Wednesday, February 1, 2012
An offering to the children
Youth day approaches. The students will prepare skits and poems and (really good) dances, and then march through the town. Nomi is also a youth, and I feel his tremendous fame within Mayo Darle could be put to good use. This week or next week, I will offer to loan him completely over to my students for youth day. LeCoq, one of my Terminale students and Nomi’s babysitter, could be in charge of him. If they choose to parade with him, I’ll have a handsome pagne boubou tailored up. I’m sure he’d be the first dressed dog ever to walk the streets of Mayo Darle. He’d make the students feel cool, and therefore, proud, it might encourage some village children to think about school, and it would be a true symbol of better human-dog relations for the next generation.
Grammar Question:
I am an English teacher, so this is serious:
In the sentence, “I find it amusing, but I also find I don’t like thinking about diarrhea while having it,” is “having” a gerund?
In the sentence, “I find it amusing, but I also find I don’t like thinking about diarrhea while having it,” is “having” a gerund?
Petit Chauffeur, “Little driver”
Most strips of roads (maybe 90%) traveling through the Adamawa are dirt. In dry season, dust flies up from the road with passing vehicles. (Or, as I saw today, even with extremely fast dogs.) if a truck drives by, most people cover their mouths and noses. if I find myself without a cloth for covering, I usually try to breathe only through my nose to filter it. before coming to Cameroon I had never really appreciated our little nose hairs.
Travelling in dry season, you often hear conversations like this : someone from the back says, “role down the window.” the person in the front replies, “no there is dust.” person in back says, “yes, but there is also heat.” person in the front, “we’ve got to just deal.” and this response*, so common it’s almost a mantra, settles the argument. sometimes I want to ask them, deal with which, the heat or the dust? personally, I prefer the dust. we white people come out of the car looking like we just got spray-tanned, but it’s better than being sealed in with over-heated bodies. usually, they end up rolling the windows down on paved or calm sections, and crank them back just in time to lock out the approaching dust clouds when other vehicles pass.
This weekend, on the way back from Nyamboya, Hunter’s post, I had a new personal record : 12 people in a car. it was a two-door, five-seat manual Toyota. Two of these people were children, sitting on lap. Two men shared the front passenger seat (with a little girl), Six men and women shared the back (with one little boy). Luckily there were no big mamas, only Fulbe women who are still very traditional. They usually marry cousins, so they all look similar. They often have sort of triangular shaped noses, are always wrapped in colorful pagne, and sometimes their front teeth jut forward. Fortunately for us in the car that day, the Fulbe also tend to be slim.
I was riding petit-chauffeur, which means sharing the driver’s seat. car-loading is both a packing and a balancing act, so seats are often dictated. Because of my size, the drivers often put me petit-chauffeur. most people complain about petit-chauffeur, especially other volunteers. But most people aren’t quite as small as me and I secretly love it. As petit-chauffeur, if one is relatively petit, you can get pretty much all of your butt on the seat. Sometimes, the drivers put down funny cushions or towels to pad the buckles in the middle. As petit chauffeur you are only crushed by someone on one side, and you can lean back because the driver will always keep his right side in front of your left, so he can reach over you to shift. you can watch the road and see how he decides to handle the onslaught of bumps and pits. it’s easy to ask him to stop if you need to get out. and once in a while you get to help with the emergency brake, etc. Most importantly, you can see. your view is as un-obscured as the driver’s.
Traveling in Cameroon is slow, squished and jostling, but the music is always good, (almost every driver has a usb key hook up for the radio) and the view of the forests, passing through the small villages, making faces at the pant-less children who always pause to watch the car go by, and driving up the mountain of the Nigerian plateau to get into Mayo-Darle, feels like meditation, especially sitting petit-chauffeur.
*in French, “il faut supporter.”
Travelling in dry season, you often hear conversations like this : someone from the back says, “role down the window.” the person in the front replies, “no there is dust.” person in back says, “yes, but there is also heat.” person in the front, “we’ve got to just deal.” and this response*, so common it’s almost a mantra, settles the argument. sometimes I want to ask them, deal with which, the heat or the dust? personally, I prefer the dust. we white people come out of the car looking like we just got spray-tanned, but it’s better than being sealed in with over-heated bodies. usually, they end up rolling the windows down on paved or calm sections, and crank them back just in time to lock out the approaching dust clouds when other vehicles pass.
This weekend, on the way back from Nyamboya, Hunter’s post, I had a new personal record : 12 people in a car. it was a two-door, five-seat manual Toyota. Two of these people were children, sitting on lap. Two men shared the front passenger seat (with a little girl), Six men and women shared the back (with one little boy). Luckily there were no big mamas, only Fulbe women who are still very traditional. They usually marry cousins, so they all look similar. They often have sort of triangular shaped noses, are always wrapped in colorful pagne, and sometimes their front teeth jut forward. Fortunately for us in the car that day, the Fulbe also tend to be slim.
I was riding petit-chauffeur, which means sharing the driver’s seat. car-loading is both a packing and a balancing act, so seats are often dictated. Because of my size, the drivers often put me petit-chauffeur. most people complain about petit-chauffeur, especially other volunteers. But most people aren’t quite as small as me and I secretly love it. As petit-chauffeur, if one is relatively petit, you can get pretty much all of your butt on the seat. Sometimes, the drivers put down funny cushions or towels to pad the buckles in the middle. As petit chauffeur you are only crushed by someone on one side, and you can lean back because the driver will always keep his right side in front of your left, so he can reach over you to shift. you can watch the road and see how he decides to handle the onslaught of bumps and pits. it’s easy to ask him to stop if you need to get out. and once in a while you get to help with the emergency brake, etc. Most importantly, you can see. your view is as un-obscured as the driver’s.
Traveling in Cameroon is slow, squished and jostling, but the music is always good, (almost every driver has a usb key hook up for the radio) and the view of the forests, passing through the small villages, making faces at the pant-less children who always pause to watch the car go by, and driving up the mountain of the Nigerian plateau to get into Mayo-Darle, feels like meditation, especially sitting petit-chauffeur.
*in French, “il faut supporter.”
Saturday, January 28, 2012
A Cameroonian Touch
One reason Nomi is worth all the trouble he causes: he provides a good cuddle outlet. Physical affection is so comforting. My anxiety would be much higher if I had to go through 90% of every day without some form of it.
This is not to say that Cameroonians aren’t touchy. I have had my face pinched (an unsuccessful attempt by my large and loud boutique friend, Madame Ladi, to remove a blemish), been picked up by (also Madame Ladi), had hair braided, clothes adjusted, grass picked off of, dust brushed off of, had measurements taken, danced with (sometimes this is disgusting, like the old man who put his hands right on my butt with such entitlement – found out the next day that he’s infamous for that -, or the bulbous-bellied goofy man, recognizable for by half-black slanted front teeth and toddle-like behavior who burped beer and oily feast food in my face. This is was absolutely disgusting; I’m embarrassed to write it.), patted affectionately, been petted by little girls, held hands in singing or exercise circles, been hugged around the knees by children, been squished, sat on, leaned against and slept on during transport – a man’s sleepy head on my knee once -, had my hand shaken by nearly every person in this country I’ve met, and kissed on the cheek by one. All of these have happened in public, except perhaps the last one, which was in public but also inside a car after dark. Cameroonians talk a lot about how the white man – a category with includes all Americans and Europeans – has all the good things and a lot more knowledge and resources (which in many ways is true). Sometimes I pipe in – usually to explain, “it’s much better to be poor here then to be poor in America,” and sometimes I just listen (or, if I’m grading papers or preparing a lesson, tune it out). But it’s good to see that their opinion of our country as a golden paradise doesn’t inhibit them from getting personal. Integration, crossing boundaries.
This is not to say that Cameroonians aren’t touchy. I have had my face pinched (an unsuccessful attempt by my large and loud boutique friend, Madame Ladi, to remove a blemish), been picked up by (also Madame Ladi), had hair braided, clothes adjusted, grass picked off of, dust brushed off of, had measurements taken, danced with (sometimes this is disgusting, like the old man who put his hands right on my butt with such entitlement – found out the next day that he’s infamous for that -, or the bulbous-bellied goofy man, recognizable for by half-black slanted front teeth and toddle-like behavior who burped beer and oily feast food in my face. This is was absolutely disgusting; I’m embarrassed to write it.), patted affectionately, been petted by little girls, held hands in singing or exercise circles, been hugged around the knees by children, been squished, sat on, leaned against and slept on during transport – a man’s sleepy head on my knee once -, had my hand shaken by nearly every person in this country I’ve met, and kissed on the cheek by one. All of these have happened in public, except perhaps the last one, which was in public but also inside a car after dark. Cameroonians talk a lot about how the white man – a category with includes all Americans and Europeans – has all the good things and a lot more knowledge and resources (which in many ways is true). Sometimes I pipe in – usually to explain, “it’s much better to be poor here then to be poor in America,” and sometimes I just listen (or, if I’m grading papers or preparing a lesson, tune it out). But it’s good to see that their opinion of our country as a golden paradise doesn’t inhibit them from getting personal. Integration, crossing boundaries.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Don’t feed him from the table.*
I am going to make Nomi a beggar. This is especially for Mom. I’m going to make Nomi a beggar, but I have a good reason. I want to see how many Cameroonians give into him. Their reactions to Nomi are so strange but often funny and – overall – pleasant.** But he will be a very good beggar, so cute and calm you can’t even be annoyed. Cameroonians will be impressed with how much he acts like a person.
*I don’t actually have a table. Plan on getting one.
**A note about these reactions:
At first they were always commenting on how I talked about Nomi as if he was a person. Now they are always talking about Nomi as if he’s a person. They say, “Nomi! A warrdi naa? Jap bamma,” or “Nomi, noy?,” or “C’est comment Nomi?” (Nomi, I see you have come? Welcome…” “Nomi, how?”, “what’s up Nomi?”)
People saying they want to eat him.
When they say they want to eat him, they are usually joking. And I usually laugh. It is mostly old men, skinny, saggy-faced, missing teeth, always in the pale, waxy solid colored drapey robe style boubou fabric. They always wave at you with 1) both hands, 2) at about the level of their cheeks, 3) palms up. If you want to try it 4) fingers in a natural curve, 5) wrists facing each other. 6) About a quarter of a turn with the hands, as comfortable. 7) Nod head vigorously up and down with a big smile.
*I don’t actually have a table. Plan on getting one.
**A note about these reactions:
At first they were always commenting on how I talked about Nomi as if he was a person. Now they are always talking about Nomi as if he’s a person. They say, “Nomi! A warrdi naa? Jap bamma,” or “Nomi, noy?,” or “C’est comment Nomi?” (Nomi, I see you have come? Welcome…” “Nomi, how?”, “what’s up Nomi?”)
People saying they want to eat him.
When they say they want to eat him, they are usually joking. And I usually laugh. It is mostly old men, skinny, saggy-faced, missing teeth, always in the pale, waxy solid colored drapey robe style boubou fabric. They always wave at you with 1) both hands, 2) at about the level of their cheeks, 3) palms up. If you want to try it 4) fingers in a natural curve, 5) wrists facing each other. 6) About a quarter of a turn with the hands, as comfortable. 7) Nod head vigorously up and down with a big smile.
tchow juju
Today, Miahcano, 4 and 8 months, and Dewa, 3 and 8 months, stood in front of me, butt naked, post-bath, as Mounira braided my hair in my landlord’s compound. Koulu, Dewa’s mom, the first wife who seems like the second wife, sat across from me, breatfeeding Nura, 1 yr. The boys were dancing, swinging everything around. Turned sideways. Miachano grabbed Dewa’s hips and thrusted. Later, Dewa swung it out right in front of my face (I couldn’t move my head because of the hair-braiding) and Koulu said, “tchow juju.” She made a slicing motion with her hand. “Chop the weiner off!” she was saying.
Later that night, Denis, my terminale student, came over. I let go of Nomi’s collar to see if he’d stay calm and he ran like a wild man. Denis said I should have castrated him when he was very small. (Cameroonian dogs seem to stay fairly small, so Nomi looks full-grown to many Cameroonians. If he does, we’ll know Cam dogs’ smallness is a nutritional). I said I wanted to neuter him but he had an infection and his testicles retracted, so it was impossible. At night it’s cold; I couldn’t stop shivering. Denis said an uncastrated dog loose at night will go long and wide searching for women. I said, yes, that’s what I’m worried about – he’s already started making love. But he doesn’t know the difference..”
“Between woman and man?” Denis finished. “So it means he’s still a child.” I thought about this. I thought about Miahcano and Dewa. Kids must do that often. Of course. Children imitate. The kids are imitating the goat, sheep, dog, cow, and chicken sex they see everywhere, and they don’t discriminate.
Later that night, Denis, my terminale student, came over. I let go of Nomi’s collar to see if he’d stay calm and he ran like a wild man. Denis said I should have castrated him when he was very small. (Cameroonian dogs seem to stay fairly small, so Nomi looks full-grown to many Cameroonians. If he does, we’ll know Cam dogs’ smallness is a nutritional). I said I wanted to neuter him but he had an infection and his testicles retracted, so it was impossible. At night it’s cold; I couldn’t stop shivering. Denis said an uncastrated dog loose at night will go long and wide searching for women. I said, yes, that’s what I’m worried about – he’s already started making love. But he doesn’t know the difference..”
“Between woman and man?” Denis finished. “So it means he’s still a child.” I thought about this. I thought about Miahcano and Dewa. Kids must do that often. Of course. Children imitate. The kids are imitating the goat, sheep, dog, cow, and chicken sex they see everywhere, and they don’t discriminate.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Nomi’s contribution to equal rights.
Pretty sure Nomi is gay. He does wild things with his male dog friend. The dog’s good looking, tan and white, relatively well-cared for since he’s a pastor’s dog. He’s quite a bit older than Nomi. But now Nomi’s got about the same height and the two have no shame. Yesterday, Nomi talked for a while with another dog by my post-mate Sarah’s house. When we went into the compound and met the pretty young, enthusiastic, female pup, Nomi was totally disinterested. Proof that gay is natural in everyone. And currently in Mayo Darle, Nomi’s probably the only member of society who could get away with this.
A thought on time
It makes sense that Africans are often late. Africa is poor. They haven’t had many clocks in their societies for very long –and even fewer that are constantly working. People say this is a bad quality for development. I think it’s ok. Being late doesn’t really hurt anyone, they just get things done on their own time schedules, they organize their priorities differently, and since almost everyone does it, it usually works out. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a people who takes its time, stops to interact with things along her path, or lives by the rhythm of the sun.
Restarting
I was feeling very down here in Mayo Darle. One of my friends here, whose post is in a cool university town, always tells me how he wishes he was in Mayo Darle. I asked him recently, for like the fifth time, why. And he said because it’s small, you have so much opportunity to do something, you just have to find a need and fill it. I thought, ok, but how do I find a need I can fill? And then, one popped up right in front of my eyes. (Of course, it had been there all along.)
I did some calculations, and determined that in my four classes combined, I teach 80% boys, 20% girls. The school operates by the French system. Classes start at the equivalent of 6th grade, which is called 6eme, and then count down instead of up. 5eme is 7th grade, 4eme is 8th, 3eme, is like freshman year, then there is Seconde, Premiere, and Terminale. I teach 6eme – 64% boys, 4eme – 94%, 3eme – 75%, Terminale, science section – 100% cute boys.
Last year, we had 3 pregnancies within the female student population. This year, we have had two. It’s an open secret that the paternity for a few of these can be attributed to certain teachers and administrators. So in a conservative society, with a sizeable Muslim population, of course parents aren’t going to send their daughters to school. Especially since most of the parents have gotten along fine without formal government education.
Then I thought, ok it’s not fair by my standards, but is it really a problem for Cameroon? If it works for them, I have no right trying to change it. But unwanted pregnancy is not good, nor are STDs. Additionally, their current mode of life is not sustainable. No one can stop the spread of communication technology. I believe this is one of the most domineering characteristics of humanity. Mayo-Darle is inevitably more and more exposed to the outside world. As that increases, as people see more different things, their desires change, they’re motivations and priorities start to change, and gradually everything starts to shift. Five years ago Mayo Darle had no electricity, no reliable cellphone coverage, and no internet. People charged their cellphones using generators at the call boxes. (Little stands that sell phone credit, where you can also make and receive calls. Like a payphone stand, operated by a real person, using cellphones.) Now we have a town generator that runs 5 hours a day, full cellphone coverage (only for one company, MTN, of South Africa) and USB key internet through that same provider.
People say here that development is not happening and never will. If they keep having so many children and not educating people, they may be right. They might find themselves with cellphones and Internet, but little food on their plates and no clean water. They might never escape the poverty bubble before their population becomes too big and resources too scarce, and something scary happens.
Educating both genders lowers birthrates, reduces infant mortality, boosts economies, increases nutrition and literacy levels, and ensures higher levels of education in future generations.
Two weeks ago, Gwendoline, the other English teacher and my best friend in village, approached me with a similar inspiration. We decided the first step was to organize a group for girls at the school, to address their problems and questions, build their self-confidence, make them role models and ambassadors between the school and the community. (Sneakily promote condoms).
So we talked to the other female teachers, we talked to the Proviseur (Principle), I talked to the Sous-Prefet (the head political guy of MD). We got all the big men’s hearty approval. We laid it on thick. On Thursday, then (the 19th), we, the 5 female teachers, called all the girls together after school, to get the final and most important approval.
As educated women, some of them will be leaders, probably all of them in some way or another. I saw that a little in this meeting. Their faces looked different. The expressions weren’t the same as they are in class with all the boys. They were attentive. They stood up, spoke and asked questions. Personalities peeked out. They made each other laugh and murmured in agreement to some of the things we said. There were about 70 of them. The whole classroom was filled. I felt like something really good was happening. And it wasn’t even hard to do. Just a bunch of people in the same room communicating.
I did some calculations, and determined that in my four classes combined, I teach 80% boys, 20% girls. The school operates by the French system. Classes start at the equivalent of 6th grade, which is called 6eme, and then count down instead of up. 5eme is 7th grade, 4eme is 8th, 3eme, is like freshman year, then there is Seconde, Premiere, and Terminale. I teach 6eme – 64% boys, 4eme – 94%, 3eme – 75%, Terminale, science section – 100% cute boys.
Last year, we had 3 pregnancies within the female student population. This year, we have had two. It’s an open secret that the paternity for a few of these can be attributed to certain teachers and administrators. So in a conservative society, with a sizeable Muslim population, of course parents aren’t going to send their daughters to school. Especially since most of the parents have gotten along fine without formal government education.
Then I thought, ok it’s not fair by my standards, but is it really a problem for Cameroon? If it works for them, I have no right trying to change it. But unwanted pregnancy is not good, nor are STDs. Additionally, their current mode of life is not sustainable. No one can stop the spread of communication technology. I believe this is one of the most domineering characteristics of humanity. Mayo-Darle is inevitably more and more exposed to the outside world. As that increases, as people see more different things, their desires change, they’re motivations and priorities start to change, and gradually everything starts to shift. Five years ago Mayo Darle had no electricity, no reliable cellphone coverage, and no internet. People charged their cellphones using generators at the call boxes. (Little stands that sell phone credit, where you can also make and receive calls. Like a payphone stand, operated by a real person, using cellphones.) Now we have a town generator that runs 5 hours a day, full cellphone coverage (only for one company, MTN, of South Africa) and USB key internet through that same provider.
People say here that development is not happening and never will. If they keep having so many children and not educating people, they may be right. They might find themselves with cellphones and Internet, but little food on their plates and no clean water. They might never escape the poverty bubble before their population becomes too big and resources too scarce, and something scary happens.
Educating both genders lowers birthrates, reduces infant mortality, boosts economies, increases nutrition and literacy levels, and ensures higher levels of education in future generations.
Two weeks ago, Gwendoline, the other English teacher and my best friend in village, approached me with a similar inspiration. We decided the first step was to organize a group for girls at the school, to address their problems and questions, build their self-confidence, make them role models and ambassadors between the school and the community. (Sneakily promote condoms).
So we talked to the other female teachers, we talked to the Proviseur (Principle), I talked to the Sous-Prefet (the head political guy of MD). We got all the big men’s hearty approval. We laid it on thick. On Thursday, then (the 19th), we, the 5 female teachers, called all the girls together after school, to get the final and most important approval.
As educated women, some of them will be leaders, probably all of them in some way or another. I saw that a little in this meeting. Their faces looked different. The expressions weren’t the same as they are in class with all the boys. They were attentive. They stood up, spoke and asked questions. Personalities peeked out. They made each other laugh and murmured in agreement to some of the things we said. There were about 70 of them. The whole classroom was filled. I felt like something really good was happening. And it wasn’t even hard to do. Just a bunch of people in the same room communicating.
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