All the Skills!

9 February 2013

There are a lot of useful, work-related skills you gain (or, at least, have the opportunity to gain) as a Peace Corps Volunteer. There are even more that really have nothing to do with the reality of what most of us live like and work like in America. With only 10-months left of service, I’ve been finding myself thinking a lot about the “logical next step” and how to get there from where I am right now. I’m a little out-of-shape in the department of résumé-making and job applications, but right now, mine is looking a little like this:

 

Stephanie Gasior

Youth Development Volunteer: Peace Corps, 2011-2013

B.P. 39 Batouri, East Region, Cameroon

 

·         Making Croissants and Pains au Chocolat

o    Volunteer is able to, with assistance and without the use of an oven or conventional tools, create edible, butter-filled deliciousness to be enjoyed at any hour of the day.

·         Filling Polypots

o    Volunteer quickly, knowledgably, and capably can fill polypots in preparation for Moringa Trees.

§  Volunteer can explain the benefit of Moringa Trees and distribute grown samples to a loud, pushing group of Host Country Nationals

·         Texting in French Abbreviations

o    Volunteer can effectively communicate a message through a short SMS by utilizing French abbreviations including “dmn,” “bjr,” and “ajd’hui.”

o    Volunteer can understand texting abbreviations and lingo…most of the time.

·         Using a Machete for Yard-Work

o    When time permits, volunteer is able to do her own yard-work with a machete without inflicting bodily injury to herself or others.

·         Reading Mercury Thermometers

o    When wondering if she’s sick, volunteer is able to clearly read and clear a mercury thermometer in either Celsius or Farenheit.

·         Explaining the Purpose of the Electoral College

o    In either French or English, volunteer is able to explain the function and purpose of the Electoral College while maintaining that the existence of an Electoral College does not annul the American democratic system.

·         Making Tofu

o    Given certain materials including soy beans and vinegar, volunteer is able to create tofu adhering to the taste sets of both Americans and Cameroonians as well as to preach to the importance of protein for youth and pregnant women.

·         Saying “No” to Marriage Proposals

o    Without being phased, volunteer is able to say “NO!” to marriage proposals including by asking horrendous dowries, explaining that she’s already married to numerous men, explaining the importance of love in a marriage, explaining the demanding nature of American women, ignoring the question, and forcefully responding in the negative.

·         Eating Food with Hands

o    Without the use of utensils, volunteer can quickly clean all fish-meat from bones. Volunteer successfully uses couscous of a types (except corn when avoidable) to mop up sauces of all types without making too much of a mess out of herself.

§  Volunteer has retained the ability to use a fork and spoon when necessary, and excels at using knives when cutting food out of the palm of the hand rather than on a plate or flat service.

·         Early Morning Productivity

o    With or without the aid of early-morning rooster crowing, volunteer is able to drag herself out of bed early, make coffee, eat breakfast, work-out, shower, plan/schedule five different work meetings, and finish all her shopping at the market before nine-thirty am.

·         Riding Motorcycles

o    Volunteer is able to strap on a helmet, mount a motorcycle from the left side, give directions loudly from underneath a helmet, dismount from the left side, and pay a moto-taxi-man the correct fare.

·         Using a Bucket-Flush Toilet or Pit Latrine

o    Volunteer has mastered the use of all forms of toilets and latrines.

·         Hand-Washing Jeans

o    Without the use of a brush or other abrasive surface, volunteer can hand-wash a pair of jeans to be cleaner than the washing machine at the office in Yaounde.

·         Cleaning Vegetables

o    Volunteer knows and practices proper vegetable-cleaning methods including bleaching, scrubbing, and peeling. When boiling, volunteer actually lets the water come to a boil.

·         Waiting Patiently

o    Volunteer is able to calmly sit through long, repetitive work meetings as well as breakdowns on the side of the road without compromising personal opinions on timeliness or being prepared for inevitabilities.

Other non-descript skills: tearing into packages in about 4 seconds flat, cleaning and preparing beans, washing dishes, holding babies, entertaining small children with weird facial expressions, organizing coloring books, avoiding bush meat

Yep, hear that sound? Those are all the job offers for a new age, politically-minded chef/house-keeper rolling in. So many practical job skills!

I should say that I feel like I’ve gained practical, marketable skills, too, and that I actually have an idea of what the “next step” is, which I didn’t before I came here. But, it’s been these more un-tangible, un-marketable skills that have defined my experience and pushed my boundaries. There’s training for work, partners on the ground to teach you along the way, and resources to consult that can help you define your work, but the only way to learn how to deal with going without (insert favorite American good here,) or to learn to manage a household, or to be comfortable in your own skin is to learn through your individual experience. It’s been almost seventeen months in Cameroon, fourteen of which I’ve been living as one of three or four Americans in a city of 40,000 Cameroonians. Those experiences can’t be boiled down to a short bullet-point on a piece of paper, they become a part of a person. And that’s where I am now, trying to figure out what the niche in the American job market is for a cockroach-killing, bean-sorting, fidelity-encouraging, female French-speaker….

Lucky Number '13 (hopefully!)

1 January 2013

Today is a momentous one. After years and years of trying, I finally entered into my uncharted territory. If you’re expecting a profound statement about cultural diversity or work, you’re about to be massively disappointed. But, I finally achieved a ridiculous life goals I set for myself years ago on a bored Saturday afternoon: I beat Spider Solitaire on Difficult Mode. I attribute this win to my friend Ali who sent me a text this morning to wish that 2013 brings me all that past years have refused me. First choice? Maybe not, but it still feels weirdly exciting. Thanks, universe!

The last time I wrote, I was not in the best place mentally. Things have gotten better, but I’m still glad that I wrote a blog post from that perspective. I always feel guilty talking about the negatives because I don’t want people to think terrible things about Cameroon or the Peace Corps, but it’s also unrealistic to paint a picture from only the rose-colored glasses side of life. It’s liberating, and I’m going to try harder to keep things balanced. Consider that my New Year’s Resolution if you’re into that kind of thing.

With it being the opening of 2013, it seems high time to have a chat about holidays and parties, especially considering that last night I went to the strangest New Year’s Eve party of my life. Last year, I arrived just before Christmas and New Year’s and I spent both of them with Americans in towns that weren't my own.  This holiday season, I’m a year in. Nowadays, I can actually communicate, I’m more socially adept in the Cameroonian context, I spent both holidays “in village,” and have apparently gained a reputation in government circles for being tougher than a boulder. After a full day of grinning ear to ear because of all the wishes of “Bon année!” and “Bonne fête!,” it’s time to address some of what I’ve learned the past two weeks.

Ten Things I Learned This Holiday Season

1)       If you ever are invited to do a  Secret Santa exchange with a group of Cameroonians, especially social heavy-weights (“Grands,”) acceptable gifts include Chanele No. 5 Paris Parfum from the People’s Republic of China, gaudy silver and pastel blue clocks, tee-shirts, and porcelain plates. Giving bottles of wine or baked goods à la America would be a social faux pas.

2)       You can bake some pretty killer cookies without an oven. Sugar cookies baked in a skillet? Don’t mind if I do!

3)       If you are at a New Year’s Party hosted by a priest, expect to be awkwardly herded into Mass just before midnight, and no, it doesn’t matter that everyone at the party is already buzzed. Also, you’re going to have to read a confusing French Bible verse with words you’ve never seen before in front of everyone. Good luck.

4)       Normally, at Cameroonian functions, you can expect everyone to be a half hour to an hour late. This is not true at the holidays: everyone will be about 3.5 hours late. This gives you sufficient time to eat all the fish heads, chicken necks, and hunks of cow fat…or the many other actual delicious things on the holiday spread. Your choice.

5)      Complaints about holiday weight gain are not just an American thing. In a country that generally views weight-gain as a fantastic thing, even Cameroonians are complaining about the weight that they’ve put on. I may have gorged myself on American food while other volunteers were in Batouri to celebrate with us, but at least every Cameroonian in town feels the same way about themselves. Zero guilt. This was a well-celebrated season!

6)       There is no direct translation for “reindeer” in Cameroonian French. Rudolph is now a red-nosed antelope. Luckily, Cameroonian Christmas music is actually only church music, and the only New Year’s music that I’ve heard repeats “Bon année, Bon année, Bon année-o, Bon année!” the entire song. I may never get it out of my head ever again. Pray you never have to celebrate a new year with me in the future.

7)       When preparing to go out to a Cameroonian party, you need to leave your American self behind. Cameroonian women who are “out” in the social world are divas. You have the option of wearing something uncomfortably tight, low-cut, leopard printed, blinged out, or any combination thereof. The more make-up you wear, the more respected you will be, as evidenced by the trend of plucking off your eyebrows and replacing them with a thin line of painted on liquid liner. Your hair should be a perfectly coiffed expression of your personality.* Shaving is considered a violation of all that is natural, normal, and beautiful. Reason number 484856 that it’s difficult to make female friends in this country.

8)      There is always room for another surprise. Always. Stop trying to prepare for it, because there’s always going to be someone who does something, someone who has something, or something that just happens for no reason. You can’t control it, it just is what it is.

9)      In “Happy New Year” text messages, it’s customary to wish two to three specific things that you hope for each person. My wish this year for all my workaholic friends in town is tranquility. For all you on the other side of the planet, I hope that 2013 brings you peace, conviction, and the strength to make it through all that life throws your way.

10)    You get what you pay for: you can treat your friends like bad Chinese sandals that last for two weeks, or you can treat them like a rare pair of American tennis shoes that will survive everything the world has to throw at you. When you treat someone like family, you’ll get it back when you need it the most. You’re only as alone as you let yourself be. This holiday season, I’m thankful to have everyone back at home as well as a family of volunteers and Cameroonian friends to help get me through it all.

So, lucky number 2013. I’ve got a good feeling about this one. After all, if I’ve finally won a round of Spider Solitaire on difficult, who knows what magic tomorrow may bring?

*My hair was done today by a team of 6 different 2-7 year olds. I’m pretty sure about a quarter of what I used to have was ripped out in the process. If my hair is an expression of my personality, my personality must be chaotic and going in all different directions. I work with the best kids on this side of the Atlantic, it’s official.
 

And sometimes, nothing works.

27-12-2012

There’s really only one word to describe how I’m feeling right now: exhausted—physically, emotionally, and socially. There’s a burn-out on the horizon, and right now it feels totally out of my control. We’ve got that old saying of “you win some, you lose some,” and if that’s true, then I’m ready to win a few battles and for things to calm down. Hear that, universe? I’m calling for a truce effective…err…three days ago. It’s not enough to have your personal life exploding, usually you’re having problems at work or with friends in town and with other volunteers, too. And, you’re far enough away from everyone and everything that it all just multiplies because you’re stuck brooding once things start going wrong. Everybody has their limit, and mine has been reached.

I haven’t done a very good job about talking honestly about the things I find difficult with life here or about different problems I’ve faced. It’s not that I don’t want to give the whole picture, it’s that I’m too overwhelmed by those moments and I’d rather not immortalize them. I’m a year into my service and I still don’t feel like I have done anything that matters some days. If I left tomorrow, would anyone feel like I’ve contributed anything or that their life is better because I was here? I don’t know. I may be a better person for having been here, but is that enough to justify it? Commence the Mid-Service Crisis. I have 12 months (or less) left to make this matter, and I don’t know that it’s enough. Most days I’m positive that it’s worth it and that I’ve made slow, steady progress both personally and for the community, but it’s those other days and weeks that can really be enough to make you question everything.

I’ll take a breather now and try to give an example.

Two of the children I’ve worked with passed away while I was in the US because of malnutrition and the sudden stop of AIDS anti-retrovirals to Batouri. Another couple of the kids I work with have chosen to return to living on the streets and to gold-mining instead of finishing out their education. The AIDS rate at my post has risen to close to 12%. I’ve also learned that less than 20% of the kids in my youth group have birth certificates, meaning that they can’t travel, can’t legally finish their education, and can’t ever hold jobs; in all of Batouri, the percentage of kids with birth certificates is still less than 50%. These aren’t exactly the kind of things that make you feel great about having hope for change in your community, so I already wasn’t feeling great about the way things are going here.

Right after returning from vacation, I was given a suitcase of random toys and art supplies for my youth group kids from a development group. Some of the things in the suitcase were useful, and some weren’t, but the bigger problem was that the group and the woman I work with were somehow under the impression that the suitcase was full of clothing and school supplies. The fault lies on both sides; the donors emphasized that the “suitcase is so large it’ll take two people to carry it” [it didn’t] and the Cameroonians made assumptions that the group was rich enough to send everything they could ever want in new, spotless condition. I broke the news, and it didn’t go over well—because I was the only non-Cameroonian around, I automatically became the scapegoat at fault.

We planned a Christmas party to give out the gifts we did have and to celebrate the success of the students this trimester. We made plans for numerous important officials to attend, made a menu of American and Cameroonian foods to prepare, and created a list of kids in the group who deserved the gifts. Problem #1: there weren’t enough gifts to give out to all 70 children. Problem #2: not all of the gifts were relevant or useful. Problem #3: we accidentally forgot to put about 15 kids on the list. Problem #4: none of the officials we invited bothered to show up after assuring us that they’d attend. My post-mates and I spent hours sorting out the gifts, buying more gifts to make up for the fact that we didn’t have enough, baking cookies, preparing tofu, budgeting, creating invitations, etc., and none of that was enough. Nothing went right.

You can prepare and prepare and prepare and give your everything, and still everything fails. Nothing makes you feel quite as great about yourself as seeing 10 kids crowded around a plate of food screaming, hitting each other, and refusing to share, except for seeing a group of children crying about how their notebooks aren’t of the right lineage or having a parent complain that the toy you gave their child is pointless and won’t help them to succeed. One of my boys is currently ranked as the student with the best grades of all the five secondary schools of Batouri, and all I could do for him was give him a pat of the back, two notebooks, two pencils, a sharpener, and a pen. There’s a certain sense of injustice inherent in all of this: if these kids were in your average American home, they’d be receiving at least twenty times what they received today. I’m embarrassed and irritated, but I also feel helpless: I physically can’t do more than I’ve done. When your best isn’t good enough, what do you do then?

I’ve had a cold that’s been kicking my butt for a week now. I broke my stove baking cookies. I burned both arms multiple times whenever a batch of cookies would finish. The ants have taken over my kitchen. Every time any liquid goes down the drain in my sink, it floods my kitchen floor creating a disgusting muddy mess. The roosters won’t stop crowing. I’m out of mint tea. I haven’t had time to do my laundry, and I’m running out of respectable looking clothes to wear since everything is covered in dust. Etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. I’m not feeling like I’m in a great place right now, but I’m telling myself that this is temporary. I keep trying to remind myself that you need to go through lows like this to appreciate when things actually do go right. But, at the same time, I can feel myself becoming more and more jaded and disenchanted. Something’s got to give.

With all those complaints said, I feel like I should balance them a little with a few positive things:

                --My post-mates and I are going to my Counter-Part’s New Year’s Eve party.

                --Cameroonians really liked the sugar cookies we baked, and a couple of people want to learn how to bake them so that they can start selling them in town.

--Marissa arrives to Cameroon on January 6^th!

--I had a great Christmas with all the other volunteers who came to visit us in Batouri. I may now own a Blue Power Ranger mask compliments of a white elephant exchange ;)

--I met a really interesting secondary school student who spoke surprisingly clear English and who asked a couple of very intelligent, forward-thinking questions.

--The cold mornings and evenings mean that I’ve been shamelessly indulging in coffee and tea, which has been great.

--The new Regina Spektor CD: I’m in love.

--Starting Saturday, I’ll finally have a few work-free days to decompress and catch up on life.

Here’s to the power of positivity?

Take care, all, and have a very happy (and safe) New Year!

 

Bringin' Dusty Back

14 December 2012

So, here I am: back in Cameroon and very quickly falling back into the same routine I was in before I left. My house is a little fuller of American goodies and photos, but it’s also a lot fuller of red dust, dead insects, cobwebs, and wood-dust left for me by my friends the termites. The seasons changed while I was gone, but otherwise, things are the same as I left them. The best way to put it is: it’s a relief to be back.

I know I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been trying to culture myself and read big pieces of literature I’d never read in the US. For the past month or so, I’ve been leisurely working through Steinbeck’s East of Eden, and the other day I found this gem of a dialogue between characters Adam and Samuel about Samuel’s upcoming travels to visit his children:

“You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard enough on that dust heap of yours.”

“I love that dust heap,” Samuel said. “I love it the way a bitch loves her runty pup. I love every flint, the plow-breaking outcroppings, the thin and barren topsoil, the waterless heart of her. Somewhere in my dust heap there’s a richness.” (Chapter 24, section 1, p. 297)

It’s a begrudging love and one that you have to laugh at yourself for, but this dry season, Batouri is my version of Samuel’s dust heap. I can’t easily explain what it is that I love about Batouri—it’s loud, messy, unpredictable, and far from glamorous, but it’s mine and definitely full of possibility. A lot of the things that I love about it here are the things that make it difficult and frustrating to live in. I’ll be the first to criticize Batouri nine times out of ten, but it remains that I’m possessive, defensive, and loyal to my town to the core. I feel the same way about America. It’s a blessing to be in love with two places that are so different and that offer so many different things.

It was great to be back in America and to spend time with family, friends, bad television, an oven, and a non-foam mattress, but if you’re reading this, I probably saw you, talked to you, or you’ve chatted with my family, so I’d rather save some space in this entry to talk about things that aren’t my vacation. You’d think coming back would be difficult; no one in their right mind would be glad to be without electricity again, right? I feel cleansed and refreshed, though. I’m feeling like I can finish out this last year strong. One last year: that’s all I have left to do and learn everything that I’m missing. I’ve spent more time in Cameroon than I have left on my contract. Mind-blowing. Cue a few long minutes of self-reflection.

Since coming back, things have been calm. School’s are out for break, and everything in town is pretty slow (minus a steady growth of toy vendors that keep popping up everywhere.) I’ve had a few meetings since coming back, but otherwise have mostly spent time trying to catch up on cleaning, catching up with friends, and trying to avoid getting hit by the motos. Oops. My friend tells me December is the month when secret societies who do evil and various spirits/sorcerors try to meet their quota of evil deeds by causing motorcycle and car accidents; I’m attributing the increased number of accidents to people drinking too much because of the holidays and not being able to see well because of the dust. Cultural lesson of the day: superstition holds a special place in the heart of Cameroonians. Whatever the reason for all these accidents, I’m doing a lot more walking than usual. I like the idea of keeping my head attached to the rest of my body. I also like the idea of someday being able to navigate through the nooks and crannies of my neighborhood without having to ask someone what road I need to take home; one year down, and I still get lost trying to get home. Ridiculous. But, back to the realm of work.

I attempted to teach my youth group “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” which was mostly hysterical and adorable, but one of my older kids who’s in the English section of the Bilingual High School mastered it. Little successes, right? The kids are going to sing it at our Christmas party December 27^th. We’re going to prepare Cameroonian and American food (American food being tofu and french fries…I’m sure the majority of you are cringing at that,) exchanging gifts of toys and school supplies that I’ve gotten as donations, and singing the song for the parents and government delegates who will hopefully show up. I’m also catching up to speed on the millions of changes that are happening at my host institution (the formation of a support group for people in town with Hypertension and Diabetes, the creation of a “governing council” with three separate arms to ensure that the group doesn’t get swallowed up into the Catholic Mission, the selection of new families to receive donations, change of days for donations, etc.)

On the horizon, I’ve got a big Christmas celebration to look forward to, a New Year’s Eve celebration with coworkers in village, the visit of my bestie from the US, Mid-Service with the other Youth Development Volunteers at the end of January, and serving as a trainer for the new Youth Development Volunteers at their In-Service Training at the end of February. It’s going to be a lot of back-and-forth from Yaounde and beyond, so here’s to hoping that things with transportation start calming down (which they should, since December’s already almost over!) It’s about to be a busy few months, so I’m relishing this last week of quiet and being alone at home!

For those of you who asked while I was home about easy, always appreciated things to send to me when I’m here: Crystal Light, packets of cereal and oatmeal, instant soup packets, instant coffee (bonus points for Starbucks Via!), tea, Ziploc bags, seasoning/sauce packets, photos, dried fruit, magazines, incense. I hope that helps, if not, I’m always happy to talk about what random American items I’m missing badly. Finally, for anyone who may want to know, I bought a second SIM Card for my phone—you can now reach me at either (237)74 05 79 85 or (237)98 82 41 29.

Take care, everyone!

 

America!

Birthday cake. Pink lady apples. Broccolli Cheddar Soup. Grapes. Spinach Salad. Stuffed Shells. Portobello Burgers. McFlurries. Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches. Diet Mountain Dew.

America, you are so good at making food. You're kind of incredible. Really. I've missed you. It's funny some of the things you miss that you never cared for when you were in still State-side. Who ever wants to eat meatloaf besides a Peace Corps Volunteer idealizing everything they can't have? If America had to have a taste, I'm pretty sure it'd be ketchup. And your amazing, meat-less meals: those are heaven. To that, all I have to say is: BRING IT ON.

I've been in Yaounde a couple of days now enjoying hot showers, salads, pizza, and English. The city has put up a good fight, but it can't compare: I am so ready to fly out of here and into America tomorrow night. I'll be there from November 12-December 1st, and talking to other PCVs, the general reaction is "Wow. You've lasted this long without leaving the country? Wow." It's time.

There are a lot of predictable things to miss about the US: food, a well-formed justice system, transparent government with only very limited incidents of corruption, women's rights, family, English. There are a lot of other, more strange things that I miss, though--the things that touch your life on the most basic level, things I never really reflected on before leaving to come here.

• Trash Disposal: Garbage menhouse on predictable intervals to get rid of your refuse? HEAVEN! We burn all our garbage here, but since I don't have an area of ground that wouldn't catch on fire, I have to throw things in other peoples' trash piles. Nothing makes you feel so rich as having to reflect on the last pile you threw your Vache Qui Rit wrappers in in hopes that the community won't notice.
• Punctuality: African time runs notoriously a minimum of a half hour behind, almost always more. I've waited up to five hours to have meetings.
• Reliable phone reception: Nothing is more fun than having an important conversation that ends up getting dropped or every second word missing. Truly.
• Restaurants that actually have every item on their menu
• Shop-keepers that don't sleep on the job and get irritated about you waking them off
• Coffee Shops
• Fixed prices
• Not having to worry about termites eating your furniture
• Being able to wear shorts when it's hot outside
• Anonymity

Don't get me wrong, there's a lot I love about this country. There's a lot I get frustrated with about America. It's easy to have an idealized version of what life was like in America and to slam Cameroon for all its negatives. But right now, that doesn't matter: I'm heading home.

My youth group kids singing a song to me that they wrote. They're kind of the best.

Challenges

22 October 2012

When you join Peace Corps, you expect the most difficult thing to be physical discomfort. And, quite frankly, a lot of the times it is. Being far from family and friends from home is never going to be easy, but at least we’ve got a strong community of support amongst the other volunteers since we’re all the same distance away, have the same worries about our families, and have all missed important life events of people we care about. Volunteers get placed in places where there’s no water, electricity, or cell phone service. Others of us get placed in places where all of those things go out frequently and unpredictably. Travel runs late or never takes off, and you’re never quite sure how many times you’re going to break down once you get going. You’re a slave to the weather, and most likely you stand out. Badly. Corruption abounds. The language isn’t your own, and sometimes you make ridiculous mistakes. These are the things that you get good at laughing off fast, because otherwise you’d go insane. If you get a big group of Peace Corps Volunteers together in a room, it’s likely we’re going to be in a competition of who’s got it worse and throwing around the term “Posh Corps” to prove just how much harder we’ve got it. If one-upping was an Olympic sport, you can bet that the US team would be Peace Corps Volunteers. It's one of our more lovable qualities.

What you don’t expect, though, is getting used to the discomfort. I can’t buck the system and magically bring reliable phone service to a whole country, so it’s better to find the positive in it and be thankful that you’ll get a few hours of quiet. Water’s out again? Cool, kids, guess we’re rocking a scarf to cover up the greasy hair. Bus still hasn’t arrived? Great, time to eat breakfast! Go with the flow is the name of the game in Peace Corps Land.

There are some things, though, that you can’t and shouldn’t get used to. There’s a whole host of these things, but everybody’s got their big hot button issue ranging anywhere from animal abuse to malnutrition to the culture’s failure to accept homosexuality. For me, it’s the lack of respect for women. It took moving here to understand just how important the Women’s Rights movement was in the US, but I can tell you right now that I’ll never under-value that again. I have a new appreciation for feminism after living in a place where chauvinism and male-dominance affects every aspect of daily life.

Communities often prefer to get male volunteers over female volunteers. Women can’t easily be friends with men and should expect to lose most over marriage proposals. Females can’t sit in certain seats in buses or cars, and are almost always expected to have some kind of a chaperone. Likewise, women can’t go to places like the mosque, and need to be cautious about being seen in other locations like the bar. Male volunteers can go travelling with their best friends from town, but as a female, this will always be off-limits no matter how close of friends you are. Certain foods like pistache (or bananas in some regions) or cuts of meat are automatically off-limits unless you’re male. Stereotypes about women will affect work and personal relationships. It’s a lot to remember and balance when you’re used to being told that you’re worth at least as much as a man and that if you work hard enough, you can have everything in reason that you want. These things are chump change compared to the realities Cameroonian girls are dealing with, and that’s what makes it the hardest—it’s easier to deal with hardships when you know it’s just you and that those hardships were your choice.

Cameroonian girls are often denied the right to an education, married off at the age of 12 to 40 year old men, can’t demand the right to fidelity or monogamy or condoms, and are underfed in favor of their male siblings. Women are subjected to rape and violence and taught that it’s a normal form of punishment for not serving dinner on time or speaking out of turn. In many Cameroonian ethnic groups, if a women’s husband passes away, then she’s forced to go through humiliating widowhood rituals and sometimes forced to marry the sibling or father of her husband. In some ethnic groups women’s families have to pay a dowry to marry off their daughters making her permanent property of a man, and in the majority of the rest, a man has to pay the dowry to the woman’s family. Women are considered baby-making machines, and it’s not abnormal for a woman to have five babies in five years or less. Men complain and yell at their wives for their failure to give them male children. A woman has no legal right to land or property. In short: both socially and legally, women are viewed as being less than men.

As a woman, it’s offensive, and I hate it. Ever since returning from a week-long trip to small villages in the bush to help distribute materials to the Family Agricultural Schools in my department, I’ve found myself a lot more aware of the super-human strength and willpower women in this country must have to keep on living under these conditions. In one of the communities I visited, women weren’t allowed to speak in front of their chief as a sign of respect for his power, and in another women weren’t allowed to leave their homes after nightfall. I can’t imagine that living under all those prohibitions, especially ones inapplicable to men, gives you a strong sense of self-worth.

I love Cameroon and I love my community, so I’m not willing to give up on it and let it be what it’s always been. These situations and the knowledge of what women here are dealing with give me a sense of purpose, direction, passion, and fight; rather than giving up, I’m starting to work in all 7 of these schools in the department to teach Men’s Engagement, Women’s Empowerment, and Gender Equity for the remainder of my service. In less technical terms, that’s everything from HIV/AIDS education, conflict resolution, teaching about the difference between sex and gender, working with parents to help them speak with their children about puberty, and teaching that violence and rape isn’t what makes a male a man. I’m still working out the details but I’m bound and determined: it’s happening. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all. My host organization is arranging for all of my transportation, and each community will be responsible for my lodging, food, and security. Right now, I’m working at doing basic assessments of every community to determine the specific problems I need to target in each and to determine if there’s any correlation between gender dynamics and the success rates of the schools. I start my assessments in Pkanadji and Garoua-Sanbe on Friday.

I’m lucky to have a partner in my new post-mate, but I’m still fairly certain that we’re in over our heads. I might also be utterly screwed language-wise since only a small handful of people in each village (in one village: one person total) speak French and my Kako is limited right now to saying good day, donkey, thanks, duck, mat, and good-bye. That said, I know that I’ve got communities that have been welcoming me with open arms, honesty, and a willingness to work with me to help make changes and improve the social situation of the people in their village, which is a lot easier than fighting people to get them to pay attention. I’ve got next to no idea what I’m doing, but I’ve got a big sense of fight, a motivated national organization to partner with, and a bunch of little villages that believe the future to prosperity is through emancipating their women, and for right now, that’s enough to go off of. Hopefully.

Reality, or something like it.

2 October 2012

Now that I’ve passed my year mark, it’s time to admit it: blogging is getting harder and harder. Every time I sit down to write, there’s about five deleted drafts before I finally find something that I feel like is worth writing about. I’ve been here long enough that I’m struggling to figure out what’s interesting to other people that haven’t been to Cameroon, much less to explain it all in intelligible English. But it’s not just that, it’s so much easier to sit and watch movies on my laptop than to try and analyze my experiences in the context of America.

How do you capture a place that’s so different and difficult to define and make that make sense? …I’m not so sure that you do…. But, if we’re going to be honest, I can’t really understand what volunteers in other regions talk about with some of their experiences, either. The Northwest volunteers combat the evil JuuJuu spirits, the Far Northerners bond over their mutual hatred of hot season, and the volunteers in the West Adamauaua can discuss their extreme isolation from the rest of the country. I can’t understand what that’s like; that’s part of the difficulty of living in a country that possesses all of Africa’s major terrains, all of Africa’s different varieties of climates, and where the people speak about 260 languages and often can’t communicate with one another. This is a country with two official languages, so if we can’t all have one common language, how can we expect the culture to be the same? And if the culture isn’t the same, how can we expect to be able to make anyone else actually understand? And how can you make someone who’s never seen it appreciate it?

There are a lot of things that clearly distinguish Peace Corps as being a difficult experience: not speaking the language fluently, living in a culture you don’t always understand, trying to find worthwhile work that the community is passionate about making happen, dealing with loneliness and being far from home. I’ve gotten better at dealing with those. Harassment isn’t a big deal anymore, I laugh off the “white skin” comments and usually respond to marriage proposals by telling people that I live in a place that’s colder than the freezer they buy fish out of. The fat comments sting, but the cultural context and the positive connotations associated with weight make it such that I know the comments rarely have anything to do with body figure but rather their hope of your happiness and feelings of welcome in their country. Loneliness isn’t a problem because I’ve created such a strong network of friends in town and with other volunteers in the region. Corruption doesn’t enrage me to the level it used to because I’ve been confronted with it so many times during my service. Quite frankly, I’ve come to love living here. It’s not easy, but it’s definitely always been worth it. What’s the hardest is trying to assimilate the reality of my life here in Cameroon with the reality of my life in America and remember that somehow they’re both real. It’s not survival that’s hard, it’s talking about the hows and whys and trying to find a way for my current reality to fit into somebody else’s reality. It’s like fitting a large square peg into a circular hole; you can only get so much of that peg in at one time before having to pull it out and try from a different angle. That’s me with blogging nowadays.

It took me a long time to make things make sense, and the more I talk with buddies in other PC countries, the more I realize that we all struggle with it and none of us really knows how to address that to anyone who hasn’t had to deal with that in a long-term situation like Peace Corps. That alone makes it difficult to explain what I do and what Peace Corps is to anyone who’s emailed me to tell me they’re thinking about applying. Add on the fact that you don’t know anything about where they could potentially go or the project they’d be assigned to, and it starts to near on impossible. It’s frustrating when you’re applying that nobody can give you these answers, and it’s even more frustrating during training that the answer you receive most often is “it depends.” Turns out, it does depend. It also turns out that it’s frustrating not to be able to give those answers. You want to be able to make things accessible and easily understandable, but that’s not reality. Ever. And not just about Cameroon or Ukraine or the Dominican Republic or Senegal or Zambia, it’s hard to explain the reality of the US to people who’ve never experienced it, too. See: http://whatshouldpcvscallme.tumblr.com/

That’s what makes blogging so hard, and this job so difficult. But, that’s also 66% of the job: goals two and three of Peace Corps are both cultural exchange and an attempt to make “the other half” make sense. I get paid to make friends, tell you about how I wash clothes by hand, make Mexican dinners from Cameroonian friends, and post photos for you on facebook. Coolest job ever? I think so. I can’t really describe what it is that I love so much about my job or my community, so I might as well make fun of how ridiculous my life tends to be here. And, for that, what’s a better, more embarrassing American reference than Disney?

Based on my real life at my real post and real conversations I’ve had or heard about me, I present to you, “La Blanche” re-written to the tune of “Belle” from “Beauty and the Beast.” Do yourself a favor and look it up on YouTube to appreciate the glory of how well the lyrics fit, will ya?

La Blanche

“Little town, it’s a sleepy city. Every day, different from the one before. Little town, full of really loud people, waking up to say: bonjour, la blanche, bonjour bonjour bonjour!

There goes a moto with some harassment like always, the same old comments as before. No morning’s been the same, since the moment that I came to this poor undeveloped town… Good Morning, Souer!

Good morning, mon frere!
Where are you off to?
The market. I’ve just finished the most wonderful fruit and I…
That’s nice. Sister, my US Visa, hurry up!

Look there she goes again that Blanche, she’s walking, all the way from Trypano*! Always on her way into town, on her feet, she walks into town. No denying she’s a strange one, that Nassara.

Bonjour!
Good Day!
How is your family?
Bonjour!
Good Day!
How is your health?
You need this fabric!
That’s too expensive!

There’s nothing better than this village-oise life!

Ah, my Blanche!
Good Morning! I’ve come to buy more bananas.
Finished Already?
Oh, I couldn’t put them down! You have any for 100 francs?
*Laughter* Not since yesterday.
Oh, that’s fine. I’ll go over… there!
THERE? But why not buy these oranges?
But sir, bananas, they’re my favorite! And the price, I know it! I’m a Cameroonian in disguise!
Well, if you like them that much, they’re yours.
But Sir?
I insist!
Why sir, thank you! Thank you very much!

Look there she goes again, she’s doing the market!
I wonder if she’ll marry me?
With her shining, sweaty face, and her feet covered in mud,
What a puzzle to the rest of us, that Blanche!

Oh! Isn’t this amazing? This is my favorite town because, you’ll see! Here’s where I met that student, and we had that one really great conversation about HIV!

Now it’s a wonder that she’s always busy; it’s 10am, she should be at the bar! Well, behind that white, shiny face, I’m afraid she’s always in a race. Very different from the rest of us, she’s rich unlike the rest of us, she’s different from the rest of us, our Blanche!

Wow, you didn’t miss a shot, Gaston! You’re the greatest footballer in the whole world!
I know!
No football alive stands a chance against you! Hahahaha! And no woman, for that matter!
It’s true, Amadou, and I’ve got my life planned around that one.
Who? The white woman from Trypano?
She’s the one! She’s the lucky one I’m going to marry!
But she’s…
The most beautiful woman in all of Batouri!
I know, but…
That makes her the best. And don’t I deserve the best?
Well of course, I mean you do, but….

Right from the moment that I saw her walking, I said she’s gorgeous, and I vowed: here in town there’s only she, who speaks English good enough for me, so I’ve made my plan to woo and marry the Blanche.**

Look there, he goes, oh he’s so sketchy! Monsier Gaston, he smells so bad! Run fast, dear women, I’m hardly breathing, he’s such a tall, dark, sketch, and smelly moto-man!

[Insert Mixed Chorus of “Show Me the Meaning (Of Being Lonely)”, unidentified angry gangster rap, “I Done Seen My Wifey”, and weird Fulfulde music mixed with screaming people and beeping moto horns]

There’s nothing better than this village-oise life!
Just watch I’m going to make that Blanche my wife!
Look there she goes again, that Blanche she’s yelling. A most peculiar mademoiselle. With pagne down to her shin, look how much she’s fitting in! She really is a sassy girl, a sweaty but a sassy girl. She can’t really be an American giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl, our Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanche!”

Yep. I think I lost a few cool points in the making of this blog entry, but hey, gives you a pretty decent idea of what Centre-Ville is like, right? It’s loud, crazy, and sometimes pretty frustrating, but it’s mine, it’s home, and I love it.

*Trypano: My surrounding neighborhood, a 20 minute walk from Centre, of which Cameroonians are petpetually amazed that someone would voluntarily choose to do. Number of times I've walked into a public place and been recognized as "the white girl whose always walking": Countless.
**True story.