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| Why I like my village....
Top 12 Reasons to Live in Mambu-Bafut
- I feel like the most popular person in town!
Since I stand out, it is difficult to walk down
the road without someone yelling Sister Kate,
Auntie Kate, Manka (my name in Bafut), or of
course ‘white man.’ I’m starting
to get to know people from the different groups
in my village—the nurses and doctors at
the hospital, the sisters at the convent, the
chief of the village, the members of the council
for community development, the women’s
self-help group, the students and teachers at
both the government secondary school and the
girl’s Catholic High School.
- I get to see a monkey (it's kept in a cage)
every time I go down to the corner to buy pineapple,
tomatoes, papaya, or avocados.
- It is warm in the afternoon so my laundry
dries, but it is cool in the morning for running
and in the evening, for sleeping.
- I can have tailor-made shoes, curtains, sheets,
and clothes within a week, furniture within
a month.
- My friend Eunice thinks I am amazing because
I know how to make banana bread and cookies.
- People in my village think I am a world-class
athlete because I run and/or bike in the morning.
- No worries about showing up at the office
or school and someone wearing the same outfit
as me! The Western-style clothes that are sold
here are cast offs from thrift stores in Europe
and America so there are no two identical shirts
or pants. My African clothes are made by a tailor
in a design that I choose.
- If I really wanted to, I could start drinking
alcohol at 9 in the morning and no one would
think anything of it. In fact, they think it
is strange that I don’t take a beer with
lunch.
- After I pass and greet the sick people in
the hospital I can buy laundry detergent, eggs,
oil, matches, and/or bread at the hospital canteen.
- If I don’t feel like sitting through
a sermon at church, I can just show up after
the sermon is finished, about 2 hours after
church was supposed to start. I haven’t
ever done this, but people wouldn’t think
anything of it because others do it all the
time.
- In college we talked a lot about solidarity
and to be honest I used the word without really
knowing what it meant. It has been living in
a communal culture that has really taught me
the true meaning of this word.
- Whenever I want some adventure, I go and visit
another Peace Corps Volunteer in Mbengwi. This
involves taking a motorcycle (wearing a helmet,
of course) and dodging pot holes on the dirt
roads.
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April 05, 2006
“Isn’t strange how so many things feel
normal now? It’s like we don’t remember
how things are in America anymore.” This
was the jest of a conversation I had with another
PCV, Lindsay, while we were walking down Commercial
Avenue in Bamenda last Friday. Walking past all
the men selling shoes, cheap electronics, pineapple,
bootlegged DVDs and CDs, bread, and the trash
on the street, and the ubiquitous, “Hey baby,
I want to marry you, take me with you to white
man country” comments. It’s amazing
what someone can get used to after a couple of
months. I guess Prochaska’s theory of stages
of change is correct; it does take 6 months for
a behavior to become customary and a normal part
of life. Yet, there are some things I hope I never
get used to while I am here. This past week it
seems like death has been the common theme. It
started last week when my friend Eunice’s
uncle died from Tuberculosis. Since death is so
common here, it surprised me to see how hard she
took it. When she came to my house to tell me
last Monday morning she was crying and she was
still crying when she came back later that evening.
It is quite unusual to see Cameroonians publicly
cry, they wail at funerals and that is it. But,
after she explained more, it made sense. Eunice
is in her late 20s, yet she is an orphan and has
8 younger brothers and sisters to take care of.
Her grandfather is old and now she only has one
other uncle and an aunt to help take care of all
of those people. In a country where there is no
health or life insurance, the extended family
is the only safety net a person has. She wasn’t
crying so much because she lost an uncle, but
because it was so unexpected and now she felt
her familial responsibilities were increasing
beyond what she thought she could handle. This
past Saturday the English Choir and I sang and
danced at a death celebration. The first of three
in one week. The other two will be this Friday.
The Peace Corp Medical Doctor was right when she
warned us that people die left and right here.
However, I find the way that Cameroonians handle
death to be fascinating. After a person dies,
there is a ceremony in the church and then the
person is buried either within the family compound,
or at the church cemetery. All of the extended
family members are expected to stay with the bereaved
family for days. If they don’t, they are
suspected of participating in ju-ju (witchcraft)
and thus assisting in the death of the person.
About a year or two later, there is a death celebration.
Everyone in the community comes to the family
compound and there is a lot of eating, drinking,
and dancing (well, moving around in a circle swaying
your hips. It is so easy, even I can do it. You
don’t need an invitation to attend, if the
celebration is in the quarter where you live,
consider yourself invited. Since it costs a lot
of money, this may happen as much as 10 years
after a person has died. If the family never has
a death celebration, it is believed that the ghost
of the dead person will haunt the family until
they throw a great party. The longer they wait,
the better the party has to be.
I’m sure that in the next 21 months I will
attend many more celebrations, probably even of
some people that I will get to know very well.
I may get so used to how it is done here, I won’t
be able to go back to America and just eat ham
buns in the church fellowship hall after a funeral.
I might get up, start chanting, and dancing in
a circle.
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| April 11, 2006
If I was at all considering training for another
marathon, Cameroon might just be the place to
do it. With so many children and the old mommies
eager to cheer for the ‘serah’ (Bafut
for white man) alongside the road, I certainly
get plenty of encouragement. One evening I was
running past a soccer game and a young boy tried
to give me a trophy full of dead flowers. I think
it was for the winner of the soccer match, but
he thought it was more amusing to try to run with
me and give it to me. It was really tempting to
take, but since I was about 2 miles from home
I politely declined. The last thing I need is
anything to attract any more attention to myself.
About a week later I was running past the chief’s
palace and I heard some drums and people chanting,
not an unusual sound here and didn’t think
anything of it. But, then all of a sudden about
10 men with masks made of seashells and larger,
noisy shells around their feet, ran up the hill
and crossed in front of me towards the chief’s
palace. They were going for a ceremonial cleansing
of the chief. Two of them charged at me and I
thought they were going to capture me and take
me for my own ceremonial cleansing. Not joking.
I honestly don’t think I have ever been so
scared while running before.
Since the only potable water exists in the water
filter in my house, I think it would be quite
difficult to stay hydrated on long runs (no schools
or churches with water fountains to stop at along
the way!) Thus, I think I will just stick with
my 5 mile runs for now.
Speaking of water, I finally have a water committee
to work with to address the lack of water in Mambu.
It only took 4 months to form the 9 person committee.
It probably is a good indication of how long it
will take to get the water flowing in the community
again; but I’m determined to get as far as
possible before I leave. I would really like to
see the job completed while I am still here, but
if not; I at least hope that a solid foundation
will be laid for another PCV to finish after me.
This is an example of one of the many projects
that I’m working more on more seriously now
that I’ve returned from IST. The schools
have resumed after Spring Break, so the health
clubs at the Catholic School and the Government
School resumed this past week. I really missed
the girls while they were gone. Summer break will
be worse! Dr. Okwen and I are also busy writing
a proposal to an NGO, CARE, to see if we can help
the people in our HIV support group pay for their
antiretroviral drugs and start some income generating
projects. We were going to raise chickens, but
since bird flu has arrived in Cameroon, that idea
had to be scrapped. In the meantime, I’m
doing some nutrition counseling with the members
of the group. Next week I’m going to start
visiting the different health posts within Bafut
and do nutrition presentations for the mothers
of young children. I’m also continuing with
nutrition presentations for diabetes patients
in Bamenda.
I’m continuing to enjoy singing with the
English Choir at Church. Right now I’m trying
to teach them African-American songs in preparation
for the multi-church jamboree May 7. THAT should
be interesting!
I hope that you all enjoy a Happy Easter! I’m
sure that mine will be memorable, just like Thanksgiving,
Christmas, and New Year’s was.
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| May 29, 2006
Hello all! Instead of trying to describe what
life has been like here recently, I thought it
would be better to try to send a few pictures.
I realized the other day that I have sent more
pictures of people than the places where I work.
This is a picture of the Mundum Health Post.
It is one of 6 health posts in the Bafut Health
District that I'm trying to visit in the next
month. So far I have visited 3. It is always adventure
to get to each place. Sometimes I go by motorbike,
sometimes on foot; sometimes I take a couple of
taxis. I visit the posts on vaccination days and
do the same Nutrition Presentation at each post.
I have discovered that the mothers here know about
what a balanced diet consists of, they just don't
know about the amounts of food that a child, a
man, a pregnant or lactating woman should eat.
I also try to talk about how to improve iron absorption
in the diet because many children here are anemic
and this nutrition deficiency is only compounded
by the high prevalence of malaria here.
This is a picture of my friends Odette and Genetta,
on their way to carry water. The pump is at the
bottom of the hill. The children are responsible
for fetching water at least two times a day and
then they carry the jugs on their heads back to
their house. The hill that they have to climb
is very steep and difficult to ascend, even without
balancing a 5 gallon jug on your head! Last week
a water engineer from Douala came to do an initial
assessment of the water problems the people face
here in Bafut. After his assessment, the real
work has begun-convincing the people in the community
to once again contribute and manage the money
so that water can flow to public taps throughout
the community and the children don't have to walk
so far to get water. In the next email I will
write more about the water situation here.
In other news, I and the Cameroonians anxiously
awaited May 20. On that day they celebrated the
National Day and I celebrated a visit from my
parents. My father was here for one week and my
mother will be here for two more weeks. Everyone
in my community LOVED having both of my parents
here and ensured that they tasted the fine Cameroonian
fruits; I don't think I've had so many bananas
in my house at one time before! I think my parents
enjoyed meeting some of the people and getting
a glimpse of what my life is like here. My father
was even able to watch a surgery (of course for
the usual exchange of listening to my iPOD). My
father has since gone back to America and I'm
keeping my mother busy meeting more of the people
here and accompanying me to various meetings in
the community. She is also going to try to do
a writing project with some of the women I work
with periodically. As wonderful as it is to see
them, it is also wonderful to enjoy all of the
many things they brought for me: new shoes, books,
dried blueberries, and of course peanut butter!
Hope you all are enjoying your first taste of
summer. I always say that here it feels like summer
in Colorado: cool in the morning, warm in the
early afternoon, and then late afternoon showers.
Now that the rainy season has officially started
it is cooler now and sometimes I even feel cold!
Yeah, who would ever have thought that I would
need a sweatshirt while living in Africa?
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June 11, 2006
Well, it is official, I'm the only Reinsma in
Cameroon now. Unless of course there is some distant
relative working for a Dutch NGO or business here.
Considering how many Dutch NGOs there are in Cameroon
and how very strange and random things happen
here I guess it wouldn't surprise me, but as far
as I know I'm the only one. All of this is to
say that my mother left last night to return to
the States. It was sad to see her go and I'm sure
that I will have many people in the village ask
me about her for months to come. Many people in
the village fell in love with her and called her
"Mama Kate, Mama Kates, Mama Manka, or Christmas
Carol." The fon's (chief) wife told her that
now all of the women in the village are her daughters
because all of the women in the village are my
sisters. In the past three weeks I don't think
I've had as many visitors in my home as I had
in the previous 6 months; everyone was so eager
to greet my parents at the beginning and extend
theim wishes for a safe travel at the end. Since
my mom was able to stay for three weeks therefore
was able to experience how unpredictable, loving,
crazy, welcoming, aggravating, thoughtful Cameroon
and Cameroonians can be. At least one person now
won't think I'm completely insane when I tell
of all of the crazy, random things that happen
here.
Although I was sad to see my mother leave, these
feelings were quickly replaced with excitement.
Right after I said goodbye to my mom, I found
out that one of our proposals that Dr. Okwen and
I submitted to care for 90 orphans and vulnerable
children was granted. The inspector from the NGO,
CARE, is coming to Mambu next week and actually
wants to increase the amount of money that we
asked for! This news is in addition to the other
encouragement we received last week. Another NGO,
PLAN International, agreed to fund a Candlelight
Memorial Service we are going to have July 2nd.
The purpose of the Memorial Service is to remember
those people that have died of AIDS, pray and
support those that are living with HIV/AIDS, and
pray and support those that are affected by HIV/AIDS.
Its actually an international event that occurs
every year, but it will be the first time it will
happen in Mambu. Between planning and implementing
these two projects as well as starting nutrition
classes for people with diabetes and keeping things
moving forward with the water project, I'll be
busy, but I'm thankful for the work.
Kate
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June 29th, 2006
Everything I needed to know about life I learned
in Cameroon
Eat your vegetables: This usually isn’t
too hard in Cameroon. What amazes me is how Cameroonians
learned all the different ways to prepare cassava
(as water fu-fu, gari, or just cut up, coated and
fried) since it is not native to Africa and if it
is not dried properly you can get cyanide poisoning!
Cameroonians also like to eat a lot of different
kinds of leaves. I can’t tell the difference
between all of them, but they sure can and know
exactly how much palm oil, pepe (really hot peppers),
magi (msg-laden flavoring cubes), and the occasional
dried-crayfish to add. None of the recipes are written
down the children just learn by watching their mothers.
Share your toys: Not only do fellow PCVs
serve as a great sounding board for bouncing off
ideas, people to rejoice with in the small successes
of community development, and/or understand the
frustrating aspects of life in Cameroon; we also
share all of our magazines, music, DVDs, and books.
Sometimes its funny to think about how well traveled
a magazine or DVD is before it finally reaches my
house. So what if the magazine is 3 months old or
I don’t really like Harry Potter; they remind
me of home and are good coping, survival mechanisms.
Play nicely with others: This usually requires
greeting EVERY single person on the street. It usually
goes something like this:
Mommy on the street, “Manka-ah”
Me, “Good-morning-oh”
Mommy, “Eh Bay fuh” (Bafut for “good
morning”)
Me, “Eh Bay fuh”
Mommy, “Abola” (How are you)
Me, “Aboona, meya” (I’m fine, thank
you)
Mommy, “Ha, hah, hah!”
I’ve exchanged these greetings multiple times
in the last 6 months, yet it still is hilarious
to the villagers that the white girl speaks some
Bafut. I really think it is the joke that never
gets old. Although they laugh, I think they appreciate
the effort. I’m glad that I can provide some
comic relief to this part of the world.
Respect those in authority: This lesson must
always be remembered when dealing with fons (chiefs)
and other traditional leaders in the village. Since
the fons are considered sacred they cannot be touched.
You can not cross your feet when he or other traditional
leaders are present out of fear that you will show
him the soles of your feet, which are considered
dirty. Whenever the fon enters the room, you must
stand and you cannot sit until he sits down in his
special had carved chair. You must greet him by
clapping three times, covering your mouth, and say
the word “Mbah.” You can shake the hands
of the traditional leaders, but you must always
extend your right hand and place your left hand
on your elbow, as a sign of respect. I forgot this
protocol yesterday when I was introduced to a fon
from another village. I tried to extend my hand
to greet him before I remembered that I can’t
touch him. Thankfully, since I’m white, he
had a sense of humor about my mistake cast a spell
or call out ju-jus on me.
When life gives you bananas, make banana bread
(or cookies, pudding, and cake): This lesson
has been learned on multiple levels. Occasionally
people give me bananas, all at the same time. This
happened especially when my parents were here. I
think I had over 40 ripe bananas in my house at
one time. While I love bananas, I can’t eat
that many at one time! Thankfully, I have a freezer
and an oven (the only PCV in all of Cameroon to
have such amenities) so I can freeze the excess
bananas and make banana bread, cookies, pudding,
or cake when I have time. They make wonderful gifts
to other Cameroonians because freshly baked items
don’t exist anywhere in this country. But it
is also a lesson learned about adapting and making
the best out of whatever you have. Cup and tablespoon
measurements don’t exist so if you are doing
a nutrition lesson on serving sizes you have to
use tins of tomato paste or empty bottles of water
or yogurt containers to convey your message.
What removes us from our labor, removes us from
our lives: I learned this saying when I was
in college and I don’t think it could be more
applicable anywhere then to my life here. There
is something about only eating food that is bought
from nearby farms, kneading your own bread, washing
your clothes by hand, walking (not driving) alongside
the road, greeting your neighbor every morning,
afternoon, and evening, seeing babies born and people
dying that connects you to the realities of life.
It always works out, not just the way you think
it will: I was reminded of this lesson when
I was with my mom in Yaoundé a few hours
before she flew back to the States. We had gone
shopping that morning and spent most of the cash
that we had. My mom needed to find an ATM so she
would have money to get to the airport and buy food
for the rest of the day (it isn’t safe to use
credit cards in Cameroon). When we finally found
one, the ATM machine wasn’t working and it
was just past 12 noon, right when the bank itself
closed. I tried to think of what our options would
be if we couldn’t find an ATM, and believe
me, there weren’t many. There happened to be
another girl that was also at the ATM and thankfully
she came to the bank with her sister and two other
friends in a private car. I tried to ask in my broken
French what she was going to do since this ATM wasn’t
working. Thankfully she spoke some English and told
my mom and me to get in the car and she would take
us to another bank. So, my mom and I piled into
the small Toyota Corolla with the 4 other Cameroonians
and we went looking for another ATM machine. Unfortunately
there was a wedding in the middle of town that day
and we couldn’t find a street that wasn’t
blocked. As the time passed I became more worried.
Finally we found another ATM and this one worked!
But, then we were faced with another dilemma, my
mom and I had been whisked away to an unknown part
of the city and I didn’t know how to get back
to where we had to go. Well, in exchange for buying
our driver and her companions apples that were being
sold on the side of the street, they graciously
brought us exactly to where we had to go.
Rome wasn’t built in a day: And neither
does development happen in Cameroon. You can imagine
how slow it takes to really do anything here when
it takes me about 2 hours and 3 Cameroonians watching
to make 200 photocopies and then it still doesn’t
work and I have to send someone to Bamenda do it
for me, thus actually taking a whole day. When I
hear that Cameroon hasn’t really changed in
the last 20 years and in some ways has gotten worse;
it can be discouraging and I ask myself if I’m
really making a difference here or just making myself
feel good and learning about another part of the
world. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that
I won’t solve world hunger in the two years
that I’m here and try to focus on the small
changes, hoping and praying that all the small drops
will eventually swell to an ocean.
Count your blessings: Well, if I was really
to name everything that I’m thankful for in
/; this email it would be longer than it already
is. But, I definitely should mention a few things.
I’m thankful for my house that protects me
from the intense sun, the increasingly constant
rain, the stray dogs, and the wandering chickens.
I’m thankful for my supervisor, Dr. Okwen,
who is well-educated, not corrupt, and genuinely
wants to see Cameroon develop as a country. The
nuns at the Convent that always hug me and feed
me two times a week. The opportunities I have to
make small changes in this part of the world: organizing
events and a support group for people living with
HIV/AIDS to reduce stigma, restoring water to the
community, teaching mothers about increasing iron
absorption for themselves and their children, and
teaching patients with diabetes how to eat a more
balanced diet to control their blood sugar. The
English Choir at church that tells me I sing beautifully,
even though I know I don’t, and recently dedicated
me as the newest member of the group. I’m thankful
for the Dutch physiotherapists that come and work
at the physical therapy department for a couple
months at a time so I’m not the only white
person in the community. My family and friends all
over the world that support, pray, encourage, and
love me. Without all of you what I have learned
and do here would not be possible. Thank you. |
October 1, 2006
Five Hundred Twenty –Five Thousand, Six
Hundred Minutes. How do you measure a year? In daylights,
in sunsets… in inches, in miles, or in laughter
and strife? Five Hundred Twenty –Five Thousand,
Six Hundred Minutes. How do you measure a year in
the life? Five Hundred Twenty –Five Thousand,
Six Hundred minutes. Five Hundred Twenty –Five
Thousand, Six Hundred journeys to plan. How do you
measure the life of a woman or a man? In truth that
she learned or times that she cried?
Seasons of Love
Rent
The lines from that song have been in my head recently.
Today marks the year anniversary that I have been
in Cameroon and I am asking myself how do I measure
everything that has happened in this past year?
The number of people that I have taught in nutrition
classes and health clubs? The number of proposals
written? The number of people that I consider my
friends here in Mambu? The number of little girls
born in the last year with the name Kate? The number
of months left in-country? The number of surprisingly
unscathed trips I have made to Bamenda, Douala,
or Yaounde by myself? The number of African songs
I know and have added to my iPOD? The number of
engagements, marriages, deaths, and births in America
I have missed? Although statisticians may not agree,
I’ve concluded that even if I sat down and
gave a number to answer all of these questions,
this past year simply cannot be measured. Just as
I cannot measure the impact Cameroon and Cameroonians
have had on me within the last year.
As I take this opportunity to look back on this
past year I have to say it has been a year full
of surprises. So many things have happened that
I never even thought were possible last year. When
I left America a year ago I had three major concerns:
first, that I my luggage would be too heavy and
I packed all of the wrong things; second, that I
would not be able to stay in contact with people
in America and they would forget about me; and third
that I would not find a faith community. Well, this
morning I had to smile to myself when I came to
the realization that all of those things have NOT
been a problem the minute I arrived in Cameroon.
I didn’t pack the wrong things at all—the
things I brought like measuring cups, sharp kitchen
knives, a table runner, IPOD, and a laptop computer
have been incredibly useful and the few clothes
I brought have quickly been replaced with African
style dresses and European cast offs. Unlike many
other volunteers, I have relatively easy access
to the internet, cell phone service, and the postal
system. Thus, I have been able to stay in contact
quite well with friends and family (ironically I
have gotten to know some of you better and you have
gotten to know me better while I’ve been here).
And, I have not only found one faith community,
but I am apart of two—the Presbyterian Church
that I attend and the Catholic Mission that I work
with.
As I look forward to the year the I have left in
Cameroon, a part of me wants to say that I want
to see this or that project completed or I want
to teach x amount of people about nutritional anemia
or some other health topic, but to be honest, I
don’t really know what will be in store and
that is okay. Yes, I have more of an idea of what
the upcoming year will be like then I did at this
time last year. Yes, it is good to have goals for
certain things I want to see done (namely the rehabilitation
of the water system), but I kind of like just going
along with whatever work opportunities present themselves
and help where and when I can. It certainly keeps
me on my toes and lends itself to be another year
full of surprises and unexpected occurrences.
The oligarchic character of the modern English
commonwealth does not rest, like many oligarchies,
on the cruelty of the rich to the poor. It does
not even rest on the kindness of the rich to the
poor. It rests on the perennial and unfailing kindness
of the poor to the rich.
G.K Chesterton
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October 24, 2006
A couple of days ago I was rereading some of the
recent mass emails that I have sent and realized
that they have been rather serious. This may cause
you to think that my life is depressing and somber.
I'm thankful to say that is not the case at all!
Although I have become more used to how random
and unpredictable life in Africa can be, my life
still makes me laugh and I wouldn't want to be
anywhere else doing anything else at this time
in my life. In this email I decided to send pictures
of the things that make me smile here.
This is a picture of me and my neighbor girls
picking termites one night. They are picking them
so they can cook and eat them. Yes, eat them.
I haven't eaten any yet, but I promised that if
someone will cook them, I'll try them. I'll let
you know how they taste….
The girl on the right is Retzka, one of two Dutch
medical students that have been here for almost
4 weeks and will be here for 3 more weeks. She
and Judith comprise the 5th set of Dutch people
that I have stayed in Mambu in the past year.
I still find it so ironic that I had to come to
Cameroon to meet so many Dutch people. They always
like it when I tell them that my last name is
Reinsma and I like Dutch licorice; say the phrase,
'Eet Smakelijk', make pizza for them, and invite
them over for tea and a movie. In this picture
Retzka and I are drinking tea (with Dutch stroopwafels!)
from matching mugs that we bought at a pottery
place earlier that day.
Ready for school! That is how Babyla looks while
wearing his school uniform. Babyla is Eunice's
3 year-old son and started nursery school this
year. Like many black children he was scared of
me when he first saw me because I was the first
white person he met. It makes me smile to see
that now he has no fear of me and is even brave
enough to say, "Auntie Kate-balla, balla,"
meaning he wants a balloon.
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December 19, 2006
Whenever I return to Mambu after being gone for
even just a few days, people always say, "You've
been missing" or "You were lost"
or "Do you still live here, I was afraid you
went back to America." Well, since most of
you haven't heard from me for 2 months you probably
were starting to think that I went missing or got
lost in the African jungle. No, I'm still alive
and well and haven't got lost in any African jungle
yet. The truth is this past month and a half has
been unusually busy. At the beginning of November
a friend from high school came and visited and stayed
for 9 days. Ten days after he left, a friend from
Ft. Collins came and stayed for one week. When she
left, I flew with her to Nairobi and she continued
on to America and I flew to South Africa (perfect
example of the inefficiency of traveling here-I
had to fly East to Kenya to go South). I went to
South Africa to attend an International Diabetes
Conference in Capetown. My mom met me there and
after the conference we spent a few days in Capetown
and Johannesburg. It was absolutely wonderful to
see all of these people in the last month. On the
night I arrived into Capetown I wrote in my journal
that I don't feel much like a Peace Corps Volunteer
because what volunteer says good bye to a good friend
in Nairobi, says hello to their mother in Capetown,
and drives on a paved road in a developed country
all in one day?! As I look back on it, the whole
month and a half went by so fast that it feels like
it never happened, but I'm so glad that it did.
One of the benefits of having visitors come is that
it's almost as if you get to experience Cameroon
all over again. Hearing their initial comments and
observations either caused me to smile and laugh
or pause and think, yeah, you're right, I never
thought of it that way. Here are some of my favorite
phrases mentioned from my visitors during the course
of their stay:
"I've never felt so white before."
"Is that goat really tied to a rope?"
"I didn't expect to see dogs in Africa."
"Kate, I'm surprised that you're still alive,
heck, I'm surprised I'm still alive" (quoted
on the third day my friend from high school was
here and after I explained that we would have to
take a taxi from Bamenda to Mambu and the driver
probably would be half-drunk).
"And I thought traveling was stressful in the
tube in London, and there they speak the same language."
(This could probably apply to both of my visitors
because both have been in London recently)
"Kate, you seem so fearless!"
"Africa is nothing but full of new experiences."
"How do I take a bucket bath?"
"If I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, I would
never leave my village. Not even to buy oatmeal
in Bamenda."
"Kate, are you okay?" (quoted after 2
minutes of me yelling at the taxi driver in Douala
about how much the taxi should cost).
Me: "So, do you think you could be a Peace
Corps Volunteer?"
Visitor: "No way, I would get too frustrated.
I'm an engineer" (Friends in Ft. Collins--
guess who said that.)
I also enjoyed my brief respite in South Africa
when I attended the International Diabetes Conference
and met my mom in Capetown. The conference was a
little overwhelming because there were SO many people
there, over 15,000 and mostly Europeans. For once
I wasn't the only white person in the crowd! Thankfully
there were about 10 other Cameroonians that attended
the conference, so whenever I felt like a fish out
of water at the conference I went and found my fellow
Cameroonians and talked my Cameroonian-style English
with them. The conference itself was a huge success
for Cameroon because the next International Diabetes
Federation President is from Cameroon.
For anyone who doesn't know, South Africa has excellent
food! Or at least I thought so because I had my
fill of butternut squash, rooibus tea, and blueberries
and was not once forced to eat fufu corn and njama
njama or manioc with gumbo (what I call slime) sauce.
While I was there I was a little worried about how
I would adjust to the pace and complexities of life
in a developed country after living in an African
village for over a year, but for the most part I
think I did okay. I only hissed at my mom once to
get her attention (hissing is the polite in Cameroon)
and after a few days stopped saying "Good morning"
or "Good afternoon" to everyone I met
on the street.
So now it is back to my solitary life in Cameroon.
I feel like my return from South Africa opened a
new chapter on my Peace Corps experience. A wise
friend once told me that it is not until you leave
a place and return that you realize it is your home.
Although Mambu has felt like my home for quite some
time, Cameroon itself hasn't, mostly because I haven't
spent much time outside the Northwest Province.
But after landing in Douala and realizing how much
I know about the weather, where I would sleep that
night, what I would eat the next couple of days,
and how I would make my way back to Mambu, I felt
like Cameroon itself is now my home and I was proud
of how I can survive and host visitors in this wild,
illogical, inefficient, adventurous country.
The 70 degree weather outside certainly is no indication
that Christmas is just in a few days. There are
two new Dutch physical therapists in Mambu and I
am planning on spending Christmas Eve with them.
Christmas Day will be spent with the Sisters at
the Convent. It really is hard to believe that this
will be my second Christmas in Cameroon! Last year
I celebrated Christmas just a few days after I arrived
in Mambu and barely knew the people. I'm looking
forward to celebrating it this year not with just
people I know, but with people I consider my friends.
I hope that all of you are also able to enjoy a
refreshing, peaceful, reflective Christmas wherever
you are in the world. As they say here, "Happy
Christmas in advance!"
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January 8, 2007
Lately I have been saying that Africa is like
an onion: wilted exterior, multi-layered, tear-jerking.
Occasionally something will happen or an experience
shared and another layer in this intricate, mystifying
country is exposed. Although I will never reach
the core of this country or culture, nor do I
really intend to, I think I have peeled away a
few layers of the onion in the past couple of
weeks. The first example of this is what happened
after I reflected on celebrating my second Christmas
and New Year's in village.
A few days after New Year's I would ask people
that I knew how their Christmas and New Year's
was and their response inevitably humbled me.
Usually they would say, "Well, no one died,
no one is very sick, so it was a good day. Thank
God." That's it. That's how they defined
the Christmas season and the year in general--if
they made it through without anyone dying. If
anyone did complain it was not about not receiving
a certain gift, but that it had been a rough year
because many people in the family have been sick
or died.
Although I am a "volunteer" I am probably
the third richest person in the community (behind
the two doctors who only make a little more than
my monthly stipend, but have extended families
to support). Therefore, I had the means to actually
buy gifts for some friends. To see the face and
feel the warm embrace of Odette when I gave her
coloring pencils was priceless. To see Kevin,
my night watchman, eagerly read a children's book
that I gave him for his children, is a cherished
memory. I received no material gifts from people
this year; instead I received the gift of their
time. Between Dr. Okwen and family, Pastor Ivo,
Christopher and family, Eunice and family, Charles
and family, Sister Emma and the nuns at the Convent,
Odette, and the Dutch physical therapists, Christmas
Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, and New Year's
Day were filled with people stopping by or inviting
me to their house to wish me a "Happy Christmas"
or "Happy New Year." For the second
Christmas in a row I didn't go to bed Christmas
night with a sunken, disappointed feeling because
the presents I bought for or received from other
people were all wrong or useless. Instead, I went
to bed feeling overwhelmingly loved and thought
of by the people in my community.
As romantic and lovely as this all sounds, I've
peeled away another layer in this culture in the
last week and this one hasn't been nearly as enjoyable
or encouraging. Instead, it has been rather stressful
and upsetting. As I've written before, the biggest
project that I'm involved in is the rehabilitation
of a water system that serves two neighboring
villages, Mambu and Bawum. The current water system
was put in place in 2000 and for 6 months, the
people in both villages actually had working stand
taps in their quarters (something like our version
of neighborhoods) so they didn't have to walk
very far to carry water for bathing, cooking,
and washing. But there were a LOT of misunderstandings
between the Catholic Mission, the water management
committee, and the population in the two villages
about who was responsible to pay the electricity
for the water pump and usage of the water. So,
after 6 months of not paying the electricity bill,
the electricity company came in and removed the
meter and the water pump could no longer work.
Now, there are pipes and stand taps that have
been deteriorating interspersed throughout the
two villages. When I first came to Bafut, with
my Western mentality that every problem can be
fixed, I set out to form a new water committee
representing both villages in an effort to rehabilitate
the defunct water system. From the little information
I gathered it seemed like it was just a simple
management problem. I naively thought that if
a new, younger water committee was formed and
the members trained on how to collect the money
in a transparent fashion and the population educated
that they would have to PAY for the water, the
problem will be solved. Well, as I've peeled away
more and more layers of this complex, delicate
onion I've learned that there are MANY good reasons
why the people in Mambu and Bawum have suffered
for so long without pipe-borne water. Despite
what I want to believe, there are no quick fixes
to this problem. Last Friday I met with the man
representing the chief of Bawum (the actual chief
is in America right now) and the Bawum cultural
and development association (BACDA) President.
They informed me that they have been working on
their own water project for two years and have
already been collecting a fair amount of money.
They said that all that is left to buy is a new
electric water pump. When they told me all that
they had been doing I was annoyed and frustrated
that NO ONE in the last year had told me about
their own water project and its progress. If I
had known that they were working on their own
project then my father would not have printed
t-shirts and I would not have written proposals
and publicized it as a Bawum AND Mambu water project.
The BACDA President and the Regent from Bawum
told me that they cannot support our joint project
because they have already been soliciting money
from donors for their Bawum project and can't
change and say that they are joining our project.
Without their support and encouragement, the people
in Bawum won't/can't mobilize to raise money to
pay their share for the cost of the rehabilitation
of the water system. Why no one thought to give
me all of these details of this project in the
last year is a layer I have not and probably will
never unveil. It's actually a perfect example
of what it is like to live and work in Africa.
Few people actually tell you the complete truth;
they just tell you what they think you want to
hear.
So, as of last Friday, my project transformed
to the Mambu Water System Rehabilitation Project.
Although that may seem like a simple solution,
in reality, it is not. Now, the problem is that
the water source for the Mambu water system is
technically in Bawum and since we are rehabilitating
a water source that the people in Bawum originally
helped to build, it isn't fair that they can't
benefit from the repairs. The Regent from Bawum
assured me that the people in Bawum are peaceful
people and want to see development, but if Mambu's
water system is a success and Bawum's water system
fails, the water committee chairman warned me
that it could be a cause for war. Great. How's
that for a legacy of the first Peace Corps Volunteer
in Mambu, she is the cause of war between two
villages when she was just trying to help the
two villages. For now, I'm trying to discern what
the next practical step is. Thankfully, no decisions
have to be made for two weeks. Right now I'm in
Yaoundé for a week for mid-service medical
check up to ensure that I haven't contracted any
rare, tropical diseases and that my teeth are
rotting away. Next week I'm traveling with a friend
to the Northern, Muslim part of Cameroon.
All of this is to say that the onion has been
teaching me a lot of valuable lessons recently
and has caused both tears of joy and frustration
to be shed. I've been honored to share and better
understand how people in a different culture celebrate
Christmas and New Year's and reminded once again
that I really have little control over the course
of my work projects and to trust that they will
all work out, just not the way I originally anticipated.
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| March 7, 2007
In an effort to promote multi-linguism among
Americans, and a change in pace from my recent
serious emails, I feel that it is time and my
duty to teach you the basics of Pidgin English.
As I am writing this I am surprised at myself
that I have never written more about the language
that surrounds me everyday. At first you might
be thinking, oh, Pidgin English, that just must
be a dialect of English and as a native-English
speaker I should be able to understand it. Well,
don't let the English in Pidgin English fool you.
Yes, the language does use English words, but
in a dissimilar way. People here first told me
that Pidgin English is nothing but English spoken
with poor grammar. In a way that is true, but
it is also so much more than that. The sentence
structure is completely different and if you are
not aware of it, you may think that people are
doing the exact opposite of what they say.
Both Anglophone and Francophone Cameroonians
engage in small talk by stating the obvious, so
a lot of the Pidgin I hear is actually restating
something I already know. This is helpful to know
when first trying to figure out what Cameroonians
are actually trying to say. For example, if I
have just arrived at a meeting, the hospital,
the market, or really anywhere, someone will inevitable
say, "You don come." At first I thought
people were always saying, "You don't come"
and was confused because I thought they were telling
me that I didn't come when I KNEW I was there.
Was Africa causing me to loose my mind? But then
I figured out that the word "don" is
applied to state anything that happened in the
past, no matter how recent. Another point to remember
is that Cameroonians always answer a yes question
or end a question with "no." Again,
this can be confusing unless you know what they
are really trying to say. If I am asking how someone
is, I will say, "How for you?" or just
"How?" People usually respond with "No,
fine." At first I didn't know if they were
saying no I am not fine or no, nothing is wrong,
I am fine. It took me awhile to know that it is
the latter, and now I answer the same way. Or,
someone may ask when they seem me standing on
the road waiting for a taxi to go to Bamenda,
"You are going to town, no?" Sometimes
it is hard for me to not be sarcastic and flippantly
respond, "No, I'm just standing out here
in the hot sun with my shopping bag, looking down
the road expectantly for a taxi because I feel
like it." But after I realized that they
are just showing interest in what I am doing,
that urge diminished (note diminished, not extinguished).
Here are some basic words and translations for
"Dat Fayne English" as it is called
here:
Ha fo sikin?/Ha fo yu? = How are you?
A wel/fayn/A dey fayn = I'm good
Smol taym = See you soon/later
Monin = Good morning
Aftanun = Good afternoon
Ivinin = Good evening
Waka fayn = Farewell
Big man = Boss
Dokta = Doctor
Yu shidon fo wusay? =Where are you from?
Man fo Amerika = American
Pipol dem fo Kamerun = Cameroonians
Piskops = Peace Corps Volunteer
Pikin=child
Dem=To denote anything plural
Yu don kam = You have come
Chop=Food, Eat
We=we, us, our
Palava=Problem
Hambug=Bother
Get=to have
Over-Vexed= Very mad
The words "be" and "for"
are used repeatedly. Be is used for "am,
is" and for is the default preposition word.
Few Cameroonians can pronounce the "th"
sound, so if any word starts with "th"
it sounds more like "d" or "t."
So, when I'm giving a nutrition presentation
and I trying to use my limited Pidgin skills,
I sound something like this:
"Good morning-oh. Wel-kum. How for you
people? Ma name na be Kate and I come out fo Amerika.
I get book for chop and I know plenty ting bout
the chop that all pipol dem don chop. Na the chop
where all men don chop na be very important, especially
for pikin. Pikin need to chop fayne so he grow
fayne an he learn fayne and he shit fayne (yes,
it is appropriate to say shit) Na today I talk
say bout da power chop. Na dat power chop be the
chop where we get dat energy. Dat na be the chop
like fu-fu corn, water fu-fu, plantains, rice,
spaghetti. Next I talk say bout the foundation
chop. Dat chop na be the chop that give we strength.
Dat na be fish, fowl meat, cow meat, and beans.
Last be dat umbrella chop. Dat be chop da protect
we from cata (cold) and fever. Dat be chop like
paw-paw (papaya), mangoes, vegetables (which denotes
any and all edible grean leaves), and onion. Any
man get questions?"
Now, if someone does have a question, he/she
will always put the question word at the end of
the sentence. Something like this: "Na whaty?"
(what is that) or "We will chop dat how?"
(How will we eat that).
Finally, I cannot write about Pidgin without
explaining my favorite, multi-useful, and the
one redeeming word for this confusing, grammatically-incorrect
language, "Ashia." Ashia, translated
into American English means, "I see your
problem, I share with you." If I'm walking
alongside the road and I see a woman carrying
a bundle of firewood, or bananas, or avocados,
or palm oil, or whatever, I say, "Ashia."
If someone is telling me about their neighbor/uncle/child/relative
that just died, I say, "Ashia." If I
pass the neighbor girl washing the floor of her
family's whole house with a rag, bending over,
I say, "Ashia." If I walk into the outpatient
clinic and I see 8 people waiting to see the doctor,
I say "Ashia." If I enter the nurses'
lab and a nurse is counting pills, I say, "Ashia
for work." And, if the taxi that I'm riding
in breaks down and I have to walk 2 km up a side
of a mountain to get to the next town, I say,
"Ashia for me."
So, after being surrounded by this language for
two years and even speaking it from time to time,
you can understand that I am somewhat worried
that when I return to America every other word
I say will be ashia or I will try to engage in
small talk by saying, "You have come,"
or "You are there," or "You are
doing what?" I may use descriptive words
like smol, smol to denote a little amount or plenty,
plenty to denote large amounts or answer every
question with "no" even if I mean "yes".
Usually I conclude my letters with some lesson
that I have learned from my work or Africa. Well,
I don't really have any great insight to share
this time, a basic lesson on the Pidgin language
will have to suffice. However, I will try to give
a brief update on my work. The water committee
has been restructured and I no longer am the chairperson,
instead the development association presidents
from Mambu and Bawum are, which so far seems to
be working much better. Next week a donor from
Holland is coming and has agreed to pay for cleaning
of the catchment area, buy a new water pump (if
needed), and pump water from the catchment area
to the storage tank. They can't pay for the rehabilitation
of the whole system, but at least it is a start.
I'm also doing more nutritional counseling for
people with diabetes which I always find to be
humbling, gratifying experience. It's usually
a reminder of how poor the healthcare system is
in Cameroon when I see patients coming from Limbe,
Douala, or Yaounde (major cities at least 5-6
hours away) just to see Dr. Nwkenti and myself.
Before they come see us they usually have received
a multitude of various drugs and little correct
information. Thus, they arrive with other complications
affecting their feet, heart, and kidneys, very
poorly controlled blood sugar levels, and numerous
myths about foods they should and should not eat.
When I'm not working on these long-term projects,
I've been trying to learn more Bafut, the local
dialect here. I figure now that I understand most
of the Pidgin language I should move on to the
other language I hear around here. Between the
Pidgin, Bafut, and French languages that surround
me in this land of over 230 dialects, who knows
what language I will be speaking when I return
to America.
Waka Fayne, Fulafo, and A Bientot,
Kate
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