Jess does da ‘Roon

Every now and then I want to restore my credibility as a volunteer – that I’m not just here tripping around.

There’s this orphanage that I checked out for the US Embassy since it applied for funding.  (I have to diligently explain that although I’m not part of the Embassy/government, I’m just kinda a close partner who’s located in Buea) I was so impressed with the place, it was really surprising.
The man who runs the orphanage is a parliamentarian for Akwaya (the reallllly removed part of my province) and he’s known for being outspoken and not going along with decisions he knows are wrong.  He’s an older man with a very calm voice.
The orphanage is located WAYYY up in the mists, and right now is only for boys. When the funds come, they want to expand for a separate dormitory for girls. They’ve got tons of income-generating things going on: mushrooms (which are heavenly), lots of baby chicks to sell when they’re 2mos old, geese, turkeys, guinea fowls, quails, pigs, and a farm.  They’ll keep cane rats if they can get funds for the cages.  They’re in the process of building a new kitchen and food storage rooms.
I brought the boys some food stuffs, and we all hung out in the parlor. There are 14 boys right now, most of them in 2ndary school, where they have to walk an hour to get there. There’s one little boy who they call Chairman with chubby little cheeks and heart problems. The last time I saw him, he had on glasses so this time I didn’t recognize him. When I asked where his glasses were, they told me they were only for “play” (I told him I was jealous, since my 24/7 glasses are clearly NOT for play).
I’m going to work with them to get a variety of mushroom seeds (the demand is higher than their supply right now) and grow soy beans (the chaff can feed the animals and the beans are …simply nutritionally profound).

Cameroon has little pockets of amazing people. My friend asked me the other day about the feminist movement here. It’s been difficult to put that part of myself down in a so blatantly mysogenistic/at least anti-feminist country. But my answer was that I don’t see any movement. I see women that are rebellious or strong, but I don’t see people staging a revolution, talking about theory, or trying to educate others.  Not that it means there aren’t any “feminists”, lest I should take the label away from anyone. It just means that one has to look harder to find these pockets of light in terms of people straying from the norms.

I had my first feisty taxi driver in Buea.  I was coming up the mountain from a friend’s house.  I usually pay 100f, so I flagged the car and said “I get 100” (although it’s borderline between 100 and 150, so sometimes I have to “beg”).  He agreed but when I got in the car, he was asking who taught me it was 100.  His pidgin was tough to follow and the car was packed with people and bags, just cluttered and full.  I was a bit overwhelmed, but still energetic from the morning. So I played along.  But when I told him that I had a 500 bill to break, he told me he’d take 150 if he had to make change. I, somewhat playfully, said “Then drop me fo here, I no go pay 150”. He stopped the car and said “Stand and may the sun shine fo yo skin.” – This is the equivalent of “Burn, baby, Burn!” (or replace baby with another “b” word). I got out and enjoyed a bit of sunshine before finding another car to take me. I’ll show you, surly taxi driver.

On Sunday we met with the Mbororo women (I know I write about only meeting with them, but it’s because they’re my favorites. I also had a meeting with the Bassa women (a tribe) where I taught them malaria. I go to other meetings) and taught them natural birth control methods.  This is a bit edgy because all the western sources always tell people to see their medical provider and get hardcore counseling for this method.  It’s supposed to be more like the rhythm method, where you take your body temperature and chart it, and you know the viscosity of your mucus (and that’s where I stop… I can’t teach many Cameroonians to know the viscosity of anything… imagine me saying “check your vaginal fluids, and make sure they’re stringy like okra soup”… gross)… but what I teach them is more the calendar method, just so they’re aware of when they’re more fertile.  We made “cycle beads” with macaroni noodles to help them count the days.  It was a nice moment, everyone sitting on the floor, stringing noodles.  I don’t know that it’ll work, since you really have to have both partners in accordance for this one – the husband won’t agree to abstain/use a condom during the 12 fertile days if he’s not on the same page as the wife.  Family planning is funny with this group since the Mbororo men will tell me that “Africans don’t plan their families” but the women nearly ALL have a certain number of children that they want, and they’ll tell you it’s because they can’t afford to have more than 4 or whichever number.  This is a problem for methods that the man has to be in on – which is basically ALL the methods here in Cameroon… I’m frustrated to admit. Most women, especially these women, won’t go to the clinic to get an IUD or pills since they can’t afford it or don’t like the idea of it. Female condoms are (in case you’re unaware) no secret to be kept from the man (Cameroonian women with a white rubber thing hanging out aren’t exactly incognito). So we’ll try this where MAYBE she can convince him during the 12 days of the month to do something. Or at least she’ll be aware of what’s going on in her body.

Hmm…. Yet another door closing for me. Most foreign women in Cameroon get heavily propositioned for marriage, for whatever reasons (visa, exotic foreign women, to see a different place, to “be challenged”). I’ve had a few serious offers, which I had trouble completely turning down since I don’t like the idea of this whole other possible future opening up with that proposal and having to close the door on it (this sounds weak and lame, but it’s how I am). 

However, this time, the future was shockingly clear and easy to turn down.  A Muslim man (Cameroon is made up of 40% Christian, 40% Muslim, 20% animist, but in the grand south of the country, it’s really mostly Christian and hard to imagine the northern part of the country where the ratio is reversed) asked me to dinner at his house.  I know his wife pretty well and love dinner so I agreed to go 30 minutes away to meet them.  On the way to the house, he was asking me questions like whether I was married and how many siblings I have, etc.  This didn’t seem odd since on the way to meet him, I’d ridden in a car with a policeman who asked me the same thing, and he had 2 wives and 8 kids. He wanted to hook me up with his junior brother. When he asked if I would ever consider marrying an African (this is a really common question), I said yes… I didn’t want to lie and I do consider it.  But his response was, “Good. Then I’m sure I’ll be the first candidate.” ..Wonderful. When we got to the house, he started showing me around the house, as in, “Isn’t this nice?” His wife has 2 children, and she was desperately trying to get them to call me mom.. “Greet mama!Greet mama!”… It was at this point that I became a bit creeped out. On the way back to Buea, he whisked me into a bar for a quick drink. He not-so-subtly hinted that the bar was also a hotel and the rooms were moderately priced… so we could “discuss late into the night”… On the way back, I asked if many Muslims had sex before marriage. His answer: “Oh yes, it’s very common.  You just pray and then you stay with the girl for one month without making sex with her. Then after one month, you can sex her but if she gets pregnant then you should tie marriage with her. If not, the child will not be born a Muslim. But Muslims LOVE sex, that’s why they can keep 2 or 3 wives.” Apparently Muslim = man. Finally as we pulled into Buea, I’d had 2 bottles of soda and was thinking about where I could pee and how bad it would be if I peed on myself in the car. This is when he decides to ask if we aren’t creating a program for the night, because we could get a hotel and he could stay the whole night with me and me working early in the morning isn’t a problem since he’ll drop me off in the morning and won’t I give him a kiss goodbye? I couldn’t slam the door fast enough. However, the door’s open for me to be his second wife and his 2 kids would essentially become my kids, and he’d teach me how to pray… and life would be… done.

List of things that are dangerous:

1. Cheap plastic bags of whisky/rum.  The other day, coming back from Limbe, the taxi got stopped at a “control point” (where military guys or policemen (there aren’t many women at these checkpoints) basically stop cars for bribes. It’s been more intense since the riots). He refused to pay the bribe, and took the other road – the Tole road (roads often don’t have names here and instead are referred to whichever place they take you to.. can you imagine in the U.S.? “Just take a left turn on the Raleigh road and then get onto the Florida road on the right side.” Whattt?) It’s a gorgeous road, through tea, plantain and rubber plantations that are often misty and mysterious.  But there’s another control point, where this guy’s got beef with the driver. So he stops us, sticks his spiky-tire-popper under the car, and holds us there for an hour. While he’s power trippin’, he grabs a sachet of whiskey, and stands there taking a shot. Finally, the driver gets angry and calmly walks over and tosses the spiky thing into someone’s yard. Then they sorta fight for a second, with the neighborhood coming out to throw in their advice and questions. “Weh massa, no bi the answer!” “Weti di happen? Yi no pay?” Finally the driver climbed in through the passenger side and sped away, stopping up the hill so the 6 passengers could walk up and climb in.

2. Bakassi. This is a far-removed place in my province that is highly contested over whether it’s Cameroon or Nigeria (um.. it’s Cameroon).  There’s conflict and every now and then, military people we know through my NGO die.  I just met a Mbororo military man (that’s the Muslim group that I work with) who came back from there. The Nigerians are dealing arms there too… I’m confused, it sounds rough. It definitely makes the list of dangerous things.

3. Dangerous Minds. Yall remember THAT movie? I don’t even think I ever saw it, I just know the Coolio song.  So I had my little Cameroonian version over a week ago. I agreed to co-facilitate an HIV peer educators session at a school (not really questioning that it’s vacation and the kids won’t want to be there at all) with 50 kids. I get there, ready to co-facilitate one thing, and my buddy says “Ok. There are 200 kids, we’re going to split them into 2 classes. You’ll go with her and do this and this. You’re taking the older kids.” That means that anywhere from 16-25 is fair game in this room of kids packed up against the walls and leaning in through windows. Not to mention the busted-up classroom with wooden shutters that are broken and sagging, tables that are covered in dirt and dust. It took me being hoarse to get them to hear the activity we were doing. This is the reason I’m in Peace Corps and not Teach For America, ashia for teaching hormone-driven teens that refuse to listen.  What frustrated me the most was that I realized THIS IS IT. This is the group that is most affected by HIV and this is the time – holidays when they have too much free time and get into risky situations.  And they weren’t listening. Time for an intervention… I’ll keep that in mind.

4. Pop Rocks. Apparently highly addictive, “give a Cameroonian kid a pack of Pop Rocks, and she’s going to ask you for another.” I can’t get my neighbors to stop bugging me for their “ting” – they don’t know how to call them so they just call it a thing. They are unclassifiable, indeed.

Ok that’s enough danger for today.

I went to Douala yesterday with work to do some buying for orphans. This entails finding nearly 200 pairs of sandals and school bags. Its… not easy-oh. I went to Chinatown for shoes, where we hunted and I met about a gazillion Chinese shop owners with possibly worse French than mine (possible? perhaps not). The day turned out well because I bought jellies [long sidenote: are these popular now in the US too? it used to be only men who would wear them here, Ive seen army men with camo pants and blue jellies. But now womens are popular too... Im basking in the glory of being 7 years old again] and paints and rum. I cant imagine a better shopping list.

Ive started hanging out with a Buea artist – Tango. His link should be over on the side. He’s a gentle guide into the world of painting again, since I’ve been away from it for awhile. So far, his apprentice has taught me to stretch canvases and I am working on a really big piece. He paints with lots of colors and prefers acrylic (as do I). I’m persuading him into my crazy domain of collage, with beads and strings and he’s giving me old Cameroonian money to stick into my work. It’s a fun time to be in Buea. I feel like a part of me has rejoined the party after being absent for awhile.

Last Thursday I went to the club in Buea for the first time. (Yes, this is an integral part of me integrating (too many integration words) into the community). The club is Jupiter, and apparently up until recently, had a bad reputation for throw downs and other hooligans = somewhere I gotta check out. Thursday is ladies night, so I brought my gloves and corset to be a proper “lady” (that’s not true. But I did wear my purple sparkly rainbow fish dress). Here’s what I love about Africa: they played all kinds of music but towards the end, they played a lot of salsa. In Mexico, salsa is taken very seriously. You don’t get on the floor unless you are going to dance SALSA. But here, Cameroonians just go at it.  The way you say dance in pidgin is “shake skin” and they seem to simply rejoice in moving their bodies. This is how salsa should be danced.  (Not to give the Latin Americans a lesson in salsa or anything)