nothing short of religion here. I watched the Arsenal v. Barcelona game the other night with my host Dad and brother which was an awesome experience not only was the game great, but they went absolutely nuts for Song, the Cameroonian who plays for Arsenal.
Yesterday was fantastic, I had my environmental class at 9 am and then afterwards, Grace, Anna, and I went to the artisan market. So great, I can't even describe how many neat things they had: Masks, bronze figurines, beautiful beaded necklaces, wooden cravings, leather bags, swords, bow & arrows, really everything. Plus you know that it's not cliche tourist-y stuff (being that tourism isn't really a concept here). I bought a red beaded necklace for five dollars and a bronze bracelet for a little less than four dollars. The bracelet was especially rewarding since I bargained down for 6,000 francs to 1,800 francs. IN FRENCH. Then we relaxed around the house until our meeting w Mr. Teku and got another stipend (more on the stipend because the amount of money we are given is absurd). Then, home around 5 pm where I took a moto for the first time! ;aklsdjfadkjfasdjk. Insane experience and totally addicting. I was terrified, of course, holding onto to my friend, Peter, for dear life, but it wasn't too bad once I got use to it. Then at home, I showed my host mom my necklace, she was so proud -- saying "Aww, you are a true African woman. That is wonderful."
I can't even explain how truly amazing my host family is. My host mom has completely taken me under her wing and will bring me to the market, narrating Cameroon for me and answering all my questions. She understands that my stomach can't handle Cameroonian food just yet and when teaching me how to cook, will says phrases such as "Give them beauty" (saying telling me to cut the green beans at an angle). Love host Mom, LOVE. Then my sisters Melanie and Helen hang out with me all the time -- Helen even brought me home a valentine on Monday. Best yet, the family doesn't even judge me for my completely psychotic fear of cockroaches. Instead of writing me off as "ridiculous, spoiled American" they see my fear more as this endearing trait, laughing that the white girl is terrified of cockroaches (I get a lot of credit though for not being bothered by the lizards, so at least I appear slightly brave in one way).
Also, last Saturday I went to a club soccer game at the stadium where the Cameroonian national team plays! We even got to go onto the field after the game and go down to the locker rooms. I could go on about soccer in Cameroon, but to sum it up, it is nothing short of religion here. I watched the Arsenal v. Barcelona game the other night with my host Dad and brother which was an awesome experience not only was the game great, but they went absolutely nuts for Song, the Cameroonian who plays for Arsenal.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Youth Week
It's youth week here so I've spent the week attending the socials of my host sibs and on Friday went to the parade. There isn't much to say about the parade -- we all got sunburned and saw endless schoolchildren march. It was a little repetitive and seemed propagandistic to me with the all the pictures of President Biya. Plus, it seemed miserable for the children marching.
The socials though definitely gave me a lot to think about. Every school has one during youth week and they are more or less talent shows combined with a pageant for the school's Master and Miss. On Wednesday's we went to Helen's school where the motto is "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom." Getting ready for Helen's social though was an experience in itself. So I go home after french class and put on my best clothes -- jeans and a favorite top. I show Helen looking for her approval (I was under strict orders to not braid my hair, wear jeans -- basically look as American as possible) and she goes "It's okay." So I change into another outfit which earns an "It's alright." Then, I put on a third top which gets "No, put on the first one! It looked good, why did you put on the other ones?!" Um, because you said it was just okay. Anyways, I learned for Cameroonians "It's okay" is really "It's good" -- which is reflective of all expressions here, there seems to be little emotion used in communication. At home, if something makes me happy I clearly express it in both my language and tone, certainly not true here. In retrospect, I must look overly excited about everything. My host family must think I'm bizarre (for this, and a million other reasons!). Of all people, I understand Melanie, the 15 year old, the best. When she saw my outfit, she exclaimed "Oh my God!" The language for middle schoolers is truly universal. If I ask Melanie how school was, she goes "It was cute."
Either way though, my outfit was a joke, everyone else at the social looked infinitely better than me. There I was, white girl dressed for class and everyone else looked like they were going to the club. The socials take place from noon till 6, but since this is the only time for the kids to not wear their uniforms, everyone was dressed to the nines and clearly were trying to mimic the styles of American rap, R&B videos (Everyday, I disappoint my host brothers with my pathetic knowledge of American pop culture. If only they loved the Barenaked Ladies or David Gray).
The weirdest part of the social was when the MC made this joke about AIDS. Like, too soon? I asked Helen about it later who simply said "He was a comedian, everyone knew it was just a joke" After pressing her even more ("what though, if someone in the audience was sick") she made a really good point, "Here it's okay to say that, but you would never make a joke about the president here and you do that in the US." The lack of freedom of speech here creeps me out, there is just no other way to put it. One of Helen's teachers got arrested even for criticizing President Biya after an off duty security guard heard him talking in a taxi ride. And Helen said she would never talk politics at a cafe for fear of someone hearing her. My brother Jacko talked of "spies everywhere" and said that Biya's guards have x-ray glasses. I don't know if I believe that, but the point is Cameroonians do and that they leave in this culture of fear. The most ironic thing though is that when Cameroonians talk about Egypt and President Mubarak, "Thank God he is gone. 30 years is too long for one man." Um, what, Biya's been president for 28 years. I can't tell if the irony is lost on them or if they simply see the situations as different.
The socials though definitely gave me a lot to think about. Every school has one during youth week and they are more or less talent shows combined with a pageant for the school's Master and Miss. On Wednesday's we went to Helen's school where the motto is "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom." Getting ready for Helen's social though was an experience in itself. So I go home after french class and put on my best clothes -- jeans and a favorite top. I show Helen looking for her approval (I was under strict orders to not braid my hair, wear jeans -- basically look as American as possible) and she goes "It's okay." So I change into another outfit which earns an "It's alright." Then, I put on a third top which gets "No, put on the first one! It looked good, why did you put on the other ones?!" Um, because you said it was just okay. Anyways, I learned for Cameroonians "It's okay" is really "It's good" -- which is reflective of all expressions here, there seems to be little emotion used in communication. At home, if something makes me happy I clearly express it in both my language and tone, certainly not true here. In retrospect, I must look overly excited about everything. My host family must think I'm bizarre (for this, and a million other reasons!). Of all people, I understand Melanie, the 15 year old, the best. When she saw my outfit, she exclaimed "Oh my God!" The language for middle schoolers is truly universal. If I ask Melanie how school was, she goes "It was cute."
Either way though, my outfit was a joke, everyone else at the social looked infinitely better than me. There I was, white girl dressed for class and everyone else looked like they were going to the club. The socials take place from noon till 6, but since this is the only time for the kids to not wear their uniforms, everyone was dressed to the nines and clearly were trying to mimic the styles of American rap, R&B videos (Everyday, I disappoint my host brothers with my pathetic knowledge of American pop culture. If only they loved the Barenaked Ladies or David Gray).
The weirdest part of the social was when the MC made this joke about AIDS. Like, too soon? I asked Helen about it later who simply said "He was a comedian, everyone knew it was just a joke" After pressing her even more ("what though, if someone in the audience was sick") she made a really good point, "Here it's okay to say that, but you would never make a joke about the president here and you do that in the US." The lack of freedom of speech here creeps me out, there is just no other way to put it. One of Helen's teachers got arrested even for criticizing President Biya after an off duty security guard heard him talking in a taxi ride. And Helen said she would never talk politics at a cafe for fear of someone hearing her. My brother Jacko talked of "spies everywhere" and said that Biya's guards have x-ray glasses. I don't know if I believe that, but the point is Cameroonians do and that they leave in this culture of fear. The most ironic thing though is that when Cameroonians talk about Egypt and President Mubarak, "Thank God he is gone. 30 years is too long for one man." Um, what, Biya's been president for 28 years. I can't tell if the irony is lost on them or if they simply see the situations as different.
Monday, February 7, 2011
quick post-
So we've officially been here for two weeks, which really isn't very long at all but I feel pretty settled and many of the things that once overwhelmed are no problem and now just part of my daily activity. During the week I wake up at 6:45 am -- make the bed, gett dressed, gather anything I want to bring to the apartement (book to read, camera etc.) and then I have breakfast of bread with nutella or cheese and coffee. It's instant coffee but I love it, I don't know if I could go five months without caffine. At 7:25 ish, I leave to walk to Claire and Anna's who live about fifteen minutes away but still in my neighborhood of Mendong. From there, we all catch a taxi to the Dickinson Center where we have an hour to just chill before everyone else comes for our 9 o'clock class.
Then "Intensive" French from 9 am to noon. We're divided into four groups according to our fluency (or, lack of) level. While I am shockingly able to remember most of the grammar from high school, the review is much needed and it's great to have a prof who teaches me and just two other students. Even my French has improved from horribly miserable to just miserable so that's really reassuring considering how short a time we've been here.
After French, then we all go out for lunch, maybe explore a neighborhood or head back to the apartment to relax -- reading and checking email (one computer w internet for the ten of us, so to write this I type it up on my laptop and then use a flashdrive -- v. high tech for moi). Then around 4 or 5, we all head home for dinner. Next week though, we start classes which bring us to a grand total of 12 hours in class. In March though, we start our internships so we'll see how this fit into the schedule.
Beyond, our time spent at the Dickinson Center and around the area of Shell Nsimeyong where we live, I've really gotten to know my host family. I love learning to cook w my host mom and feel like such a champ when I catch on quick. On Friday, I helped prepare Eru which is basically leaves that you then cut up making this weird spinach looking-thing and is VERY spicy. I helped cut up the eru which really impressed Big Mami who, in pidgin, said "She's Cameroonian!" YES.
Also, some highlights --
* During one of my conversations w my host sibs, I discovered the great stereotype that "white people like snakes." Um, what? When I said I was terrified of them, Helen was like "noo, White people love to wear them, like around their neck." [Thank you Britney Spears for bring that, and many other misrepresenations of Americans, to the world].
*Discovering that I can buy avacado at the market for 100 francs which is only 25 cents!
* Listening to the song "I don see my wife" (which is pidgin, means 'I see my wife' so the singer is saying he sees a woman he wishes to marry). It's a Nigerian pop song and I think its fantastic.
*Finding the NY Times at Score. I won't even complain that it was a week old and cost 2,000 francs.
Then "Intensive" French from 9 am to noon. We're divided into four groups according to our fluency (or, lack of) level. While I am shockingly able to remember most of the grammar from high school, the review is much needed and it's great to have a prof who teaches me and just two other students. Even my French has improved from horribly miserable to just miserable so that's really reassuring considering how short a time we've been here.
After French, then we all go out for lunch, maybe explore a neighborhood or head back to the apartment to relax -- reading and checking email (one computer w internet for the ten of us, so to write this I type it up on my laptop and then use a flashdrive -- v. high tech for moi). Then around 4 or 5, we all head home for dinner. Next week though, we start classes which bring us to a grand total of 12 hours in class. In March though, we start our internships so we'll see how this fit into the schedule.
Beyond, our time spent at the Dickinson Center and around the area of Shell Nsimeyong where we live, I've really gotten to know my host family. I love learning to cook w my host mom and feel like such a champ when I catch on quick. On Friday, I helped prepare Eru which is basically leaves that you then cut up making this weird spinach looking-thing and is VERY spicy. I helped cut up the eru which really impressed Big Mami who, in pidgin, said "She's Cameroonian!" YES.
Also, some highlights --
* During one of my conversations w my host sibs, I discovered the great stereotype that "white people like snakes." Um, what? When I said I was terrified of them, Helen was like "noo, White people love to wear them, like around their neck." [Thank you Britney Spears for bring that, and many other misrepresenations of Americans, to the world].
*Discovering that I can buy avacado at the market for 100 francs which is only 25 cents!
* Listening to the song "I don see my wife" (which is pidgin, means 'I see my wife' so the singer is saying he sees a woman he wishes to marry). It's a Nigerian pop song and I think its fantastic.
*Finding the NY Times at Score. I won't even complain that it was a week old and cost 2,000 francs.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Host family....
Well, I love mine. I really can't say enough about how wonderful they are. My host mom has completely taken me under her wing -- bringing me to the market, helping me practice my French, and teaching me how to cook (if nothing else, I will be a decent cook after this). The first day, I got there and after unpacking and organizing my room a bit (where I have a double bed, I would get my first double bed when I come to Cameroon), I helped make plantains (note bena: you can't peel plantains like you would a banana, a knife is necessary) and was taught to cook chicken on a wheel drum like the street vendors -- arranging the charcoal and then using pieces of rubber sap to light it. The next day, was Marche au Fundee (biggest market in Yaoundé -- very overwhelming and if I ever feel I could properly describe the markets here I will, but I'm lost for words to describe the vibrancy). Then we did a lot more cooking, none that actually takes place inside the kitchen. Rather, we sit outside on the uh...patio? But that isn't really accurate. Anyways, I used mortar and pestle to grind up the okra, helped gut a fish, made tomato sauce from scratch -- list goes on, but point here is that I'm learning to cook which is a feat in itself and I'm learning without all the American conveniences. I was telling my host brother about how excited I was to learn how to cook and he was like "You don't know how?" (Okay, I feel spoiled) and then when I said my Mom or Dad did the cooking usually he said how do they all on their own? (uhh...I'm a brat) and then as I tried to explain myself I ended up saying that food in the US was more ready-made (great Anne, fall back for being a brat is that you're AMERICAN). That said, food in the US is more ready-made. At the grocery store, you can buy chicken breast cut and ready. Here, you buy the chicken in the market and it is ALIVE and man is just holding it upside down by its legs. Anyways, long story short is that I'm currently in some extreme version of Home Ec.
Beyond my wonderful host mom, there is the father who is so easy to talk to, and the six children (three of them their own and three who are unrelated by stay with the family). I spend a lot of time with Melanie and Helen who love looking through my stuff and listening to my iPod (they love, truly LOVE Michael Jackson, even telling me how they cried when he died) meanwhile they teach me pidgin and show me how to braid -- yesterday, I even had my hair braided into corn rows (!).
Okay, so everything is great. Better than great. But I have to say there is culture shock and then there is what feels like fear factor. The first night, the Mom pointed to the grilled chicken and asked if I ate what I thought was bone when I told her no, she goes "Oh, no chicken foot? Do you like the head then?" Later, as I went for the smallest piece of chicken, my mother goes "I didn't know you liked the throat!" Luckily, I think the look on my face showed how clueless I was and she offered me a chicken wing instead. Okay, but all of this is small beans compared to the FLYING cockroach in my room. It's 2:30 AM, and after seeing a cockroach on the toilet seat -- miserable enough -- I am half way asleep when I hear this flying, clicking sound that keeps hitting walls. Only partly kidding when I say this is the worst thing to ever happen to me. I just stayed in bed, fully huddled beneath the sheets praying the stupid thing didn't decide to land on my bed. Okay, but the bug sitch. is much better now -- I have insect repellent, close the windows (screw Cameroonian weather), and bought a mosquito net that really calms my fears. So all is good.
Beyond my wonderful host mom, there is the father who is so easy to talk to, and the six children (three of them their own and three who are unrelated by stay with the family). I spend a lot of time with Melanie and Helen who love looking through my stuff and listening to my iPod (they love, truly LOVE Michael Jackson, even telling me how they cried when he died) meanwhile they teach me pidgin and show me how to braid -- yesterday, I even had my hair braided into corn rows (!).
Okay, so everything is great. Better than great. But I have to say there is culture shock and then there is what feels like fear factor. The first night, the Mom pointed to the grilled chicken and asked if I ate what I thought was bone when I told her no, she goes "Oh, no chicken foot? Do you like the head then?" Later, as I went for the smallest piece of chicken, my mother goes "I didn't know you liked the throat!" Luckily, I think the look on my face showed how clueless I was and she offered me a chicken wing instead. Okay, but all of this is small beans compared to the FLYING cockroach in my room. It's 2:30 AM, and after seeing a cockroach on the toilet seat -- miserable enough -- I am half way asleep when I hear this flying, clicking sound that keeps hitting walls. Only partly kidding when I say this is the worst thing to ever happen to me. I just stayed in bed, fully huddled beneath the sheets praying the stupid thing didn't decide to land on my bed. Okay, but the bug sitch. is much better now -- I have insect repellent, close the windows (screw Cameroonian weather), and bought a mosquito net that really calms my fears. So all is good.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Some memorable moments of culture shock --
Location too is never specific because of the sheer amount of traffic so it is best to name a general, well-known place. So to get home, we say "Shell Nsimeyong" which refers to the gas station on Avenue Nsimeyong a block away from the apartment. What I love about Cameroon is how local everything is, no longer is there a Shell gas station on the street but OilLibya, but the change was made two years ago and to Cameroonians OilLibya will always be referred to as Shell. Same goes for Score, one of the only two supermarkets in all of Yaoundé. Recently it changed its name to Casino but no one in Yaoundé thinks of it as such.
Anyways, so yesterday we took a taxi from Shell Nsimeyong to Score to then go to the fabric store (an amazing experience). The trip over was uneventful but we were so proud to use our French and after hearing the horror stories about taxis (pick pocketing etc.) each time feels like an adventures. On the way back though, we were unable to catch a taxi until six of us squeezed into this tiny European car -- plus driver -- making for four people in the back and three in the front. Seatbelts too are non-existent. Finally bringing this all together is the driving, there are no lanes of traffic so taxi drivers simply honk to announce there presence. It's actually really nice in that regard since it's never a mean "watch out!" but just a kind of "hello, here I come." Dean B, who is on the trip with us for the first week, described it as a conversation and I think that is very accurate.
Dinner: While tomorrow we start eating with our host families, the past week we have been cooking for ourselves making group dinners of, well, usually spaghetti, for the ten of us. Yesterday though, Jessica, a aide of Mr. Teku's, ate with us too. Jessica is twenty-five and we adore her, despite the sheer amount of miscommunication that we constantly experience with her (whether this is due to cultural or personality difference is up for debate). Yesterday though, we are eating, talking loudly to one another (topic of choice: the merits of being a vegetarian, particularly interesting after seeing what the meat looks like in the market...), and some of us even singing. Finally, Jessica stops eating, looks up, and goes "In Africa, we do not talk during dinner" and gets up and leaves. We all died a little inside. I guess we're glad we learned this before going to our host families?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Kribi
This weekend we went to Kribi, a resort town in southern Cameroon, and honestly, it was paradise. Within five minutes of arriving we were all in the water and declaring how we were never leaving. You look out on the ocean and its perfect -- no motor boats or crowds of people, just the occasional fishing boat. It doesn’t hurt that a week ago, I was in Boston shoveling two feet of snow and suffering in single digit weather.
While we have only been in Yaounde for four days, going to Kribi was so nice considering how overwhelming the past few days have been and gave us a chance to slow down. We left Yaounde at 10 am on Friday arriving at Kribi at 2 pm. It’s a long drive but interesting to leave the city and see the villages and rainforests (someone told me it’s the 2nd biggest rainforest in the world? though Im not100% sure of that).
Kribi isn’t the resort town the way it is in America, but it is certainly seen as such by Cameroonians. In the US though, you would describe Kribi as quaint and undeveloped. We spent Friday afternoon on the beach, swimming, enjoying the sun, and getting beer and ice cream from the hotel bar (is there an un-obnoxious way to mention beer when you’re 21?). Every month we have a stipend from Dickinson that all students on Dickinson student abroad programs receive and while in other countries (ie: European) the stipend doesn’t go very far in Cameroon we have money to spare. So a bottle of beer is, at very most, 1000 francs which is only $2 though in the city it is usually 500 francs. For dinner, we ate at the hotel having what seems to be the ultimate in Cameroonian cuisine -- rice, chicken, fish, palatines, and fruit for dessert. The food is so fresh and tastes amazing, but I am getting tired of the rice/chicken/fish combo and the thought of five months of the same thing is a bit exhausting. That said, my diet is so much better here than at home and I never eat any processed food.
The next day we had breakfast at the hotel and then went to Lobe falls. The waterfalls were beautiful and fell directly into the ocean and we took a short ride in a fishing boat around them. The ride was a bit terrifying since the boats are like leaky canoes (ie: a boy in the back was literally scooping out water). Afterwards, lunch on beach (shrimp, palatines, and beer) and then back to the hotel for more beach for the rest of the day. Next day, home to Yaoundé.
One of the more memorable moments from the trip was early on Saturday as we watched the fishermen haul in their catch. At one point, I went a little closer and took a picture of the scene and when I walked back I looked up at our group and just had the feeling of knowing how weird we looked. We stick out horribly and that is a completely new feeling -- never before has my skin color brought me attention, but now our skin is so pale that we seem to glow. I'm not saying I haven't thought about how privileged I am being an white American, but rather that I just haven't had to experience it before (or had people touch my skin and shout out "la blanche!"). No one here assumes we are Americans (and if our nationality is brought up, they guess German or French) rather we are simply seen as Westerners which gives me a lot to think about. I always am aware of everyones eyes on me because being white here immediately says "foreigner" and there is no way around it. People are always telling us "Welcome to Cameroon," something you could never say to a stranger in the US.
Also, on Thursday before we left for Kribi I met my host mom! She is super nice and speaks both French and English. I'm living with her, her husband, their three children (ages 9, 15, 18), a poor girl she took in from the North-West region so she could attend school, and two students who are friends of the family who are attending university in Yaoundé. Oh, and the grandma. So including myself, it is ten people (!). The family speaks French, English, a language native to their village, and pidgin. Pidgin is really the coolest thing, to explain it quickly it is slang but in recent years it is honestly becoming its own language with its own syntax and is mixture of both French and English words. You wouldn't use it formally, but it is the language you hear on the street and used with friends.
For example:
How are you? --> How now?
I'm going to the store --> Id go store
I want to go --> Je veux go.
I move in tomorrow, so I hopefully I can describe the family/house in better detail then.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
first impressions
Well, I'm here! And I don't really know where to begin. It has only been two days but I feel as if I could write a small novel on the whole experience. Everything is just so different and I am constantly overwhelmed with culture shock. The heat, the language, the people, the culture -- everything, it is just unbelievable.
I left on Sunday morning going from Boston to DC and then had four hours in DC before I took the plane to Paris with the other students on my program. I could probably dedicate this whole post just to Air France and how great the airplane food was or talk about my seatmate who was so cool. This guy worked for special ops force and later BRINKS security and just had all these fantastic stories to tell -- like how to transport diamonds "a man would carry $40,000 worth of diamonds and just be sitting next to you on the plane." Um, cool, seriously remind me to add this to my future spy novel. Anyways, from Paris we went to Cameroon landing at 5 pm local time. We were all exhausted by this point (it was 11 am at home and I had been traveling/awake for over 24 hrs) but landing at the airport certainly gave everyone much needed adderline. The airport was pretty normal, we weren't the only white people around and everything was similar to any other airport. From there, we got on a bus and drive an hour to Yaounde where our student apartment is. The ride over was unforgettable, I think we were all in shock like "woah, I'm in Africa" and then looking out the window only reaffirmed that.
The roads here are incredibly crowded and there isn't quite lanes of traffic, just two opposing directions, so anything goes. Unlike in other cities, in Yaounde there were people everywhere not rushing to go somewhere but standing and talking to one other or working the countless street stands that sell anything and everything --cell phones, pineapple, fish, phone minutes, clothing, hair products, candy, cigarettes etc. - you name it. At one point, our bus was side by side with a school bus of middle school students who couldn't stop staring at us - a bus of white kids, one boy even leaned out a window and mimicked "call me!" and waved his phone in the air. Meanwhile, on the other side of the bus, a man in a car took a picture of my friend while shouting out "la blanche!" (the white woman!). Anyways, I could write countless examples of the attention we get, but it is constant and usually well-intentioned and leads to very funny stories, it is ironic though considering we are by far the least attractive people here since the heat gets to us so terribly.
By 6:30 we were at the Dickinson Center where at the moment all ten of us live until we are paired up with our host families. Mr. Teku is our program director so he gave us a quick tour of the building and then we had dinner of rice, fish (which is cooked whole and then served as such), a salad of some kind (not sure of what), chicken wings, and tomato sauce. Afterwards, we had a sat through a short talk with the program director and a couple of other people who will be helping us transition. Mr. Teku though is the best, this man just truly can't stop smiling, I mean it, every word he says he mouth just ends up in a smile. I'm not really doing him justice, but let me say he is amazing and I loved it when he said, "There will be many problems and that is okay, just come to me and we will work on it. But remember, everything ends in a smile." Maybe it sounds cliche written here, but believe me, Mr. Teku is anything but.
The next day, we woke up late and by twelve had lunch at a cafe in a busy shopping area, then toured two popular grocery stores to get a feel for prices since after this week, we are dependent on ourselves for meals. Next,we took a bus tour of the city (do not imagine a tourist bus, it's a glorified van probably on par w the station wagon..). Then home at five where we fixed dinner for ourselves (spaghetti and fruit salad). At 7, we had orientation which was really just listening to the professors who will be teaching us and meeting a couple young women who went through the opposite experience of us -- Cameroonians who studied in the US. There is a lot more to say, but as far as activites go it was very low-key day since at this point walking down the block is an adventure for us
Finally, today we went to University with students who showed us around which is a whole another story, but first the heat. Oh man. I really haven't been bothered by the heat before, but here I am melting. As we walked around campus, we must have looked so out of place -- white students whose skin is literally reflecting sunlight we look so pale in comparison and dying of heat. We're all in shorts, tanks and still sweating buckets while everyone else is wearing what I would wear in a New England spring -- jeans, long sleeve shirts. Seriously, here I am one step away from heat exhaustion and everyone around me is apparently perfectly comfortable in like 80 degree weather (though I'm tempted to say it was hotter). I'm looking forward to the day when my body learns to handle the heat. Supposedly we do get somewhat use to it.
It's dinner now, but I'll write more about the students we meet, university, the apartment, language barriers etc. etc. so much to tell! whew.
Edit: there are countless errors here and I am embarrassed by how poor the writing is, but we only have one computer for the ten of us and the Internet works less than half the time, so apologies in advance!!
I left on Sunday morning going from Boston to DC and then had four hours in DC before I took the plane to Paris with the other students on my program. I could probably dedicate this whole post just to Air France and how great the airplane food was or talk about my seatmate who was so cool. This guy worked for special ops force and later BRINKS security and just had all these fantastic stories to tell -- like how to transport diamonds "a man would carry $40,000 worth of diamonds and just be sitting next to you on the plane." Um, cool, seriously remind me to add this to my future spy novel. Anyways, from Paris we went to Cameroon landing at 5 pm local time. We were all exhausted by this point (it was 11 am at home and I had been traveling/awake for over 24 hrs) but landing at the airport certainly gave everyone much needed adderline. The airport was pretty normal, we weren't the only white people around and everything was similar to any other airport. From there, we got on a bus and drive an hour to Yaounde where our student apartment is. The ride over was unforgettable, I think we were all in shock like "woah, I'm in Africa" and then looking out the window only reaffirmed that.
The roads here are incredibly crowded and there isn't quite lanes of traffic, just two opposing directions, so anything goes. Unlike in other cities, in Yaounde there were people everywhere not rushing to go somewhere but standing and talking to one other or working the countless street stands that sell anything and everything --cell phones, pineapple, fish, phone minutes, clothing, hair products, candy, cigarettes etc. - you name it. At one point, our bus was side by side with a school bus of middle school students who couldn't stop staring at us - a bus of white kids, one boy even leaned out a window and mimicked "call me!" and waved his phone in the air. Meanwhile, on the other side of the bus, a man in a car took a picture of my friend while shouting out "la blanche!" (the white woman!). Anyways, I could write countless examples of the attention we get, but it is constant and usually well-intentioned and leads to very funny stories, it is ironic though considering we are by far the least attractive people here since the heat gets to us so terribly.
By 6:30 we were at the Dickinson Center where at the moment all ten of us live until we are paired up with our host families. Mr. Teku is our program director so he gave us a quick tour of the building and then we had dinner of rice, fish (which is cooked whole and then served as such), a salad of some kind (not sure of what), chicken wings, and tomato sauce. Afterwards, we had a sat through a short talk with the program director and a couple of other people who will be helping us transition. Mr. Teku though is the best, this man just truly can't stop smiling, I mean it, every word he says he mouth just ends up in a smile. I'm not really doing him justice, but let me say he is amazing and I loved it when he said, "There will be many problems and that is okay, just come to me and we will work on it. But remember, everything ends in a smile." Maybe it sounds cliche written here, but believe me, Mr. Teku is anything but.
The next day, we woke up late and by twelve had lunch at a cafe in a busy shopping area, then toured two popular grocery stores to get a feel for prices since after this week, we are dependent on ourselves for meals. Next,we took a bus tour of the city (do not imagine a tourist bus, it's a glorified van probably on par w the station wagon..). Then home at five where we fixed dinner for ourselves (spaghetti and fruit salad). At 7, we had orientation which was really just listening to the professors who will be teaching us and meeting a couple young women who went through the opposite experience of us -- Cameroonians who studied in the US. There is a lot more to say, but as far as activites go it was very low-key day since at this point walking down the block is an adventure for us
Finally, today we went to University with students who showed us around which is a whole another story, but first the heat. Oh man. I really haven't been bothered by the heat before, but here I am melting. As we walked around campus, we must have looked so out of place -- white students whose skin is literally reflecting sunlight we look so pale in comparison and dying of heat. We're all in shorts, tanks and still sweating buckets while everyone else is wearing what I would wear in a New England spring -- jeans, long sleeve shirts. Seriously, here I am one step away from heat exhaustion and everyone around me is apparently perfectly comfortable in like 80 degree weather (though I'm tempted to say it was hotter). I'm looking forward to the day when my body learns to handle the heat. Supposedly we do get somewhat use to it.
It's dinner now, but I'll write more about the students we meet, university, the apartment, language barriers etc. etc. so much to tell! whew.
Edit: there are countless errors here and I am embarrassed by how poor the writing is, but we only have one computer for the ten of us and the Internet works less than half the time, so apologies in advance!!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Cameroon, not Cancun.
With all my free time at home, I thought I'd explain why I choose Cameroon. And, as my sister initially thought, not Cancun.
Why Cameroon? At least that's what everyone asks me, which admittedly makes me feel pretty cool and affirms my own sense of adventure. But whenever I get asked this, I am always so self-conscious of boring people that usually give some short, two sentence response that never quite seems to do the question justice. Choosing Cameroon is, at least for me, a huge component of the whole experience and reflective of not just what I want out of my study abroad experience, but who I want to be (blah, blah, blah, cliche!).
Okay, well first off, Dickinson has a program in Cameroon. I did not just throw a dart at a map. But Dickinson has programs everywhere so I certainly was not limited to Cameroon through my school. I was really considering going to Italy or England -- Dickinson has a great political science program set up in Bologna -- and I know I would've loved traveling around Europe, not to mention the thought of shopping has me salivating. Oh, and my infamous scarf collection would finally get the appreciation it deserves. Really, I know I would've had an amazing time in Europe. I would also become very well-dressed & sophisticated. Nicee.
But, I (*cross fingers*) will hopefully make to Europe some other time and maybe even live there after college which would truly be fantastic. Cameroon though is off the beaten path. It is different, it is uncomfortable, it is exciting, it is terrifying and it is something I can only do now. And that is exactly what I want. I want to go somewhere that doesn't have tourism, that can't help but be chaotic and, for better or worse, authentic. Of course, that's a problematic statement since France is no less France for being a developed country, but I mean to say that I expect Cameroon to not have the advantage of hiding behind those human comforts that overwhelm so much my time here in the US. Going to Cameroon, which for obvious reasons is so unlike everything I have ever experienced, I feel cannot help but change me, throwing me off the normal trajectory that I have followed despite my conviction of my individuality. Of course, going to Cameroon is furthered by many other things too. I'm not sure if I would have the guts to go if the other people on the program weren't so great or if my friends who have been on the program before hadn't talked to me about it with such passion. I'm also excited to improve my french and the poli.sci nerd in me is curious to see how politics operate outside the Western world, but these are little reasons. And while I can't quite "sum up" my feelings on what made me choose Cameroon, a large part of my decision is because I really do not know what to expect. I love that idea of jumping off into the deep end of things and not quite being sure when my feet are going to touch bottom.
Friday, January 7, 2011
1st post & packing.
So, first post and I'm definitely struggling here. I really have no idea on how to change the design on this thing ("this thing"...I sound old...). Okay, but despite some computer troubles, I am going to try to update regularly -- it would be a shame not to since Cameroon will certainly be one of the more memorable times of my life. I am both terrified & thrilled (maybe thrilled at the thought of being terrified? I'm not often scared of trying something new, but here I am, and I have some definite anxieties about the next five months).
It snowed all day today so I was stuck inside with only a slight venture out to clear the walk. My virtual house arrest though helped me focus on packing which is so overwhelming that I have so far chosen to ignore it. I'm usually a pretty light packer and am a firm believer that with the exception of my glasses/contacts, I can usually just pick up anything I need there if I forget. Well, does the same go for Africa? Really no clue, which is of course part of the adventure, but I do wish I knew whether bringing 11 shirts was too much or too little or if I'm being too "American" (ie: high maintenance) for packing some nice shirts/sundresses. Of course, nice is relative, but nevertheless I am going abroad to immerse myself in another culture and want to shed the lifestyle that I've had for the past 21 years. Another issue is dressing modestly. The majority of the clothes I am bringing are just what I have in my closet from the summer and while I do not dress very revealing, I realize that in Cameroon I will stick out in my whiteness and likely have a million eyes upon me. And of course, I must take in account the heat. Cameroon is only 5 degrees north of the equator.
Cameroon in 10 days!
-Anne
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