Hey everyone,
Sorry it has taken me so long to write again. It has been a very busy couple of weeks. Two Thursdays ago, me and six friends left Yaoundé to go to Buea, in order to climb Mt. Cameroon (or Mt. Fako, as it is locally known). We slept at a hotel that night, and then started our ascent early on Friday morning. Let me tell you, it was an absolutely beautiful experience (and hard as hell!). The mountain, which is actually an active volcano, is about 13,400 feet fall (or about 4,080 meters), and is the largest in Western Africa (though don't worry...it hasn't erupted since 2000). The climb up the Guiness Trail (the shorter of the two; the other takes 3 days and goes around the side of the mountain) is divided into 4 "huts," or wooden structures with no electricity, and raised planks on which hikers place their sleeping bags. There is Hut 1, New Hut, Hut 2, and Hut 3, after which is the summit. We had hired four porters and a guide to carry our gear, and thank God for them, because we didn't realize until we got past Hut 1 just how steep this mountain is! However, once we passed the tree line, the scenery itself made all the hardships worth it. Though I've never been to Scotland or Ireland, I imagine it looks quite similar to what we were confronted with. I tried to upload some photos, but since my connections is so slow, it won't be possible. But be sure to check my facebook in early July!
The trek to Hut 2 took the better part of the afternoon, with the whole group finally reaching the rest station at around 3:30. Once we put our packs down and caught our breath, the view we were greeted with was unbelievable. We were literally in and/or above the clouds, and could see the entire Littoral/Bakassi peninsula region (look it up on a map) of Cameroon. And it was cold! It felt like fall up there, which was quite nice, until night fell, when it felt more like winter without snow! However, we had a great night, sitting around the fire and listening to our guides and porters joke around in Pigeon English while eating rice and meat. We all went to bed, and the next morning at around 7:30, all but one of us departed for the summit (the other was experiencing a bit of vertigo, and judged it wouldn't be smart for her to continue up).
The climb to Hut 3 was perhaps the most difficult that we had experienced yet. The slope was, for most of the time, about 60-70 degrees vertical at least, and the wind got stronger with every step. However, after about 2 1/2 hours, we made it to Hut 3, where we rested briefly. The summit was only 45 minutes away, Paul, our guide, said, but it turned out to be one hell of a 45 minutes!!! The landscape changed drastically the higher we got, as did the air quality and temperature. However, after a lot of singing everything from the Beatles to Sean Paul (which actually helps bring in oxygen, as well as livens your spirits) and talking to ourselves, we made it to the top. Boy was it cold!!! I could literally lean back into the wind and have it support my weight! Unfortunately, there were too many clouds to have any kind of good view, but the feeling of accomplishment was certainly worth the effort. We only spent about 10 minutes up there before we decided to climb down, keeping the meal of rice that awaited us at Hut 2 constantly in mind.
I had forgotten how difficult a decent can be (especially on a half-empty stomach), so by the time we reached Hut 2, my legs were shaking from exhaustion. Luckily, the meal of rice filled me up sufficiently enough to continue our descent, though by the time we reached the bottom, I felt like my legs were about to break off completely. However, we made it, and had a great night out on the town before we came back early the next morning. However, i had trouble walking for nearly the whole next week.
Last weekend, we went to Bamenda, the capital of the North West Province. It was our last trip as a group, but it was a good way to end. Bamenda is surrounded by the grassfields of Cameroon, and is significantly less humid and hot than the rest of the country (a welcome respite for everyone). We were able to visit Sabga, as well as its incredibly self-reightous and egotistical Lamido (a spiritual leader of some sort). Additionally, we got to see Bafut, which is a kingdom north of Bamenda. This was one of the cooler things we did, since they had a museum with artifacts dating back nearly 500 years (very rare in this part of Africa), as well as the oldest structure in all of Central Africa (so they claim). It was a great experience, and we were all happy to be learning things we did not know, as opposed to some of the stops we made in our bus. For example, we were told how, in Cameroon, fences denote the division of two people's properties (no shit Sherlock). Or, even better, that, in Cameroon, manure is used for fertilizer (you don't say!).
Anyways, as usual, I felt that my time in Bamenda was cut way too short, and it is definitely a place that I want to go back to one day. The climate, the people, and the landscape were all very agreeable, and hopefully I'll be able to explore it more one day.
Well, that's about all the exciting things that have happened to me since my last post. I am sure there are other things of interest, but it is just so difficult to put them down into words without significant reflection. That being said, I think that I am going to be heading to my family's village, Dschang, the weekend after next, so I will be sure to give a good account of that.
I hope everyone is well!
Take care,
Andrew
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A good week indeed
Well, I am still working on my big piece about the North. It may be a while, but i hope it will be worth it.
It has been a pretty good week. It was the first full week we've had in Yaoundé for three weeks, so it was nice to get back into a big of a rhythm. Wednesday, for our Orality and Landscape class, we met with one of the few female artists in Cameroon. Her house is in a nicer part of town, and it absolutely beautiful! She has vines on the side of her house, and flowers everywhere! Not to mention that her art is amazing! She's the only person in Cameroon who does fiber-glass art! Furthermore, she also seemed very interested and knowledgeable about colonization (her father was an ambassador, and so she was always very well aware of the legacy of colonialism), so I might interview her for my honor's thesis, as well as for my colonization paper here. On Thursday, I recieved a package from my parents, which they had sent over a month before. I cannot even describe how happy I was to find Reese's Peanut Butter cups, Twizlers, Crystal Lite, and a host of other American goodies sitting in that box. It certainly made my week!!! Thanks again!
Friday, most of us stayed at the appartment and played charades and just hung out, which was a lot of fun. Saturday I didn't do too much one I came home; just did some work and slept. Very relaxing
Today, I had a meeting with that woman who gave me her book to edit. I met her at Rond Point Express (just down the hill from me), and she treated me to some pastries and a drink. I had met her and her son before, but this time her husband, a nice Cameroonian man, came along as well. They are very much a horse family. Their old German car has a imprint of a galloping horse on its side, and both father and son were wearing legitimate cowboy hats. They really are quite an eccentric family, but very very nice and intelligent. I think that I may end up interviewing the son, who speaks very good English and has studied abroad in England and other places, for my future Honors thesis as well. From our brief talk about it today, he seems to have a good handle on the psychological, as well as physical and economic effects that colonization and decolonization has had, and so I think he'll be a valuable resource.
So we talked about her book, and all the work that needs to be done with it, and then she asked me what she could do for me in return. I said that I would just like to have my name somewhere in the acknowledgments, and if they could teach me to ride a horse, that would be awesome. They said yes to both, and so it looks like I'll be learning to be a Cameroonian cowboy in no time! sweet!
Well, i am going to go keep editing. I want to just power through it so I can hopefully have some time to do my own reading before i leave the country.
Hope everyone on the other side of the pond is doing well! See you in a few months!
Much love,
Andrew
It has been a pretty good week. It was the first full week we've had in Yaoundé for three weeks, so it was nice to get back into a big of a rhythm. Wednesday, for our Orality and Landscape class, we met with one of the few female artists in Cameroon. Her house is in a nicer part of town, and it absolutely beautiful! She has vines on the side of her house, and flowers everywhere! Not to mention that her art is amazing! She's the only person in Cameroon who does fiber-glass art! Furthermore, she also seemed very interested and knowledgeable about colonization (her father was an ambassador, and so she was always very well aware of the legacy of colonialism), so I might interview her for my honor's thesis, as well as for my colonization paper here. On Thursday, I recieved a package from my parents, which they had sent over a month before. I cannot even describe how happy I was to find Reese's Peanut Butter cups, Twizlers, Crystal Lite, and a host of other American goodies sitting in that box. It certainly made my week!!! Thanks again!
Friday, most of us stayed at the appartment and played charades and just hung out, which was a lot of fun. Saturday I didn't do too much one I came home; just did some work and slept. Very relaxing
Today, I had a meeting with that woman who gave me her book to edit. I met her at Rond Point Express (just down the hill from me), and she treated me to some pastries and a drink. I had met her and her son before, but this time her husband, a nice Cameroonian man, came along as well. They are very much a horse family. Their old German car has a imprint of a galloping horse on its side, and both father and son were wearing legitimate cowboy hats. They really are quite an eccentric family, but very very nice and intelligent. I think that I may end up interviewing the son, who speaks very good English and has studied abroad in England and other places, for my future Honors thesis as well. From our brief talk about it today, he seems to have a good handle on the psychological, as well as physical and economic effects that colonization and decolonization has had, and so I think he'll be a valuable resource.
So we talked about her book, and all the work that needs to be done with it, and then she asked me what she could do for me in return. I said that I would just like to have my name somewhere in the acknowledgments, and if they could teach me to ride a horse, that would be awesome. They said yes to both, and so it looks like I'll be learning to be a Cameroonian cowboy in no time! sweet!
Well, i am going to go keep editing. I want to just power through it so I can hopefully have some time to do my own reading before i leave the country.
Hope everyone on the other side of the pond is doing well! See you in a few months!
Much love,
Andrew
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A paper to fill the time
I'm still working on a big explanation of our travels in the North, and lately Kumba. I know it's been a while since we went, but trust me, it's not easy task to describe. All I can say is that being in the Grand North, as they call it, is 100% different than it is in the 'South.' The only thing that people really have in common is that they speak french and they love Samuel Eto'o. I'm working on a comprehensive piece about that, but until then, I thought I would share with you my first major paper for my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing Course. It's pretty long, but if you have the time, I'd like to think it's half decent. i haven't received it back from my professor yet (big surprise), but I'm pretty confident I did well.
Hope you enjoy it!!
------
Andrew Verrier
Professor Mutia
Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing
16 March 2010
The Value of Struggling
My life philosophy, as well as my view on spirituality to a certain extent, is that life is a series of lessons: you can choose to ignore them, and thereby ignore growth, or embrace them and, despite their difficulty, continue to improve yourself. In Cameroon, those invaluable lessons are taught through the interplay of emotional, physical and intellectual struggle, and how they continue to shape my life each day. The following essay seeks to highlight four of what I consider to be the most difficult aspects of Cameroonian life that I have had to adapt to, and how they are changing me even as I write.
. The months leading up to our Cameroon excursion were une melange of anxiety and excitement for me. I’ve lived in the United States my entire life, and while I’ve been lucky enough to see a considerable amount of my country, my experiences abroad have been somewhat limited. When I was about to turn 16, my family departed for the relatively safe Western Euro-tour for three weeks, hitting the “must-see” spots between the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and Germany. Now make no mistake, I had a wonderful time in Europe, and I hope to travel more extensively in “the North” (as it is known here) someday. While my time in Europe was unforgettable, and had a lasting effect on me, besides the language barriers, Europe felt more familiar than different; if I didn’t open my mouth, no matter where I went, I could have blended in without much trouble. However, having to make the switch from the American to the Cameroonian lifestyle was an experience for which I had absolutely no precedent.
The only images of Africa that I had seen, some of which admittedly came from a biased and/or narrow perspective, were the ones I read in books, saw on the nightly news, or heard from past Dickinson groups. Realistically however, I knew that nothing could prepare me for this next phase of my life. As much as my subconscious struggled to paint a mental picture of my soon-to-be home, the more expectations were built up, the bigger the chance I would be disappointed in some way. Therefore, I pushed any preconceived notions out of my head, and forced myself to wait patiently for the inevitable. While the months, weeks, and days leading up to departure seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace, the minute we stepped off the plane in Yaoundé, my first encounter with Cameroon was already smacking me in the face.
I try not to generalize about Africa, a continent where assumptions and simplifications have brought about generations of discrimination and harm, yet Africa’s infamous heat is no exaggeration. During our flight from Paris to Yaoundé, I remember getting up to use the bathroom and looking out the side window to see the cracked, orange-brown clay landscape of the Sahara Desert, baking eternally in the tropical sun. Though we were 30,000 feet up, it was almost as if I could feel the African heat seeping slowly into my veins, preparing me for my very warm welcome. The airplane touched down just as dusk was approaching. The door slid open, and instantly I felt myself begin to sweat. The sun was warm and moist against my skin, its rays direct and intense even as it was preparing to set. The smell of the lush foliage surrounding the runway hung heavy in the air, accentuated by the heat. Darkness had descended by the time we had assembled all our bags, though the moonlit night brought only a slight relief from the foreign tropical atmosphere. We quickly accepted that we could wish for no such respite, so what could have been a stifling oppressor to our melanin-poor skin, instead has become our ever-present companion, for better or for worse. While the Cameroonian sun will remain a constant throughout our experience, a whole new set of more skill-based adaptation would ensue upon meeting our host families.
On coming to Cameroon, I was well aware that I would not have access to many of the western amenities that has made all of our lives in the United States so comfortable. Being the person that I am, I tried to convince myself that, if Cameroonians can go through will all of it, then there is no reason why I cannot learn myself. Cheers for solidarity, right? Well, as much as I believe wholeheartedly in that, and I am here to test myself and declare my independence from Western luxury, I really miss my washing machine. After a few days of meekly requesting in broken French for instruction on how to faire mon linge, my host brother Franklin finally agreed to help. Walking out back, Franklin instructed me to fill two large plastic tubs, each with jagged chunks missing from the sides, half way up with water, and carry them to the middle of the raised courtyard. This I did dutifully, despite the fact that a quarter of the water had splashed out the damaged sides by the time I had traveled the 15 yards to my destination. Ensuite, I went across the street to buy a packet of Omo detergent and, grabbing my new cube of Azur soap, I was set to scrub. Or so I thought.
I sat and observed as Franklin emptied the packet of Omo into the larger tub and stirred it up. Grabbing a red t-shirt of mine, he dunked it in the translucent, milky water, then took it back out and applied the soap. Scrubbing it over the collar, chest and sleeves, he turned it around and did the same to the back. Next came the step that continues to confuse me, something I like to call (not quite affectionately) “knuckle boarding.” It consists of gripping the fabric of said piece of clothing in both your hands in just the right manner, and in two or three swift motions, gliding that section across the top of you knuckles with a satisfying squish, squash. Franklin tried over and over to teach me the precise way in which to grip and scrub against the tops of my fingers, yet the only sound I was able to create was a disappointing pffft, if that. More often than not, I would only hear the dull thud of my knuckles slamming together, and be greeted with just as many soap suds as before the collision. Needless to say, it was a defeating experience, though I could not have expected too much more of myself. While I did not turn out to be a hand laundry prodigy, and I still struggle each time I run out of clothes, there is something slightly satisfying about being able to complete even the most basic of tasks as most people in Cameroon have to do it. Even though my knuckles will be sore, and my clothes will remain slightly less clean, I’ll chalk it up to Cameroonian solidarity, because it is one of the few common experiences I can share with Cameroonians. There are others however, such as the clutches of corruption and poverty that no amount of solidarity can equal.
February 11 was Fête de la Jeunesse, or Youth Day. A national holiday in Cameroon, it is meant to celebrate the young people of Cameroon, which I believe constitutes a very large percentage of the country. It is a day of pride and hope, a day of parades, pomp and circumstance, but the real question is, what for? The night before, President Paul Biya gave his second of two annual speeches to the nation (the first comes at New Years) for the occasion of Fête de la Jeunesse. Sitting in my living room as the speech began, I listened to Biya’s grand gestures of rapidly improving education systems and a “nearing” democracy, with the ironic pledge to address the problems of corruption within the civil servants and government. As I sat on the couch, trying to understand his slow, gravely voice on the television, everyone else in the room has fallen asleep. When my host brother waved his hands in front of their face without them flinching, I nearly keeled over laughing. Yet, the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Youth Day is supposed to inspire the youth of the country to take hold of their lives and make their country a better place, yet it is no coincidence that most of the ministers and the higher-ups in Cameroon’s government are all in their 60s, 70s, even 80s. In a government controlled by old cronies from the pre-Independence era, what hope do even the most motivated youth have in making a difference? Biya may have been promising to end the issues plaguing Cameroon, but judging by my host family’s reaction, his words were falling on deaf and tired ears.
Elaborating on how deep the corruption and ineffective governance goes, one need look no further than about 100 yards up the street from us. As you travel along the streets of our quartier, the architecture is usually constructed of wood and/or concrete, and raise no more than two stories high. While many of these establishments and/or homes has its own character and charm, the individual designs flow, jaggedly at times, from neighbor to neighbor. These two houses, on the other hand, or shall I say mansions, stick out like sore, gray, gargantuan thumbs. Yet what is most interesting about the pair, self-dubbed Biggie and Smalls, is that they stand as simply a shell of what they could have been. Completely without windows or wall paneling of any sort, they suggest the appearance of having been bombed out, only to have survived in miraculous order. Built in a grandiose French Colonial style, Biggie in particular looms over you like a grim reminder, which is exactly what they both are. I recently learned from my host father that the Secretary General of Cameroon back in the mid-1980s built those buildings, more than likely with public funds. Now apparently, this whole stealing from public funds thing was kept pretty hush-hush within government circles, but once you decide to run for President, you ‘mysteriously’ get revealed to the authorities and thrown in jail. It is most likely for the best if this guy was taking public money to build his Cameroonian McMansions, but what I have trouble understanding is why haven’t these huge empty spaces not been utilized for public housing or offices? What has stopped the city for almost 30 years from making a profit out of such a large empty space? Does the former Secretary General still have one foot in the door from behind bars? Not only do these buildings house the legacy of a multi-story corruption, but all that is left is a wound without the opportunity to heal properly and effectively. There are many such structures throughout the city, many presumably with similar stories, yet none of function as anything more than unofficial housing for squatters. I cannot claim to understand how deep the frustration goes for many Cameroonians at such blatant displays of mismanagement and corruption, of which many others abound. As I have heard Cameroonians say, their relationship with the government is that of the yam and the knife: The people are the yam and the government is the knife, which cuts right through the yam wherever it pleases, without consideration to whom the slices are distributed.
While my heart goes out to the many Cameroonians who are helpless against the self-serving blade of their government, there are other aspects of Cameroonian society that I have a harder time finding sympathy for, particularly their views on gender and sexuality. Granted, I’ve always considered myself a “gender progressive” in the States, having gone so far as to create an organization on campus last semester, called Step Up!, which seeks not only to address the serious issues of sexual assault, but also attempts to cultivate a more positive image of masculinity through increased dialogue and understanding between the sexes. While this might provide some context as to my aggravation with the gender roles in Cameroon, I do not wish to be written off as some radical, for I firmly believe that equality between the genders, in every respect, is not simply a privilege offered by Western societies, but a basic human right that is all too often violated, even in the West. Therefore, one can understand why our experiences surrounding Fête de les Femmes would have been troubling.
International Women’s Day is portrayed as a day of celebrating women in everything that they do. Many women, at least those that can afford it, make elaborate dresses with the beautiful tissue specially designed for the day, and there is a parade and festivities all over the city. Sounds all well and good, right? Well, let’s now consider that, unlike National Youth Day, International Women’s Day is not a national holiday, so women are not guaranteed a day off from their work, and none of the young girls can get out of school to watch their mothers march in the parade. Furthermore, the male population views the day literally, as purely women’s day, where men do not have a place in the celebrations. There are three men in the study abroad group, and two of us had either just a shirt or an entire outfit made for the occasion. Personally, I loved the way my shirt turned out, and on March 8 I wore it with pride. However, from the minute I walked outside, men outright laughed at me, asked if I was a woman, and told me that it was ridiculous that I was wearing the fabric at all. While I was able to ignore the taunts and jabs for the most part, inside I was fuming; what happened to that famous Cameroonian solidarity? The holiday is already enough of a sham, designed to disguise the ugly truth that women are essentially disenfranchised and without rights in Cameroon, so where is the harm in, if only for one measly day, showing those who raise your kids, clean your house, cook your food, and sell your crops a little support? When I was standing in the middle of town, watching as the parade went by, out of all the men who had come down to watch in subtle silence, I saw ten, TEN men who were openly sporting their Women’s Day outfits, with whom we exchanged rousing cheers as we passed. Yet why so few? Are they afraid of being confused for women? Of being ‘women-lovers’ in more than the physical sense? Of being called, God forbid, gay? These questions provide the link to my next severe struggle: Cameroonian views on sexuality.
Before we arrived in Cameroon, we were under no misconceptions about the status of homosexuality in Cameroon, being best described as culturally illegal. Though there certainly is rampant homophobia and heated debates, particularly around gay marriage, in the States, I was not prepared for just how ingrained the insensitivity was. This was most evident on the first day of our Women and Gender Studies course. Our professor, who had lived and taught in the United States for over 20 years, went through the syllabus with us (which did not treat any questions about ‘alternative’ sexuality within Cameroon) and when she came to the end, she asked if we had any questions. Instantly, half the class’ hands shot up, and with well-prepared efficiency, politely demanded why there would be no investigation of Cameroonian homosexuality. “It’s just not talked about,” was her first answer, but that would not suffice. As we continued to prod her about why homosexuality was considered so taboo in Cameroon, it became more and more obvious that, despite living in the United States for so long, and teaching a course on Women and Gender, she knew absolutely nothing about homosexuality beyond stereotypes. She even claimed that, in every male homosexual relationship, one partner is always the more flamboyant one (which she indicated by bending her wrist and giggling like a over-excited child). I swear, I nearly snapped. Though I am a straight man, issues of social justice are incredibly close to my heart, and if an otherwise educated, experienced woman cannot go beyond false cultural assumptions, my heart sank like a lead block. It is hard enough hearing from some of my Cameroonian friends and peers that “gays are Satin’s children, waiting to convert the masses to their sinful way of life,” or, “homosexuality is the white man’s disease, and we will resist acceptance of it for as long as we can.” These, however reluctantly, I can forgive on account of ignorance and lack of exposure. However, as much as I am learning about the gender politics of Cameroon in that class, I continue to be severely disappointed in my professor, and am still having trouble reconciling her intelligence with her complete lack of sensitivity. However, as with everything else, I must take it as a learning experience, with the knowledge that, while I will never back down on my beliefs about gender and sexuality, the mere fact that I come from America will always change my cultural perspective. In fact, being from American changes everything here, and encourages what is becoming the greatest identity crisis of my life.
Living in Yaoundé as an American college student, there seems to be at least three “Americas” that I’ve indentified thus far. The first is the far away, distant land that many of the Cameroonians I have talked to have never visited, but still feel like they know. In their mind, it is the land of milk and honey; a place where no one suffers, where everyone is rich, and, thanks to the last presidential election, racial tension no longer exist. In their America, everyone looks like Brad Pitt and drives a fancy Jaguar to the mall every weekend to splurge on clothes and jewelry. In other words, it is the America of the popular media, which is only fair because many Americans believe all of Africa consists of starving babies with protruding stomachs, bloody wars and big animals. That doesn’t make either of them right, but it is a understandable misconception.
Next, there is the America that represents our country’s foreign policy and business ventures in countries like Cameroon. This view of America, oftentimes conveniently lumped in with “The West” is a view propagated most by the educated people in the previous generation; those who witnessed the swirl of excitement in Africa around Independence, only to see their same colonial masters, as well as rapidly industrializing powers like the United States use their capital to become neo-colonists, under the guise of globalization. This is a view that, even as a proud American, I fully accept, despite how shameful it makes my country look. There is no question that American and other European powers have continued not only to exploit Africa’s resources through business ventures, but have remained actively involved in propping up dangerous dictators in order to ensure their investments. As a student of history, there is no way I or can dispute these charges against America; no way to excuse the crimes of the world’s wealthy minority’s imposition on the impoverished majority, and nor do I particularly wish to. As I said, I am proud to call myself American, particularly after the last election, but my glasses do not have rose-colored lenses; I seek to see clearly, for in the humanitarian career path I hope to pursue, denial and excuses will change nothing.
Finally, there is my America. Rather, just America, because my country, as many people here have trouble realizing, is very difficult to put in a box. The America I know and, for all of its faults love, is an incredibly diverse place in every way possible. My America doesn’t consist of having huge wads of cash in my pocket at all times, of relaxing on the beach or running off to New York City for another big weekend. To be fair, that America does exist for a small minority of people, though as I stated above, most of what people here associate with America derives from our lucrative and booming film and pop culture industries, and is not a reality for the average American. That is not to say, however, that America is not the land of opportunity, which remains one of its most redeeming characteristics, in my opinion. I would not say that I grew up particularly rich, but with both my parents working in higher education in one capacity or another for most of my life, I’ve always been comfortable, something I’m very blessed to admit. Having already been in Cameroon for nearly two months, I can feel great shifts developing in the way I view myself and my country, and the responsibility I have to balance my natural born privilege with doing my best to paint the picture of real America, not one that sounds to me like a foreign country in and of itself.
Therein lies the struggle for my identity: the attempt to convert my white male guilt, which I’ve burdened myself with for quite some time and which has had every opportunity for accentuation since being in Cameroon, into gratitude. I must learn to use what I’ve been blessed with in life to give back to those less fortunate, because feeling guilty for something I cannot control is pointless, and will inhibit my potential. These ordeals, both internal and external, are precisely the reason why I came to Cameroon in the first place, for how can you appreciate and gain from life lessons if they come without a struggle?
Hope you enjoy it!!
------
Andrew Verrier
Professor Mutia
Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing
16 March 2010
The Value of Struggling
My life philosophy, as well as my view on spirituality to a certain extent, is that life is a series of lessons: you can choose to ignore them, and thereby ignore growth, or embrace them and, despite their difficulty, continue to improve yourself. In Cameroon, those invaluable lessons are taught through the interplay of emotional, physical and intellectual struggle, and how they continue to shape my life each day. The following essay seeks to highlight four of what I consider to be the most difficult aspects of Cameroonian life that I have had to adapt to, and how they are changing me even as I write.
. The months leading up to our Cameroon excursion were une melange of anxiety and excitement for me. I’ve lived in the United States my entire life, and while I’ve been lucky enough to see a considerable amount of my country, my experiences abroad have been somewhat limited. When I was about to turn 16, my family departed for the relatively safe Western Euro-tour for three weeks, hitting the “must-see” spots between the Netherlands, Belgium, France, and Germany. Now make no mistake, I had a wonderful time in Europe, and I hope to travel more extensively in “the North” (as it is known here) someday. While my time in Europe was unforgettable, and had a lasting effect on me, besides the language barriers, Europe felt more familiar than different; if I didn’t open my mouth, no matter where I went, I could have blended in without much trouble. However, having to make the switch from the American to the Cameroonian lifestyle was an experience for which I had absolutely no precedent.
The only images of Africa that I had seen, some of which admittedly came from a biased and/or narrow perspective, were the ones I read in books, saw on the nightly news, or heard from past Dickinson groups. Realistically however, I knew that nothing could prepare me for this next phase of my life. As much as my subconscious struggled to paint a mental picture of my soon-to-be home, the more expectations were built up, the bigger the chance I would be disappointed in some way. Therefore, I pushed any preconceived notions out of my head, and forced myself to wait patiently for the inevitable. While the months, weeks, and days leading up to departure seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace, the minute we stepped off the plane in Yaoundé, my first encounter with Cameroon was already smacking me in the face.
I try not to generalize about Africa, a continent where assumptions and simplifications have brought about generations of discrimination and harm, yet Africa’s infamous heat is no exaggeration. During our flight from Paris to Yaoundé, I remember getting up to use the bathroom and looking out the side window to see the cracked, orange-brown clay landscape of the Sahara Desert, baking eternally in the tropical sun. Though we were 30,000 feet up, it was almost as if I could feel the African heat seeping slowly into my veins, preparing me for my very warm welcome. The airplane touched down just as dusk was approaching. The door slid open, and instantly I felt myself begin to sweat. The sun was warm and moist against my skin, its rays direct and intense even as it was preparing to set. The smell of the lush foliage surrounding the runway hung heavy in the air, accentuated by the heat. Darkness had descended by the time we had assembled all our bags, though the moonlit night brought only a slight relief from the foreign tropical atmosphere. We quickly accepted that we could wish for no such respite, so what could have been a stifling oppressor to our melanin-poor skin, instead has become our ever-present companion, for better or for worse. While the Cameroonian sun will remain a constant throughout our experience, a whole new set of more skill-based adaptation would ensue upon meeting our host families.
On coming to Cameroon, I was well aware that I would not have access to many of the western amenities that has made all of our lives in the United States so comfortable. Being the person that I am, I tried to convince myself that, if Cameroonians can go through will all of it, then there is no reason why I cannot learn myself. Cheers for solidarity, right? Well, as much as I believe wholeheartedly in that, and I am here to test myself and declare my independence from Western luxury, I really miss my washing machine. After a few days of meekly requesting in broken French for instruction on how to faire mon linge, my host brother Franklin finally agreed to help. Walking out back, Franklin instructed me to fill two large plastic tubs, each with jagged chunks missing from the sides, half way up with water, and carry them to the middle of the raised courtyard. This I did dutifully, despite the fact that a quarter of the water had splashed out the damaged sides by the time I had traveled the 15 yards to my destination. Ensuite, I went across the street to buy a packet of Omo detergent and, grabbing my new cube of Azur soap, I was set to scrub. Or so I thought.
I sat and observed as Franklin emptied the packet of Omo into the larger tub and stirred it up. Grabbing a red t-shirt of mine, he dunked it in the translucent, milky water, then took it back out and applied the soap. Scrubbing it over the collar, chest and sleeves, he turned it around and did the same to the back. Next came the step that continues to confuse me, something I like to call (not quite affectionately) “knuckle boarding.” It consists of gripping the fabric of said piece of clothing in both your hands in just the right manner, and in two or three swift motions, gliding that section across the top of you knuckles with a satisfying squish, squash. Franklin tried over and over to teach me the precise way in which to grip and scrub against the tops of my fingers, yet the only sound I was able to create was a disappointing pffft, if that. More often than not, I would only hear the dull thud of my knuckles slamming together, and be greeted with just as many soap suds as before the collision. Needless to say, it was a defeating experience, though I could not have expected too much more of myself. While I did not turn out to be a hand laundry prodigy, and I still struggle each time I run out of clothes, there is something slightly satisfying about being able to complete even the most basic of tasks as most people in Cameroon have to do it. Even though my knuckles will be sore, and my clothes will remain slightly less clean, I’ll chalk it up to Cameroonian solidarity, because it is one of the few common experiences I can share with Cameroonians. There are others however, such as the clutches of corruption and poverty that no amount of solidarity can equal.
February 11 was Fête de la Jeunesse, or Youth Day. A national holiday in Cameroon, it is meant to celebrate the young people of Cameroon, which I believe constitutes a very large percentage of the country. It is a day of pride and hope, a day of parades, pomp and circumstance, but the real question is, what for? The night before, President Paul Biya gave his second of two annual speeches to the nation (the first comes at New Years) for the occasion of Fête de la Jeunesse. Sitting in my living room as the speech began, I listened to Biya’s grand gestures of rapidly improving education systems and a “nearing” democracy, with the ironic pledge to address the problems of corruption within the civil servants and government. As I sat on the couch, trying to understand his slow, gravely voice on the television, everyone else in the room has fallen asleep. When my host brother waved his hands in front of their face without them flinching, I nearly keeled over laughing. Yet, the more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Youth Day is supposed to inspire the youth of the country to take hold of their lives and make their country a better place, yet it is no coincidence that most of the ministers and the higher-ups in Cameroon’s government are all in their 60s, 70s, even 80s. In a government controlled by old cronies from the pre-Independence era, what hope do even the most motivated youth have in making a difference? Biya may have been promising to end the issues plaguing Cameroon, but judging by my host family’s reaction, his words were falling on deaf and tired ears.
Elaborating on how deep the corruption and ineffective governance goes, one need look no further than about 100 yards up the street from us. As you travel along the streets of our quartier, the architecture is usually constructed of wood and/or concrete, and raise no more than two stories high. While many of these establishments and/or homes has its own character and charm, the individual designs flow, jaggedly at times, from neighbor to neighbor. These two houses, on the other hand, or shall I say mansions, stick out like sore, gray, gargantuan thumbs. Yet what is most interesting about the pair, self-dubbed Biggie and Smalls, is that they stand as simply a shell of what they could have been. Completely without windows or wall paneling of any sort, they suggest the appearance of having been bombed out, only to have survived in miraculous order. Built in a grandiose French Colonial style, Biggie in particular looms over you like a grim reminder, which is exactly what they both are. I recently learned from my host father that the Secretary General of Cameroon back in the mid-1980s built those buildings, more than likely with public funds. Now apparently, this whole stealing from public funds thing was kept pretty hush-hush within government circles, but once you decide to run for President, you ‘mysteriously’ get revealed to the authorities and thrown in jail. It is most likely for the best if this guy was taking public money to build his Cameroonian McMansions, but what I have trouble understanding is why haven’t these huge empty spaces not been utilized for public housing or offices? What has stopped the city for almost 30 years from making a profit out of such a large empty space? Does the former Secretary General still have one foot in the door from behind bars? Not only do these buildings house the legacy of a multi-story corruption, but all that is left is a wound without the opportunity to heal properly and effectively. There are many such structures throughout the city, many presumably with similar stories, yet none of function as anything more than unofficial housing for squatters. I cannot claim to understand how deep the frustration goes for many Cameroonians at such blatant displays of mismanagement and corruption, of which many others abound. As I have heard Cameroonians say, their relationship with the government is that of the yam and the knife: The people are the yam and the government is the knife, which cuts right through the yam wherever it pleases, without consideration to whom the slices are distributed.
While my heart goes out to the many Cameroonians who are helpless against the self-serving blade of their government, there are other aspects of Cameroonian society that I have a harder time finding sympathy for, particularly their views on gender and sexuality. Granted, I’ve always considered myself a “gender progressive” in the States, having gone so far as to create an organization on campus last semester, called Step Up!, which seeks not only to address the serious issues of sexual assault, but also attempts to cultivate a more positive image of masculinity through increased dialogue and understanding between the sexes. While this might provide some context as to my aggravation with the gender roles in Cameroon, I do not wish to be written off as some radical, for I firmly believe that equality between the genders, in every respect, is not simply a privilege offered by Western societies, but a basic human right that is all too often violated, even in the West. Therefore, one can understand why our experiences surrounding Fête de les Femmes would have been troubling.
International Women’s Day is portrayed as a day of celebrating women in everything that they do. Many women, at least those that can afford it, make elaborate dresses with the beautiful tissue specially designed for the day, and there is a parade and festivities all over the city. Sounds all well and good, right? Well, let’s now consider that, unlike National Youth Day, International Women’s Day is not a national holiday, so women are not guaranteed a day off from their work, and none of the young girls can get out of school to watch their mothers march in the parade. Furthermore, the male population views the day literally, as purely women’s day, where men do not have a place in the celebrations. There are three men in the study abroad group, and two of us had either just a shirt or an entire outfit made for the occasion. Personally, I loved the way my shirt turned out, and on March 8 I wore it with pride. However, from the minute I walked outside, men outright laughed at me, asked if I was a woman, and told me that it was ridiculous that I was wearing the fabric at all. While I was able to ignore the taunts and jabs for the most part, inside I was fuming; what happened to that famous Cameroonian solidarity? The holiday is already enough of a sham, designed to disguise the ugly truth that women are essentially disenfranchised and without rights in Cameroon, so where is the harm in, if only for one measly day, showing those who raise your kids, clean your house, cook your food, and sell your crops a little support? When I was standing in the middle of town, watching as the parade went by, out of all the men who had come down to watch in subtle silence, I saw ten, TEN men who were openly sporting their Women’s Day outfits, with whom we exchanged rousing cheers as we passed. Yet why so few? Are they afraid of being confused for women? Of being ‘women-lovers’ in more than the physical sense? Of being called, God forbid, gay? These questions provide the link to my next severe struggle: Cameroonian views on sexuality.
Before we arrived in Cameroon, we were under no misconceptions about the status of homosexuality in Cameroon, being best described as culturally illegal. Though there certainly is rampant homophobia and heated debates, particularly around gay marriage, in the States, I was not prepared for just how ingrained the insensitivity was. This was most evident on the first day of our Women and Gender Studies course. Our professor, who had lived and taught in the United States for over 20 years, went through the syllabus with us (which did not treat any questions about ‘alternative’ sexuality within Cameroon) and when she came to the end, she asked if we had any questions. Instantly, half the class’ hands shot up, and with well-prepared efficiency, politely demanded why there would be no investigation of Cameroonian homosexuality. “It’s just not talked about,” was her first answer, but that would not suffice. As we continued to prod her about why homosexuality was considered so taboo in Cameroon, it became more and more obvious that, despite living in the United States for so long, and teaching a course on Women and Gender, she knew absolutely nothing about homosexuality beyond stereotypes. She even claimed that, in every male homosexual relationship, one partner is always the more flamboyant one (which she indicated by bending her wrist and giggling like a over-excited child). I swear, I nearly snapped. Though I am a straight man, issues of social justice are incredibly close to my heart, and if an otherwise educated, experienced woman cannot go beyond false cultural assumptions, my heart sank like a lead block. It is hard enough hearing from some of my Cameroonian friends and peers that “gays are Satin’s children, waiting to convert the masses to their sinful way of life,” or, “homosexuality is the white man’s disease, and we will resist acceptance of it for as long as we can.” These, however reluctantly, I can forgive on account of ignorance and lack of exposure. However, as much as I am learning about the gender politics of Cameroon in that class, I continue to be severely disappointed in my professor, and am still having trouble reconciling her intelligence with her complete lack of sensitivity. However, as with everything else, I must take it as a learning experience, with the knowledge that, while I will never back down on my beliefs about gender and sexuality, the mere fact that I come from America will always change my cultural perspective. In fact, being from American changes everything here, and encourages what is becoming the greatest identity crisis of my life.
Living in Yaoundé as an American college student, there seems to be at least three “Americas” that I’ve indentified thus far. The first is the far away, distant land that many of the Cameroonians I have talked to have never visited, but still feel like they know. In their mind, it is the land of milk and honey; a place where no one suffers, where everyone is rich, and, thanks to the last presidential election, racial tension no longer exist. In their America, everyone looks like Brad Pitt and drives a fancy Jaguar to the mall every weekend to splurge on clothes and jewelry. In other words, it is the America of the popular media, which is only fair because many Americans believe all of Africa consists of starving babies with protruding stomachs, bloody wars and big animals. That doesn’t make either of them right, but it is a understandable misconception.
Next, there is the America that represents our country’s foreign policy and business ventures in countries like Cameroon. This view of America, oftentimes conveniently lumped in with “The West” is a view propagated most by the educated people in the previous generation; those who witnessed the swirl of excitement in Africa around Independence, only to see their same colonial masters, as well as rapidly industrializing powers like the United States use their capital to become neo-colonists, under the guise of globalization. This is a view that, even as a proud American, I fully accept, despite how shameful it makes my country look. There is no question that American and other European powers have continued not only to exploit Africa’s resources through business ventures, but have remained actively involved in propping up dangerous dictators in order to ensure their investments. As a student of history, there is no way I or can dispute these charges against America; no way to excuse the crimes of the world’s wealthy minority’s imposition on the impoverished majority, and nor do I particularly wish to. As I said, I am proud to call myself American, particularly after the last election, but my glasses do not have rose-colored lenses; I seek to see clearly, for in the humanitarian career path I hope to pursue, denial and excuses will change nothing.
Finally, there is my America. Rather, just America, because my country, as many people here have trouble realizing, is very difficult to put in a box. The America I know and, for all of its faults love, is an incredibly diverse place in every way possible. My America doesn’t consist of having huge wads of cash in my pocket at all times, of relaxing on the beach or running off to New York City for another big weekend. To be fair, that America does exist for a small minority of people, though as I stated above, most of what people here associate with America derives from our lucrative and booming film and pop culture industries, and is not a reality for the average American. That is not to say, however, that America is not the land of opportunity, which remains one of its most redeeming characteristics, in my opinion. I would not say that I grew up particularly rich, but with both my parents working in higher education in one capacity or another for most of my life, I’ve always been comfortable, something I’m very blessed to admit. Having already been in Cameroon for nearly two months, I can feel great shifts developing in the way I view myself and my country, and the responsibility I have to balance my natural born privilege with doing my best to paint the picture of real America, not one that sounds to me like a foreign country in and of itself.
Therein lies the struggle for my identity: the attempt to convert my white male guilt, which I’ve burdened myself with for quite some time and which has had every opportunity for accentuation since being in Cameroon, into gratitude. I must learn to use what I’ve been blessed with in life to give back to those less fortunate, because feeling guilty for something I cannot control is pointless, and will inhibit my potential. These ordeals, both internal and external, are precisely the reason why I came to Cameroon in the first place, for how can you appreciate and gain from life lessons if they come without a struggle?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
A run down so far
Hey everyone,
Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I meant to post this a little while back, but I didn't get around to it. It is just a short little list of things about Cameroon that strike me.
Considering we just got back from our Spring Break excursion to the Extreme North, I have a lot to write about, but it was such a mind blowing experience, I need a little more time to collect my thoughts. However, expect it hopefully within the next week or so.
Enjoy!
Andrew
- What drove me to come to Cameroon?
-Desire to see the opposite of what I had growing up
-Desire to find connections and common ground with people here.
-Desire to understand the social injustices that have been forced on Africa as a continent, and Cameroon as a country.
-To reaffirm my knowledge that Africa isn't a hopeless continent.
-To understand, appreciate, and learn to use my natural-born privilege for the greater good.
-To test myself and grow exponentially
What pushes me to write:
-The desire to eternalize my experiences, seeing as it will be one of the most important experiences of my life until now.
-To flesh out the daily dose of overwhelming emotions which I am confronted with.
-Because I may want to pursue a career in foreign journalism at one point or another, and here it is good practice.
What I've learned so far
-The three Americas
-The value of not being more than a tourist
-My deep-seated humanitarian desires and sufferings
-What real corruption is, and the many different sources of that corruption, both foreign and domestic
-How to deal with being a walking zoo
- The value of patience
-The ability to internalize a single moment
What I love about Cameroon and Cameroonians:
-The strength of the women here, despite their endless social oppression
-The ability to laugh, sing and dance, even when things are bad
-The cooking...OH the cooking!
-The dignity of even the poorest and most destitute of people
-The concept of family here
What I struggle with here:
-The ideas about gender and sexual roles
-The false assumptions about me because I am American
- What it means to live in a dictatorship, especially when we come from the "transparent" American democracy
-the depth of injustice
Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I meant to post this a little while back, but I didn't get around to it. It is just a short little list of things about Cameroon that strike me.
Considering we just got back from our Spring Break excursion to the Extreme North, I have a lot to write about, but it was such a mind blowing experience, I need a little more time to collect my thoughts. However, expect it hopefully within the next week or so.
Enjoy!
Andrew
- What drove me to come to Cameroon?
-Desire to see the opposite of what I had growing up
-Desire to find connections and common ground with people here.
-Desire to understand the social injustices that have been forced on Africa as a continent, and Cameroon as a country.
-To reaffirm my knowledge that Africa isn't a hopeless continent.
-To understand, appreciate, and learn to use my natural-born privilege for the greater good.
-To test myself and grow exponentially
What pushes me to write:
-The desire to eternalize my experiences, seeing as it will be one of the most important experiences of my life until now.
-To flesh out the daily dose of overwhelming emotions which I am confronted with.
-Because I may want to pursue a career in foreign journalism at one point or another, and here it is good practice.
What I've learned so far
-The three Americas
-The value of not being more than a tourist
-My deep-seated humanitarian desires and sufferings
-What real corruption is, and the many different sources of that corruption, both foreign and domestic
-How to deal with being a walking zoo
- The value of patience
-The ability to internalize a single moment
What I love about Cameroon and Cameroonians:
-The strength of the women here, despite their endless social oppression
-The ability to laugh, sing and dance, even when things are bad
-The cooking...OH the cooking!
-The dignity of even the poorest and most destitute of people
-The concept of family here
What I struggle with here:
-The ideas about gender and sexual roles
-The false assumptions about me because I am American
- What it means to live in a dictatorship, especially when we come from the "transparent" American democracy
-the depth of injustice
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Heal The World
So it has been a while since I last posted, and much has happened in that time. I'll give you a particularly memorable snippet. This past Saturday, a few of the people in the group and myself went to this barbecue/open-air concert that Mr. Teku's personal assistant/friend of the program Elité's brother, Jackson, was helping to run. We arrived at around 9:00 to find about 50 chairs set up, as well as a whole band ready to play, complete with drums, guitar and bass, microphones, and a computer for extra sound effects. Pretty freaking cool. So just as the band was preparing to perform (and the food was about to be served), the sky opened up and we had to rush all the equipment and chairs inside to wait out the storm. It would have been much more frustrating had it not been for the wine/whiskey we were given, as well as Jackson's willingness to play Bob Marley songs on his guitar while we attempted to sing along. It was all well and good, and I was having a great time, and then the rain stopped. We went back outside, put the chairs back, and they got the concert under way. Just as I was finishing up my food, Jackson got on the microphone and called Eric and I up to the front to sing No Woman No Cry. At first we thought he was kidding, but turns out he was absolutely serious! I have to admit, it was a pretty surreal feeling to be singing, in a group of altogether five people on two mics, one of my favorite songs of all time, and having the entire audience sing along encouragingly. And, what's better is that Grace got it all on video, so look forward to that in July!!! However, the night got better, for as soon as we sat down, we were standing right back up with the entire crowd singing along to Michael Jackson's We Are The World. There was something so magical and wonderfully fitting to that whole experience. I can hardly describe the connection we all felt to everyone there as we high-fived, thumbed up, and cheered on perfect strangers joining together like that. When it was all over, Jackson put his hand in the air and said "Pour Haiti," which warmed my heart even more. That whole night was one of the best I've had in country yet, and I am so thankful to have met everyone I did that night.
So a few days have passed since then, and we are all preparing for our huge trip up to the Far North, which begins saturday. Needless to say, we are all PUMPED for it, despite how wary we are of the 105+ temperatures which awaits us. The area of the country we are going is predominantly Muslim, with a very different landscape and culture than down in the tropical areas where we've been so far. Scheduled activities include visiting Waza Wildlife Reserve where we will go on Safari, taking a canoe in a lake with Hippos, and culminating at a natural rock formation along the Nigerian border in Rhumsiki (which you should Google if you haven't seen it already; it's amazing). It is always a favorite of the Dickinson group, so as long as we all stay well hydrated and apply much sunblock, I'm sure we'll have a blast.
In other news, I am now officially an editor of a book about the Civil War. Fittingly random, I guess. Today when I walked into my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing course, there was a white woman and a younger metisse man, who turned out to be her son, wearing a cowboy hat around his neck and a flashy horse belt buckle in our professors office. Once we sat down, the professor introduced us, saying that this woman, Annette, was originally from Germany, but had married a Cameroonian many years ago, and had opened up a horse farm nearby. She was a writer and a poet, but she did not speak very good English. Despite that, she had written an Youth book, in English, about the experiences of a family with slaves during the Civil War. However, because her English is not very good, she wanted someone to edit it and make sure that it was grammatically and structurally sound, at which time everyone's eyes in the room drifted right towards me. I was happy to take on the albeit very random project for her, despite the vast amount of work that needs to be done on the manuscript. But hey, it can't be a bad bit of experience for me, right? Plus, I'm getting paid for it, so I won't complain.
Well, I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I want to get some rest.
Take care everyone, and I hope all is well in your neck of the woods!
Yours truly,
Andrew
So a few days have passed since then, and we are all preparing for our huge trip up to the Far North, which begins saturday. Needless to say, we are all PUMPED for it, despite how wary we are of the 105+ temperatures which awaits us. The area of the country we are going is predominantly Muslim, with a very different landscape and culture than down in the tropical areas where we've been so far. Scheduled activities include visiting Waza Wildlife Reserve where we will go on Safari, taking a canoe in a lake with Hippos, and culminating at a natural rock formation along the Nigerian border in Rhumsiki (which you should Google if you haven't seen it already; it's amazing). It is always a favorite of the Dickinson group, so as long as we all stay well hydrated and apply much sunblock, I'm sure we'll have a blast.
In other news, I am now officially an editor of a book about the Civil War. Fittingly random, I guess. Today when I walked into my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing course, there was a white woman and a younger metisse man, who turned out to be her son, wearing a cowboy hat around his neck and a flashy horse belt buckle in our professors office. Once we sat down, the professor introduced us, saying that this woman, Annette, was originally from Germany, but had married a Cameroonian many years ago, and had opened up a horse farm nearby. She was a writer and a poet, but she did not speak very good English. Despite that, she had written an Youth book, in English, about the experiences of a family with slaves during the Civil War. However, because her English is not very good, she wanted someone to edit it and make sure that it was grammatically and structurally sound, at which time everyone's eyes in the room drifted right towards me. I was happy to take on the albeit very random project for her, despite the vast amount of work that needs to be done on the manuscript. But hey, it can't be a bad bit of experience for me, right? Plus, I'm getting paid for it, so I won't complain.
Well, I have to wake up early tomorrow, and I want to get some rest.
Take care everyone, and I hope all is well in your neck of the woods!
Yours truly,
Andrew
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Journée des Femmes
Bonjour Tout le Monde!
So, I've had a couple intense cultural days lately, particularly yesterday. March 8 is "International Womens' Day," a day of parades, beautiful fabric, and all-night partying for women. Sounds great, right? Let's put it this way instead: it is basically a weak band-aid; an invitation for women to forget, for just one day, that they basically have no rights in this country,and that they are just as oppressed as ever. It's similar in concept to the United States' "Black History Month": So what, we've got one month for black history (the shortest month, furthermore), and the other 11 months is all white history? Same shit.
People have asked me if we celebrate Womens' Day in the United States. Naturally, I always say no, explaining that, in my opinion, half the population shouldn't be relegated to celebrate who they are only one day a year; ideally, every day is Womens' Day (or more appropriated "People's Day") to which many Cameroonians scoffed, particularly the men. It is interesting: in our group, two out of the three guys (myself included), as well as all of the women, has clothes made for the day. However, when we got downtown, I counted, altogether, 10 other Cameroonian men who were sporting the clothing. TEN! The patriarchy here is so ingrained that men really believe that it is a day ONLY for women, and that they have no part in it, except to reinforce the original system once they get home from partying. There are even men who think it is a ridiculous holiday which only gives women the excuse to cheat on their husbands, which is altogether crazy. Even young boys would walk past me and Eli and yell "It's not Men's day! It's not Men's day!" There's just no gender sensitivity here, and it really gets to me sometimes.
Yesterday was an interesting day for me for other reasons. While we were downtown, we were walking through a crowd and I felt my camera slip out of my pants pocket by the strap. Without thinking, I turned around, spotted the person who I knew had to have taken my camera, spit a few lines of angry English swearwords at him, and he gave me back my camera. Little shit. Granted, I was very lucky not to have been successfully pick-pocketed, but it still kind of shook me up a bit.
However, the rest of the day and night were great! We had dance class from 7-8, but since it was raining really hard, we had to stay at the studio for another 45 minutes until I got fed up and got some people to come back to the apartment with me, where I had decided to stay the night, on account of the late hour. I just hung out with a few friends and joined in the festivities for a bit before I crashed. While I consider "International" Women's Day a bit of a sham holiday, it was pretty cool to see all those women out, dancing, and having a good time without a care in the world.
Well, I have to do some of my homework, believe it or not.
Until next time!
Andrew
So, I've had a couple intense cultural days lately, particularly yesterday. March 8 is "International Womens' Day," a day of parades, beautiful fabric, and all-night partying for women. Sounds great, right? Let's put it this way instead: it is basically a weak band-aid; an invitation for women to forget, for just one day, that they basically have no rights in this country,and that they are just as oppressed as ever. It's similar in concept to the United States' "Black History Month": So what, we've got one month for black history (the shortest month, furthermore), and the other 11 months is all white history? Same shit.
People have asked me if we celebrate Womens' Day in the United States. Naturally, I always say no, explaining that, in my opinion, half the population shouldn't be relegated to celebrate who they are only one day a year; ideally, every day is Womens' Day (or more appropriated "People's Day") to which many Cameroonians scoffed, particularly the men. It is interesting: in our group, two out of the three guys (myself included), as well as all of the women, has clothes made for the day. However, when we got downtown, I counted, altogether, 10 other Cameroonian men who were sporting the clothing. TEN! The patriarchy here is so ingrained that men really believe that it is a day ONLY for women, and that they have no part in it, except to reinforce the original system once they get home from partying. There are even men who think it is a ridiculous holiday which only gives women the excuse to cheat on their husbands, which is altogether crazy. Even young boys would walk past me and Eli and yell "It's not Men's day! It's not Men's day!" There's just no gender sensitivity here, and it really gets to me sometimes.
Yesterday was an interesting day for me for other reasons. While we were downtown, we were walking through a crowd and I felt my camera slip out of my pants pocket by the strap. Without thinking, I turned around, spotted the person who I knew had to have taken my camera, spit a few lines of angry English swearwords at him, and he gave me back my camera. Little shit. Granted, I was very lucky not to have been successfully pick-pocketed, but it still kind of shook me up a bit.
However, the rest of the day and night were great! We had dance class from 7-8, but since it was raining really hard, we had to stay at the studio for another 45 minutes until I got fed up and got some people to come back to the apartment with me, where I had decided to stay the night, on account of the late hour. I just hung out with a few friends and joined in the festivities for a bit before I crashed. While I consider "International" Women's Day a bit of a sham holiday, it was pretty cool to see all those women out, dancing, and having a good time without a care in the world.
Well, I have to do some of my homework, believe it or not.
Until next time!
Andrew
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Orality Class Response
I wanted to share with everyone my first reaction essay I wrote for my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing Course. I didn't expect us to share them today in class, but after I got fairly good reactions from the group, I don't feel as shy about it anymore, so here it is! Feel free to send feedback my way if you wish!
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Andrew Verrier
Orality and Landscape
Professor Mutia
2 March 2010
Everyone Has a Life
Since I was young, whenever we were in an airport or a crowded restaurant, my mom would lean over to me and whisper, “You know, Andrew, everybody has a life.” Being young and uninterested in such complicated concepts, my usual response was “yeah, yeah, Mom, I know,” rolling my eyes, and that was that. Nothing out of the ordinary for a child, I’m sure. Being young, it was easy, and easily forgivable, to put it out of my mind. Yet as I grew up, it was increasingly impossible for me to ignore that fundamental, humbling truth. In fact, in many ways, it was this timeless insight that drove me to choose Cameroon in the first place.
Therefore, our trip last Wednesday was exactly what I had been looking for: a window into the lives of everyday Cameroonians; a glimpse of how their experiences define the person they are today, just as we all have been shaped by the lives we’ve been given, simply by the miracle of birth. Obviously, owning a restaurant in the heart of Yaoundé and attending a top liberal arts school in the United States are two very different things, yet our interactions with these two amazing women served to reaffirm our common humanity.
Ever since arriving in Cameroon, the people that I’ve met have intrigued me to no end. Everyone from the professors, to the street vendors, and even the “charming” men who try tirelessly to woo the women in our group, they all have a story. I grew up being taught that, no matter how different someone might seem, you can always find something in common with anyone you meet. So, being in a place that is admittedly a world away from where I grew up, I have wanted the opportunity to affirm that assertion. And that’s exactly what I got last Wednesday. The first woman we met, Hortanse, owned a modestly decorated eating-house near Polytechnique (ironically contrasted by the tricked-out Hummer sitting outside.) A single mother of one daughter in secondary school, she moved from a village outside Bamenda to Yaoundé in 2002, hoping to gain a visa to the United States. Sadly however, her dreams fell through, as so many such requests do, so she decided to use her skills to rent some land and set up a small eatery in Yaoundé. However, just as business was becoming stable, the city decided to pave a road literally through the middle of the restaurant, effectively halving her business. What’s more difficult for me to stomach, she was not even compensated by the owner of the land, let alone the city, but she has kept subsisting and kept strong nonetheless. When we talked to her, despite her hardships her voice was not one of pitiful struggle, but one of strength through circumstances and character, and the dignity of having to live day to day just to support yourself and your family. No matter the cards you are dealt, the only choice you have is to continue on as best you can.
The same goes for the next woman we met, Edith Timbong (my spelling is most likely way off). While she was more successful, relatively, than Hortanse, she is the only person in her business who knows how to make all the dishes, do all the finances, which means that she needs to be at the job every day by 9 a.m. with materials for the days work. By the look of her restaurant, with its rotating fans and laminated menus, it is obvious that she does fairly well for herself and her family. However, as she readily admits, business “only works when you’re there,” leaving her intimately tied to her work, with little wiggle room for a life outside her job.
We only met with each of our subjects for, at most, 30 minutes. However, the window we received into their lives was invaluable, shedding light on two women who would otherwise have just been faces on the street to me. If I had the time and the agency to get just a little window into the life of everyone I met, I readily would, but even with our lives being run by “Africa Time,” there still isn’t enough hours in the day for that. However, I will always keep in mind that ultimate truth which my mother instilled in me so long ago.
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Andrew Verrier
Orality and Landscape
Professor Mutia
2 March 2010
Everyone Has a Life
Since I was young, whenever we were in an airport or a crowded restaurant, my mom would lean over to me and whisper, “You know, Andrew, everybody has a life.” Being young and uninterested in such complicated concepts, my usual response was “yeah, yeah, Mom, I know,” rolling my eyes, and that was that. Nothing out of the ordinary for a child, I’m sure. Being young, it was easy, and easily forgivable, to put it out of my mind. Yet as I grew up, it was increasingly impossible for me to ignore that fundamental, humbling truth. In fact, in many ways, it was this timeless insight that drove me to choose Cameroon in the first place.
Therefore, our trip last Wednesday was exactly what I had been looking for: a window into the lives of everyday Cameroonians; a glimpse of how their experiences define the person they are today, just as we all have been shaped by the lives we’ve been given, simply by the miracle of birth. Obviously, owning a restaurant in the heart of Yaoundé and attending a top liberal arts school in the United States are two very different things, yet our interactions with these two amazing women served to reaffirm our common humanity.
Ever since arriving in Cameroon, the people that I’ve met have intrigued me to no end. Everyone from the professors, to the street vendors, and even the “charming” men who try tirelessly to woo the women in our group, they all have a story. I grew up being taught that, no matter how different someone might seem, you can always find something in common with anyone you meet. So, being in a place that is admittedly a world away from where I grew up, I have wanted the opportunity to affirm that assertion. And that’s exactly what I got last Wednesday. The first woman we met, Hortanse, owned a modestly decorated eating-house near Polytechnique (ironically contrasted by the tricked-out Hummer sitting outside.) A single mother of one daughter in secondary school, she moved from a village outside Bamenda to Yaoundé in 2002, hoping to gain a visa to the United States. Sadly however, her dreams fell through, as so many such requests do, so she decided to use her skills to rent some land and set up a small eatery in Yaoundé. However, just as business was becoming stable, the city decided to pave a road literally through the middle of the restaurant, effectively halving her business. What’s more difficult for me to stomach, she was not even compensated by the owner of the land, let alone the city, but she has kept subsisting and kept strong nonetheless. When we talked to her, despite her hardships her voice was not one of pitiful struggle, but one of strength through circumstances and character, and the dignity of having to live day to day just to support yourself and your family. No matter the cards you are dealt, the only choice you have is to continue on as best you can.
The same goes for the next woman we met, Edith Timbong (my spelling is most likely way off). While she was more successful, relatively, than Hortanse, she is the only person in her business who knows how to make all the dishes, do all the finances, which means that she needs to be at the job every day by 9 a.m. with materials for the days work. By the look of her restaurant, with its rotating fans and laminated menus, it is obvious that she does fairly well for herself and her family. However, as she readily admits, business “only works when you’re there,” leaving her intimately tied to her work, with little wiggle room for a life outside her job.
We only met with each of our subjects for, at most, 30 minutes. However, the window we received into their lives was invaluable, shedding light on two women who would otherwise have just been faces on the street to me. If I had the time and the agency to get just a little window into the life of everyone I met, I readily would, but even with our lives being run by “Africa Time,” there still isn’t enough hours in the day for that. However, I will always keep in mind that ultimate truth which my mother instilled in me so long ago.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Limbe and More
Well, it certainly has been an eventful past week. This past friday, we left Yaoundé for Limbe, a coastal paradise in the Southwest region of the country. We stayed at the Holiday Inn Resort, which was pretty nice, at least by Cameroonian standards. It even had a pool, and swings! (which we took FULL advantage of!). The next day we woke up early and took drove to Buea (pronounced Boy-ya), a smaller town literally on the foot of Mount Cameroon, the 13,000 foot active volcano, the tallest in Western Africa. We met this amazing artist named Max Lyonga (I think that was his name, at least), who owns his own studio/shop in the shadow of the mountain. His work was gorgeous, though very expensive. It is something I am considering saving up for, however, because we want to come back to Limbe/Buea later on in the trip. The rest of the day was spent at the black sand Seme Beach, frolicking in the waves and trotting on horses up and down the side of the beach. It was, without doubt, the most beautiful place I've yet been in Cameroon, and I am looking foward to going back (and possibly climbing Mount Cameroon!)
In other news, it's been just about a month since we've been in Cameroon, and boy have things changed. First of all, when we first got here, I felt like time went by incredibly slowly, and I couldn't quite get myself grounded. However, it's been a month, and even though I have learned so much about myself, about Cameroon, about the french language, I still can't believe that so much time has passed already! While I realize that, no matter what people say about Africa Time, this trip will go by quicker than I would want, I am sure that i will make the very best of it.
Well, i must be going. I am working on my first homework assignment of the semester, a reflection for my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing Class. It's not too hard, but after so long of not doing academic work, it's a bit hard to motivate myself haha.
a bientôt!
Andrew
In other news, it's been just about a month since we've been in Cameroon, and boy have things changed. First of all, when we first got here, I felt like time went by incredibly slowly, and I couldn't quite get myself grounded. However, it's been a month, and even though I have learned so much about myself, about Cameroon, about the french language, I still can't believe that so much time has passed already! While I realize that, no matter what people say about Africa Time, this trip will go by quicker than I would want, I am sure that i will make the very best of it.
Well, i must be going. I am working on my first homework assignment of the semester, a reflection for my Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing Class. It's not too hard, but after so long of not doing academic work, it's a bit hard to motivate myself haha.
a bientôt!
Andrew
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Getting into our Routines
So as of yesterday, I've officially been in Cameroon for three whole weeks, though it certainly feels much longer than that. It seems like we've already done so much, and that we have all come so far already from how we were right after we stepped off the plane. It's hard to explain, but I can definitely feel myself growing as a person, and am excited to see the progress I and the rest of the group will make as the months wear on.
Also, I have really settled into living with my host family, who treats me very nicely, and has a lot of patience with me and my slowly improving language. I watched Training Day with my host brother Franklin today (with French subtitles), which admittedly made me a little nostalgic for home, but I'm not actually complaining =P
We had our first week of classes this past week. I'm taking four: Contemporary Cameroon, which everyone is required to take, and is taught by more than one professor depending on the day. Then I have Women and Gender studies in Cameroon which, though I am sure it will be a very interesting and enlightening class, does not touch on the final component of understanding this issue, sexuality. Since homosexuality is not only a cultural taboo, but it's also "illegal," our class will not go into how sexuality effects gender relations in Cameroon. This I can accept, but it was obvious from our first day of class, when basically everyone was trying to get our professor to talk about homosexuality, that it is a component which will be missed. However, I'm sure I'll still learn a lot from it, so I'll live. My third class is Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing, which we take at a nearby teachers school called Ecolé Normale Superior. I've got a feeling this is going to be a great class, because it will give us all chances to interact with local Cameroonians in ways we wouldn't be able to otherwise, and then have to turn those experiences into either poetry, fiction or creative non-fiction writing. Also, the professor is a really nice guy, and very passionate about writing and the power it holds for the individual. The final class will undoubtedly be my favorite, however. It is Colonization and Decolonization in Africa, taught by another really awesome professor who seems to be equally as passionate about the topic. The first day in class we had some introductions to the course and to the professor, and afterward got into a very heated debate about globalization and its continued effect on the third world. Our professor's theory is that globalization, at least in the economic sense, does not exist, but is merely richer countries imposing themselves on poorer ones, with little benefit for the latter. The basis of the argument was around this statement, and seemed to touch a nerve with a lot of people intellectually, not least of all myself. Needless to say, I am very excited for this class, though I am going to have to work on not getting too fired up in such debates haha.
As for other news, we start our optional dance classes on Monday at 6pm, which will be held two times a week. Of course you know I'm there, though there is no way I will learn to dance as well as Cameroonians. I can try, but I'm just never going to be that talented! It's just not possible haha.
Well i am going to go shower and read. I have gotten accustomed to taking cold showers here, and in the hot Cameroonian heat, it's actually a welcomed refresher sometimes. That isn't to say, however, that I'm not nostalgic for a nice, hot shower now and then!
A la prochaine!
Andrew
Also, I have really settled into living with my host family, who treats me very nicely, and has a lot of patience with me and my slowly improving language. I watched Training Day with my host brother Franklin today (with French subtitles), which admittedly made me a little nostalgic for home, but I'm not actually complaining =P
We had our first week of classes this past week. I'm taking four: Contemporary Cameroon, which everyone is required to take, and is taught by more than one professor depending on the day. Then I have Women and Gender studies in Cameroon which, though I am sure it will be a very interesting and enlightening class, does not touch on the final component of understanding this issue, sexuality. Since homosexuality is not only a cultural taboo, but it's also "illegal," our class will not go into how sexuality effects gender relations in Cameroon. This I can accept, but it was obvious from our first day of class, when basically everyone was trying to get our professor to talk about homosexuality, that it is a component which will be missed. However, I'm sure I'll still learn a lot from it, so I'll live. My third class is Orality, Landscape and Creative Writing, which we take at a nearby teachers school called Ecolé Normale Superior. I've got a feeling this is going to be a great class, because it will give us all chances to interact with local Cameroonians in ways we wouldn't be able to otherwise, and then have to turn those experiences into either poetry, fiction or creative non-fiction writing. Also, the professor is a really nice guy, and very passionate about writing and the power it holds for the individual. The final class will undoubtedly be my favorite, however. It is Colonization and Decolonization in Africa, taught by another really awesome professor who seems to be equally as passionate about the topic. The first day in class we had some introductions to the course and to the professor, and afterward got into a very heated debate about globalization and its continued effect on the third world. Our professor's theory is that globalization, at least in the economic sense, does not exist, but is merely richer countries imposing themselves on poorer ones, with little benefit for the latter. The basis of the argument was around this statement, and seemed to touch a nerve with a lot of people intellectually, not least of all myself. Needless to say, I am very excited for this class, though I am going to have to work on not getting too fired up in such debates haha.
As for other news, we start our optional dance classes on Monday at 6pm, which will be held two times a week. Of course you know I'm there, though there is no way I will learn to dance as well as Cameroonians. I can try, but I'm just never going to be that talented! It's just not possible haha.
Well i am going to go shower and read. I have gotten accustomed to taking cold showers here, and in the hot Cameroonian heat, it's actually a welcomed refresher sometimes. That isn't to say, however, that I'm not nostalgic for a nice, hot shower now and then!
A la prochaine!
Andrew
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Culture Shock 101
Happy Valentines Day from Cameroon! Apparently this holiday has some real significance here (though it isn't quite the Hallmark commericalized event it is in America.) Today my host father returned from a 5 day trip back to his village in the South West. I don't quite know why he was there, but it may have been a funeral or something else important.
Upon his return, preparations were being made to have une grande fête, which doubled as both a meeting between the important members of his village community, and a Valentines Day celebration (which allowed the wives of the men to come along, whereas usually only men attend these meetings). Last night, my host brother was telling me about the party, and was joking with me (or so I thought) about me getting to kill a goat. Innocently (and party due to my lack of full understanding in French), I went along with it. However, when my host father returned, lo! and behold, there was not only a live goat, but a live pig as well, bound and ready for the slaughter. Though it is an important tradition for the meeting of the elders, as much as they encouraged me to kill these animals, i really didn't have it in me (I told them that i couldn't kill the goat because we could have been friends.) It was hard enough for me to watch! (talk about culture shock!). However, at least i could take solace in the fact that they really did use every part of the animal, so at least it didn't die in vain.
Tomorrow we start our classes, which means that we begin a more regulated schedule and routine, which I am excited for. Plus, we get the second half of our monthly stipend, which will be nice. I felt that the first two weeks, we didn't really understand how to use my money, and how not to get ripped off for being an American. I'm sure I'll be able to keep better track of it, and know how to spend, what to spend on, and how much to spend for any given activity or thing. Every day truly is a new adventure.
Well, i have to go to sleep. I am very tired, and even though class isn't until the afternoon, i still want to wake up early and finishing ironing my laundry.
A la prochaine!
Upon his return, preparations were being made to have une grande fête, which doubled as both a meeting between the important members of his village community, and a Valentines Day celebration (which allowed the wives of the men to come along, whereas usually only men attend these meetings). Last night, my host brother was telling me about the party, and was joking with me (or so I thought) about me getting to kill a goat. Innocently (and party due to my lack of full understanding in French), I went along with it. However, when my host father returned, lo! and behold, there was not only a live goat, but a live pig as well, bound and ready for the slaughter. Though it is an important tradition for the meeting of the elders, as much as they encouraged me to kill these animals, i really didn't have it in me (I told them that i couldn't kill the goat because we could have been friends.) It was hard enough for me to watch! (talk about culture shock!). However, at least i could take solace in the fact that they really did use every part of the animal, so at least it didn't die in vain.
Tomorrow we start our classes, which means that we begin a more regulated schedule and routine, which I am excited for. Plus, we get the second half of our monthly stipend, which will be nice. I felt that the first two weeks, we didn't really understand how to use my money, and how not to get ripped off for being an American. I'm sure I'll be able to keep better track of it, and know how to spend, what to spend on, and how much to spend for any given activity or thing. Every day truly is a new adventure.
Well, i have to go to sleep. I am very tired, and even though class isn't until the afternoon, i still want to wake up early and finishing ironing my laundry.
A la prochaine!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Some funny observations
So tomorrow is Youth Day (Journée de Jeune) in Cameroon. It is a national holiday where all the young people get off of school and, as I am sure I will find out, celebrate in any way they can. Needless to say, I am very excited to be wrapped up in my first national Cameroonian activity. However, the funniest thing is, as I am writing this, my host family is watching President Paul Biya give the annual speech before Youth Day, filled with grand gestures of perfect education systems and an impeccable democratic, modern government, with no corruption and no problems. While I sit on the couch, trying to understand his slow, gravely voice on the television, everyone else in the room has fallen asleep. When my host brother waved his hands in front of their face without their flinching, I nearly keeled over laughing.
Paul Biya is a touchy subject here. Last night, my host parents had some friends over, and when they found out that I was a history major, they asked me to give a summary of Cameroonian history (in FRENCH!). Now, I think I can give a pretty decent summary in English, but in French, I wasn't so sure. However, I gave it my best shot, and was actually able to get a lot of my points across with only minimal help from the table. Needless to say, I was quite happy. After my brief history, they asked me what I thought of Paul Biya, to which I just smiled and said "pas de comment." Judging by their reaction, that was the right answer.
In other news, I'm running incredibly low on clothes, and am not able to do laundry until the weekend. Looks like I'll be scrounging for my less dirty clothes until then! C'est pas grave...T.I.A afterall =)
I'll try to write again soon. Watching Biya on the screen just gave me the approprate inspiration, I guess =P
A bientôt!
Andrew
Paul Biya is a touchy subject here. Last night, my host parents had some friends over, and when they found out that I was a history major, they asked me to give a summary of Cameroonian history (in FRENCH!). Now, I think I can give a pretty decent summary in English, but in French, I wasn't so sure. However, I gave it my best shot, and was actually able to get a lot of my points across with only minimal help from the table. Needless to say, I was quite happy. After my brief history, they asked me what I thought of Paul Biya, to which I just smiled and said "pas de comment." Judging by their reaction, that was the right answer.
In other news, I'm running incredibly low on clothes, and am not able to do laundry until the weekend. Looks like I'll be scrounging for my less dirty clothes until then! C'est pas grave...T.I.A afterall =)
I'll try to write again soon. Watching Biya on the screen just gave me the approprate inspiration, I guess =P
A bientôt!
Andrew
Saturday, February 6, 2010
One Week and Kickin'
Well we've officially been here one full week, but i can already say it feels like a hell of a lot longer. In a good way though. When people say that time moves slower in africa, they really aren't kidding. Maybe it's the heat, maybe its my lack of a watch, maybe it's the lifestyle, but there really is a very different way of looking at time and schedules here. Africa time does exist. For example, we just got back today from a two day trip in Kribi, a resort town on the southern coast of Cameroon. We were supposed to leave the apartment on Thursday at 9:30, but because Mr. Teku (our absolutely awesome program director) was 3 hours late, we didn't get on the road until 12:15. But it wasn't a big deal.
As for Kribi, what a place! It was a four hour drive to the hotel, but once we got there, the ocean was right behind, so we just hopped in the water. Being an East Coast guy, I never thought that the Atlantic Ocean could be so warm!!! There were actually moments where the water was almost too warm to be refreshing from the hot and humid Africa heat (remember, we are only five degrees above the equator, so it's basically bathwater.) The next day we went to Lobe falls, a beautiful waterfall about 45 minutes from the hotel. We walked around, got a short canoe ride so that we could photograph the falls, and then got back on the beach for our first attempt at haggling. Now, mr. Teku had told us the basic technique to bargaining: The seller gives you a price, and you say "ohh, no no. Let's go (1/4 of said price)." Inevitably, they will not go for it, so they'll work it up, and you'll work it down, and you should come out to something about 50 percent of the original price. It's really a social game, and a fun one at that. However, for someone who a) sucks at math, and b) is still adjusting to speaking french, doing my haggle swagger, so to speak, wasn't too easy. I tried once and failed, but the second time, I was able to get a carved necklace from 500 francs (about $1) down to 350, which was "acceptable" for my first time, according to Mr. Teku. I think that I'm too nice to haggling, so once i get a hold of the language and such, I'll have to harden up and learn to put my foot down. But I'm sure i'll have a lot of chances to practice =)
Tomorrow most of us leave to stay at our host families for the first night. Supposedly, my host family is awesome, so I am pretty excited, even though I'm going to be more or less a mute for the first week haha. I'll be sure to give updates when i can.
I gotta go. Other people need the comp.
Take care,
Andrew
As for Kribi, what a place! It was a four hour drive to the hotel, but once we got there, the ocean was right behind, so we just hopped in the water. Being an East Coast guy, I never thought that the Atlantic Ocean could be so warm!!! There were actually moments where the water was almost too warm to be refreshing from the hot and humid Africa heat (remember, we are only five degrees above the equator, so it's basically bathwater.) The next day we went to Lobe falls, a beautiful waterfall about 45 minutes from the hotel. We walked around, got a short canoe ride so that we could photograph the falls, and then got back on the beach for our first attempt at haggling. Now, mr. Teku had told us the basic technique to bargaining: The seller gives you a price, and you say "ohh, no no. Let's go (1/4 of said price)." Inevitably, they will not go for it, so they'll work it up, and you'll work it down, and you should come out to something about 50 percent of the original price. It's really a social game, and a fun one at that. However, for someone who a) sucks at math, and b) is still adjusting to speaking french, doing my haggle swagger, so to speak, wasn't too easy. I tried once and failed, but the second time, I was able to get a carved necklace from 500 francs (about $1) down to 350, which was "acceptable" for my first time, according to Mr. Teku. I think that I'm too nice to haggling, so once i get a hold of the language and such, I'll have to harden up and learn to put my foot down. But I'm sure i'll have a lot of chances to practice =)
Tomorrow most of us leave to stay at our host families for the first night. Supposedly, my host family is awesome, so I am pretty excited, even though I'm going to be more or less a mute for the first week haha. I'll be sure to give updates when i can.
I gotta go. Other people need the comp.
Take care,
Andrew
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Getting the grip, slowly.
Well we've been here nearly three full days, and already I can feel myself being swallowed up by the culture...but in a great way. Yesterday, we met some students from the University of Yaounde 1 who brought us around the campus (which, by the way, feels about the size of Carlisle!). That was a great experience, as was cramming ourselves into our first taxi cab. Later that night, we went back out with the same two students to a "Girl party" (one which is organized by girls and that, upon inquiring why it was called a girl party, our host Etienne replied "because there are more donkeys." Way to go Kaitlin for teaching them dirty American slang haha). Regardless, I can honestly say that I've never been to a nicer club, or a better dance party (especially coming from the essentially rhythmless Dickinson) than I did last night. We were there for nearly 3 hours, and we had a BLAST!!! It was freakin' incredible, and I have never slept so well as I did afterwards!
The city is just bustling with activity and life, and the people here are incredibly friendly and welcoming. Even though my French is pretty shitty, people seem fairly patient with me. I met my future host family today, which was nice. Again, my limited French led me to be somewhat awkward conversationally, but thanks to Liz and my motivated effort, I think I made a decent impression. We don't get our host families until Sunday, because we leave on Thursday for our 2 day excursion to the beach paradise of Kribi (which i'm PSYCHED for, by the way.) We come back on Saturday evening, and the next day our host families pick us up. I'm fully aware that I won't be able to talk much in the beginning, but I'm fairly confident that I'll eventually pick up the language. I only met my host mother today, but she seems very patient and understanding.
Well, I think some other people need to use the computer, so until next time, au revoir!!
Andrew
The city is just bustling with activity and life, and the people here are incredibly friendly and welcoming. Even though my French is pretty shitty, people seem fairly patient with me. I met my future host family today, which was nice. Again, my limited French led me to be somewhat awkward conversationally, but thanks to Liz and my motivated effort, I think I made a decent impression. We don't get our host families until Sunday, because we leave on Thursday for our 2 day excursion to the beach paradise of Kribi (which i'm PSYCHED for, by the way.) We come back on Saturday evening, and the next day our host families pick us up. I'm fully aware that I won't be able to talk much in the beginning, but I'm fairly confident that I'll eventually pick up the language. I only met my host mother today, but she seems very patient and understanding.
Well, I think some other people need to use the computer, so until next time, au revoir!!
Andrew
Saturday, January 30, 2010
First impressions
Well, we've finally arrived in the city of Yaounde, and what a beautiful city it is! Coming from America, where all of our big cities are dominated by towering sky scrapers and bustling traffic, Yaounde is quite a bit different. While there was lots of traffic, there are hardly any street lights, and the way that people drive has a sort of rhythmic feel to it that I am yet to fully understand. We arrived last night, and since we drove home at night, we couldn't see much of the city, but we could certainly hear the life, smell the lush foliage (you were right, Kaitlin; lush really is the best word), and see the people going on about their lives along the street.
We arrived at the apartments, and started to settle in. The place is HUGE! There are many different bedrooms, a dining room, common room, computer/book room, and 3 bathrooms with 2 showers. The showers, however, were especially interesting considering that there is no barrier between the toilet, sink, and shower. It's just one small room with all three inside. Personally, I think it's cool. Different, but pretty cool. They made us a great first dinner of fish, rice, dried plantains, and some other things of which I don't know their names, but I would definitely try again! The group stayed up pretty late, talking and getting to know one another. Though it's only been one day, I am fairly confident that we are going to have a good group here. =)
This morning, I was the first to wake up. I partially attribute this to, a) I was on the top bunk of a very unstable and creaky bed, and b) I forgot my pillow, so i had to use rolled up sweat pants and a sweatshirt to support my head. I'm sure I slept 'cuz I had some really odd dreams, but nevertheless, I wasn't too disappointed that I was up. I simply took my malaria meds, put on bug/sun screen, and walked outside. And that was when it fully hit me that yes, indeed, I'm in freakin' Africa! Off the balcony, I could see the many hills that surround Yaounde, as well as an expanse of housing and buildings integrated into the tropical, rolling landscape. Being the person that I am, I attempted to greet many the people walking by who were on their way to church and other places. Even though my spoken French is still shotty, I was able to compliment a mother on her little boy's matching jean suit, to which the humbly replied, "Merci, and you are white!" I guess...that's true too! haha. I'm sure that won't be the last time I hear that in one capacity or the other.
Most of the house is still asleep, but later on today, we are going to take a bus trip around the city so we can get to know it a bit better. After that, we will have an orientation meeting tonight, and I believe that's about it. I need to try and find myself a pillow, but other than that, I'm absolutely thrilled to be here.
I'm going to get myself something to eat, so until next time, au revoir!!!
Andrew
We arrived at the apartments, and started to settle in. The place is HUGE! There are many different bedrooms, a dining room, common room, computer/book room, and 3 bathrooms with 2 showers. The showers, however, were especially interesting considering that there is no barrier between the toilet, sink, and shower. It's just one small room with all three inside. Personally, I think it's cool. Different, but pretty cool. They made us a great first dinner of fish, rice, dried plantains, and some other things of which I don't know their names, but I would definitely try again! The group stayed up pretty late, talking and getting to know one another. Though it's only been one day, I am fairly confident that we are going to have a good group here. =)
This morning, I was the first to wake up. I partially attribute this to, a) I was on the top bunk of a very unstable and creaky bed, and b) I forgot my pillow, so i had to use rolled up sweat pants and a sweatshirt to support my head. I'm sure I slept 'cuz I had some really odd dreams, but nevertheless, I wasn't too disappointed that I was up. I simply took my malaria meds, put on bug/sun screen, and walked outside. And that was when it fully hit me that yes, indeed, I'm in freakin' Africa! Off the balcony, I could see the many hills that surround Yaounde, as well as an expanse of housing and buildings integrated into the tropical, rolling landscape. Being the person that I am, I attempted to greet many the people walking by who were on their way to church and other places. Even though my spoken French is still shotty, I was able to compliment a mother on her little boy's matching jean suit, to which the humbly replied, "Merci, and you are white!" I guess...that's true too! haha. I'm sure that won't be the last time I hear that in one capacity or the other.
Most of the house is still asleep, but later on today, we are going to take a bus trip around the city so we can get to know it a bit better. After that, we will have an orientation meeting tonight, and I believe that's about it. I need to try and find myself a pillow, but other than that, I'm absolutely thrilled to be here.
I'm going to get myself something to eat, so until next time, au revoir!!!
Andrew
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Anticipation galore
So here I am, on my last full day of being home before we leave. I must say, it is a strange feeling. My friend Rob and I drove down to Washington DC yesterday. We walked up and down Embassy Row, the highlight of which was going into the Islamic Central Embassy, which resembles the Great Mosque in Mecca. What a beautiful building, both inside and out. I was pleased to find taht Pulcini's class this past semester gave me a lot of extra background on what I was looking at once inside. Though I'm not Muslim, it was still an enlightening experience nonetheless. After paging through the Qur'an, and taking in the architecture, we left, and picked up my Lancaster friend Tara at American University where she attends, and from there went out to dinner with my school friend Ian, who is doing his semester 'abroad' (no offense, buddy haha) in DC. And, on top of that, I got to see my old next door neighbor Lauren, who now lives and works in DC after graduating from Dickinson. I must admit, it was so nice to have friends from all different parts of my life, Lancaster, Dickinson, and Baltimore, all come together and get along. It was unlike any experiences I've had thus far, and I hope it won't be the last.
So enough of that. I am still leaving tomorrow, and I am STILL not packed. I've got all my materials though. I even went out today and got myself an super haircut (more for the "MVP experience" than the near buzz-cut itself). On top of that, I finally found bug spray with 20% DEET, which I was told I got the last of on account of all the aid workers going to Haiti (totally understandable). Now I'm just lounging around my house for another fifteen minutes before I have to get outta here and go pick up my mom at work, then Liz at the airport. I can't believe the day is finally almost here. I guess I should start packing a little at least. ugh.
Well, until Cameroon, au revoir!!
Andrew
So enough of that. I am still leaving tomorrow, and I am STILL not packed. I've got all my materials though. I even went out today and got myself an super haircut (more for the "MVP experience" than the near buzz-cut itself). On top of that, I finally found bug spray with 20% DEET, which I was told I got the last of on account of all the aid workers going to Haiti (totally understandable). Now I'm just lounging around my house for another fifteen minutes before I have to get outta here and go pick up my mom at work, then Liz at the airport. I can't believe the day is finally almost here. I guess I should start packing a little at least. ugh.
Well, until Cameroon, au revoir!!
Andrew
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
First Post--3 days and counting
First blog post...alright, here we go. This could be fun...hopefully some people will actually read it haha
I can say with complete honesty that this has been both one of the best and, naturually, quickest winter breaks I've yet to experience. On the one hand, I had a chance to hang out with most of the people I felt I needed to see before I left, all of which was fantastic (But we all know that all-too-true parental proverb about time and fun). For the first time in my life, however, I'm left with no precedent for what lies ahead. While Western European is certainly distinct in all their own cultures and history, yet during my albeit short family vacation, being there was exciting, but more familiar culturally, economically, and historically than different to me. Don't get me wrong, Europe is awesome, and I want to explore all over it one day! However, I think it's pretty safe to say that Cameroon will be much different than Western Europe. Even though I've read a few books about Africa, and Cameroon in particular, I still feel like I am jumping blind into what I'm sure will be one of the greatest adventures of my life. It's a completely new feeling for me; I like it!
But seriously, I can't believe we're leaving so soon! It really has crept up on me. Tomorrow, a friend from nearby and I are going down to Washington DC tomorrow for the day, which seems quite fitting for experiencing as much "America" as possible before departure. Other than that, I just have to finish packing. I've bought most of what I need, but I just need to go through my list one more time, and then all that's left to do is actually pack everything in bags! ugh.
Well, here's to Cameroon. See you all in a few days!!
Salut,
Andrew
I can say with complete honesty that this has been both one of the best and, naturually, quickest winter breaks I've yet to experience. On the one hand, I had a chance to hang out with most of the people I felt I needed to see before I left, all of which was fantastic (But we all know that all-too-true parental proverb about time and fun). For the first time in my life, however, I'm left with no precedent for what lies ahead. While Western European is certainly distinct in all their own cultures and history, yet during my albeit short family vacation, being there was exciting, but more familiar culturally, economically, and historically than different to me. Don't get me wrong, Europe is awesome, and I want to explore all over it one day! However, I think it's pretty safe to say that Cameroon will be much different than Western Europe. Even though I've read a few books about Africa, and Cameroon in particular, I still feel like I am jumping blind into what I'm sure will be one of the greatest adventures of my life. It's a completely new feeling for me; I like it!
But seriously, I can't believe we're leaving so soon! It really has crept up on me. Tomorrow, a friend from nearby and I are going down to Washington DC tomorrow for the day, which seems quite fitting for experiencing as much "America" as possible before departure. Other than that, I just have to finish packing. I've bought most of what I need, but I just need to go through my list one more time, and then all that's left to do is actually pack everything in bags! ugh.
Well, here's to Cameroon. See you all in a few days!!
Salut,
Andrew
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