Aissa

It’s Thursday today- market day. The girls come over to my house (not too) early in the morning excited because they’ll be going to the market with me. It’s become something of a routine for the girls to accompany me when I go to market, though it makes me nervous because traffic is really bad on market days. Cars inch forward trying to cut a path through the crowds, pousse-pousses are everywhere, motos weave around various obstacles in the form of people, cattle and goods. A few weeks ago, I saw a little girl get knocked over by a moto near my house on a market day so I try to walk closest to the road and keep the little ones on the other side. However, the cows are what you really have to watch out for. Cows here have long pointy horns and could seriously injure someone with a simple swing of the head. Occasionally, there’s a rogue cow, these ones charge forward trying to break away from their handlers (one leading from a rope around the cow’s neck and one preventing it from running by holding a rope tied to its back ankle). People clear out pretty fast when any cow shows signs of resisting and it’s a good idea to wait till the road is clear before continuing on your way. I’m surprised no one has been impaled yet...

The girls are Aissa, Nafissa (sisters), Daada and Djamila (sisters). Other kids come hang out at my house, but these four have been the most consistent.  Aissa and Nafissa are my closest neighbours, directly beside my house. I have become particularly fond of Aissa who has been coming around my house since the day I moved in.  Aissa is ten years old and the oldest of five kids. She is in CP (equivalent of about a grade 2 level) but she can neither read nor write, she is learning a bit of French through me but otherwise speaks only Fulfulde. She can count though she struggles with the numbers in French and she is learning how to add. One of my goals while I am here is to make sure that Aissa completes her elementary school exams-  A difficult task since most girls particularly from poor families, like Aissa’s, never make it that far. Furthermore, Aissa struggles with school. Before I arrived, she missed class often, she is a slow learner (which in a class of a hundred students, the slow ones get left behind) and she gets angry when she makes a mistake.  But she is a bright little girl and a great dancer. I’ve learnt a great deal of Fulfulde from listening to her chatter and have learnt quite a bit about life in Bogo from her.

Aissa

 

I often get invited over to her concession next door. Our two houses offer a sharp contrast. I live in a large cement house with a kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. I have doors, electricity, a gas stove, a fridge, a real bed, a ventilator, a table and chairs...and I live alone. Aissa’s concession is an agglomeration of mud rooms with dirt floors covered by nattes (type of carpet, I have one I use when I want to sit or sleep outside).  Most of the rooms are used for sleeping.  The only room with a door and a lock is the one with the sacks of millet recently harvested. One is reserved as the cooking area where the walls are black from the smoke of a wood fire and piles of charred pots and dusty plates are stacked. The family can’t afford meat so meals usually consist of millet (couscous) with peanut and folléré (green leafy stuff put in almost everything) sauce.  The grandma often invites me to stay and eat. The meals aren’t the tastiest but it’s palatable and it makes the family happy to have a white person share their meal. The kids will break off hot pieces of couscous for me and place them on the side of the bowl to cool so that I don’t burn my fingers. This how small children eat so it makes them laugh and tease me saying “Natasha banna bingle!” (Natasha is like a child).

Grandma cooks and takes care of the kids because their mom left to visit her family in Ngaoundéré. She has been gone since before I arrived and I get the impression that she isn’t coming back. Aissa’s dad, who speaks a bit of French, told me that she would be home in less than a month but that was already a couple months ago. She took the youngest son with her but left the other kids behind. Aissa’s dad again told me the other day that she would be back in less than 20 days but I’m not too hopeful so we’ll see if she actually does come back. In the meantime, I know the three sisters see me as something like a mother figure though I have got them to call me aunty (Yappendo) instead of mommy (Daada). Aissa’s grandmother has suggested a few times that I take Aissa home with me when I go back to Canada and I’ve had to explain to her dad why I can’t take her with me. (I stuck to excuses such as Aissa has no birth certificate or passport and you can’t adopt a child who still has both her parents and the whole process of adoption is lengthy and complicated. It’s easier to point out logistical problems than to have to explain why I don’t want to adopt their daughter).  I know they just want to be able to offer Aissa a better chance in life by sending her off with a nasara, and in fact it makes sense- it’s true that Aissa would probably have a better future if she were to come back to Canada with me. Here she has no future. It breaks my heart when I look at her and realise that all she has to look forward to in life is to become some man’s third or fourth wife. If she finishes elementary school then she might not get married until she is fourteen or fifteen, but it would take a miracle for her to get into high school. That is I don’t think her dad could ever afford it. Though he is a good man and he seems to want good for his children so maybe he would send Aissa to school if he could. He himself isn’t educated, but seems proud that his wife finished elementary school so maybe I could convince him to pursue Aissa’s education...

 

Djawe teaching Aissa French

I don’t know what Aissa’s dad does, but I know whatever it is, he doesn’t make much money doing it. Their Grandma has a crippled leg and she is frequently sick. The Grandma frequently asks me for ”cadeaux”. At first I was able to pretend I didn’t understand, but my increasing knowledge of Fulfulde means that she knows I can understand her. I’ve explained to Aissa’s dad though that I don’t want it to become a habit for them to always ask me for things in particular because it teaches the kids to beg. Once I sent the girls home after I had heard “Hokkam (give me) one too many times. Cameroonians’ take on manners differs slightly from what we westerners would consider “polite”. In English, we will ask “can I please have?” or “could you please give me this?” but in Fulfulde, you simply say “give me”. It isn’t rude, it’s just culturally and linguistically different. Fulfulde does have a word for please but it seems they only use it for emphasis or when directed at someone of authority. It took me awhile to get into the habit of saying give me when I started learning Fulfulde I made the mistake of trying to translate directly.  So although I know it is acceptable to just say “give me” here, I still get irritated when kids come to my house and all I hear is a succession of “Hokkam bic. Hokkam diam. Hokkam biscuit. Hokkam papier. Hokkam mangoro.”  I’ve made it clear to the girls though that if they ask me for things then I won’t give them anything but if they play nicely and don’t “derange” then I will give them cadeau of my own accord.

It is always a hard balance between knowing when to give and when to draw the line. I have a hard time justifying not giving when I really am rich by their standards, but I also know that they live within a system and a culture that pushes them towards always trying to get their share. So I have to watch out or they will walk all over me. I also try not to encourage the colonial habit of always expecting the nasara to give a “gift” or as some people call it “motivation”. Which is why I try to give only in situations where I know it will be appreciated and not taken for granted. That is I try to give to families like Aissa’s and not to certain people who show up at Parent-Teacher Association meetings with the expectation that I am going to pay them for their troubles. It frustrates me to no end that people (men) expect me to give them something in return for their participation at meetings as if they were doing me a favour by coming. No matter how often I repeat myself, some people still don’t seem to understand that the meetings aren’t for my benefit, but are in fact being held to help the schools and to help their children get a better education. Unfortunately, too many people here still don’t see the intrinsic value of education and the advantages it has for the future of their kids. So in the next two years, I might not be able to revolutionize the education system here nor even make a dent in what is perceptibly a broken and corrupt system, but if I can help even a handful of Aissas get an education then my time here will have been a success.

If you can find it in your heart to care for someone else, then you will have succeeded.

Maya Angelou

They’re not kidding when they say it’s hot in the desert...

Il fait chaud. La sorte de chaleur qui te donne envie de dormir toute la journée parce que même rester assis prends trop d’énergie.

It’s the kind of hot where you sleep all day trying to hide from the sun, then can’t sleep at night but lay tossing and turning in a sweat.

Même le vent, qui pourtant souffle fort toute la journée, n’offre aucun répis, mais fait seulement circuler l’air chaud.

Even the fan is useless, as it blows just more hot air in my direction.

It’s the kind of hot that makes you want to shed your skin because even being naked feels like you’re wearing too much.

C’est la chaleur qui me fait regretter le fait que je sois trop grande pour rentrer à l’intérieur de mon frigo et y rester.

It’s so hot, I want to immerse myself in cold water and stay there. I dream about jumping in the Yukon river or any number of lakes and rivers back home- even the tatshenshini seems like just a refreshing dip to me right now.

Mais il n’y a pas de rivières pour se baigner. Il n’y a pas d’eau tout court. Même pour prendre une douche froide, je n’ai qu’un seau d’eau qui chauffe au soleil depuis le matin.

C’est une chaleur qui te coupe l’appétit. Je pense commencer une diète d’eau glacé, mangues et yogurt congélé.

Cooking is out of the question right now. I’ll just have to live of of mangoes and frozen yogurt. Litterally, yogurt frozen into little plastic baggies that you buy for 100f then you bite a hole into the corner and suck out all the cold yuminess inside. Like a popsicle but without the stick...

Étrangement la chaleur extrême, tout comme le froid peut aussi causer le rhume. Tout le monde ici se plaint de mal de gorge, toux et écoulements du nez. C’est la sécheresse et la poussière.

How can you catch a cold in the heat? Apparently it happens all the time due to the omnipresent dust that fills your eyes, mouth, nose and ears (especially if you’re riding on a motorcycle). I’ll cook up a strong batch of ginger juice to help with my sore throat in the mornings, but I’ll wait till it’s cold before I drink it.

La petite fille du Yukon, qui a passé toute sa vie à se plaindre du froid se retrouve maintenant dans une situation de chaleur extrême qu’elle ne savait même pas pouvait exister.

I guess it’s one of those situations where someone might say: be careful what you wish for or you just might get it. I wanted to escape from the cold and I guess you can say I’ve succeeded.

Mais la prochaine fois que je décide que j’ai besoin d’un “break” du froid, je vais au moins choisir une région chaude où il y a de l’eau!

The Emperor’s new clothes – Part 2

 Le sous-prefet arrive deux heures en retard. La sous-prefecture n’est même pas à 200m du terrain. À pieds ça se fait en cinq minutes, mais le sous-prefet n’arrivera pas à pieds; il arrivera en voiture. Il n’y a pas d’excuse pour son retard. Il le fait parce qu’il peut…

Hundreds of people are waiting: students, teachers, spectators…The competition was supposed to start at 8am because by 10am it starts to get too hot outside. But by 10am we are still waiting for the event to start. The sous-prefet has not arrived yet and without him the games cannot start. So we wait. The students will compete in the sun and the heat. They are used to it, that’s just how it is.

Avant tout ici, il y a la hiérarchie et le protocole qui doivent être respectés en tout temps. Rien ne peut se faire sans les autorités concernés (des hommes seulement, les femmes n’ont pas de pouvoir) et chaque action ou événement doit suivre l’ordre établit. Une autorité qui veut boycotter une action, ne vient tout simplement pas à la rencontre, sans lui le processus freine et stagne. C’est pour ça qu’avant toute action il faut avoir la collaboration et l’appui de l’autorité responsable sans quoi on ne peut pas avancer. Le problème c’est qu’il y a beaucoup trop d’autorités et de toutes les tailles.

In Bogo, the sous-prefet sits as the highest authority as the representative for the President Paul Biya. He is the only authority that is not a local (he was appointed to Bogo by the government and has only been here for about a year) and is not a traditional leader. Locally, the Lamido is the highest authority. The Lamido is the number one traditional chief and also happens to be the Mayor of the city. But the Lamido doesn’t come out in public very often so he sends one of his representatives: the second, third and fourth mayors (yes, you heard me, there are 4 mayors here) who also all happen to be Lawanes. Lawanes represent the second layer of traditional chiefs each in charge of their own canton (village within Bogo -Bogo being an agglomeration of villages surrounding the actual village of Bogo which is at the centre- where I live). And below the Lawanes are the third level chiefs: Djaouros, also known as neighbourhood chiefs. The area I live in is called Siratare there are about 5 djaouros in my neighbourhood including my employer, the inspector for basic education in Bogo. These are the official authorities, but the list of unofficial statuses continues. As one teacher said to me the other day: “The problem here is that everyone is an authority.” She went on to explain to me that just about anyone feels entitled to tell you what to do and how to do it if they think they might be superior to you. I think she may have been a bit bitter over an incident where a man told her not to hit kids in her classroom, but to a certain extent she does have a point. The dynamics of a hierarchal system are at play here and I can see its effects every day.

A popular pagne worn on celebration days depicts the face of the President, Paul Biya.

Par exemple, dans le cadre de mon travail je veux démarrer une Association Mères d’Élèves qui servira à engager les femmes du village, encourager l’éducation des femmes et des filles, et développer des activités génératrices de revenues pour les femmes. Ça fait depuis début février que j’essaie d’avoir une rencontre avec les femmes pour former l’Association, mais je n’arrête pas de rencontrer des problèmes. À la première rencontre, beaucoup de femmes se sont présentées, mais elles étaient divisées entre les femmes fulbe (musulmanes) et les massa (chrétiennes); il y a eu des mésententes, moi je ne comprenais plus rien parce que tout le monde parlaient en même temps et je n’avais pas de traduction; la rencontre s’est terminée inachevée quand les femmes (qui étaient arrivée deux heures en retard) ont commencé à quitté parce qu’elles devaient aller préparer le repas du soir…Depuis je n’arrive pas à rassembler les femmes une deuxième fois pour nous reprendre et mettre sur pieds l’association. Alors, on m’explique qu’il faut aller voir le sous-prefet et demander une convocation écrite qui sera remis aux djaouros de chaque quartier qui par la suite feront la sensibilisation auprès des femmes (et leurs maris) pour qu’elles viennent à la rencontre. La convocation, qui a pris environ 6 heures à faire (2h30 à attendre que le sous-prefet arrive, 1 heure à attendre qu’on branche une génératrice parce que l’électricité a encore coupé, 1 heure pour taper et réviser la convocation, 30 minutes pour étamper et initialiser chaque convocation), a l’équivalence d’obliger les gens à se présenter à la rencontre. Le lendemain, on a passé tout l’avant midi à visiter tous les mini-villages des djaouros pour distribuer les convocations. J’étais contente d’avoir Djawe avec moi premièrement parce que les villages sont très espacés et je n’aurai jamais pu le faire sans qu’il m’amène à chaque endroit sur sa moto, et deuxièmement, parce que Djawe est quelqu’un de très bien connu et aimé à travers Bogo; il sait comment parler aux gens, il fait beaucoup plus que juste de la traduction. Le premier djaouro chez qui nous sommes passés, nous a expliqué que la raison que notre rencontre avait échoué était parce qu’on ne l’avait pas informé. Il a procédé à nous expliquer qu’il était le président de l’Association des Parents d’Élèves et que toute chose relié à l’école devait passer par lui. Il nous a dit que la prochain fois on aurait simplement à l’avertir et il se chargerait de faire la sensibilisation auprès des autres djaouros. On m’a expliqué que l’homme qu’on avait demandé de faire la sensibilisation la première fois n’a pas passé par les djaouros mais il est allé directement parler aux femmes massa (lui-même était massa) tandis qu’une autre femme, une vielle maman qui démontre beaucoup de leadership et agit comme porte parole pour les femmes fulbe, est allée recruter du côté des fulbes. Le djaouro a expliqué que c’est ça qui a contribué à la division du groupe…Quelle est la leçon ici? Qu’il faut toujours passer par les structures hiérarchiques appropriées. C’est bête à dire surtout parce que les autorités peuvent bloquer et empêcher un processus autant qu’ils peuvent l’aider et le faciliter, mais sans eux rien ne peut avancer. D’ailleurs, il faut noter que lorsqu’on a finalement pu tenir la rencontre près de 100 personnes étaient présentes dont 75 femmes environ. Un gros succès! On verra bien si ça va tenir!

It’s ridiculous because the hierarchal system inhibits as much as it helps. It took me almost an entire day to get a piece of paper from the sous-prefet that would oblige people to come to my meeting, but without that piece of paper and without the cooperation from the djaouros, no one would come. Instead almost 100 people showed up for the meeting, including 75 women, a dozen djaouros, a representative for the lawane, the sous-prefet, the inspector, and a handful of husbands. This pretty much quadrupled my previous record for the most people to show up at a meeting. While I am not expecting as many people to show up for the next meeting, I am hoping that enough motivated women will come so that we can move forward with starting to create and implement an action plan for this year. Thanks to this experience, I have also devised a new approach to seeking out the collaboration and participation of other leaders. For example, in another village, I have been struggling to organise an AGM for the Parent-Teacher Association because both the president and the treasurer (who also happens to be lawane to both villages mentioned) have been stubbornly unreachable and unavailable. Although I’ve heard that the President is someone who is very engaged in the community and who has done a lot of good work, he job takes him out of town frequently for days at a time which has made him unreliable and disengaged from the activities of the PTA. Meanwhile, I have heard few positive comments regarding the treasurer who rarely spends time in Bogo despite the fact that he is village chief. On the parents side, the meeting has been rescheduled and delayed so many times that parents have become completely discouraged and have little faith in the capacities of the PTA to function properly. But I am hoping that the success of the meeting with the Mothers Association will motivate their neighbours to do the same. The representative for the lawane told me after the meeting that he believed we could use this to create a sort of friendly competition between the two areas that would motivate them to each do better than the other. He also told me that he believed the lawane would want to see the same thing happen in his village- which I am hoping means that he will come to the meeting now and stop blocking the process. But we will see how things unfold. 

Boy standing in a classroom. The pile of scrap in the back are broken benches, most classrooms have either no benches or not enough.

The commune will provide new benches this year (it’s true- I’ve seen them!).

The Emperor's new clothes - part 1

There will be a parade. For World Youth Day, International Women’s Day, and any other occasion, there is always a parade; in which children or women will march smartly singing songs of praise for the President and the sous-prefet. For the students who learn the songs in French, most don’t understand what they are saying, but they shout out the names of authorities with enthusiasm. It reminds me of Papa singing songs at church on Christmas Eve, mumbling his way through the parts that he doesn’t know then singing loudly and with gusto when it comes to the part that he does know. It doesn’t matter that the school system is dysfunctional; that most kids can go through three or four years of school and never learn to spell their own names let alone speak any French. It doesn’t matter that only the women’s groups who can afford to pay the fee get to march in the parade and that when the parade is done the women will cook a feast and the men will eat first. The important thing is to maintain appearances; the image of a benevolent and caring government, of an efficient and strong education system, of a society that respects women...

Students marching in the parade for International Youth Day, Feb. 11.

L’important ce sont les apparences. Le sous-prefet et les autres autorités vont lancer de l’argent sur les élèves et les femmes qui présentent des danses et des chansons lors des festivités; Un geste grandiose de générosité et bénévolence qui cache un système corrompu et dysfonctionnel. Les gens vont crier et applaudir à chaque billet lancé en l’air et les enfants vont chanter des louanges au Président et au sous-prefet sans comprendre les paroles puisque très peu d’entre eux comprennent le français. Par contre, il faut reconnaître que les autorités de Bogo sont en effet très généreux, ouvert d’esprit et sympathiques en comparaison à d’autres arrondissements. Depuis mon arrivée, j’ai rencontré beaucoup de gens sympathiques remplis de bonne volonté qui parlent avec conviction de l’importance de l’éducation et du développement de la femme et des enfants. Et je les crois. D’ailleurs, eux-mêmes ils croient à ce qu’ils disent. Ce ne sont pas des mensonges, mais ça ne le empêchent pas de détourner de l’argent à l’intention des écoles et des projets communautaire pour le mettre dans leur poches. La corruption est tellement rentrée en profondeur dans le système qu’on n’y pense même pas deux fois. Même si l’on entend parfois des grondements de mécontentements dans les coins, la plupart des gens l’accepte comme la norme et s’y attende.

Corruption here is deeply ingrained and systemic. So on the one hand, it isn’t unusual to see officials hand out money at festivities in a grand act of generosity or occasionally come through on a promise for which they will receive a lot of recognition, while on the other hand they continue to pocket money intended for schools and community projects. However, I’ve come to the realisation that it doesn’t make you a bad person to take a cut, people are just functioning within the system that they know and have always lived with. People don’t really question practices of corruption because they have always lived with them, therefore it is considered normal and to a certain extent everyone participates in it. I guess you could say that everyone is just trying to get their piece of the pie and some people get bigger pieces than others. However, I still have a bit of a hard time wrapping my head around what appears, from my western perspective, to be a kind of duplicity. All the officials and chiefs I have met have been very open and encouraging when it comes to issues of education and women’s development. I haven’t encountered any resistance or opposition to the work I am doing, and have been surprised at how receptive many leaders have been particularly regarding educating women. So at least I don’t have to deal with any narrow-minded chiefs who think women should be kept indoors and I can count on them to raise awareness and encourage participation in their respective villages. Although a lot of leaders show good will, very few have done anything concrete to translate their good intentions into practice.

Encore une fois, il faut prendre ces changements avec un grain de sel. Par exemple, on pourrait dire que c’est une grande avance qu’on célèbre la journée internationale de la femme ici, mais lors d’une rencontre de planification pour l’événement, les femmes étaient assises à l’arrière avec les hommes devant et se sont surtout les hommes qui ont parlés.  Lors de la rencontre, un chef c’est levé pour donner un discours passionné sur l’émancipation de la femme qui se résume plus ou moins par : on devrait laisser les femmes aller chercher le bois parce que comme ça les hommes auront plus de temps pour travailler et faire de l’argent pour la famille.  Il a peut-être dit autre chose que j’ai manqué, mais la morale reste que si on veut parler des droits et libertés de la femme il faut toujours présenter en quoi ça peut bénéficier les hommes. Au fond, l’objectif de l’éducation et le développement de la femme n’est pas le bien-être et l’épanouissement de la femme en tant que telle, mais plutôt en quoi ça peut avantager les hommes. En effet, le développement de la femme peut contribuer à assurer que les enfants reçoivent une éducation, à améliorer la santé de la famille et à créer un revenu supplémentaire pour soutenir le foyer. Par contre, si nous voulons éventuellement avoir un changement réel au niveau du statut de la femme, il faut amener les hommes à voir la valeur intrinsèque du développement de la femme, c’est-à-dire pour son propre bien-être.  Peu importe quel argument qu’on utilise, et peu importe pour qui ont le fait, l’important c’est d’atteindre les résultats : des femmes confiantes, autonomes, engagées et avec une voix au sein de la communauté. Mais nous sommes encore bien loin de cela.

Lessons learned

Lessons I have learned this week:

1.       1. Dysentery is never fun, but is a quick way to lose weight. The equivalent of not eating or drinking for three days while bedridden and in pain. I don’t recommend it to anyone. 

2.      2.  No matter what the condition, doctors always diagnose malaria; nine times out of ten, that’s the right answer. The odd chance that you might have something else like a parasitic or bacterial infection in the intestine, they won’t actually tell you what you have; they won’t tell you what the medications they have prescribed for you are supposed to do; they may inject you with a couple needles that you aren’t sure what they’re for; any questions to clarify will be met with more cryptic and unclear answers...

3.        

3.   3. It’s good to have friends; Friends who spoon-feed you when you feel too weak to even hold up your own head; friends who clean your house and do your job while you’re at the hospital getting tests; friends who travel 30k to pick you up from the hospital and bring you home; friends who cook for you then insist on doing the dishes afterwards; friends who make sure you take all your medicine and you don’t spit it out; friends who bring you movies like Rambo (translated in French with Russian subtitles) to watch while you’re sick in bed; friends who bring you soup and Gatorade and check in to make sure you’re okay; friends who hold your hand when you need comfort...

4.       4. It is possible for someone to use an entire roll of conference paper in two days if they are unsupervised. Those same people may also try to walk off with your markers, pens, scotch tape and any other materials you provided at the end of the workshop.  They will eat every scrap of food provided even if they are not hungry. Still you may feel that you have enough in the budget to reward them for their time and give them each a small sum, then they will say that it is not enough. They will do you favours without being asked and then asked to be compensated for those favours...Give them an inch and they take a mile...

Welcome to Bogo! - Bienvenue à Bogo

Jabbaama! I arrived in Bogo on a warm Thursday evening, accompanied by the Inspector for basic education (my employer) after a drive along a dusty bumpy road. Bogo is only approx. 35km from Maroua  but it takes close to an hour to get there because the road conditions are so bad no one goes faster than 60km/hr and even that is going a bit fast...

My welcoming party in Bogo was not all I had hoped it would be. The fact that most of those present had eight legs and inhabited my bathroom was not very comforting. Needless to say I didn’t sleep much the first night and my first act as a resident of Bogo was to empty the can of insecticide I had brought with me in my house then to sit out on my front porch and wait for the air to clear. Upon re-entering the house, I improvised some protective equipment and went to work attacking cobwebs and killing spiders. I procrastinated going into the bathroom though and peed outside a few times before eventually gathering the courage to go in there broom-a-swinging! Then in the morning I found a cockroach in my stuff! Luckily I haven’t seen any more live ones, though I have come across a few dead ones while cleaning. The insecticide seems to work. I’ll have to stock up when I go to Maroua. A dose of that once a week or so should keep my house creepy-crawly free!

I am finding that I have to be a tidier person here than I ever was in Canada. There is so much dust everywhere! And I have minimal storage space, so I try to keep my stuff neatly put away. Though I am still unpacking and moving in to my new home. Without the cobwebs, it’s actually a really nice place; A little worn, but big for one person. My house, including the courtyard, is at least ten times bigger than most of the other huts around me.  My neighbour is the owner of my house and most of the properties in my area. His house and courtyard are even bigger than mine, but then again, he has three wives and a lot of children and some grandchildren, so it makes sense that he would need more space.  He doesn’t speak any French, but his daughters speak a little bit. They will help me with my Fulfulde and hopefully, will also teach me somewhat how to cook. I pretty much starved my first day here. Then the next day, I asked Biena, my national volunteer, to take me the market and I bought some bread and beans to at least see me through the day.  I’ll eventually figure out how to feed myself, either that or I’ll become a regular at one of the two restaurants I’ve seen so far in town.

Luckily, I have Djawe; my guide, chauffeur, friend and general helper for everything I need. Djawe was sort of unofficially assigned to help me out since he had worked closely with past volunteers and seemed to know “white people” or at least he knows how to speak French.  If I need anything I just have to ask. He fetches things for me at the market, drives me places (including other villages nearby), helps fix things in my house, and even cooks for me! Officially, he was supposed to be showing me how to cook fulleri, but in turned into a bit of a free meal for me. I have to be careful not to spend too much time with him and not to have him at my house late, so that it doesn’t raise any questions or start rumours, but it feels nice to have at least one friend in this very foreign place.

Although, I have mostly been well received here, I often feel like I am an alien (which I guess I am..). People will stare at me, but most are too afraid to approach me, let alone talk to me. So it gets a bit lonely. Not to mention, that most people only speak very basic French or none at all, so I am going to have to work hard on learning Fulfulde and fast. The other day, I was walking around the village and two girls came up close to me with mischievous little smiles. They greeted me (probably the only thing they knew how to say in French) then they quickly reached out to touch my arm and ran away laughing. I think their friends’ maybe dared them to do it; like being dared to pet a sleeping lion. Maybe because I have a different skin colour they thought I would also have a different skin texture like sandpaper or JELL-O. Maybe they were expecting to feel scales under my shiny white skin? Yesterday though, after a visit from the landlord’s daughters’ some of the younger girls came back with their friends, who then brought their friends...Pretty soon my courtyard was filled with kids jabbering away at me in a language I don’t understand, playing around with my guitar and my camera (my old one, not my fancy new one!). It was nice to be distracted for a bit by the antics of children. But after awhile, I had to get Djawe to come over and teach me the word for “go home!” in Fulfulde. The kids were back today, and I pulled out some chalk I found in my bag and traced a hopscotch board in my driveway. I don’t even know what the point of hopscotch is, and I definitely don’t remember playing it much as a kid, but the girls were pretty entertained by it and hopped around my yard for a good hour before I used yesterday’s Fulfulde lesson to send them home. They didn’t go very far though, I can still hear them knocking on my gate asking to be let back in. Djawe warned me that they would never leave me alone now that I have let them in once. It doesn’t bother me. I like kids and they go to one of the schools that I will be working with so it is good for me to establish a relationship with them.

I am slowly building a picture of the state of education in Bogo and it is incredibly complex. On the one hand, I shouldn’t have to face too much resistance. So far, everyone I have spoken to has been strongly in favour of education (granted most of the people I talk to are educated, because how else would they learn French?). The real problems seem to be in the infrastructure and management of schools, and for the most part these problems seem to be systemic. Needless to say, I have my work cut out for me. On the bright side, I have the full support of the sous-prefect, mayor (who is also a traditional leader) and various other officials. On my first day, I did the rounds to meet all the important people in Bogo and to visit the schools that I will be working with. I found the dynamics at play fascinating in what is a very hierarchal system;  for example, the way that those without authority will lower their heads and say “oui, monsieur” to those of authority and the order of who gets to go through the door first. Luckily, since I am a foreigner I am exempted from most of these formalities and forgiven if I step out of the order. I was well received by everyone I met and in particular by the mayor who is a very jovial and friendly man who I immediately liked and felt at ease with. From the sounds of it, one of the volunteers that was here before me was very well liked by the authorities and the community in general, and she became good friends with the mayor (facebook friends even!).  Hopefully, I will be able to do as much good work as she did and leave a positive impression on Bogo like she did. Luckily, I have the full cooperation and support of the officials. To the point that the mayor even gave me his number and instructed me to call him anytime I wanted to talk about the project or had some ideas to share. So although, I might still encounter some resistance at the local level, at least I have the full political weight and influence of the hierarchal order backing me! I haven’t yet met the highest ranking traditional leader, the lamido, who is also the first mayor (there are several mayors...it’s complicated!), but I may get the chance to later on and hopefully at that point my Fulfulde will have improved.

I have been in Bogo for four days now and although the days are long and uneventful, it feels as though so much has happened already. I guess it’s in the details of everyday living. It’s all the little changes like waking up at 6am and showering outside with a bucket of water (at least until I finish cleaning my bathroom); taking naps in the afternoon because it is too hot outside to do anything (and the hot season doesn’t even start for another month!); finding a boy to bring me water in the morning; learning how and what to buy in the market (it’s not like going to the grocery store); filtering my water so that it is safe to drink. It’s strange when not everything in your life is automatic and at your fingertips every second of every day. Suddenly, I have to slow down and take the time to do all those things that I never took the time to do back home (like cooking for example!). I’ve been making a list of all the things to do when I go to Maroua where I’ll be able to have internet access (and post this blog) and make international phone calls, and even eat yogurt! Ha! The things we take for granted, it really makes you think doesn’t it? But I kinda like my life here and I think once I buy more cleaning supplies and fix up my house a bit more, that I will settle in just fine to life in Bogo.

The world in black and white - Le monde en noir et blanc

Nasara! Nasara! C’est à moi qu’on parle. Ici, c’est comme ça qu’on m’appelle : la blanche. Les premières semaines c’est comme ça, je suis reconnue par la couleur de ma peau. Dans quelques jours j’arriverai dans mon village où je pourrai bâtir des relations et m’intégrer dans la communauté, où l’on me connaîtra sous mon nom. Mais pour l’instant je suis nasara.

Nasara! It rolls off your tongue nicely. I kinda like the sound of it, almost like Natasha. It means white and it’s a word I hear repeated at least a hundred times a day. It means me. When I arrive in my village, I will be able to build relationships and use my name, but for now I am recognized only as a white foreigner.

There are advantages to being white in Africa. For example, newlyweds want you in their wedding picture even though you are complete strangers. And a street vendor might let you taste what he is selling in the hopes that you will buy more. You may also be given first priority of seats in the bus despite the crowd of others who are waiting to get on.  On the downside of being white, groups of men might surround your vehicle while you are trying to buy a phone (from inside the vehicle none the less, they just bring you what you want to your window) or they might also follow you around the market and down the street soliciting your attention.  Occasionally, you get ripped off by the guy in the grocery store who claims he doesn’t have any change. And have to pay a higher price on items in the market (at least until your bargaining skills improve).

Since arriving I have experienced the usual assault on your senses in terms of pollution, noise, traffic, heat and the discomfort that comes with being faced with extreme poverty and the knowledge that my skin colour and birthplace give me privileges that most people here will never know nor can even imagine. Even things as simple as eating ice cream on a hot day while small children try to sell you fruit that they can’t even afford to eat. Being nasara occupies a position of privilege for better or for worse...

Depuis mon arrivée au Cameroun, j’ai été témoin de tous les symptômes qu’on imagine avoir dans une grande ville au tiers monde : la pollution (on ne voit même pas le ciel à Yaoundé) et l’odeur âcre des ordures brûlés mélangé au parfum des fleurs; le trafique; le bruit (parfois agressant comme le klaxon des voitures, parfois apaisant comme les chorales d’églises, mais toujours sans cesse); la sollicitation des mendiants et des vendeurs de rues; la négociation avec les marchands; et surtout, l’immense contraste entre les riches et les pauvres.  Il y a plein d’avantages et de désavantages à être blanc au Cameroun. D’un côté, ça attire beaucoup d’attention, donc il faut s’habituer à se faire solliciter de tous les bords à tout moment : dans la rue, au marché, par les taxis, dans les restaurants… De l’autre côté, il y a l’hospitalité des gens; une soirée de bouchées et cocktails au Haut Commissariat de l’UK; ou une invitation chez une Sénégalaise (déménagée au Cameroun) pour un repas typique sénégalais où tout le monde mange dans la même assiette.

Chose certaine, c’est qu’ici on mange bien, peu importe notre couleur de peau ou provenance. À tous les coins de rues, il y a quelqu’un qui vend du poisson (capitaine frit), des bâtons de manioc, des ananas, des sandwhichs aux œufs… Je me suis aventurée avec les autres bénévoles dans le quartier musulman un soir pour goûter au soya (des petites brochettes de viandes grillées sur un gros tonneau de feu sur le bord du trottoir). Chaque petite brochette coûte quelques cents, alors pour pas cher tu peux acheter un paquet et rajouter un plantain grillé si tu as encore faim. D’autres spécialités de la région, inclus le capitaine frit (poisson) et les rôtisseries de poulet (avec frites plantains) et un jus de gingembre très fort que j’aime bien.

The best part about being a foreigner in a new place, though, is receiving the hospitality and warm welcome of locals who want to show the best their country has to offer (which somehow always implies food..). This includes having dinner with the friend of a friend of a friend who then became my first Cameroonian friend. Or being invited for a Senegalese meal where everyone eats off the same plate at the house of a Cameroonian fashion designer who also collects African art and tells great stories (and has a peacock in her front yard!).  It may include making friends with the driver who then wants to tour you around the city. Or it could simply mean spending an evening at the British High Commission having drinks and finger food with your new colleagues.  And if you happen to like restaurants where the staff wear colourful t-shirts, the cook plays 90’s pop music, and they serve huge plates of good local food (choice of fish or meat, rice or plantain) for a reasonable price- then you are in for a treat at San Tropez.

Alors peu importe les difficultés que nous rencontrons quotidiennement dans ce pays étranger, les positifs surpassent toujours le négatif.  Je suis peut-être nasara, mais je suis aussi une invitée, une amie, et une collègue de travail. Je suis venue pour m’intégrer et vivre tout ce que le Cameroun à offrir. J’arrête pas de répéter à ceux que je rencontre qu’il ne faut pas penser que je suis une étrangère parce qu’à partir d’aujourd’hui et pour les prochains deux ans, je suis Camerounaise…

A week from now I’ll be putting on my new pang (traditional dress), strapping on some leather sandals bought from the market, and hopping on the back of a motorcycle, looking just like a local... with just a minor difference in skin tone...