BLOG 3- JANUARY 2011

JANUARY 2011

Surprisingly, Cameroon has evergreen trees, colored lights and Santa Claus at Christmas time.  Christmas is a very religious holiday here with most people participating in church services throughout the holiday.  Many people travel to be with family and will spend time in their villages of origin. My Christmas Eve was spent with volunteers enjoying a gorgeous barbeque and then off to the Catholic Cathedral for evening mass.  Christmas Day was a delightful day with a number of volunteers at an Anglican orphanage with over 100 children.  We brought our own Santa Claus, presents, and supplied food for a feast.  In return, the kids put on a traditional dance and sang for the 20 volunteers.  It was a very precious time together.

We survived the President’s visit to Bamenda and the Northwest celebrating 50 years of having a Cameroonian military force.  Many people felt like it was a great success and a sort of healing between the historic animosity between the President and this region.  There was no trouble, no demonstrations, nothing to alarm the President and his party.  On the other hand, groups were forbidden to gather, curfew was on, and thousands of military patrolled the streets everyday for weeks.  The big topic of conversation came when the Fons greeted the President and then shook hands with the First Lady.  Apparently Fons Do Not and Have Never shaken hands with a woman.  In the eyes of many this was seen as a betrayal of the culture and tradition; by others as a “roll-over”, or simply as a mistake made in the moment of enthusiasm and awe.  It was a kick to be with Cameroonians watching this on TV and hearing their surprise and shock at the event.   The grand finale was a very large and impressive fireworks display that just happened to take place up the road from my home with a perfect view from my upstairs balcony.

 

Pidgeon English is the primary language here with English and village specific languages also in the mix.  At times, it sounds completely foreign and I don’t understand a syllable.  And other times, there are familiar words thrown in and I can get the direction of the conversation. “ Whitemon” is the word for white person, which the children will use before it is trained out of them.  The other day as I was walking down the main road, a busload of pre-school kids rolled by.  I looked up to see dozens of children’s faces pressed against the windows screaming “Whitemon! Whitemon!” I have learned that I need to say “chop for pussy” if I want to find cat food, and children are called “Pikine”- a word that sounds a lot like our outdated and racist Southern expression for Black children.

 

We are deep in the dry season now which means loads of dust.  The winds pick up in the afternoons and the loose red soil begins swirling around covering everything inside and out.  Trees and bushes are dusted in red, my floors and table tops are dusted in red, and my clothes and body always seem to have a thin layer of dirt on them.  Besides the blowing dust filling the air, the farmers burn the fields this time of year so between the dust the smoke and the car exhaust the visibility reminds me of LA at its worst.  Little did I know when I arrived in September with those gorgeous clear views of the countryside, that this would disappear for some months.

 

December is the month when many festivals, ceremonies and remembrances take place.  After a family member has died, the family may decide to hold a memorial celebration for them a year, or many years later.  I attended one very large and extravagant memorial for a grandfather that had died 10 years previously.  I also just returned from the funeral of a colleague from my office who, at age 42, died of complications after 6 weeks in the hospital.  It was a shock and very sad for us all.  

 The traditional festivals are held in the villages and center around the Fon’s Palace.  People come dressed in their traditional wear and it is a gorgeous sight to behold. There is drumming, dancing and singing with everyone from the area participating for the 3 days. Big rifles are brought out and disorganized and chaotic shooting begins.  (A Cameroonian friend told me that one of his teachers was shot dead during one of these events.)  It is actually frightening to see how casually these rifles are handled and not especially carefully aimed.

Reliable water and electricity are issues in Cameroon and particularly in my neighborhood. The only hot water in the house is in my upstairs bathroom where it takes a good hour to heat the water with the electric tank.  Often there is not enough water pressure to send the water upstairs. And then if there is water at 7am when I turn on the heater, there isn’t enough pressure at 8am when I am ready to take the shower.  I have learned to grab a bath whenever I find the water pressure and electricity on at the same time, as I never know when this confluence may occur again.  But given that most Cameroonians don’t have indoor plumbing let alone hot water heaters, I will not complain loudly.   What I do like to complain about though is the motorbike traffic.  Every time I walk the 5 minutes on the main road to work, I feel like I am taking my life in my hands. There is no sacred space for pedestrians – we are low man on the totem pole for rights on the streets.  There are no sidewalks or designated areas in which to walk and there is no place that a motorbike can’t go.  At best, they will beep as they come zipping up behind me and I cringe as I feel them whiz by me within centimeters.  Pedestrians are always running for their lives as they cross the streets and motorbike related accidents are as common as cockroaches. When I walk, it is with my eyes glued to the ground, hugging the side of the road as much as possible, and keeping my arms tucked into my sides.  Whew!   I made it another day!