Jess does da ‘Roon

…asks an internet advertisement of me this morning and my reflex reply is “Well, my, I hope so!”

Speaking of delightful fun things, I’ve noticed that I laugh differently now. I don’t think I’ve noticed that many changes about my behavior and such (other than the obvious stuff like spitting on the floor etc), but I do laugh strangely different. I don’t hesitate, and it’s often loud.  Sometimes I laugh in private conversations, when a small chuckle might suffice but I let loose a guffaw. I think it has to do with a lack of crazy/funny stuff – in the States I feel like anytime you need some sort of stimulus of any type, you can find it. I can’t always here, so I find myself laughing at cheesy romantic comedies like “Step Up” or silly things I do (like tripping on things in my kitchen). I hope I can keep it going, since one should always be laughing.

The first real American conversation I’ve noticed from Cameroonians happened this morning at work with 2 of my coworkers who are young and gorgeous.  They were giving each other weight advice, such as “Don’t reduce anymore, I love your shape!” and then later “If you want to reduce, you boil fever grass and lime but not long and then don’t let it “sleep” (sit) for very long”. I’ve been impressed by the lack of body-conscious crap that I am usually bogged down by in the US.  Of course there are bleaching creams to lighten skin (although apparently it’s tough to lighten your neck and feet) and soaps to make your belly smaller (?) but you don’t really meet many women with eating disorders (unless you count not eating a variety of foods since you don’t know/can’t afford to).

Other than curves, let’s talk about what’s in style. For men. If you’re in Cameroon, this is redundant.  But from the bottom to the top: elf shoes (Italian crazy pointy shoes), tight jeans (often with crazy embroidering on them), SMALL tops (sweaters with bright colors, feathers, T-shirts with anything written on them), trucker hats (is this still popular in the US? I’m still down with it), and BLINNGGGG (if you want to show status, pick up a Chinese chain and maybe a rhinestoned watch – I literally had to blink after passing such a sparkling gentleman in the night last night that his wrist shot glare into my face). For women, sequins are NEVER a problem. I went by the tailor’s the other day, and she had sewn a whole slew of sequin dresses and I asked if it was for a wedding.  She replied, laughing, “No, you know here in Africa we can wear dresses like this anytime.” – And this is why Peace Corps put me here.  Because I am the type of girl MADE to live in a country where sequins and crazy hats are always encouraged.

Lastly, on a “what’s popular in Cameroon” note, is soap operas. Again, this is extremely redundant if you’re here and you’ve memorized all the Spanish theme songs to them.  Most of them are old, at least 10 years, but when the whole country is hinging on what Barbarita will do tonight, it doesn’t matter that it happened a long time ago.  I’ve been in meetings where we had to stay because my coworkers wanted to watch Barbarita (the real name is “Mujer de Mi Vida” – but why try Spanish when you can call it by her name?) and we wouldn’t make it home on time.  In my house, I can hear the theme music all the time.  Mostly women are alll about it, but some men are also excited to find out who the mother killed this week etc. Me, not used to soaps, I’m still shocked at the absurdity of the plots – example: the show’s turned on midway through, there’s a chimpanzee and a grandma at the dinner table and a woman dresses up as a clown to go and check on the pregnant woman they’re keeping in the basement…. how is that normal?

(French for I’m joking… you say it like “Je blog” or “I blog”… it’s funny, just know that… but the blog’s serious, I’m not really joking… I just wanted to write some Frenchy junk on there)

Last night in Yaounde we went to see Daddy Blackat the Petit Tam Tam in Yaounde.  This is resto/bar is similar to La Chiva of Xalapa, Mexico in that all the funky cool cats hang out there, and the roof is charmingly thatched.  He’s hip hop/reggae/soul artist with a little fro and a whole lot of good times.  (Tried to find a website for him, but TIA (this is Africa) and there’s not one to be found.) We had to go in a big group of whities since Yaounde gets a bit… tumble weedy after 10pm (taxi fares go up, why go out?) and if you can’t reduce your whiteness, might as well have a bunch of you around.  We danced and I grinned and it was a magical time.  Live music is something that should never be taken for granted.

Which in pidgin means “my belly has filled up” or “my belly’s so full I could flop on a bed” – both are accurate at this point. I just waddled over from “Ma Kelly’s Eating Corner” (how quaint is that?) where I partook of delicious jama jama and fufu corn (this is Cameroon’s grits and collards) – Ma Kelly’s is beside Pres Church Molyko for all those ’round the way. Buea LOVES some “Pres” stuff – as if Catholic and Baptist are fine but Presbyterian has gone WAYYY too long. So we have “Presbook”, “Prescraft”, “Preshotel”, it’s getting a bit out of hand.

So I like to share nuggets I’ve learned in Africa, and here was one that occurred to me the other day.  Up until Peace Corps, my goal was … Peace Corps. Then, I started fantasizing about traveling to South America, living in India, etc. And suddenly the other day I realized that I can’t wait to settle down. As a feminist, I’ve always been proud of my urges to see the world and not feeling the need to have children until I’d done some more wild stuff. So this new inclination is not completely welcome.  But I went to a women’s group meeting on Sunday, and I watched one of the member’s faces simply radiate as she talked about the new baby in her house (I think one of her children had brought her grandchild to come visit).  I wanted to see my mom’s face do the same thing. I attribute this to the huge importance of family here, and the CONSTANT conversations about family/settling down/marriage/who’s pregnant etc. No worries, I don’t plan on shooting babies out anytime soon.. but I’m looking forward to being a mom.

The other night I had a magical trip down to Limbe to meet a friend, where we grabbed some ice cream (the store-bought kind, not the soft-serve off the street) and went to a restaurant on the cliff with a wonderful evening sea breeze… once again, I ask myself, “Is this Peace Corps?”
I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately. A lot of times my work is… not extremely fulfilling. It should be, right? Intense, hard, sweaty work in Africa, helping save lives? It doesn’t feel that way a lot, especially when I’m living in my big house, taking taxis all over town, buying jackets in the market to stay stylish while cold, etc.  At the end of the day I try to remember that I’m at the halfway point (which will last for about another 3 months) and it’s one of the harder points, I can’t measure all my efforts here, and I still enjoy my life here.

Time moves so strangely here.  I live less in the past than I used to (commendable in the Buddhist-Zen path I’m trying to walk on), since in the beginning I would relish remembering people/things from America. Now I’m far enough in and far enough away from the end of my experience here that it seems silly to be thinking about anywhere else.  I’m becoming more patient, both with people and meetings (although I still sometimes get really anxious, I try to write letters or read books to keep myself pacified).  Students are just going back to school, but sometimes it feels like winter when the skies are gray and I’m cold.  Being from the south, school doesn’t start in the winter like that. What students being back in means is that taxis are often full, people don’t have money, there are tons of small obstacles/children on my walk/jog in the mornings, the boarding school keeps me up at night and in the early morning with Jesus songs, and I’m supposed to start working with health clubs. I’ve been putting off that last part since working in schools is really strenuous.

I bought some impulse jeans at the market the other day. This is ridiculous since I do NOT need more “jean trousers” here. They aren’t professional and don’t really endear me when working with women’s groups, nonetheless, they make me feel sexy and oddly American whenever I wear ‘em…

Thus I found myself talking to some guy about how I needed “big jeans”, not these little tiny abercrombie for kids things that they were showing me. Finally he finds me “big ones” (they didn’t look that big, honestly) but I don’t want black jeans with little rhinestones all over them (a tiger on them would’ve been acceptable, but no Y3 please). He tells me they’re my size, and I do the neck check. Now, after all my years of yardsaling, why have I never discovered this magical trick to try whether pants will fit? You wrap the waist of them around your neck – if it meets, they’ll go around your waist. I don’t have a clue how this works, what about low-rise jeans? And if my tummy gets pudgy (look at all those cute girly words I used there), does my neck get fatter? When was the last time you sat back after Thanksgiving dinner and said “my neck is HUGE!”?

Anyhow, somehow I walked away with a pair of jeans and tried them on at home – these bad boys are like a GLOVE. Granted, a snug leather glove, but the fit is there. My friend said “It’s like these jeans were made for you.” Well, at least my neck anyway.

A quick yippee.

The Drombaya Project (see the link to the side) gave Reach Out funding for small loans for ultra poor women in women’s groups that we’re working with.  We had enough for 40 women to receive loans under $100. The loan period is 3 months.  This morning I peeked around the wall into the lobby of the office and there were women EVERYWHERE, ready to pick up the money that will help sustain/improve their business.

Regarding development (which I am loathe to write about since Peace Corps ends up talking about it so much), it is really hard to do anything while trying to stay away from pumping money into the community.  But the little taste of it that I had was so sweet – it’s immediate relief for the women and for the donor. Of course maybe the loans won’t come back and come December I’ll be sad.  But I doubt it. The reason PC discourages throwing money at problems is because once you’re gone, that money stops coming. But in Buea, a lot of the women need a boost to get their business really rolling. Example: one woman sells dried ginger. She has a HUGE demand for it, people calling “Mami ginger! Mami ginger! I’m traveling and I want to take some with me!”. As she’s talking about her business, she sneaks a hand into her bag and pulls out samples – the woman is ALWAYS business. And most of the women have quite a lot of children in the house, whether it’s extended family or orphans that they take in (orphans mostly are absorbed by the community here).

So I was happy by the end of the day. It didn’t hurt that one of the women fed me fufu and eru, which is a good time.