The White Man Says “How”: The First Week of My Life in Kembong

The day that I moved in to my turquoise and maroon-colored house in Kembong seemed to pass both in slow motion and as a blur. After a bumpy ride (understatement of the year, right there, as there were times that our car was almost completely vertical due to the muddy, unpaved roads), we met to meet with the vice chief of the village, a blunt, but kind man named Joseph. From there, we met my landlord, David, and began moving in all the things I had brought into my house. The next few hours were filled with unpacking, organizing, surveying, and greeting people – seemingly all at the same time. Although it was overwhelming, I was glad that one of my cluster mates, Dylan, had volunteered to help me move in and negotiate my first day at post, and secondly that all the community members seemed genuinely thrilled that I was there and would be staying for an appreciable amount of time. The excitement of the community members really did a lot to calm my nerves and give me an introduction to the general friendliness that I have come to associate and expect from my community. Kembong is the second largest city in the Manyu division, after Mamfe, and I didn’t expect my town to be quite so big and lively. If I had to describe the climate, I’d say that Kembong fits with the description that the Southwest is ‘jungle-y’ with a mixture of virgin forests, mountains in the distance, and some waterfalls (I’ve been told that there are several not too far away from the town). Additionally, Kembong is divided up into quarters (17, to be exact), and each quarter is denoted by the name on a green and white sign (I live in the Okem Benem quarter). Dylan, Pauline and I took a break around lunchtime to have a traditional meal of fufu and eru with snails (yeah, the same snails you may see in your garden after it rains…). Fufu is made out of cassava and has the consistency of sticky play-doh and is served in a cylindrical blob – you break off pieces with your right hand and dip it into the eru mixture to eat both together. Eru is comprised of greens that are gathered from the bush/forest, bound together, and then sliced to make stringy pieces that are boiled, mixed with pepe (SUPER hot peppers that only add sheer spice to the dish, and no actual flavor, in my opinion), and served with an obscene amount of palm oil (the whole mixture stains your hands orange). Needless to say, apart from the pepe (and the accompanying nose running, eyes watering, and sweating all induced by the pepe), it definitely wasn’t a bad meal. The rest of the day was spent entertaining visitors on my veranda and organizing my things before my reception in the evening. One of my visitors asked if I knew anything about mining, as he has a CIG (community interest group) in Kembong that concerns mining. When I told him that I didn’t, but would be willing to learn, he told me that the rock samples they had found so far in the mine indicated that there are diamonds nearby, and they had found blue sapphire in another, he said that he would bring me a blue sapphire (my birthstone) to have, in addition to taking me to the mines. A short time later, Pauline came to pick me up for the reception at the town hall. When we arrived, there were already 20 or so people, and by the time we started, there were over 50 people that had come to greet me. After Ashu did the introductions, Joseph, the vice chief, gave a speech welcoming me to Kembong, giving a brief history of the PC presence (I’m the tenth volunteer here), and saying that he hoped that I’d fall so much in love with the community that I would stay there, marry a Cameroonian man and live in Kembong (the whole room erupted in laughter at his statement). From there, everyone in the room introduced themselves (name and their role in the community), and one man said that he would be the pastor at my future wedding, and another younger man said that he would be the groom at our future wedding – no bueno. When it came time for me to introduce myself and give two unexpected/impromptu speeches, I explained why I was in the community, a little about myself (education, family, where I’m from in the States), I also decided to say that I had a fiancé and therefore would not be marrying any Cameroonian men – female volunteers have been known to say they’re married in the past to discourage unwanted male attention and numerous offers of marriage (sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t discourage anything/anyone). It may seem silly, but I wanted to take advantage of the joking mood to get that possibility off the table from the start so that people could focus on me being the resident health volunteer working with the health center instead of the “young and beautiful” potential marriage partners (as one of the reception males described me), or a green card opportunity. The reception ended with a meal of plantains and fish in a sauce called ‘pepe soup,’ which ironically, wasn’t hot or spicy in the slightest. After saying my goodbyes and with promises to either visit them, or inviting them to drop by my home, Pauline took me home. All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a better first day – people were nice, my landlord and counterpart (to say nothing of the rest of the community) are genuinely concerned with my happiness and success in the community, the weather is pleasant (not nearly as hot or humid as Mamfe), my house is quaint (four rooms – parlor/living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom), my landlord is willing to work with me to make the necessary minor repairs to my house, and I have reliable running water, and semi-reliable electricity (including a flushing toilet that actually flushes and doesn’t smell!). I feel very lucky. The next day, I went to the carpenter to buy a bed and had him come to my house to take measurements and draw up a homemade contract/receipt for the armoire and kitchen cabinets I’d designed. The plumber also came to fix my shower, kitchen sink, and toilet, in addition to putting in a lower tap in my bathroom so that I could easily fill my buckets for laundry. I also went to the health center to check everything out and to help out with the antenatal clinic. With the assistance of another nurse, Teckla, who speaks Pidgin and Ejagham, I asked the women the preliminary questions, figured out their due dates, took their height and weight, and perhaps coolest of all, assisted Pauline with doing the physical examinations (again, zero privacy or confidentiality laws here) – palpating the bellies of the woman to determine position of the fetus, listening the baby’s heartbeat (a first for me!), and asking if they had any complaints, including writing minor folic acid prescriptions for them. Later that day, I also met with several of the gendarmes (policemen) and commandant of the police station, which is comfortingly close to my house. Tita, one of the gendarmes, upon hearing that I like to run, made me promise that we could “make sport” (as exercising is called here) very soon. I’ve also been able to hear more of the local language, Ejagham, and have spoken with Pauline about seeking out a language tutor to help me learn the local dialect, as it is spoken much more commonly that Pidgin English here. Julia also came to stay the night with me, as she just moved into her house and it’s a dirty mess from the previous volunteer who left all of her stuff, to the delight of the rats and mice who’ve been scavenging over the past few months. The next day, I went to the weekly market with Pauline and bought several food items for that day and the next. As a side note, it’s a totally new experience having to buy your food items every day, since without the presence of a refrigerator and reliable electricity, it’s impossible to keep simple food items (like tomatoes) for over a day, given the climate and the insects. Later that day, I also went to the health center and spent some time holding the newborn babies in the absence of any other health concerns present. The mothers of the two babies (one boy and one girl) asked me if I would help them name their babies by writing down some American names. Thus, it came to be that Baby Ingrid and Baby Bruce were named. Julia came to stay with me again on Tuesday night, and after hearing her tales of life/interactions/her house in Afab, I felt a little guilty for having such an amazing set-up/life thus far in Kembong. People Are Dying Because of Money On Wednesday, I headed to Mamfe to go to the bank, post office, and buy some other supplies in the big city. En route in Njock’s car, I had a very interesting health discussion about malaria, HIV/AIDS and other health concerns within the community – definitely giving me lots of food for thought, especially after Njock’s comment of “People are dying every day because of money.” In that moment, although I have ideas about what can be done in the community as far as health outreach/education activities, I also felt incredibly helpless due to my lack of knowledge about the community, and quite frankly, not even knowing where to start. Although I felt troubled by the conversation, it was also good for me to get ideas about the potential barriers that I’ll most likely encounter in trying to formulate a project. After doing some shopping for essentials and checking my bank account, I giddily unwrapping my package from my Grandpa, and shared some of the yummy American snacks with my cluster mates while they prepared to leave the next day for their IST (in-service training that happens six months into your service). The next day, I returned to Kembong to my house (it’s slightly strange to realize that it’s already starting to feel like my own place even just after a few short days), before heading to a vaccination training – there’s a country-wide, government and WHO-sponsored poliomyelitis vaccination campaign that Kembong will be doing in the next few days. After the training and going over logistics of the campaign in Kembong, I headed home to spend time with the hoards of children who have come to spend every evening on my veranda (there are literally 10-15 children every night on my front porch). The next day, all the health center staff and I set out on our assigned parts of town to vaccinate all children 0-5 years of age for polio (two drops of the vaccine, administered orally). We started at the nursery school section of the Presbyterian school across from my house, and then worked our way from house to house on foot, shouting “we di vaccinate, we di vaccinate” (Pidgin) as we went. Unfortunately, many of the children were simultaneously intrigued and terrified of me, which made for a significant amount of wailing as we nearly strong-armed them into opening their mouths for the precious seconds that vaccinating them took. Additionally, I identified another big problem in the community (although not surprising in the slightest): nutrient deficiency, specifically calcium and vitamin D, causing the legs of children to be severely bowed. I saw at least 3 children like this, all under 5 years old, as we vaccinated them all, and want to do something about this before their growth plates close and they are potentially left permanently bow-legged (a long way off, but still). Over a meal of grilled fish and plantains that evening, I spoke with the chief of the health center, and formulated a plan. Our health center doesn’t have any calcium supplements, so the next time I go to Mamfe, I will take the written directive that I had him write to the pharmacies, buy the calcium supplement and bring it to the health center. Once I have the supplement, I will again track down these bow-legged children and encourage them to go to the health center to get nutrient supplements – I’ll supplement half (or more) of the cost of the calcium supplements if I have to, but I’d rather not give them for free – not only is that not sustainable in the long run, but I also don’t have the discretionary funds for that or to supplement future projects, and I want the family to be invested somehow in the health of their children, but at a cost that can hopefully be more affordable. I know this isn’t a viable long-term option, but I’ll be damned if I will sit by and do nothing, let alone let the children and parents think that their children living with bowed legs is a normal, expected part of life, something they can’t do anything about. But until I know the community better (namely nutritional habits) and can conduct my community needs assessment to identify other health needs, I can’t really do more or formulate a more comprehensive project. So I’ll have to be content with doing something in the short-term knowing that I have the best of intentions to do something more and better in the foreseeable future. On a happier note, working with Pauline on the vaccination campaign accomplished exactly what I wanted it to as far as furthering my integration in the community: not only did the people see me in the community, but they also saw me doing a health activity (serving to hopefully help them subconsciously associate me with community health/the health center), and I was able to further familiarize myself with the community. Over the next two days (roughly 10 hours of activity), we (six people) vaccinated over 600 children in the community, and I have to say, I’m pretty damn pleased. Your ‘Amen’ Has HIV/AIDS After more vaccinations on Saturday, I checked out the bakery, spent time with my little friends (the regular children who spend hours on end on my porch), and headed to Julia’s house to spend her birthday evening with her. The next day, I returned to Kembong to take several of my neighbors up on their invitation to go to the Apostolic Church in Kembong for a wedding. As a side note, religion is a big deal in Kembong, to say nothing of the rest of the regions of Cameroon. With that in mind, I’ve decided to attend the church services at each of the main churches (Apostolic, Presbyterian, and Catholic) in Kembong as a means of meeting people, cultivating a relationship with the members/community (which may be crucial for future health interventions, as Pauline mentioned that before they do any major health campaigns, they make announcements about it at all the church communities), and demonstrating to people that I am interesting in integrating into the community. I got to the wedding an hour after the church services were supposed to start, and witnessed the beginning program of the wedding to occur that day (I was there for 3.5 hours and the wedding hadn’t started yet). Even though I left before the actual wedding, being there accomplished a lot – the pastor invited all new/invited members to stand up and introduce themselves and when I did, the church erupted in applause/excited shouts; I was able to greet many people, including my neighbors who invited me, and witness part of the wedding ceremony. From there, I went home, acquiring a shadow of seven little boys who wanted me to play their “big man/chief” game with them on my veranda. More children trickled in, until I had a revolving door of 15+ children, when all I wanted was a few moments of alone time. Aside from the frustrating elements of the day (toilet flusher slightly breaking, being called ‘white man’ innumerable times) and the seemingly endless barrage of children coming, wanting attention, and sometimes demanding things from “Aunty Val” (my name here in Kembong – pronounced like ‘Vaaaaaal’), I realized that even though I’ll sometimes (even often) be frustrated and exhausted, I have so much to be thankful for: amazing family and friends, great community who truly cares (even if it means often not letting me have any space/privacy), and so much more that at the end of the day, I’m incredibly lucky. As for the title of this post, those community members who don’t yet know my name call out “white man” to me as I pass on the street – unlike in the U.S. where it would be highly irregular/rude to greet someone by calling out to them based on the color of their skin, here, it’s simply a way to distinguish who you are greeting, and denote an element of notoriety in the community. I suspect that even if I have a chance to greet the majority of the people in my village, or at least meet those that will tell/correct others in regards to my name, I will always hear calls of “white man” when I walk around. Secondly, the “how” refers to a typical abbreviated greeting in Pidgin – you might say “how for you,” or “how for skin,” or “how your day,” so instead, the greetings have been largely abbreviated to “how?”