This week was a
bittersweet rollercoaster ride of emotions, with one moment being wonderful,
and the next being either terrifying, or just not enjoyable. Baby Abdel and
Mireille left on Monday morning, and as much as I was not a fan of his
screaming/testing his vocal chord range at high volumes, usually during the
hours of 2-5 a.m., when he clung to me in a tight hug, not even wanting to go
back to his mother or grandmother, I was forced to admit that damn, I’m really
going to miss the little guy. After all, I saw his first steps, his family left
him with me to take care of while they had gone to the farm (unbeknownst to me
at the time that they had left), after I was done playing with him, I could
gladly give him back to his mom to take care of, and (possibly best of all),
was never scared of me, the la blanche (white person). Mireille and Abdel are
moving back to Yaounde to live permanently. Another bittersweet happening was
in my discussion with one of my best friends here, who is seriously considering
ET-ing (early terminating, aka going back home). As much as I support her and
am happy that she’s given this a lot of thought, realizing that this isn’t for her,
the thought of her leaving really shook (and is still shaking me up). It also
forces me to really reevaluate and think again of why am I here; what do I want
out of the experience; what can I give to the people in my community; what can
I learn; what have I learned about myself, others, the world so far – all
questions that are not easily grappled with. Suffice it to say, I either know
these answers, or am excited to discover/experience/figure them out, and if
ever that changes and I don’t know the answers or think that being in Cameroon
is not where I need to be, I’ll leave. I refuse to be one of the PCVs that
stays out of stubbornness, or the fear of the scarier changes ahead of going
home, or fear of the potential rejection/judgment of the other PCVs – staying
when I’m not passionate/invested in the experience benefits noone, and actively
hurts both my community and myself. Anyway, lots to think about. Also, fun
fact: Peace Corps has an acceptance rate of under 20%.
I
think my introspective/retrospective mood was also such because I wasn’t
feeling well. Being sick in a foreign country is easily one of the worst
possible feelings/things to experience. Armed with one of the nurses, Julia and
I went to the Bafia district hospital to determine what was wrong with our
respective bodies. Julia has bronchitis, and I had stomach/abdominal cramps
that were causing me flash fevers and waves of nausea – pleasant, huh? At the
hospital, Julia was informed that her bronchitis was due to the fact that
Cameroon is much colder than the US and that her not wearing
scarves/parkas/sweaters. Riiiggghhht. I was informed that my ailments were due
to the fact that Cameroon has lots of spices. When I politely told the two
medical professionals who were telling me this horseshit explanation for my
illness, I was told that it was the parsley and celery spices that were doing
me in. Gaaaahhh! One blood draw later, I was informed that although I don’t
have malaria or parasites (it’s the simple things in life, like no parasites, that
really make you appreciate life), but have food poisoning…for two weeks. Also,
when I told my family that I could only eat simple foods, my mom asked if
oranges were okay, and when I responded yes, she proceeded to give me one of
the heaviest meals ever: boiled manioc balls the size of your fist (gotta love
that starch), and tomato fish sauce swimming in palm oil. No oranges were in
sight. But on the bright side, I feel significantly better now, after dealing
with real food poisoning and a cold last night, and I’m getting lots of
firsthand experience with the Cameroonian healthcare system.
On
the flip side, we had our second community group meeting with the secondary
school girls in the health club. The girls were no less interested that the
last time we met, and this time, our curriculum focused on educating the girls
on the different family planning mechanisms available to them, stating the
advantages and disadvantages of both; showing them proper condom use with a
wooden phallus borrowed from my host mama (this is something I never envisioned
doing, let alone wanted to do; in fact, I told the people in charge of the
health program that this is something I really wasn’t interested in doing in my
community, but here I am, wooden phallus and condom in hand demonstrating
proper use…; and going through different role play and case study scenarios
that encourage the girls to be empowered and ideas to facilitate the
conversation on sexual health with their parents and guardians. As before, the
meeting lasted over two hours, and could easily have gone on for much more.
Lots of the girls could’ve easily continued asking us questions, but there were
several girls that were tired and potentially bored – working with a group of
30+ girls, talking about a potentially taboo topic, is hard work, but
rewarding.
Back
to the bad experience: almost getting stoned – as in, small children throwing
rocks at the white people, and not just to get our attention, these girls were
throwing stones with the aim of hitting us. The same girls had bothered me
another day when I was coming back home – they grabbed my arm, demanded food
and money, and then pushed my backpack when I walked away. I suspect they
might’ve done more if I hadn’t whirled around and demanded that they go away
(without turning my back on them), watching them as they walked away. This
time, I was with two other PCTs and a PCV trainer, and the girls had done the
same routine to the other PCTs who were walking ahead of us. After their
demands of food and money were not met and we walked away, the PCV yelped in
pain and grabbed her shin – the seemingly 7-year-old girl had thrown a rock. We
turned around, speaking to them in French and saying ‘no!’ fervently, and
turned away to go on our way. The next moment, Hannah yelped in pain and
grabbed her head – a little harder and a half an inch lower, and Hannah
could’ve been in serious medical trouble. After discussing what we wanted to
do, all of us marched back to get the girls, and attempt to teach them a
lesson. The one who had thrown the rock ran away, while the other children
dragged back the other culprit (the rock-thrower’s 10-year-old sister who had
goaded her on and grabbed our arms, making demands). After speaking with a
nearby neighbor, we made the girl march us to her house, where we questioned
her about her actions, told her we didn’t believe her when she told us it was a
little game and that she told her sister not to do it, and that we wanted to
see her parents/guardians and explain what she had done. Her aunt and uncle
weren’t home, so we let the incident go. We all knew that regardless of them
being home, the girls would probably get beat (corporal punishment is alive,
well, and highly accepted in schools, homes, hospitals, and even work). I’m
certainly not a fan of this, but I don’t know how to reconcile that with also
wanting the girls to know the wrongness of their actions/that they can’t do
this again. It’s a definite moral dilemma.
In another incident of children’s
misguided actions, my family had a guest (a young mother with a 4-year-old
daughter and a young son – I’d be shocked if these kids didn’t have serious
health issues already, namely parasites and upper respiratory infections).
After my sister and the mother went to the kitchen with the baby, the girl
marched over to me, and started punching me in the leg. I immediately grabbed
her wrists, demanded to know what she was doing and why, and told her to stop.
She stopped, but the next moment we were alone in the living room, the girl did
it again. I grabbed her wrists (hard), she tried to bit my hand, and I wrangled
her hands behind her back, cop-style, as I marched her into the kitchen to tell
her mother and my sister. Both verbally scolded her, and not 10 minutes later,
she was sitting on a small bench with me helping me clean a recently killed
chicken (I watched it being killed and prepared it from directly after to table
– a great feeling to see from farm to table). She then snuggled up to me, asked
to help me peel garlic, and clung tightly to me in a hug at one point. Needless
to say, I am baffled by children’s behavior here.
On
a happier note, Bafia people visited Bokito on Sunday and we had a celebration,
complete with lots of cold drinks, lots of dancing to African and American
music, street meat and spaghetti omelets, and hanging out – a phenomenal day.
After Bafia people left, Bokito people crashed the training center and made
dinner (pasta with Laughing Cow cheese, garlic, basil, and tomatoes) and
watched a movie (“The Birdcage” – a movie about a homosexual couple, which was
incredibly ironic due to the fact that Cameroon is one of the most homophobic
countries in the world, where homosexuality is illegal and punishable by
vigilante death), and ate popcorn. Easily one of the best nights I’ve had here
so far.
Pidgin
has also been going really well, and is lots of fun to learn. Instead of being
‘broken English’ as I had originally thought, Pidgin has its roots in both the
English and Portuguese languages, and is actually a pretty ancient language,
with several different dialects in Africa. I’m very close to Nigeria in
Kembong, and apparently Nigerians have their own unique editions/phrases in
Pidgin. The title of the blog, ‘small small, catch monkey’ means ‘slowly,
slowly, we will arrive.’ It’s also amazing that during Pidgin classes, all of
us are shifting easily (usually without even a second thought) between three
different languages (English, French, Pidgin) in order to learn. Knowing that
we can do that, let alone are doing it unconsciously, is a great feeling of
accomplishment. All in all, despite another rollercoaster week, I’m very
happy/satisfied here, and can’t believe that in less than 3 weeks, I’ll be en
route to my site and another life transition!
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