Greetings from Africa!
I have escaped the technologically lacking wilderness of Hina for a few days, and finally have some web access to post a bit of an update of my life. I know people have been curious as to what’s been going on over here, and I have to apologize for not updating sooner. But this is the first time I have left post in a month! It’s funny how quickly humans adapt; it’s so weird to be in a city (even a city by African standards) and see cars and paved roads and fluorescent lights! Seriously, when I see signs of electricity, I’m a little caught off guard! Anyways here are some tidbits about Claire’s life:
- School is what my life revolves around. There are positives and negatives to this fact, of course, but currently, the positives are outweighing the negatives. And that’s good enough for me. After all, every experience has its ups and downs, and I think all one can hope for is that there are more good times than bad. Anyways, school is keeping me super busy, which is probably a very good thing. The past two weeks have been especially hectic, as it is the end of the Première Sequence (the year is divided into six sequences, each six weeks long. At the end of each sequence, we test students to see if they have learned anything over the last six weeks…) So I wrote my tests, and gave them to the secretary two weeks before the students were scheduled to take their exams. The secretary types all the tests on a giant typewriter (that makes a reverberating tock-tack-tock-tack sound throughout the administrative building, and looks like it was probably donated by some Western office building circa 1977), and then he does this nifty thing where he rolls the paper (that’s on a carbon copy) against ink and it makes copies. This is an archaic procedure to me, much akin to caveman practices. I.e.- I have no idea how this process works, because when it was utilized in the States, it was a decade before my existence was even a slight notion. I tried explaining this to my Cameroonian colleagues, but there are just simply baffled that I, as an American, am not up to date on the latest technology. Which apparently, in Cameroon, is this “ditto” machine- I asked mom if she knew of this contraption, and after some research (namely from Aunt Kathy) she deduced its moniker. Alas, I digress! So I turn my exams in with ample time to spare, yet exam day rolls around, and there are no tests. Anywhere. And not just for me, but for ALL the teachers. The story is, the secretary “fell ill” and didn’t type or copy any of the exams. When the Censeur (the Vice Principal) told me this, I inquired as to why no one in the administration tried to find someone else to type the exams in the regular secretary’s place. I found this to be quite a logical solution, but my suggestion was met with dumbfounded looks. It seems in Cameroon, if the first option doesn’t work, it is considered simply ludacris to look for a solution/ an alternate option. They just shrug their shoulders and say “On fait comment?” (what can you do?) And I want to scream: YOU CAN FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO TYPE THE DAMN EXAMS!!! (Of course, I don’t, I just attempt to re-explain my point of view in my broken French.) It just seems so blaring obvious to me and I don’t understand why the Cameroonians don’t see it. Cultural differences! I know! It’s just frustrating. Finally, they let some reason seep into the system and got the Lamidou’s (he is the traditional chief of Hina) secretary to come and type some of the exams. But by this time, it was the last week of the Sequènce, and all the teachers were frantically trying to schedule their tests. (Last Saturday, we had to have kids come in to take exams, because it was the only time available, and some were there as late as 5 p.m.) There was a complete and total lack of communication, where teachers were trying to give their tests at the same time. Now, many Cameroonians have a laissez-faire attitude when it comes to work, but they can be extremely passionate when it comes to other aspects of life, especially when they feel that they have been slighted. There were some epic battles between teachers trying to give their tests at the same time, each claiming that they had the right to give their exam at that hour. Harsh words were exchanged and I’m convinced that some of the disagreements would have come to blows had some bystanders not intervened. It was chaos! I really couldn’t believe how order disintegrated so quickly and entirely. I commented to one of my colleagues that this system was in complete disorder and needed to re-evaluated. He responded “C’est le sous-développement, c’est comme ça.” And another chimed in, “Ce n’est pas le sous-développement, c’est un refus total de travailler!” Ok, so maybe the problem is that Cameroon is “underdeveloped.” Or maybe the problem is cultural, as there truly is a widespread refusal to work. We could debate all day about what the problem is, but I think the more important question is how do we fix it?? Both my colleagues shrug and say, “On fait comment?” I have a feeling that I may really start to hate this phrase by the end of these two years. In the end, everything worked out. All the tests were given, and the grades may be a bit late getting back to the students, but they will get them. So, as many volunteers find in Cameroon, although it may seem that nothing works, somehow, everything always works out.
As you can see, school has a tendency to toy with my sanity. Most of the administration assumes, for some reason, that I intuitively know how the Cameroonian Education system works. They never explain or give me any notice when something important is happening/there is a deadline for something. When I finally become in the know, and realize I didn’t do something when I was supposed to, they chuckle and say, “that’s ok, you’re foreign!” “But,” I stammer, “I don’t want to be the clueless foreigner! I want to be organized and on top of things and prompt. All you need to do is keep me up to date!” Then they act surprised, like I’m asking for them to procure ice (which doesn’t exist in Hina- slightly difficult to come by without electricity), and promise to tell me “next time.” So I’m slowly realizing that things I consider to be common sense are not here, and I must explicitly ask for something (this includes information) if I want it. And I know that now so hopefully things will roll more smoothly from now on.
I really love my students, in their cut little blue uniforms with their names embroidered on the pocket (where they keep their pens, pencils, rulers, etc). Even the troublemakers- they make me so uncontrollably angry one minute, then they do something totally endearing and I forgive them in the next minute. This does not bode well for my disciplinary skills… But the kids make all the administrative muck bearable. It’s my students who have given me guidance in my desperate attempt to navigate the Cameroonian Educational system (more than my colleagues ever have). When I’m frustrated with anything else about Cameroonian life, I look at them I and I recognize why I am here. The majority of them truly want an education, and they are struggling for it. And it is certainly a struggle to get an education here. It’s no easy task, it seems like all the odds are stacked against the kids. One really has to want it and work for it. If I can help them in even a miniscule way, it will all be worth it.
-La fête des enseignants:
So apparently, “international” teacher’s day was October 5th. I had never heard of this holiday, but it is “bien fêter” (well celebrated) in Cameroon. Really, any excuse the Cameroonians can find to party and avoid work, they seize with elation. Anyways, here’s the gist of what went on:
All teacher’s buy the same “pagne” (material) and have clothes made from it. So everyone has a different outfit, but in the same material. This year’s pagne displayed a male and female teacher standing in front of blackboards, books, diplomas, and many great adages, like “The teacher says: NO to corruption, NO to smoking, NO drugs, NO to alcoholism, NO to AIDS,” and “Quality teachers for Quality Education,” and “Teaching is a vocation, an engagement, and not simply a job.” And since Cameroon is technically a bilingual country, all of these maxims appear on the pagne in both English and French! Too much, you say?? Never! This is Cameroonian pagne, nothing is too loud or too busy (some of my favourite pagne I’ve seen is gas station themed, that has pumps and attendants ptinted on it, and Department of Transportation pagne, a real gem with every type of transport imaginable printed on it). I had a pretty sweet dress made out of this pagne, by my neighbor, who used her foot powered Singer sewing machine, which looks like it came from an American garage sale and could probably be several decades old. And she put the finishing touches on it by candlelight, while comforting her colicky newborn (who of course was soothed by being tied to his mother’s back with a piece of fabric and kind of jiggled around in a jerky dance- I think this is the African version of those cool vibrating chair things we have for babies.)
The fête was to begin at 7 a.m. at the aptly titled “Place des Fêtes” (which is a wide open space where everyone in village can gather, usually for parties), but of course, things didn’t get rolling until about 11:30. To be fair, it was raining for most of the morning, and in Africa, the slightest bit of precipitation means no one can do anything, anywhere. It’s truly mind-boggling to me how every facet of their daily activities comes to a complete halt when there is a change in weather. But the rain did let up, and so the festivities began. Highlights were speeches by the Sous-Prêfet (the highest government official in Hina, who of course is appointed, not elected), a roundtable debate/discussion of the teacher’s role in the development of Cameroon (this was great and super amazing to hear what actual Cameroonians had to say about this, since I feel like I spent a good bit of training talking about it with other Americans. It was nice to hear what the nationals themselves think), and probably the best: the marching. Yes, you read correctly, the marching. Evidently, in most Cameroonian fêtes, whoever is being celebrated must march. All the teachers stood in rows of four and march, in time, and while singing, across the Place de Fêtes, which can’t be any longer than half a football field. And for some reason, they all thought it would be a great idea for me to be a leader of one of these four lines. Of course, I had zero idea what I was doing, and I also found the whole process to be intolerably hilarious. I really couldn’t stop laughing. I tried, but you know how attempting to stifle laughter just makes it that much more difficult to contain. It was so ridiculous! My colleagues really didn’t understand what I found so funny, and were incredulous when I tried to explain that this does not happen in the United States. “WHAT!? You don’t march?? But how do you celebrate??” Ok, extended family: Christmas 2012, We are all going to line up and march around town (in time, and preferably singing). With all my relatives, I think I could amass a pretty decent sized parade. Then, our holiday in America will be bien fêter, and I can send photographic evidence to my Cameroonian friends to show them that Americans can party just as hard as Cameroonians. Marching included. What do you think?
Developments:
- I don’t know how it has happened, but I somehow have a sort of tan! Ok, ok, it’s not really a tan so much as a slightly beiger shade of white, but I can see the chaco outlines on my feet, and I’ve got a bit of a farmer’s tan going on! (But I am wearing sunscreen! That African sun is intense.)
- I think I can safely say I’m no longer a vegetarian :( I have now eaten goat, sheep, beef, and chicken since being in Hina. I never buy it myself, but if I ever go to anyone’s house, I’m pretty much forced to eat, and the Hinarian (my made up word) diet consists of couscous (usually of millet, it is not couscous like Americans think of couscous, it is ground up millet with water added to it), sauce (usually of oil and a magi cube, which is pure MSG) and meat (usually goat, which I think may be the chewiest, most gristle-infested, and most unappetizing meat ever.) It’s incredibly rude to refuse food when it’s offered to you, in the Cameroonian culture, so I try to just suck it up. I was even pressured into eating a chicken neck! I mean, WHY?!?!? There is barely any meat on a chicken neck! But apparently, it’s “one of the best parts of the chicken” and it was an honour to be offered it. Sigh, what are you going to do?
- Zeus and I have been fighting. We are not getting along! he is being a real jerk. I usually keep him chained up because he does bad things if he’s not. But I’ve been feeling bad about it, so I started to leave him off the chain. Problem is, he follows me to school. Then he runs into the school compound like he owns the place, and even tries to come into the classroom! So I’ve had to attach him before leaving in the mornings, but the problem is, he knows that I want to attach him, and he runs away from me. I have to lunge after him and have a really hard time catching him (he of course sees this as a game). So the other day, I went for a run before school (this means five o’clock in the morning when the moon is still out). I let Zeus come with me a lot; it’s good for him to get out and run around, and frankly, people leave me alone more when he’s with me (they still think it’s weird for a woman to “faire le sport”). Anyways, on the way back home, he got in a fight with two other dogs. I didn’t know what to do, and didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so I just kept going. Zeus came barreling behind me, evidently trying to escape the other dogs, and I didn’t see him, and he knocked me over, sending me literally tumbling across the rocky road. I was livid. And he knew it. So he ran off somewhere, hiding from me. But when he started to leave for school, he reappeared and began to follow me. The last time he followed me to school, my vice principal was quite upset with me, so I knew I couldn’t let it happen again. So I had to jump off my bike, leave it in a field, and chase Zeus until I finally got a hold of him. Then I had to drag him back by his collar, and he obviously didn’t like that, so he scratched and bit me (didn’t break the skin, he is vaccinated anyway). But this behaviour obviously did not win him any sympathy from me. This only happened two days ago, but since then he knows I am disgusted with him, and he’s been moping around and trying to nuzzle up to me as what I assume is some attempt at reconciliation. But I am quite fed up with his shenanigans. Alas, he is attached to me now, and there is no way to get rid of him, because even if I tried to find a Cameroonian who would take him, he would follow me wherever I go. I think were stuck together!
Other things to hopefully give you a laugh:
- One of the teachers at school heard me incorrectly when I told him my name: he thinks I said Queen instead of Kihn. So he began calling Ms. Queen. I have corrected him on multiple occasions, but no, he prefers Queen to Kihn. And now, he’s dropped the Ms. as well, and when he sees me, he shouts, “Queen!” “Queen!” and then asks me how I’m doing. My mission is to find a equally ridiculous nickname for him…
- So I graded all the tests from the end of the Sequènce and handed them back. I calculated and recorded everyone’s grade and then called out their names to give them the results. I must admit I do not know many of my students names in my defense, I have upwards of 300 students, and here are a couple of examples of names I have to attempt to pronounce: “Zaczou Mbarga,” “Maidjapa Nyera Rode,” “Djitta Ngafka,” “Yaouba Yababa.” I did not make these up. The kids all laugh at me when I try to pronounce their names, and I laugh at myself.
- I asked a child in Sixiéme (6th grade) how one would respond if they were greeted with the phrase, “Welcome to Cameroon!” (or America/England/Nigeria/ wherever. The response I was looking for was “thank you.”) The kid had no idea, but his friend was dying to help him, convinced that he knew the correct response. I finally asked the confident friend to help him out, and with a smug smile on his face, he emphatically shouts “Bank!” For some reason I found this to be absolutely hilarious and could not contain my laughter. I have no clue why this kid truly believed that when being welcomed, it is only common courtesy to shout “BANK!” in their face.
Alright, these are the things I can think of right now. Hopefully that gives a little information about what’s going on here. I miss everyone terribly and am thinking of you always. I’ll try to post again soon with more Cameroonian stories!
Picking guavas...
Tangerine trees!!
Sugar Cane!
Please notice my face: this is the creepy Baptist Minister who likes to come to my house and make me feel uncomfortable...
Djolde! (he like to joke he is my protective big brother) with his papaya tree.
Women coming back from working in the fields all day. such an African moment.
with Zeus in front of the well .
