"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.

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.

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.

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.

Some memorable moments of culture shock --

Taxis: I'm not from the city so taking a taxi is something that I have maybe done, oh, five times in my life? And only once have I taken a taxi alone (and that was in Long Island). Here though, taxis rule the streets. Rarely do you see personal cars and even less so do you see big, which is to say American, type cars. Anyways, to take a taxi it is a flat rate (ie: no meter) and while the price usually stands at 200 francs/person which is roughly 50 cents this price is negotiable depending on the distance and/or if you're white (Cameroonians assume all foreigners are rich and unless shopping at a store, the price is usually stated at four times the actual price).  So when you're out on the street a taxi will roll up close to you and then you shout out where you wish to go and your price at which point the driver will say get in or drive away. Often, the taxi drivers will not state okay, but the yes is implied by their not driving away something that wasn't clear to us the first time around when we repeated ourselves an unnecessary amount.

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?