So there are many things to tell. The rains started early this year and definitely cooled down the earth to a bearable 100 degrees. The first day, rain came as I was walking back from my latrine and I thought I saw a bright flash of light behind me. I thought it had to be a camera because there is no way that in the hottest month of the year there was lightening. Then the winds came and surprisingly they were cool and as I sat out in my backyard writing in my journal about how weather is a most effective schoolyard bully and can taunt you from a far, the rain drops fell on my shoulders. For a few days we had on and off rain and its amazing how little the desert needs to turn green, but all the hills around me have turned from there drab browns and tans to a hundred shades of green. Interesting thing to note about the desert and vegetation here is that it is extremely resilient. Every time I am on a moto in or out of my village I just stare in wonder at the landscape. The thing that strikes me the most are the trees that grow out of the rocks. The earth here is already extremely sandy and rocky like any good desert, but where there is a large clump of boulders you are sure to see at least one huge tree that hugs, twists and is married to a group of smooth, massive boulders with roots snaking down to the ground for what little water exists. And the birds! Brilliant blueteals and pinkreds on the heads, necks and tails of these birds are startling against the backdrop of brown and green.
As I am typing this we are now in a week long drought and I look at the sky constantly for a sign of even the smallest white fluffy non-rain cloud so I can dream of the days when I don’t have heat rash and don’t soak through my pjs every night.
So last month I went to a “Development Party,” which is essentially a fundraiser. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, but I think mostly because I am white (which really just means I come from a foreign country that has money, because even the darkest Africans can be white if they have a lot of money and come from a big city) I got to sit with all the important people of the village and the invitees, like the mayor and other government functionaries. I had no idea what this party or “fete” was about, but I knew that if there was a bunch of high profile people there I had to sit with them. So I and my post mate sat for hours in 130 degree shade while traditional dancers and musicians played to us and functionaries gave speeches and until I thought my pagne dress would suck all the water out of me or at least dye me the same color, as pagne bleeds badly. Then we got to the most amazing part in the ceremony. A man got up on a microphone and started to ask for money. At first there was little reaction, but then my landlord, probably the richest person, not only in my village, but in all the surrounding areas pulls out a wad of 200,000 cfa which is around $400 US. For Cameroonians and especially people living in the bush who tell me they don’t have 100 cfa to get a medical consultation that is a ridiculous amount of money. A few other “grands” (important people in the village) gave money of around the same amount, but then afterwards everyday people came and gave 1000 cfa or 500 cfa and the man on the microphone would praise them, yelling out there name, “merci, merci beaucoup monsieur Buba pour l’argent….” I feel like people were attracted to the public recognition, being able to get praised for their contribution regardless of amount had a great effect. After a while even I was sitting there thinking “I feel like I should give money, everyone else gave money, I think they expect me to give money.” I did give money and when they shouted out my name I felt good about my decision and was excited to be part of the process. In the end the community raised $2.2 million cfa in 3 hours, which will be used to build a school in the village. So I have been thinking that if a development fete can drum up that much excitement and money among people who constantly tell me they have no money then why can’t the health center I work at host a similar event. So now I will impart on you two well known quotes that I have begun to live by, which I am seriously considering translating in French and painting on my outside wall for all visitors to see: “you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day, you teach a man to fish, you feed him for life” and “Alone you are poor, but together you are rich.” I think that if this community can come to understand that some white person or foreign country is not gonna come surfing into town on a pile of money like Scrooge McDuck and solve all their money problems and that they need to depend on their own resources and ingenuity as a community they can accomplish great things. And if that is all that I accomplish in two years I am at peace with that.
Now, some more randomness……
One day, while out on my village tour I finally approached this massive orange freight container that villagers have been bringing their cotton crops to get them weighed and shipped for money. As we all know cotton is fluffy and in order to fit a lot in to something you got to pack it in. In order to do that two lines of about seven or eight men would stand in the freighter slowly bounce-walk back in forth to pack in the cotton. As they were doing it they would sing call and response songs. This immediately put me into mind of slaves picking cotton in American South and church songs. Where did African Americans learn those types of songs, but there ancestors from Africa and its interesting to see how old traditions can be transformed into new circumstances.
My neighbors kid is so cute, but such a mommas boy. Like a lot of children in my village he has been racked with one sickness after another and its slowed is development and growth down a lot. He can’t really crawl at the age of one, but his mother and I keep trying to entice him by dangling my keys, which he loves cause I have a million of them, in front of him and them placing them just out of his reach. He rolls onto his knees, but then decides that its not worth the effort. The other day he fell asleep while holding onto his mom’s breast with both hands like he was cradling a teddy bear. By the way you can not live here without seeing practically ever women’s breast. You go to their houses in the heat and they’re all naked from the waste up (that is if they have already had children, because then its acceptable) cause its too hot, or they are feeding their infants. There are no blankets to cover, to hide their bodies from this natural act. As soon as they birth, those breasts are no longer sexual, but life sustaining, a source of nourishment. At first I felt I needed to avert my eyes, but now its become such a part of everyday life that I don’t even flinch when a mother whips out her breast to feed her child or just to get out of the constricting pagne.
As I am typing this we are now in a week long drought and I look at the sky constantly for a sign of even the smallest white fluffy non-rain cloud so I can dream of the days when I don’t have heat rash and don’t soak through my pjs every night.
So last month I went to a “Development Party,” which is essentially a fundraiser. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, but I think mostly because I am white (which really just means I come from a foreign country that has money, because even the darkest Africans can be white if they have a lot of money and come from a big city) I got to sit with all the important people of the village and the invitees, like the mayor and other government functionaries. I had no idea what this party or “fete” was about, but I knew that if there was a bunch of high profile people there I had to sit with them. So I and my post mate sat for hours in 130 degree shade while traditional dancers and musicians played to us and functionaries gave speeches and until I thought my pagne dress would suck all the water out of me or at least dye me the same color, as pagne bleeds badly. Then we got to the most amazing part in the ceremony. A man got up on a microphone and started to ask for money. At first there was little reaction, but then my landlord, probably the richest person, not only in my village, but in all the surrounding areas pulls out a wad of 200,000 cfa which is around $400 US. For Cameroonians and especially people living in the bush who tell me they don’t have 100 cfa to get a medical consultation that is a ridiculous amount of money. A few other “grands” (important people in the village) gave money of around the same amount, but then afterwards everyday people came and gave 1000 cfa or 500 cfa and the man on the microphone would praise them, yelling out there name, “merci, merci beaucoup monsieur Buba pour l’argent….” I feel like people were attracted to the public recognition, being able to get praised for their contribution regardless of amount had a great effect. After a while even I was sitting there thinking “I feel like I should give money, everyone else gave money, I think they expect me to give money.” I did give money and when they shouted out my name I felt good about my decision and was excited to be part of the process. In the end the community raised $2.2 million cfa in 3 hours, which will be used to build a school in the village. So I have been thinking that if a development fete can drum up that much excitement and money among people who constantly tell me they have no money then why can’t the health center I work at host a similar event. So now I will impart on you two well known quotes that I have begun to live by, which I am seriously considering translating in French and painting on my outside wall for all visitors to see: “you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day, you teach a man to fish, you feed him for life” and “Alone you are poor, but together you are rich.” I think that if this community can come to understand that some white person or foreign country is not gonna come surfing into town on a pile of money like Scrooge McDuck and solve all their money problems and that they need to depend on their own resources and ingenuity as a community they can accomplish great things. And if that is all that I accomplish in two years I am at peace with that.
Now, some more randomness……
One day, while out on my village tour I finally approached this massive orange freight container that villagers have been bringing their cotton crops to get them weighed and shipped for money. As we all know cotton is fluffy and in order to fit a lot in to something you got to pack it in. In order to do that two lines of about seven or eight men would stand in the freighter slowly bounce-walk back in forth to pack in the cotton. As they were doing it they would sing call and response songs. This immediately put me into mind of slaves picking cotton in American South and church songs. Where did African Americans learn those types of songs, but there ancestors from Africa and its interesting to see how old traditions can be transformed into new circumstances.
My neighbors kid is so cute, but such a mommas boy. Like a lot of children in my village he has been racked with one sickness after another and its slowed is development and growth down a lot. He can’t really crawl at the age of one, but his mother and I keep trying to entice him by dangling my keys, which he loves cause I have a million of them, in front of him and them placing them just out of his reach. He rolls onto his knees, but then decides that its not worth the effort. The other day he fell asleep while holding onto his mom’s breast with both hands like he was cradling a teddy bear. By the way you can not live here without seeing practically ever women’s breast. You go to their houses in the heat and they’re all naked from the waste up (that is if they have already had children, because then its acceptable) cause its too hot, or they are feeding their infants. There are no blankets to cover, to hide their bodies from this natural act. As soon as they birth, those breasts are no longer sexual, but life sustaining, a source of nourishment. At first I felt I needed to avert my eyes, but now its become such a part of everyday life that I don’t even flinch when a mother whips out her breast to feed her child or just to get out of the constricting pagne.
And now some random pictures......
Me and the women's group president's daughter during International Women's Day
Women carrying cotton on their heads to get it weighed for selling
My foot with Henna, something most women wear for any holiday, marriage or just general big event. This was done by my landlords kids and isn't quite like the henna you see on most women in the village, but its close.
These are Lamidos, or cheifs of the village (the ones in turbans). They usually come with an entourage of sword weilding bodyguards, attendants, someone holding an umbrella and musicians who play to the point you think its physcially impossible. This was taken during 20 May, which is like independence day/unification of the english, french speaking provinces into a unified Cameroon.
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