Jess does da ‘Roon

While in Yaounde, I’ve been lucky enough to have 2 chances to confront what it might be like when I go back to a Western culture.

Boy Scoots (apparently “scouts” is more like “scoots” in French… adorable)

Five of us health volunteers piled into the Peace Corps SUV to talk to a troop of boy scouts here in Yaounde: mostly kids whose parents are in the Marines, diplomats or other work here in the Embassy.  Our director asked us if we would do it, since he’s sort of the den dad or whatever you call it.  We were supposed to teach them about nutrition. 

We had been with each other for a few days, acting as we do whenever the white people congregate: like apes. We’re rude, we’re loud, we’re silly.  For a lot of volunteers, it’s their chance to bust a move after sitting in their houses in the bush reading by lamplight. (I don’t have an excuse) So we had to try and tighten it up.  Then the kids marched in and we were stunned, swallowing and throwing looks at each other.  Blonde kids! Little boys! Wearing jeans! We had no idea how to greet them – most of the volunteers speak French at post.  And I’m used to shaking hands with Cameroonian kids, but for some of the boys… that just makes you look like the creepy aunt who always pinches cheeks or something.

We hung around for their “official” meeting opening things: they pledged allegiance, we stood like we were at a Cameroonian official ceremony with all of us in a line with our hands together in front or behind us.  It might’ve just been that we didn’t know how to behave, but that’s typical for Cameroonian ceremonies. I introduced myself as “Jessie from NC”… forgetting that these kids could probably just call me “Jess” and it wouldn’t sound like “Yes”.

We played games with the kids to teach them about nutrition, which is par for the course of what we do at post.  But these kids were so different! I laughed embarassingly loud when the quirky little boys would make wonderfully witty remarks.  Their diets floored us (note how much I’ll talk about food in this: it’s because volunteers are obsessed with food) – these kids had “shrimps” and “waffles” during the day… and how do you spell “enchiladas”?

But more than that, these kids were ready for what we were doing.  When asked to throw out the names of some sicknesses, their first answer was “Leukemia!” 8 year old Cameroonians don’t quite have that same level.  Then when we asked them to draw foods on pieces of paper, they immediately went to it and we were able to fly through the activity that takes 2 or 3 session with Cameroonians. 

Lest I make it seem as if American kids are sooo much smarter than any other kids, I’m sure it was because they’re used to the type of activities we did.  But regardless, it was pleasantly familiar to work with.  I was not ready for the familiarity apparently, and kept talking in “special English” to these sharp little boys, who must’ve been patient with me because they thought “Jessie’s a little slow” – which is what I used to think of the volunteers that gave presentations and slipped in and out of this slower, deep voice English.

Thanksgiving

Last night all of the Peace Corps volunteers in Yaounde were invited by the DCM of the Embassy (he’s second in command after the Ambassador) for Thanksgiving dinner.  Again we piled into the vehicle to be ferried over to the “foreigner” quarter of the city.  [Yaounde is set up so that foreigners are only allowed to live in one quarter... in order to protect them... but damned if it doesn't make 'em an easy target]

First of all, I hadn’t brought any nice shoes.  If you can remember back to when I first came to this country, I was shocked at the amount of importance placed on shoes.  If your shoes are dirty, you’re not clean.  Well, luckily the Chacos (shameless product advert) don’t show much dirt. But honestly, I do have sexy sandals and I like to wear them when I can.  I forgot ‘em and brought the sheer floral dress… but what’s a volunteer if not flexible?  Throw those Chacos on!  I was a bit insecure, especially as I could NOT stop staring at the floor and therefore my feet.

Why was I staring at the floor, like a social malfunction? Because it was marble and shiny and I love shiny things.  This house was unbelievable.  I won’t waste too much time describing it because it’s only relevant in contrast to Cameroonian houses.  But I will say that the second floor is outfitted with beautiful metal caging in case the situation gets too intense, they can lock themselves up there.  All of the crystal and silver is government property and the house comes furnished when they move in.

I’m getting ahead of myself.  The reason the DCM invited us is mainly because he was a volunteer in Thailand.  So he was very patient with us while we were in awe of the soft couch and drank too much wine.  I should mention at this point that we are not ready to re-enter the atmosphere of a normal American social situation.  Especially not me. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve gotten comfortable here. Now I fully enjoy being with Americans and letting go, but I’m also blunter with Cameroonians so I’m just ME all the time.  I do have to put on some social graces if I meet the chief or some important Cameroonians, but I sort of just tuck myself up rather than with Americans where I would have to re-align myself in order to interact in a socially-acceptable manner.

Before we arrived, we had a signal in order to communicate to each other that whatever we were talking about was NOT appropriate.  We know that we’re used to being able to say things that would not fit with the sterling silver flatware we were using.  So an ear tug and we were supposed to hush up. The ear tug sort of just made it worse since then it was funny and had already been said anyway.  Topics not allowed: bowel movements, sexual jokes, swearing, blunt awkward truths, etc.  We were tugging ears all night.

The food was profound and we ate until we were uncomfortable.. which is like, “Well, that’s Thanksgiving right?” But I’d forgotten what that feeling felt like. My god, why do we do that to ourselves?  The answer is: because the food is heaven.  The DCM’s wife is an aspiring gourmet chef (“I’m not the Iron Chef but I want to be the Iron Chef”) and she’d headed up a crew that made fantastic appetizers (smoked salmon, cream cheese with jam, BROCOLI) and then the main course (two types of turkey, mashed potatoes, CRANBERRY SAUCE!!, stuffing, corn souffle, etc) and dessert (with 7 pies… and whipped cream). 

We had fantastic conversations with diplomats who had traveled the world with their families and were so warm and welcoming.  We watched a bit of the Tennessee/Detroit game… but I’d just wanted to hear what the rhythm of a football game sounds like.  It’s strange what you miss.

As we left, his wife gave us little goody bags of homemade cookies. We were all charmed to pieces.

I remembered why we have this holiday; it’s magical.  I think Americans overseas/Americans living in poor, isolated situations overseas have a much better appreciation of Thanksgiving.  (In fact, I think that’s probably proven)  We don’t count on eating turkey and are fully surprised and delighted if we have anything that resembles meat.  We are thrilled to be with people who know us and care about us.  I’d forgotten for the night that I was in Cameroon, that in the morning the next day I’ll pack myself into a bus with a gazillion Cameroonians and go back to Buea where I’ll take a bucket bath upon arriving home and sleep under a mosquito net. I felt like Cinderella.  How nice to have that reminded to me.

Who puts beers on the walls?
Anyway, I’m halfway (still?) through service and Peace Corps’s been poking and prodding me to no end in order to make sure that the worms don’t have a full 2 years to shack up in my intestines.  We’ve got to give 2 stool samples, one of them within 1-2 hours = take a crap, RUN to the lab.

We’re all hoping for some sort of parasite to make the effort worth it/have something “African” to write home about.  I’ve got my money on typhoid.

However, one of the women I trained with was graciously hanging out in the hospital and got TB (tuberculosis).  It’s latent, but she’s got 9 months of medications ahead of her without any alcohol. She’s handling it quite well, in spite of her trepidation in going through dry season without anything to do now that the bars are closed for her.  We threw her a “Surprise! You’ve got TB!”-party, who doesn’t love those?
In honor of her: Ways to NOT Get TB-

• Wear a mask all the time
• Don’t hang out in the TB ward of the hospital
• Dart for the other side of the room if anyone coughs
• Secretly test all the people you are usually around.

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I realized that I haven’t given you all the full taste of what it’s like to live in Cameroon with the shining glory of Obama on the horizon coming from the West.  If it had a sound, it’d be BAM!

We stayed up all night here in Yaounde to watch the election, eagerly crowded around the TV and 30 of us shouting at 6am when it was announced.  Then the streets were filllllled with Cameroonians burbling Obama praise.  [Another American experienced severe anti-white sentiments the day after with the feeling of "Uh-huh! Look at how the Africans are going to be on top now!"] Everywhere I went, I’d hear “Obama!” or “Barack!” hissed, shouted, whispered, congratulated, and sang to me.  It’s one of the first times in a long time that I feel that rush of pride to be an American [of course, I love being able to wear the clothes that I want, go to art galleries and concerts for free, rent skip-free DVDs, express all my views, etc. But it isn't that same RUSH]

Now, people like to ask me if I voted for Obama.  They like to tell me their views on what it means that he’s black or he’s African.  In bars, men come selling 5×7 photos of him (they sell out by the time they reach inside the bar).  I see great T-shirts, usually sent from America, being proudly sported all over.

It’s profound to me the impact that American politics have on the world.  When was the last time that you set your alarm to wake up and watch the election results of ANY country other than your own? When was the last time you were genuinely excited for any country’s politics other than your own?  I see this pointing toward the U.S.’s effect on everyone else, but also the permeating American attitude of ethnocentricity.  …Moving out of politics, quickly now, before someone (likely a Cameroonian) starts in on a “conversation”/lecture on it.

I would like to (irritatingly) remind you that I do have photos on here. I’ve had a few people ask me why I don’t have any visual stimulation and that’s simply not true (I do snuggle the link low at the bottom of my page but it is blatantly marked, “My Photos”). In fact, they’re new and improved at the moment.

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