Just How Much Have I Changed? – Reflections on Cameroonian Life Thus Far

Continuing with the reflective mood from my last post, and given that I’m looking back on a life well-lived in 2013, I wanted to share some of the small bits of how I’ve changed, or adapted to my life in Cameroon and Kembong. So here are some soundbytes to interest and amuse you: Regardless of what I’m doing, life here has a definitely different pace than what I was used to in the US – there isn’t really any sense of haste, naps are a daily part of professional life (the health center doesn’t really have any patients during the afternoons, due to the heat, so the Chief, nurses, etc all take a nap during the afternoon – to say nothing of the fact that the Chief indulges in palm wine and/or a beer many days, often before 10 am…), and people take the time to really enjoy human interactions – indeed, it’s considered very rude if you a) don’t take the time to greet someone, b) don’t take the requisite amount of time to be considerate and interact with them after greeting, or c) say ‘I’m coming’ (the Kembong equivalent of ‘I’ll see you later’) and don’t actually come back to spend an appreciable amount of time with them later. When I give the children balloons (like around the holidays), the children immediately blow them up and leave a bit for them to suck, like a little teet on the end – it’s super weird. Then they proceed to noisily suck on the end, pretending that they’re breastfeeding. And then they cheer when they pop each others. An additional revelation was that despite wanting two children within the next decade or so, having 20 children over in my house to watch a movie (as a side note, I started by showing them “Mulan” in a not-so-subtle attempt to break down gender stereotypes). Corralling and babysitting 20 children under the age of 10 is one hell of a job. After the second movie night of “Kung Fu Panda,” I think my movie showing days have a definite expiration date in the very near future. I love kids, don’t get me wrong, but not that many, and not all in my house for an extended period of time. A wonderful high on the rollercoaster of my life in Kembong has been my developing friendship with my Ejagham teacher and neighbor, Besong, an absolute dear of an older man, but with spunk – my favorite. Besong has made it his personal mission that I should learn Ejagham, and visits me every day so that we can have conversations in my stilted Ejagham. But I’m happy to report that I’m improving significantly, much to the delight of my village. Besong also took me to meet a friend of his, Harry Tabitha, the former chief of the Kembong health center. Harry was in this position for close to 19 years, and now in his retirement has decided to operate a clinic under the auspices of his NGO, which I’m not sure is exactly allowed in the provisions of his NGO licensure, but c’est le vie. It is clear that there’s a lot of bad blood between him and the rest of the current health center staff (they accuse him of stealing, he accuses them of incompetence – that he taught them everything they know). I am determined not to get in the middle of this feud. It’s clear that patients are still going to see Harry, regardless of the fact that his clinic is operating without any government/private oversight to the type of care that his patients are receiving (which is a little worrying). So I have determined that I will be Switzerland – a neutral party that is determined to work with both entities with the goal of improving the health of Kembong people. Additionally, Besong has become a very real friend to me; he asks me how life in Kembong is going and what barriers I’m encountering (I sincerely dislike being compared to all of the previous volunteers, particularly when it’s clear that they’re not even trying to get to know me in my own right), and helps me gain the local perspective in a very real way – something I really treasure, especially since I felt an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Let me tell you, living by yourself, while fun at first, is incredibly lonely. I’ve noticed myself starting to talk to myself – aaahh! Nah, it’s really not terrible, but not ideal by any stretch of the imagination. But I’m working through it, and I’ll be a stronger person after for having done it. Another thing about Besong is that he respects my space, time, and is not creepy in the way that many other Cameroonian men are. Allow me to elaborate. The following is a conversation that I have had at least fifteen times throughout my tenure here: Cameroonian man: (upon seeing me) oooh, wow! which is invariably followed by a ‘hey, baby’ or some other comment on my looks or the fact that I’m white Me: (terse and with bitch face solidly in place) hello there C.M.: You are so beautiful, I love you. Me: (inner sigh to the effect of ‘here we go again’) thank you. but have you seen me before? do you even know my name?! C.M.: No, but I love you so much (then continuing to express his deep and abundant ardor for me that he has magically developed over the past two minutes that he’s seen me…) Me: you cannot love me when you do not even know me! (he still hasn’t even bothered to ask my name at this point) C.M.: You will be my wife Me: (seriously, buddy, you’re not even going to have the courtesy to phrase it as a question?!) well, then I think you will be a very nice second husband C.M. (smiling and nodding until he realizes what I’ve actually said) whaatt??! Me: Yes, my second husband. C.M. You already have a husband?! Me: (keeping up with the pretense that I already have a fiance; and polygamy is accepted here, but not polygyny – women having multiple husbands) Yes, you will be perfect as my second husband. C.M. (clearly horrified) uhm, well, aaahhh…I cannot be a second husband. Me: Well, I guess you don’t love me enough to be a second husband. Ashia (sorry) for you. (which effectively ends the conversation without me having to freak out and explain for the zillionth time that I will not be marrying a Cameroonian, let alone one that doesn’t even know my name) On a different note, after visiting all of the schools (I just had the government primary school and the Catholic school left), pretty much all the children are calling me ‘Aunty Val’ or ‘Aunty Valerie’ and no more ‘Aunty White Man’ or ‘White Man’ – hooray! They also follow me in droves around town – I’m not kidding when I say that I feel like I’m the Pied Piper… Furthermore, I’ve stopped being slightly concerned when I see them carrying around cutlasses and machetes with 1-foot plus blades. After giving an impromptu talk at the secondary school (didn’t know it was going to be a one-woman show until 10 minutes before the actual session where I was supposed to present on a health topic), I’m giving some serious thought to helping teach Biology there. As a side note, when I asked a student what she’d like me to give the health talk on, she answered ‘the menstrual cycle’…hoh boy, just what I wanted to talk about in front of 60+ teenage boys and girls – not. I ended up talking about HIV/AIDS, which was also relevant, but significantly more in my comfort zone. Another amusing lost in translation moment happened when I found out I had malaria for the second time in Cameroon, actually, the second time in less than a month – blargh. When asked what my tribe was on the intake form, I didn’t know what to respond, so I said American. The nurse (who already really wasn’t understanding much of what I was saying, even though I was speaking slowly and clearly), responded ‘no.’ Welp, I guess if I can’t be American, I guess I’ll just say Ejagham, the tribe of Kembong, which is what I did. To that she responded ‘really?! I don’t believe you.’ What am I supposed to respond to that? So I assured her that yes, in fact, if you’re demanding that I tell you a tribe, and you’ve already vetoed the most logical answer, I’m going to stand by Ejagham. After some quibbling, she accepted it. When I went in to see the doctor to discuss my “very positive” malaria test as the lab tech put it, he had his head down and was scanning my charts. I knew the exact moment that he spotted the Ejagham entry, because his brow furrowed and he looked up at me with a quizzical expression on his face. He then questioned me about it, and after both finding the humor in the situation, he wrote American over the Ejagham, so now I’m American Ejagham. There’s lots more to share about my second meeting with Felix Tanyi, trying new foods (including eating bushmeat for the very first time), helping out with the vaccination campaign, and continuing to prepare for Pauline’s wedding. All in all, apart from having lots of lows in the rollercoaster, I’ve also had a tremendous amount of highs, but regardless, I’m still happy that I’m here.