World Map Project! Bringing a Peace Corps tradition to my corner of Cameroon

This was my last and one of my favorite Peace Corps projects, at the Social/ Reintegration Center/Orphanage where I also worked on summer camps, taught songs and tofu-making, and loved to come on the weekends just to play. Creating a world map was harder (where are the borders, exactly?! what country does this island belong to? ) more time consuming (so many tiny countries! can i find a model map that doesn't still list Czechoslovakia?), and way more of a huge deal for opening kids' eyes to geography concepts ("the US is not in Europe?!" "Cameroon is that SMALL?!" how many countries are there?) than I anticipated : ) Total feel good group effort and lasting symbol of international friendship and connectedness.

Proud of their new map mural, on the inside wall of the large room where these kids eat all their meals, hold daily prayers, do homework, have dance parties, and hang out when it's pouring rain. Making these kids feel special, and showing them how working on something with dedication and pride can pay off, was such a joy.

It was a process! Luckily we caught an afternoon of uninterrupted power and got to trace the map on the wall instead of having to do a graphing system. Still, the old projector was all out of focus and the lines were about a quarter inch thick...made for some very fuzzy borders, literally. 

Progress! We started by color coding the biggest countries to make sure there would be variety. Elizabeth, furthest back, turned out to be one of our most dedicated and stable-handed painters. She quickly got permission to fill in the trickier little countries, for which her peers were jealous and respectful. It's fun discovering kids' hidden talents!

A perfect context for a lesson in mixing colors! Also a good reminder for myself : ) Paints come out and kids start to get interested..everyone wanted to help my paint right away, and I was torn between wanting it to be participatory and wanting to be in control of it turning out well!

It felt bizarre to estimate borders and know that I was imperfectly representing areas and intersections of land that have been fought over for generations and/or been huge sources of political and tribal controversy...the exact lines have been shaped by history, but I was shaping them with a wide brush and dripping paint.

Awesome teamwork! As far as funding, I used money from my Peace Corps allowance to purchase the paints and other materials...I felt torn about doing so for the image it might send about giving handouts, but to me it did not feel like that at all - this Center gave me so much on many levels, and it felt like a perfect parting gift. Plus, it was only around $20 total, and even at 5X that it would have been so worth it for what it brought the Center in pride, educational possibilities, excitement for the kids and a brightening up of their main space. I hope it lasts for years.

Before they could paint a country, the kids had to find it on my printed out map...many of them held it upside down and had no idea where to start in reading it. Once I helped them find it, they would quiz their peers and mock their geography ignorance, having learned it themselves five minutes earlier ; )

The names (in French) were a whole other saga, especially trying to find updated maps, deciding if the maps needed the countries' gender articles ("la" France? nope, no space!), getting South Sudan's size figured out, and finding tools thin enough to write clearly with. I finally sacrificed my eyebrow powder brush to paint the white names, it was much stiffer, and the vanity that led to me having it ended up saving the day.

My favorite last touches were the Peace Corps symbol and Cameroonian flag. This is a project that Peace Corps volunteers have done all around the world, and I am glad to have continued the awesome tradition.

I hope they think of the fun we had together over two years when they look at this map...we kept tracing the distance between our two countries, so now they know where I am...and where they are! Glad I was there for the painting, but that's just the beginning! So many cool educational uses of a world map still untouched, and I'm excited for the other area volunteers to use this map in future projects and camps here. 

Wes Week! Big bro rocks Cameroon like a champ

Wes was my one brave visitor during my Peace Corps service, and it was a bro/sis week I won't soon forget : ) Amazing to be able to share what I'd been doing and how I'd been living for two years, and near the end of my service when I could properly own it! Volunteers who have family come 6 months in, I don't know how you do it! Special to share some things that would be beautiful and meaningful to anyone, and eye-opening to realize the many small things about my world in Cameroon that can never mean to anyone else what they mean to me...and that's the way it should be!

Wes's first day, first moto ride across town! Upside down US flag just a coincidence : ) We're just down the path from my house here. Glad the week started off with some gorgeous clear weather...ease Wes into it : )

Behind my friend Hortense's house - this shallow river floods when it rains and can trap people working in their fields on the hills, so they rush to cross and get home before it starts raging. On the other side tropical fields are dug into the hillsides- they grow things like peanuts, potatoes, yams, cocoa, coffee. We were led on a beautiful Sunday evening walk guided by my 9 year old rock star buddy Alex.

My colleague at the hospital and TOUGH cookie role model, Hortense

Wes was quickly a huge hit with the kiddos!

Market in Nkongsamba, where I bought veggies, clothes, kitchen utensils, broom, flip flops, spices...

Loved getting to share this spot with family! One hour from my house (but not a cinch to get to!)...my sanctuary.

Nothing that wasn't worth going through for this. We are getting totally soaked by the spray! 

New day, new outing. Hiking the crater lakes in Bangem, which has one of the highest rainfall totals in Africa...and we're soon to get a taste. 

Wes is shocked, I'm not : ) One of the reasons it's not too crowded with tourists (ie not a SOUL)

Red Rover, send Uncle WES right over! These kids are TOUGH and totally loved the physical chaos and rough housing! The "centre social" (reintegration center/orphanage) where I did some of my favorite programs - my oasis/second home in the tiny village of Ntolo.

Walk through the bush to see the kids' school. They loved having him there as much as I did!

Great news to share

This just in: I’m getting replaced as a health volunteer in Nkongsamba! This may seem like it would be a given, but in fact was not at ALL. Since I transferred to Nkongsamba mid-service after convincing Peace Corps that I could find my own work and without any formal invitation from the community/a host organization, it was never made an official health post...I just got to sneak in the back door and then do my own puttering with projects and groups, which I've loved. But to get replaced Peace Corps has to set up an actual agreement with an organization, which in this case is the regional hospital where I've set up shop – a great niche but chock o block full of protocol, top down bureaucracy and red tape at the administrative level (thanks, 1950’s French system). They were happy to have me help out informally, but partnering with Peace Corps formally is more complicated for both ends, so I’ve been doing lots as the middle woman to facilitate the process. Quite the exercise in intercultural communication: who is leading this meeting, whose hand do I shake first, am I even allowed to speak right now?!

This will be quite an exception too, as the region I’m in is not one of the six regions Peace Corps is sending health volunteers to this round, my replacement will be the only volunteer who will be working with a health structure at this level of the system, and otherwise they are not sending volunteers to any semi-urban areas like Nkongsamba (in fact they are shutting down other posts in towns of this size).  Once again, I like the personal challenge of pushing the envelope when I believe in something  …just ask the Academic Dean at George Washington University : )

But Nkongsamba is a great post on the Cameroonian spectrum – comfortable climate, central location in this part of the country, safe solid house already set-up, amenities, diverse food, other volunteers nearbye, and lots of work possibilities, enthusiastic progressive people to work with, plenty of need in the focus areas of maternal/child health and HIV/AIDS. Posts with this many checks in the + column are few and far between, and Peace Corps ought not throw them away once they’ve got them, though they were about to here for on-paper reasons. So I’ve been advocating over the last few months to have them modify their criteria and make this an official post, and after various back and forths and two visits from staff, they finally accepted enthusiastically on Tuesday.

Especially since it took so much nudging to get Peace Corps to recognize how much potential this post has, I am proud and relieved to know my work here will continue and that someone will get to water the seeds I’ve planted. Likely now that it’s a health post, at least 5 volunteers will follow in my footsteps before they take a break and go elsewhere. Knowing how rough work and living-wise some posts can be, and how many do not work out (Tombel!) I am really happy to be able to directly impact that at least one volunteer will arrive to solid footing. Never mind my jealousy that I don’t get to be my own replacement, I think professionally, setting this up and having started from scratch finding work in a new African town (twice) will send the message to future employers that I can get it done!

PLUS, now I don’t have to get rid of everything in my house! Even better, I'll have just over a week with my replacement  before I head down to Yaounde for my close-of-service week (four weeks from today!) to introduce them around and show them the ropes. No amount of info left in a post book could replace that, but many in my group won't have time with their replacements due to our staggered departures. Now that my brother's visit is behind me, it’s impossible not to be aware of the countdown and the fact that I’m rushing toward the end.  I officially get home next month!!

The weird wacky world of Cameroon's colonial legacy as felt today

I’ve been helping out with a case this week that has pushed me to reflect on an uncomfortable reality:  sometimes Cameroon feels like a train-wreck between outside approaches, practices and institutions and their own underlying style, traditions, and values. I never anticipated how deeply the impact of Cameroon’s German, French and English colonial history would shape its current system. Or how much the Western world’s way of doing things would be seen as THE right path to take, even if retracing that path doesn’t seem feasible or helpful for this African country, which has a fundamentally different past and set of circumstances and is on a totally different development track than the one we took (most of my Cameroonian friends have Facebook accounts and cell phones but no running water or toilet in their house! …WHAT?!) And yet, I feel like the methods and conventions that were imposed here during colonialism and which are still widely applied (such as using the antiquated 1950’s French legal system, or using Christian standards around marriage) are an awkwardly fitting mold that Cameroonian society is trying to work within but which just doesn’t mesh with the underlying mentality and cultural structure.  

So, the case: Last week a woman died during childbirth from complications of her fifth risky C-section delivery.  Two of her children have already died, and the five came from three different fathers, at least one unknown. The other kids are floating with family, and the mother’s younger brother is trying to take care of the newborn, but has nothing to provide for her with, doesn’t work, and is seriously struggling with clothes, food, and attending to the newborn’s health needs.

And now procedure says the baby needs to have a birth certificate made, and for that the birth certificate of the deceased mother is required. No one can find it. The grandmother is alive, but had so many kids that she no longer remembers where this daughter was born way back when, maybe out of the country. At the time, filling out birth certificates in rural villages was surely even much rarer. So the granddaughter may never get a birth certificate, which I have seen from other cases creates huge complications later on for getting registered for school, getting a government job, etc.  

It is painful to watch how in enforcing the western system of needing these documents (the infamously inefficient French bureaucracy of an earlier age is still the operating system du jour here in Cameroon) is holding back so many people’s lives. The foundation is not set up to make that system work.  It was never an organic process or reflection of their natural timing or thinking to come up with these measures or regulations, and even fifty years after independence it feels like their lifestyle and level of development is being jammed uncomfortably into this foreign template.

A single visit to an administrative office for a task such as getting a driver’s license, changing the name on an electricity account, or starting an association of the handicapped will reveal in infuriating splendor how this approach is just barely limping along in terms of turning out functional results.  One simple reason is because so few offices have computerized systems, and write out each form, receipt, or ticket by hand, but still include lots of detailed superfluous information. This results in disastrously long delays for getting things done such as paying school fees for your children, especially when only one person is ever working, and there are many hours when no one is at a given window or office. It seems like it would make sense to simplify the tickets or forms given the lack of technology, or photocopy a template that already has some recurring info in place like prices or dates, but it’s very much a follow-the-model-and-don’t-ask-questions scene here, which is hard for us to watch without our blood pressure sky-rocketing.

And since the requirements are tedious and endless and the system is inherently unfamiliar to even those who are running it, corruption comes galloping in to bridge the gaps. You need A to get B, but you can’t get A without C, which requires six signatures and four official stamps (though no one is quite sure why) from an office in the capital city, so instead give me X amount to put in my pocket, and I’ll slip you A under the table.  As one of my favorite nursing students exclaimed with exasperation when talking about getting a job here, “Rien n’avance normalement!”, essentially, nothing moves in a straight line here. He hit the nail on the head.

That newborn baby’s family will probably be bribing a local official to furnish her a birth certificate once they can scrape together the money. She will thus kick off a life of going around in circles trying to get things done in a system that was built by someone else and then dropped on them like a ton of chipped bricks that still hangs around their neck, tangling up and holding back progress more than facilitating it...at least with how its being applied currently.

Behind the scenes: Recent fumblings with Cameroonian culture, Part 2

June 26th, 2012

Wheww, I am relieved that this day is over, and am congratulating myself on getting through it. It’s now 7:21 PM, dark, power is out, and I have just said goodbye to one of my bosses for the health program (I have two, both Cameroonian women whom I like a lot). Today Maureen was here doing a field visit and “site prospection” to see if they will replace me in Nkongsamba, since I opened this post as a health volunteer through odd circumstances and was never formally invited by any host organization. Basically, I opened two posts, without any functional partners to work with until I carved my own partnerships, and am therefore HARDCORE!  : )  

Which I need to remind myself when I see how much more tangible work I might have accomplished had I had two years in a more stable situation, where you know who you are working with, have an actual work counterpart, and get to hit the ground crawling (Cameroonian equivalent of running), bolstered by some stability and precedent. Things that I never had, which I can’t regret as it’s been a formative and toughening part of the experience. But it’s that groundwork that I have tried to lay here for a possible replacement, and which I am a bit jealous that the next volunteer will built on. But there is a gritty satisfaction in knowing that you were the pioneering volunteer (in Nkongsamba  I at least benefited from other volunteers having lived here and made some good connections, but they were in different work sectors, so that was all new), and I feel proud of what I have been able to do. Plus my independent personal style has enjoyed that no one organization can claim me – I do what I want, when I want, yo.

The hard part of the visit was not talking about the projects I’ve been doing, but navigating the dynamics of our meetings, especially with the staff of one organization I’ll leave unnamed. I was horrified with the reception they gave her – so seemingly cold, nonchalant, uninviting, unenthusiastic…we walked in, I introduced her to the small staff, and they all just stood there looking unimpressed. I had NO idea what was going on and was sure I done something wrong in the way I made the introductions, or had not set up the meeting right, or stepped out of place with the protocol, or offended someone by standing or sitting at the wrong time – they are incredibly strict about formal protocol here in certain settings, in ways that as an outsider you can’t know how to anticipate or find reason in.

But no, she assured me afterward, that’s just the culture. She said that because she was the boss of an American, she held the power in the situation, and because they have such a linear power structure, it was not their place to be warm and friendly and receptive, it was their place to basically not react (which I read as removed and off-putting) until my boss showed her true colors and established the power relation and tone of the meeting.  I felt like the way they received us was confusingly rude.  I am now very informal and friendly with these women, who turned to stiff icicles when she entered, but instead of faces of nervousness, they put on faces of nonchalance, boredom, almost dislike.  All to be subservient and get her vibe? Disorienting.

We pushed on, me feeling so clueless about when I could talk, who was leading the meeting, how to make Maureen see why I want Peace Corps to send another volunteer here! But Maureen said she is really used to the culture of these power plays – there is no casual, friendly banter between people in that kind of a meeting, and someone is firmly on top and someone decidedly on bottom. If she had been on bottom, she would have entered a room and the person behind the desk would not even have looked at her, raised his head, or acknowledged her presence, all to safeguard his power and keep her in her place. I cannot even describe how strange a vibe it is, how UTTERLY different than had we been in the American context. I have rarely spoken about the extreme inferiority/power complex that is widely acknowledged by Cameroonians to be rampant here and which this was an example of, but it is brutally evident throughout the society and runs deep.

This made me realize how relatively casual I act whenever I enter an official office, where it’s almost always a man behind the desk. I ask how they are, smile, sometimes make small talk – acknowledging and respecting their position, but acting neither like I am helplessly subservient or desperately dependent on their favor, nor like they are an all-powerful titan to be feared and appeased, which is no exaggeration of the vibe many "big men" here work hard to upkeep.  As an empowered American woman it just never even enters into my conscious that that’s how I should be seeing myself or them, which is probably off-putting and shocking to multiple people. Well, I kinda like thinking I am challenging, gently, for the most part, that system.

I remember making a novice mistake of asking a high-ranking local government official how the Peace Corps volunteer in his area was doing as we sat down to a dinner my village chief was giving him, then realizing that the rest of the dinner proceeded in SILENCE and NO ONE addressed him without being spoken to. OOPS!

This really blew my mind: I was also telling Maureen that I get very little feedback of any kind from Cameroonians. Even when I do a solid job or go the extra mile or a project or course goes well, rarely does anyone say anything. I find this a downer and discouraging – why can’t they give me any kind of pat on the back from time to time, OR tell me what they would like improved?

Well, explained my boss, as part of their rigid power structure they believe that praising anyone is shifting the power to them, taking away your own power, selling out, and giving that person “wings”. Consequently, parents don’t praise or thank their children even when they are working like servants for them – I always notice they don’t get so much as a thank-you or a good job when they’ve made a wonderful dinner or scrubbed the whole house.

Maureen explained that this is because parents feel that by giving encouragement or positive feedback, you are risking your daughter or son feeling too good about themselves and becoming hot-headed, disobedient, and undisciplined. This is unsafe, as it threatens the family structure of overall dominance by the parents and especially the father. Likewise, Maureen said that husbands 90% of the time NEVER praise their wives to their faces, that it’s only culturally acceptable to compliment them to others like your friends, away from their face. She explained that thanking or recognizing or even acknowledging something done by your wife, such as her working tirelessly to make a Christmas meal she won't even get to eat, would be “selling out” your power as the man of the household, and would be giving power to your wife, which does not go along with the traditional African culture.

She noted that only people who have spent time abroad or seen how it’s done elsewhere are likely to even speak kindly to their wives directly. In addition, in public especially it is extremely important that men keep up the image of themselves being on top and their wives being on bottom. I have long noticed that relationships here are extremely vertical, almost never horizontal, between spouses, colleagues of different levels, teachers and students, even older and younger siblings – much more formal and fear-based than in our culture.

I am often off put by how I see men I respect and work with treating their wives and children, or bosses treating their employees – shouting, condescension, harsh displeasure and the seeming indication that the lower person is an imbecile. The decided opposite of the positive reinforcement approach always touted in our child/employee development theories. To me it feels dehumanizing, and the inverse of what would create a positive atmosphere and motivate someone to improve or have pride in their hard work. But these are the moments I can’t get enough of – cultural exchanges that deepen my sociological/anthropological understanding of exactly HOW different cultures can be, something I could have had no hope of understanding before I came.

Behind the scenes: Recent fumblings with Cameroonian culture, Part 1

October 2, 2012

I was in the principal’s office today of the high school where I ran a health club last year, and was once again stunned at how many things were going on simultaneously. His office can accommodate many people and feels more like Grand Central Station then a place to discuss things in full, or in private.  Undivided attention is the opposite of what I ever get in these situations –we were in the middle of a serious discussion about why I was not launching the club again (blatant sexual harassment from the teacher involved – far from concerned, the principal, confused,  asked what the teacher was supposed to do if he liked me?;  too many school days cancelled without notice;  general disorder in the class schedule and time slots), meanwhile teachers and secretaries and parents and visitors and other administrators are marching in and starting to talk right over me as if I’m not there, explaining another issue, something he needs to sign  or give his take on, or make a decision about. They just disrupt the conversation full on with no semblance or an “excuse me, but” -this is common everywhere here and not considered the least bit rude, or inefficient. Instead of “deal with things one at a time, do this, then move on,  let me finish with A then I’ll get to B", it’s a “throw the whole alphabet at me like a deck of cards, and we’ll sort it all out eventually” approach.

I remember watching absurd cross-cultural videos in school where this phenomenon was shown in international meeting settings – the person holding the meeting juggling 15 demands simultaneously – but I was sure they were exaggerating! Where Americans would follow a first-come, first served order at various offices, buying tickets, or giving audience, here the client already inside starts their exchange, then waits, as the person taking visitors, patients, customers etc. cuts them off to respond to the next person streaming in and posing his problem right on top of yours. Suddenly your inquiry is getting buried further and further down in the stack of what the boss is looking at. I always want to yell judgmentally, “Ummm, I was here first, they are with ME right now, can’t you see?!?!? WAIT YOUR TURN!”  I end up feeling  so choppy in my own thoughts and get fed up piecing together tin ten second spurts he conversation I needed to have.  

The principal wanted me to stay and talk about US culture with him, but I declined, trying not to laugh, what a futile environment in which to have a real conversation! In this extraordinarily top-down power structure culture, he was probably offended, and others were probably shocked that I was talking to him rather like an equal, colleague to colleague, respectable person to respectable person. Including being direct about the fact that I was not doing health club this year.  I had to emphasize the finality of that decision, and when I explained that I didn’t want to set up false expectations only to disappoint him later, he said he appreciated that approach, but that it is extremely rare and even off-putting here.  

Passively letting people down left and right is the cultural approach to the reality that most things just don't work out. Sure, we’ll do it, we’ll go, we’ll organize that….then, nothing. You play like whatever the other person asks of you can and will happen, even if you know the chances are slim to none, just to save face and avoid conflict. It’s a show, both sides know it, then 90% of the time the planned idea just fades away, you don’t show up again and they never call to ask where you are, as they never expected anything. It’s that “we should get lunch…” phenomenon, but with actual work partnerships like agreeing coming to visit a health center, do a presentation, show up for a meeting, design a new resource, teach an English class over the summer. The ownership is on you, but if you don’t others just let it fall off, fall apart, not happen like the million other things they have seen not happen.  

The subconscious assumption was always that one of a million things would come along that prevents it from being feasible – it was pouring rain so I could not leave the house, the phone network was down and I could not get through, my aunt died and I had to return to the village, the kids got sick and I spent all my money on medicine, the printer in town is still broken, my phone broke and I lost my numbers, the firewood was wet so cooking dinner took too long, the bus broke down for 7 hours. And those setbacks are real, and get in the way ALL THE TIME. Whatever plans, big or small, do come through, it’s a big deal. I’ve had days where I have meetings arranged at 3,4,5 and 6PM, and not a single one shows, or calls. C’est la vie.   

His surprise at my declaring that the health club would not be feasible this year (as opposed to implying that I would try, then just not coming, and letting it fall apart without ackowledging that it was) reminded me of trying to fundraise for the camp this past spring. I went around to local businesses and officials in town, and can't count how many people told me they might give, to come back next time…no one wanted to give a blunt no, even where that would have been SO helpful, and even when they knew they would not be giving.  I didn’t realize that, and wasted whole days going back again and again just to be turned around and toyed with that it might come through.

So I can understand that all the families of my A2 scholarship recipients were shocked that the scholarships actually got paid, in full, and on time. The girls told me that not one of their parents expected anything to come of the their supposedly being selected. Imagine winning a formal scholarship competition and thinking “Yeeeah, I’ll believe it when I see it”.  Makes me proud that we actually were able to come through, they need examples of that in their lives.

Grassroots work: heartwarming, heart-wrenching - just how I love it

September 11, 2012

"I’m feeling it, the fact that I am in my last phase of my service, and it’s both exhilarating and anxiety-ridden. I can imagine now what I have heard, that those working back in offices in the states long to be back in the field doing what I am doing right now. And why shouldn't they? What I am getting the chance to do is absolutely amazing! Grassroots work has no shortage of challenges, but the special moments you share and the bonds you create are profound, touching and eye-opening like no other experience I've had. 

This afternoon three women, two of them AIDS patients I work with, walked across town to visit me, even in the rain, and brought me a big bag of yams that one of them had grown in her field. I gave them fuzzy socks to wear after they left their sandals at the stoop; they sat on my wicker couch and I made us hot cocoa and popcorn. We started off chatting about the crazy weather and the fact that I live alone, that I’m actually not married but sometimes say I am to discourage men. They as women knew exactly what I was talking about – that men love my skin, not me, and they laughed and laughed when I told them my little devices for warding off their advances, including pretending I'm calling my dad so they can discuss the bride price. (More extreme measures include claiming to have a Cameroonian husband who is a commandant in the national BIR army - the president's personal death squad. I'd been using this last resort story for months when I finally met a BIR soldier, and I nearly wet my pants he was so intimidating to behold. No wonder it’s been effective at getting men to back off : ) I would have loved to divulge my secret weapon story to him, and think we could have a laugh about it, but I could hardly squeak out my name.)

One of the woman said “Oh, you do bridal price where you live?” I said no, and then we got into a discussion about how "chez nous" many people actually see bride price as condescending to women’s rights and equality, we don't like the implication that women are being bought, and turn into a sort of property. In most marriages, nothing concrete is exchanged between the families - even how the families pay for the wedding is not set - and it’s a union between two equal, autonomous parties. (This is painfully far from the truth here; for example, women are often pressured, forced essentially, by the man and his family to sign on the marriage contract that she accepts polygamy and the inevitability that other wives will soon follow. Few women I know here would ever choose that of their own will.) I did not push this opinion on them, but like in many of my discussions about gender, I like opening their minds to various possibilities and approaches. The awesome thing about Peace Corps is that that is a defined part of our job description, sharing culture, in both directions...so all of these exchanges are "work".

I did the same thing talking about the age women have children at, sharing that in the US a lot of women wait until 30 or later to have kids, doing other things first like getting an education and making sure their partner is someone they really love and respect. Plus, many work for several years to save up enough money to support the child well because it is such a major financial commitment. Their eyes were wide at this approach. We joked about how I should already be married with children by Cameroonian standards, but in the US my peers who are already married and having children are seen as ahead of the curve! I felt so relaxed and absolutely happy having them at my house, us sharing, their trusting me and us all being open and comfortable in each other's company, language and other barriers seeming to crumble. Is this not the epitome of everything that is special about this experience, everything that I’ve worked towards being able to do? It is, and I'm savoring it like fine dark chocolate.

Matilde*, spunky dame that she is, had to add in the weight comments to make the evening complete. She opened up, “Alicia (I go by my middle name here), I wasn't like this. I used to be so thin. I've gained so much weight since I started going on that treatment. I used to weigh 50 kilos, now I weigh 67” I tried to sympathize, telling her that I too have gained weight since coming to Cameroon, and I can understand that it’s bizarre having your body change like that right under you. She looked at me and responded: "Yeah, you are even bigger than me. WAY bigger even! You must be at least 80 kilos! Yes, you HAVE gained a lot of weight here in Cameroon!” Thaaaanks, so glad we are helping each other feel better. It's silly though – she did not even know me when I first got here, I had already gained my Africa weight (sounds like it should be an oxymoron, but nope) when she first saw me, so bugger off! I feel like when people don’t have much else to say upon seeing me again, they go straight to “ you've gained weight since last time”.

Just one indication of what a blunt culture it is - women here, like us, generally do not want to gain weight - I know many who want to lose weight, and most fear going on the birth control pill because they've heart it I makes you gain weight - yet they are quick to point out when you have, and with vivid terms and gestures! My friend the other day confirmed that "no, it is NOT a compliment" - I told her it is extremely rude where I'm from to tell that to someone, she laughed. Bring in how they discuss race, or their fellow Africans ' behavior (for another blog post!) and the third national language could be deemed Political Incorrectness.

What really made me happy though was when Matilde, pretty quickly, said“Alicia…is this maladie (HIV) ever going to finish? I want to have another child, and I don’t know if I can. I’m nervous, with the maladie.” Wow, ok, we are diving right in, this is real. First of all, I did not know who the other woman she brought with her was, or if we would be able to allude to Matilde's HIV status in front of her. It turned out it was her “sister” from the same home village, that all-important supportive friend. I was so impressed that Matilde was open with us both and perfectly willing to discuss with me the issues of having HIV. This is not a development I take for granted...I have been working for months to gain this kind of trust with these patients. I realized that she had just given me the green light to speak intimately with her, and in I went.

I gently asked her about children she already had, their status, the father (already died), who she wants to have another child with (a friend, HIV negative), and what they do now (use a condom). We talked about the risks involved, but how they are lower with her being on treatment, how we can look at her menstrual cycle and find her fertile days, then they can have less unprotected sex while still working to get pregnant. I tried to use popcorn in a cup of water to show how treatment decreases the level of HIV in the body so that it’s less likely that you’ll pass the infection to your partner, or to your baby, though still possible. I told her I could accompany her to the gynecologist to talk through her options and their advice. I brought out my homemade chart of the female reproductive system and we dove into talking about the monthly cycle and how fertility and conception work. They had so many questions and just ate up being able to learn about their bodies. One of them is already going through menopause, and just hearing much of this information for the first time in her life.

It is so humbling doing one-on-one education with someone who has real questions they are bringing to you in trust, feeling like you are teaching them something they can really use (another reason I love teaching reproductive health, its more individually controlled, less dependent on government infrastructure, the way water hygiene is). These are the afternoons that no amount of harassment, phone service outages, cockroaches in my bedroom, relentless rain or molding damp laundry can get me down : )

"Then came the real pot of gold. I think I may have found my calling."

This was the day only a few months into my service (back when I lived in the Anglophone region of Cameroon) that I fell in love with teaching reproductive health, a love affair that has only gained momentum since then, and which I'm excited to start talking more about.

The other day my landlord asked me what the funniest thing to happen to me in Cameroon has been, and I could not come up with a good response off the top of my head. One of the top contenders is bolded below : )

I've found so much joy and satisfaction teaching reproductive health ever since

March 16, 2011

"I taught at two schools today, and each session was one of those could-not-have-asked-for-more experiences that make you want to shout "YES! I'm doing it! This is why I came!" The moments you realize why those who are back doing development policy in Washington DC miss being in the field.

The first class was of the oldest students in the elementary school - quite well-behaved, eager to learn, and super good at the whole "Good morrrrrning Ma DAMME!" stand up ritual when I walk through the door. Never gets old! We did the activity where I pass out slips of paper, one with an x, and have everyone shake hands with 3 people. We pretend that the person who had the x had a virus, and you ask those who shook their hand to stand up, then those who shook their hands, on an on until everyone is standing…really demonstrates how fast illnesses and viruses can spread when we don’t wash our hands (or for older students, wear a condom).

Then we did an activity on gender, making lists of what we know about men and women. I was worried they would be nervous to be stereotyping, but they fell right into the “trap!” Women sew dresses, plant seeds, braid hair, cook the food, take care of children, have high voices, have breasts, breastfeed, carry baskets and clean the house; Men split wood, build houses, climb trees to get palm oil, like soccer, drink beer, go to the farm, are stronger, lead the family, have a deep voice, have no babies.

We talked about which ones cannot change, and which could, possibly. SO INTERESTING!! Some things they could see could change. Men COULD sew dresses, women can also go to the farm. Even once they saw that the other gender could also do perform some roles, certain flip-flops were very uncomfortable for them. “Could men ever take care of babies?” A resounding “NOOOOO Madame!” Can men wear baskets? NO. Why, they cannot also put on a basket? “Madame, it’s our culture.” Winner! Really cool to lead them to that point of recognition.

Then we talked about how at different times and in different places men and women have different roles, many of which have been determined by culture, and which can shift over time. Women wear dresses, but I am wearing pants today, as a woman. Some women even in this town are working, and the man helps take care of the children. It was so neat to see the children give different responses as the student next to them, then look confused about who was right? They got totally into it, and by the end understood that some things will never change (men can’t breastfeed, will always be generally bigger) and some can depending on time and place. Even the male teacher brought up how one of the Cameroonian tribes depends on women to build the thatched huts, not men. Score!

Then came the real pot of gold. I think I may have found my calling. It has come seriously to my attention that students of middle and high school age in my town receive NO sex education, and the principal, parents, students and other teachers have informed me that lack of awareness is rampant around HIV and other STD’s, puberty issues of all types, male/female interactions, pregnancy, contraception, and their own changing bodies.

So in addition to bringing many of these topics into my weekly lessons with the Health Club, we decided to start a special program for Form 3 and Form 4 girls – about 9^th/10^th grade level – many of whom become pregnant and drop out of school. We kept the boys away and I spent a couple hours talking to them about how I know they have so few options for getting information about these really important topics, and I wanted to create a place where we could be open and honest about all the things girls face as they are becoming ladies. When I walked outside at the end of the workshop, I was stunned to realize I had no idea what time of day or day of the week it was, I had been so absorbed in the moment, so blown away by everything that took place…and all I wanted was to do it again.

We played a Jeopardy game, in which between all the teams (at least sixty students), we could not come up with the four fluids that transmit HIV, no one knew what the clitoris was, and we ran into a serious problem of how to respond to traditional belief answers. With the question “What are three important things for a pregnant woman to do or not do” we got “Make sport (exercise), go to the clinic, and keep having sex so the hole for the baby will not close up”. This is something many of their mothers and other women of the village entirely think is important, yet has no effect on if the baby will actually come out…the biology teacher who co-led the session warned that not counting the answer as correct would cause a massive loss of faith in our other teachings.  We ended up counting the question as right overall, though I emphasized that no one should go searching for sex during pregnancy thinking that the baby needs it. Team B ended up winning by that one point! That caused a small riot, but all in the name of learning.  

Hilarity ensued when the answer to one question was“erection” and girls did not know that word. Election? Connection? Correction?, the girls proposed I might mean. Teachers here often use the method of letting the kids say the last word of a sentence, such as “We need to wash our hands with soap and ____” WATER. The kids are very attuned to saying aloud what they think the missing word is. So as the teacher goes to expand on the concept of an erection, she said “When a boy has an erection, it means he is all ready to have sex, so you need to” and before she even indicated a pause, about 10 of the younger girls, looking terrified at the prospect, burst out “RUN!”

I lost it. YES, RUN. Great answer, keep it for many years please!

I also turned an old powdered milk tin into a Question Box, with a cut-out in the cover for paper slips to go through. I handed out paper bits but worried that the girls would be too shy to ask anything, or not know what to ask…but pens were scribbling furiously with an outpouring of long-pondered questions and every girl submitted at least one.  Reading them was like reading kids’ letters to Santa, they were so touching and sweet and poignant for the very real issues they revealed the girls are struggling with without anyone to talk to. I’m looking at a few I’ve just pulled out: “Why so much menstrual pain every month?” “What is love really talking about?” “How to answer boys who are disturbing you?” “How can I control myself from having unwanted sex, and why do we have unwanted feelings for boys?” “How to do with boys who are approaching for sexual activities?” A LOT of menstruation questions – pain, understanding your cycle, if skipping months is normal, and a lot about boys, pregnancy, and how to manage sexual feelings. Welcome to womanhood ladies – menstrual cramps and dealings with men! Very Judy Blume stuff, it was great and brought me back to 6^th grade – yet NO one talks to these girls about any of this, and they don’t have a library, magazine rack, health center hand-outs, or the internet to help them figure it all out. I can’t wait to keep working with them, they seemed really eager and got so much more comfortable by the end. I loved being real with them, telling them I am here to make sure they have information. At the end the bio teacher said to them “Listen, we are not here to kill those already having sex” (umm, yeah I should hope not). I love my job!

Being able to do this all in English, which they understand well, is such a blessing – allows me to be so much more intimate with them and really get specific. But when we went over the male and female reproductive systems and I contexualized that all these parts are located between your belly button and between your legs, there were fits of giggles and whispers. Yes, ladies, I did say penis. But one girl bravely raised her hand and, giggling, asked me to repeat the name of “the thing on your stomach”. “The belly button?” They BURST out laughing! “Madame, it’s called a naval.” Made my day. "

I asked and you told me: Write openly and honesly, we want to hear it.

In response to my last blog post, thanks for your encouragement to be brave and describe my experiences here more openly. I've been looking through my journal and am relieved to start sharing some of my entries over the last months.

 

April 13, 2012

"The hardest stuff here is way more twisted, confusing and mind-blowing than anything I could have ever imagined or can easily sum up in a clean response to people's question, "so what's the hardest part of being there?" I'm planning on writing a book about all that is hard to encounter and literally unbelievable - this place is not as undeveloped and deeply troubled, despite (because of?!) the developed world's massive interventions, nor has it long been called a savage and dark continent, for reasons that are easy to swallow and mentally wrap my head around, let alone articulate.

I’ll take an example from today that is completely normal and un-extraordinary in its depiction of life here. I started teaching a reproductive health/HIV/AIDS course today at the most legitimate, organized higher education school in my city, a management institute that has international exchange students, gets outside funding and has classrooms with the first whiteboards I’ve seen in country.

After class, I met with the assistant director, and in speaking of AIDS, he quickly made his beliefs clear that he knows as surely as he knows he is a man, that HIV was created by western powers to suppress Africa, maintain their global position on top, and create tons of jobs for scientists, researchers, and health workers who would otherwise would be unemployed (apparently there are no other health or science or development issues that we could be putting resources toward if AIDS was not on the table.) He and his other colleagues in the room ALL believe that we already have the vaccine, that the whole thing is just a political and economic ploy, that we benefit HUGELY from the AIDS epidemic, that instead of spending untold amounts, the Western world has made out like bandits by, among other things, marketing and selling condoms as necessary. I am the first to recognize that the AIDS response has been politicized and misdirected and manipulated for special interests (I just finished the book Tinderbox on this subject, fascinating). But the fact that they believe the whole thing is a "white man" plot against them, wholly self-serving, gives a peak into their love/hate complex with the west.

And if this is a widely held view, are people perceiving my information about HIV as relevant and true, or all part of our scam? YIKES!

If this was a drunk guy on a rant in a bar it would be one thing, but this was a professional sitting in a nice office in a fine suit, leading a well-respected school, and having been well-educated with an extensive training and professional background. I have had two other high level regional government employees in the last week alone unleash their unwavering convictions and vast accusations of exactly the same nature, and the colleagues whom I respect the most, who I have turned to for support, can only say “Well, who knows for sure?”. Serious arguments from this highest level of well-spoken, well-traveled Cameroonians include: “Tess, I don’t know if you can understand this example. It’s like all the people who go into cahoots with sorcerers so that one can put a spell on people to give them epilepsy, and the other can offer a cure for it, and they both get rich.” I know well enough by now not to get distracted by objecting that epilepsy is not a disease that is spread by witchcraft spells…everyone just laughs and says I don’t know Africa when I suggest that it might be anything else.

It definitely makes you feel like you are going crazy when you are the only one in a room who believes what you feel so surely to be true, when, at an outdoor community event you say “thank goodness it’s not raining today” and your lawyer, masters degree-holding counterpart says “well, I’m sure the organizer paid a rain chaser”, then five people laugh at YOU when you playfully push back on that explanation.

Cell phones juxtaposed with impassable roads and pit latrine bathrooms, widespread use of Facebook by young mothers at risk of dying during delivery, obsession with modern fashion next to witchcraft stories of women flying around the world at night in a sardine tin airplane, Rihanna blasting in the midst of full on AIDS-denialism… Welcome to Cameroon in 2012, where very Western-looking women believe they have to have lots of sex during pregnancy so that they will not close up and their baby won’t get stuck inside, but that they can’t have sex while breastfeeding because semen gets into their breast milk and rots it- THAT’S what gives babies diarrhea. So to try and stop their men from going to prostitutes while they breastfeed and abstain, they instead stop breastfeeding after a month, and their babies die, but blame goes to the malicious uncle, who must have killed the baby by snapping a chicken leg (from a person who he had transformed into a chicken) during a spell."


May 29, 2012

"Some weeks it seems not an hour goes by I do not run into a new challenge that has my head spinning as to how to react in line with my principles. Each of the staff that I worked with on [Project X] mentioned casually or directly at least once that I give them “motivation” at the end – one of their many code words for under-the-table money. Knowing that the budget was maxxed out, and having participated themselves in all the trainings, gained all the info, and having made the products, eaten the free meals, and taken all the leftover materials and food to divide among them…plus having benefitted from the association of working with Peace Corps, the informal prestige that their group got for carrying this out, and how much it helped their clients…they are pressuring me to give them a cash bonus.

They did work hard, and I am incredibly grateful, but the position they have put me in feels uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and unprofessional. I started by writing them all nice cards on the beautiful Wave Hill stationary that Syretha sent me. The woman I worked closest with opened hers and said, “You will give me all the other blank cards”. So typical of what I hear every day - using accusatory, demanding statements like this to show affection and thanks while also inducing guilt and feeling out how much more you can get (whenever I call someone they spend most of the time talking about how I've "abandoned" them, and why don't I call more...but I know that's them telling me they miss me!).

Knowing that the staff put in extra time and came in on at least one extra day, I tweaked the budget and gave them each $10 as a thank you / transport and phone credit allowance. This was something I had to reflect long and hard about doing, and still do not know how I feel about it, or what it represents and if it's ok. But they never even have a near-sufficient operating budget, let alone bonuses or tips, so a little thank you seemed appropriate. I'd probably hope for the same were I in their shoes. Thought that'd be that.

As soon as I did so, the head of the unit publically called me out for having inappropriately given her the same amount as her inferiors, and how improper and insulting that was, though one of those inferiors had actually taken the lead on their side. I almost started crying I was so confused about what to say or do, and was so annoyed that she would throw this at me, when I was clearly already navigating strange cultural waters with visible unease. I told her this is how I work as an American, with transparence and equality within a team– she shot back that she has already worked with an American organization, and it was not like that. I said she could write me a letter if I had acted wrongly, but that this was all strange and new to me, so excuse me. The several Cameroonians I asked yesterday about how these things usually work just said it depends, that I should do what feels right. Once again, what the heck is that?

This is what it’s like to be in charge of something I suppose – all the tough shit comes flying straight at you, there is no one else who is taking care of it as you just do your simple job on the side. In that sense I am proud of myself and can feel my capacity for taking on stressful situations ballooning."


August 13, 2012

"I had tears in my eyes the other day talking to one of the AIDS patients that I have gotten to know since beginning to work with that community in our local hospital. The trainings I organized to teach
income-generation techniques like soap-making and jewelry helped me get to know a number of these women better, and now when they come once a month to pick up their drugs and attend my educational sessions, they are happy to see me ("Tata Alicia!"), and I them. I ask them about how their skills are coming along - a LOT of them are now making soymilk and tofu! - but also especially like learning about their stories and how HIV has impacted their lives.

The porch where they wait to be called in by the nurse is a great place to have informal discussions, and one woman pulled me aside when I asked how she was. Her case is so touching, and hard to hear, but the epitome of what is complicated about AIDS work and realities. This petite quiet woman opened up to me - she is HIV+, as is her husband, but he refuses to get the tests he needs to start treatment, or to even discuss going on treatment or admitting that the disease is real, a threat, something that needs attention. She is being responsible about taking her drugs and staying healthy otherwise, but since he also refuses to use protection (even when she tries using a female condom), she is getting constantly re-infected by his HIV, which is very dangerous and harmful, even if you are already HIV+. He doesn't want to read materials, listen to the urgings of the nurse who has done home visits, or have their second child tested. It seems like until he gets sick himself, which could still take years, he won't be open to making any changes personally or in their relationship.

In the meantime, they are legally married and have two kids. He supports them all, which keeps her from being able to leave - he won't send them any support if they are not under his roof, and the law would not be at all on her side in an attempted divorce. She knows that each sexual encounter is negating the work of her ARV drugs and healthy lifestyle, but does not know how his stubborness can be overcome and feels completely up against a wall. She has even offered that he get another wife (polygamy is legal) and just leave her on the side to raise his kids (what an idea to feel desperate enough to want to present to your husband), but he is not interested.

I stood there with her, absorbing and trying to share her heartache, realizing I had no actual suggestions to offer, it's just a heart-breaking situation that stands to stay that way for some time. I took her phone number and will try and be a good friend. I hugged her for a long time. What else can I do? What can she do? What would you do?

These are the tough moments, but also the ones that further emphasize how much I want and need to be involved in this type of work, bringing together public health, cultural and gender issues- infinitely fascinating and challenging, and where the real answers to making progress will have to come from, I believe."

 

Peace Corps Blogs: To gloss or not to gloss?

Last night I got into a heated discussion with a few other Peace Corps volunteers about the role our blogs play, and whether choosing to portray mostly the lighter-hearted aspects of this experience is considerate  - to those back home, as well as to our host country’s image - or irresponsible, giving a romanticized, even dishonest depiction of our lives to those who are trying to decide if Peace Corps is for them. We debated: Do our friends and families want to hear the more complex, gritty realities we are entangled by here?  Will they be able to understand our frustrations with the systems/culture/attitudes without context, and be enlightened without undue worry?  Can I possibly articulate the un-PC issues facing me as a young white woman in Africa without being offensive, judgmental, or sounding prejudiced? Or is it better to give our wider reading audience a soft landing and keep the darker side of the story stored away in journals, discussed among fellow volunteers, or divulged only to an intimate few?

Anyone scrolling through my own blog can tell that I’ve taken what may be the easy way out. Lots of picturesque photos, tidy anecdotes and mostly passing mentions of the challenges without in-depth disclosure or analysis. Many of you know I love to write, and while most of my deeper reflections are kept off the blog, I have scores of Word documents detailing the incredible highs and disturbing lows that fill my days, of the unanswerable, aching questions I have about why this place is how it is, how I, and “we” as Westerners fit into its past and future, the sides of myself I’ve had to come to terms with here, and the messiness of our global situation that I had never witnessed so rudely, and now don’t know how to reconcile.  

Why not share some of these pages of real, raw emotion? In fact, I dream of doing just that and will be looking for ways to publish a more rounded, contextualized account of what this journey is like, taking on issues that for now seem frankly too dense and personal to encapsulate publicly. “It’s not blog-ready”, I always feel, but I suppose that’s cheating, and a worn-out excuse. Perhaps I am just acting out of fear and unease in avoiding tackling the sensitive, sore topics that affect people here so deeply and have made my own conscious much more disorderly. I tell myself that it’s because I want to do them justice, take time to sort through all my musings and ramblings and put together a cohesive, meaningful discussion of my misadventures here and what I see going on beneath them. Whether or not I can ever do that remains to be seen, and I’m probably not doing my readers any service by skirting what’s beneath the surface just because I don’t feel like I can properly  weave it together as respectable prose.

This is by far the most personal experience I’ve ever had, and for now my writing is mostly personal too.  But the short time I have left, and my awareness of how much I haven’t said, is prodding me to shed my trepidation and shine a light on some of what I’ve recorded.  I’ve struggled for the past two years with feeling incapable of writing openly and honestly on my blog, and as if I am hiding within my own comfort zone as a writer in not wanting to describe the elements of Peace Corps that push me outside that comfort zone. But they are many, and important to my own growth and how I’m coming to view culture, history and development. So I am making a goal to let myself and my writing be more exposed and vulnerable in the hope of contributing something to the ongoing pursuit of asking questions and seeking answers.

Back to school season in full swing

 

Saturday was a workday at the Social Center where 60 kids and counting live, but the payoff was worth it. We hung mosquito nets over all their beds - malaria is a HUGE problem in this area and they've been promised nets by the government for years and never seen a one. This summer during our camp an NGO Peace Corps works with managed to donate these, and getting them up was a great back to school hands-on project for the group - complete with a little chaos and the 60 various ways kids went about tying them to their beds. Who doesn't love a canopy bed?
Did you know, nets are so important because malaria-carrying mosquitos only come out from dusk to dawn?

  

 

 

 

Birthday / back to school party for my scholarship recipients was a blast - friends and the birthday girl's twin daughters came along, and my banana cake and chocolate chip cookies shockingly got rave reviews -- rare when we share American dishes.



After net-hanging, it was a soymilk and tofu-making demo for the older students and personnel of the centre social, including all the women who cook for them and who I'm hoping will work soy into the repertoire.

 

We start with dry soybeans, pick out all the rocks and bugs, soak them overnight, grind them, then squeeze out the milk.

We boil the milk, sweeten it for soymilk, or continue by adding vinegar which makes it coagulate, and you get a thicker cottage cheese-y substance that you then press...

The best part is, nothing goes to waste. The remains after you squeeze out the soymilk are pigs' favorite food...and there were plenty around to enjoy this batch.

After pressing, cutting, and frying, they taste just like chicken nuggets and no one believes there is not meat inside. They were thrilled to learn - the process is a bit tedious, but most of their food prep is, and they have the time, but not the money to buy meat, which is why this is a perfect fit.

 

Four of us nearbye volunteers, one staff member (my dear friend Natalie, far right), and the WONDERFUL new director of the Center in the middle. Dream team  : )

There is nothing I love more than being asked to participate in some ceremony, photo op or social occasion solely because my whiteness is believed by the organizers to lend some prestige or credibility to the event/institution. This happens a LOT, and is quite blatent, bizarre and uncomfortable...but a definite reality of the strange racial interplay / complex alive and well here. My expression tells my unease at being asked to give a speech to a potential donor visiting an organization that I have just become a member of?! Hmm...bit fishy. I am also insanely jealous of the beeautiful African mask he is being given.  



Now this part I can get into: spontaneously requesting to show off the songs I taught these kids this summer, to add a little life to the ceremony.