Sarah Oxford, Ground Coordinator

Learning to be a super citizen

2008-09-07T22:14:00.000+01:00

A few months ago, a Cameroonian asked me who I intend to vote for in the upcoming presidential election. To my surprise he knew all about the US elections (as do most Cameroonians) and said to me frankly “Just know that your vote isn’t just for you, it’s a vote for the world, and you’ve been given the privilege to represent us.” He is absolutely right. Every decision made by the United States- be it international trade, a local government setting manufacturing regulations, or a teenager buying a car—it all affects the rest of the world, and on a much larger scale than we realize. So with this last blog, I will discuss what I have learned and what I hope others can gain from my experiences.

Patience:

Cameroon requires more patience than I can begin to explain. Cameroonians have lived relatively peacefully under a “dictatorship” for over 25 years. Living there requires more patience than I knew I had in me. For example, I can now sit on a bus for 8 hours without thinking to complain. I just take my mind elsewhere.

My first re-introduction into Western life happened in the Zurich airport, 9 hours away from Douala. There was a third security line before entering the plane where everyone was to have his or her passport scanned. I knew every American in line because every American was complaining. Finally one mother said to her daughter “hey, this isn’t so bad think of what all the non U.S. citizens had to do in order to get to this 15 minute line.” I turned around and thanked her for her awareness. 75% of Cameroonians are denied Visa’s to the U.S. after weeks of interviews and fees. Even with a Visa they might be denied entry. We have it easy waiting in that security line. Let’s not take that for granted!

Personal Space:

I can sleep in a bed alone or I can sleep in a bed with 5 kids. I can be alone for a week straight or, those same kids that share my bed can also surround me every hour of the day. Having personal space is an American cultural habit and luxury. When waiting in lines we create personal bubbles. That bubble is popped in Cameroon. Most Cameroonian households have one room for sleeping and one room as a living room.

This is a part of our culture that I appreciate. I think it does bring families closer in Cameroon (both literally and physically), but I do appreciate my space, especially if the guy behind has a bad odor!

Putting up the good fight:

I am a fighter. I discuss, debate, defend, and don’t give up unless there is a compromising resolution or I win. I argue a lot with men over women’s freedoms, but the arguments continue and blend into corruption, race, money, religion and basically anything that I feel I am being judged, taken advantage of, or am morally obligated to fight for. These convictions lead to exhaustion, but I have a good non-violent punch, even in French!

I credit our culture for developing an education and government system that allows us to openly debate. Classroom settings that invite discussion and student interactions really prepared me for many of the obstacles I overcame.

Race matters:

Living in a country in which people of my race make up about .001 percent of the population, race is a definite factor. Many times it works in my favor as I can walk into many government building and have a meeting right on the spot. I receive unacceptable and ungrounded respect solely because I am white. People believe that with white skin comes money, and more than often in the developing world, they are right. It’s disturbing how Cameroonians will judge other Cameroonians because they are brown, black, red, or some mixture between. It’s disturbing that every time I buy something I must divide it by a third just to start bartering or that I was denied buying a bus ticket last week. Would I be able to do the things I have done had I been born Asian or Arab? Would you look at me in the same way? Would Cameroonians look at me in the same way? There is a lot of baggage, stereotypes and prejudice in this world and it is as infuriating as it is ludicrous.

The questions I hated answering to Cameroonians the most were about race. Raised in the south I constantly question how far our country has come in the past 50 years. I usually say that people lack exposure to other kinds of people and have a hard time accepting everyone. Comments like “well I’m not racists but…”
or “ You wouldn’t date a black guy would you?” are in fact typical racist comments. I end with “there are all kinds of people, both accepting and not.”

Everyone should know what it feels like to be the minority on the bus, to look around and have no one else look or talk like you. It should be an obligation or rite of passage for every human. I think a lot of idiotic practices and misunderstandings would be worked out.

Singing and Dancing are life:

I can’t walk down the street in the United States and comfortably sing as loud as I want and possibly do a hip shake. People will think I am strange. In Cameroon, however, people will join in. No one is inhibited to dance or sing; it is appreciated. This may be the biggest part of Cameroonian culture that I will miss.

Respect for elders:

A great perk to Cameroon is the respect for elders. You never need to know anyone’s name. Literally you look at someone and call them sister, mom, grandma, father, brother depending on your age and their age. It’s fantastic and makes you feel more at ease when talking to strangers. Furthermore if I see a boy between the age of 10 and 15 on the street and I need something, all I do is call him and he is obligated to do what I ask. I have never been, nor seen anyone be, denied of this act. The boys outside my house even argue over who gets to throw my bucket of trash out each week.

I think we have lost some of our respect for grand parents and parents as (and I am speaking from a youth perspective) we are given opportunities to travel and start our own lives. Listening to first hand stories of WWII, the civil rights movement, and the cold war are important. Lessons can be learned and as we grow as a nation that incorporates peoples from all over the world, we should celebrate our pasts and the grandparents who shaped it.

So what have I learned? What kind of message do I want to spread? How am I dealing living in the world of “haves” after living with “have nots”? The United States is an undeniable world super power. We are a population of privileged people. Yes, there are struggling families and yes there are many Americans living in poverty, but there is opportunity here. Our standard of living is incredible high, as are our expectations. Something I don’t think any Cameroonian, even the richest, can comprehend unless he or she has visited. I am grateful: without our ambitions and strength I would not have the education that I have as my foundation. I would not have the money to do my work with Breaking Ground. I am proud to be an American.

So what do I ask of you and of myself? I ask that you who live in a super nation become, or continue to improve on being, a super citizen. Be proud of your successes, but realize that with privilege comes responsibility and we have a responsibility to aid our fellow human beings. This can be done in many ways. It starts with being aware. Ask yourself “What do I want verses what I NEED?” and “what can I do?” Be aware that local actions really do affect the rest of the world.

Study the world map and read up on current politics. Find Cameroon! Study charities and ask loads of questions before donating. Know where your money is going! Harmful development is everywhere, be aware! Call me and ask how you can be involved with Breaking Ground!!!

Shop smart at the grocery store. Know where your fruits are coming from. Are they out of season? If they came from across the country, how much gas or resources did it take to get them there? Are the same products sold locally, organically? Do you recycle? Where does your bag of trash go when you throw it on the curb?

I understand that everyone can’t go to Cameroon. I also understand that many people have no interest in going to Cameroon. I am privileged to have had the opportunity to fall in love with such a diverse, beautiful and controversial nation and to have been so accepted.

Breaking Ground is starting to do major fundraising. We have proven ourselves as a legitimate and hard working NGO in Cameroon. In the last year we have aided in building a bridge that affects 34,000 people; educated over 100 women in business practices and aided 14 in launching their own enterprises. Multiplying that by the average family number of 8 that means we made a positive impact in the lives of 800 people by empowering the female responsible for their family. Over 150 girls are playing in the Breaking Ground Football league with a volunteer staff of 20. The Lindsay Clarke library remains the centerfold of the village of Doumbou….And we have our first non-board member volunteer in the West province working to help farmers gain free trade status and see more of the benefits when selling their coffee!

As Margaret Mead said: “Never doubt that a small, group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Let’s live simply. Be aware. Act locally. Vote. Give to Breaking Ground.

Let’s be super citizens.

Welcome to the world of suffering

2008-06-11T18:32:00.003+01:00

I’m a little drained of Cameroon—not to say that I don’t want to be here, but I’m sick of being stared at, tired of repetitive lame questions, but most of all tired of feeling like an asshole. When living with a population of people who have never received the same kind of education (the formal science based school attended education), conversations arise when quite simply I know I’m right. The basic years of biology, history, and math imprudently reveal themselves.

For example the other day a friend said to me “ do you know that when you add citrus to beer, it owers the alcohol content?” Speaking through laughter “Actually it changes the taste, the alcohol content comes from the process when the beer is made.” I imagined all of Mexico grinning at their lime slices. I try to correct statements like this without being a total know-it-all jerk, but it really makes me feel like one. The other day I saw Mariamou giving her one-week-old baby water. In alarm I said “doctors recommend only breast milk until the baby is six months old!” She nonchalantly responds, “ yeah, they told me that too, but doesn’t he look thirsty?” In desperation I speak up “It can make him sick.” “I know he gets diarrhea, but I don’t want him to suffer from thirst” In exasperation, I plead through what I consider reason “diarrhea is the most common cause of death in the world, it leads to dehydration and has many other repercussions, it’s dangerous! Go breast milk!” “But he’s thirsty Sarah”. I look at my feet and stew in asshole land.

And it’s those times where I totter between withdrawal and confrontation that are the most disturbing. To step up and say, hey actually the practices like this that you have been doing forever are the reasons that your other kids that we don’t talk about died. It’s not god’s fault, it’s not sorcery, and it’s your neglect to listen. How can you look someone in the face and say this? How many times in a day can you say this? Or, I back off and try to change my thoughts and convince myself that being a know-it-all asshole isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m not responsible for everyone’s livelihood even if I believe that I know better. Who am I anyway, and really what do I know? Maybe the Ngaoundéré parasitic water that often generously gives typhoid has something in it that builds one week old babies immune systems against x, y, and z. I do the same thing with my friends back home who still smoke cigarettes. I feel like I am annoying when I remind them how horrible smoking is, constantly badgering them, but in return feel guilty if I don’t do anything. In the end either way I’m the asshole and I’m tired of being one here in Cameroon. Talking to an adult like a child is humiliating for both parties.

“What is that guy doing?” I asked puzzled. “I think he’s just laying there, ” said Sammy, a Breaking Ground Football volunteer. “In the middle of the soccer field, after a match? That’s so strange!?” I jittered with confusion.

Every time I leave a meeting or a soccer game after working with Etienne I sit on the back of his moto and think, god, where did he come from? It just doesn’t make sense. After the success of Breaking Ground Football, he has implemented girls soccer into all government sporting competitions. Today there was a trophy ceremony for Cameroon’s Independence day games. I can even quote him saying “when I first met you I didn’t understand what a volunteer was, now I am a proud volunteer who runs a girls soccer program!” It’s not everyday you hear a Cameroonian male say those words, let me be the first to tell you. During the first meeting when I told everyone that there was no money, he stood up and said he would work with me- he has never let me down.

As Sammy and I walked out of the stadium, the kid of unknown origin started seizing uncontrollably on the ground. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew we couldn’t leave him there. Everyone stared and said in harmony “wait in a few minutes he will get up on his own.” I knew from elementary school experiences that he could choke on his tongue. I wanted to run up, but about 30 people kept telling me I couldn’t because it could be contagious! And, what if it is sorcery! I was astounded and awkwardly hovered.

As the outsider I was scared if I tried to help and something went wrong I would find myself in a really bad spot. I was stuck. Sammy said, “Sarah let’s just walk up and look.” Disgusted at myself I responded, “We can’t just walk up and look!” (it had been minutes by now and I was cursing myself and my weakness). “Where is Etienne?” Within seconds he was there and ignoring all the murmurs and threats lifting the boy who had by then bitten his tongue and had blood all over his face. He helped him into recovery. I felt awful, guilty, and confused by the situation. But all in all, that explains Etienne. Strong, honest, and there when you need him.

That day we gave away jerseys to player’s children and siblings. We noticed that many children would run into the stadium take a jersey and show back up five minutes later begging for another. Once wind of the situation blew through the neighborhood, moms were using their kids as bait for jerseys. We ran out of stock before kids could double up, but Etienne astutely commented, “The bed of the poor is rich…poor people don’t work, so what else do they have to do?”

There is a stark realism of life and death in Cameroon. Most people never meet their grandparents, most women have lost at least one child, and the majority of the population is under 25. I find people are more at ease with the life cycle, as you experience life, sickness and death more often.

Mariamaou gave birth a couple weeks ago to a boy weighing 2.7 kilo’s later to be named Chamsoudini (light over religion). A friend of mine visited a couple days later and when holding Chamsoudini said “welcome to the world of suffering.”

The hospital experience was gritty, raw, and reconfirmed my thoughts on motherhood. We arrived around 3pm to sit on a urine-smelling bench packed with women outside of the doctor’s room. After 30 minutes, Mariamou was emitted to the birthing room. There 5 metal beds were aligned around the room. Blood was on the floor. I don’t know if sanitation wasn’t a concern, or if there wasn’t the manpower or supplies to make it a priority. Either way, I wasn’t impressed. I sat there with the three year old and drew pictures for her to color. Attached to this room is a smaller room with two beds for birthing. No one is allowed in this room except the pregnant woman and the nurses (after 8pm there was no doctor). As Mariamou lay there legs wide open, I ran in and out, holding her hand when the nurses were outside.

Hours passed and pregnant women entered one by one. Some came with friends and some were alone. Not one husband entered the room. As there are no options of painkillers, women began asking questions about birthing in the USA. I explained the epidural shot, caesarian sections and how women will rest for days in the hospital before returning home. One lady asked me how I could be so selfish to not have children when it is so easy in the USA. The new thing is to tell me that I have not followed god’s wishes by not reproducing at the ripe old age of 24.

Mariamou’s husband came at her telephoned request to bring food and when she expressed her pain and need for medication, he told her he would be back in a couple of hours. Her eyes narrowed in on me and I received the message loud and clear! Lucky for Mariamou, since I am like a man-girl here, against her husbands’ wishes I was able to moto to the one after-hours drug store to find her needed medication. I also picked up some grilled meat and beignets along the route to give to the nurses so I could hold Mariamou’s hand as they went out of the room to eat (is that bribery or what?).

The serious screaming began around 8 hours later. The lady next to Mariamou was having her first child and couldn’t push anything past the head out. I colored as hard as I could sitting on the metal bed and swatting away mosquito’s. Women nervously paced the room, asking me questions to get their mind off of the dangerous birthing reality. Mariamou was 9 hours into labor when her baby decided to become alive. He wasn’t breathing, so they gave him a shot. Within a couple minutes he cried, but not willingly. The nurses were worried. They said if a baby doesn’t cry within 10 to 15 minutes, they leave him on a table to die. Most likely in that situation, he will be mentally impaired, so they have been taught to put them aside.

Once Mariamou gave birth, the nurses yelled for her to be cleaned up. In the ultimate state of confusion I didn’t know what was going on. I knew that we had to provide everything for the birth to take place. She packed extra syringes, gloves, towels, cotton, but what was this clean up crew about? Her mom, Ina, ran into the birthing room and came out with a dustpan of blood and substance wrapped in white plastic. Oh! I get it, we are to go in after the birth and clean Mariamou and the baby up! Then they asked for water! No running water in the birthing room! I threw my Nalgene bottle across the room for Mariamou to take a swig.

Once Mariamou and the baby were cleaned up we resumed position on our metal sheet-less cot. Grandma sat on a matt just below the bed, and great grandma sat on a matt adjacent to us all. Mariamou, the newborn, and myself shared the cot. Mariamou dosed as I held the baby, staying awake to reassure myself that mosquito’s were not landing on him. The widow behind me had no screen and I think I walked out with over 20 bites myself. If the infant were to fall ill with malaria, his chances of survival would dramatically decrease.

Hours passed slowly. No sign of husbands. No congratulations, no hooraah! Women quietly trickled in hour after hour. Around 3am a woman showed up alone with nothing. No cotton, no gloves, no change of clothes, no friends—nothing. She went into labor and the nurse screamed “gloves, gloves, anyone!” I assume someone found some, later she came out with a bloody baby and was bleeding all over the floor and the bed next to us. Blood was all over our pots and pans (you bring your own food) and she was ashamed. Women were disgusted. Someone gave her a towel to wrap her child up into. Someone else gave her some fabric to wrap around her waist. Nothing was stopping the blood. Around 6am her husband showed up. He was probably in his 60’s. He didn’t look at his wife or the baby, but looked around the room at everyone and said while congratulating himself “this is my 39th child.”

I was antipathetic, not only at this man, but at every man. This painful and lonely event that these women went through was regarded as a ‘rite of passage’ that has nothing to do with men. Even in the car that next day (side note- I paid for Mariamou’s birth, $20, that I was later paid back for) Ismaila called the newborn “Mariamou’s new child” as if he had nothing to do with him. And many women don’t even have the option to go to hospitals at all, so what I saw was probably a plush and comfortable birth by Cameroonian standards. The entire experience left me exhausted and disgusted, certain that I did not want to give birth anytime soon.

So welcome Chamsoudini! Welcome to the world of suffering. Make it what you will; your destiny is yours and yours alone. In a time period where religion seems to be unnervingly uniting and dividing our world in extremes, maybe it us you who can shed some light on us all, even the know-it-all western assholes.

So a white girl, a conservative Muslim, and a prostitute walk into an internet café….

2008-04-30T01:29:00.000+01:00

I walked into an internet café around 8pm last night to make a phone call. About 10 men looked up and stared, one began taunting me in Fulfulde; the rest returned to staring at a television show about Indonesia. I sat on a stool, joined the pack staring at the television and waited for the phone. A few minutes pass and the door opens filling the room with a cool breeze of street-polluted air. A woman wearing full veil walks through the door making sure to hold on to a flap of black cloth around her face strategically as she speaks to the employee. Her beautiful brown eyes gaze around the room. She steps aside and sits alone in the corner. A couple minutes later a fully bearded man stands beside where she is sitting. Within five minutes another woman stutter steps in high red stiletto heels through the door. This woman is about 50 pounds overweight with a spandex dress barely covering her butt cheeks and breasts tumbling out every which way. She did, however, have a fantastic weave on. I said good evening admiring her hair, jewelry, and anything but timid attitude. A man followed her carrying multiple cell phones and asking her when she would return. In these moments, one has to look around and think, man where am I? I felt like I could start a joke: so a white girl, a conservative Muslim, and a prostitute walk into an internet café….

A couple of days ago I went to the train station to bid farewell to a friend. Sitting with my back turned to a fence, I felt a nudge on my arm. Three of us were at the table, another young lady sitting next to me and a man directly across. The nudge turned into a pull and plea for money. The kid doing the nudging was definitely on some form of drug and slurred all his words and kept motioning to us that he was hungry. This is his gig. Not the drug part, but the harassment: he has adopted it as his job or means of survival. He harasses people at the train station every night. This was not the first time he had bothered any of us, but as foreigners, we don’t have the same ability to chase people away as locals do. I yelled at the boy in Fulfulde, then in French telling him to stop poking my friend and leave, meanwhile the man across the table left to find the waitress hoping she could solve the situation. The waitress came over and looked me sternly in the face and said, “ You need to leave. You are causing problems for this man, my customer.” “Me? Are you serious?” I questioned as the boy continued to poke, moan and spit foam out of his mouth behind me. “What about the messed up kid behind me? He can stay, but I go.” “I said you need to go!” A second later, the lost in translation moment came full circle as she became extremely embarrassed and realized the man was talking about the boy and not me. Luckily, I got to stay. The boy was chased away by a metal chair being prodded at him.

For two weeks it seems that all of the grandma’s in the Adamaoua have come to Tongo-Pastoral (my neighborhood). Most of them I have met before, but never in a solidified bunch. Three come directly from the family I live with and three others are neighbors. One in particular lives in Djilougou a village a couple of hours away. These ladies only speak Fulfulde, and have had few encounters with white people. When I walk in the room, all mouths go silent, pause, then it’s like birds chirping non-stop. Typical conversation flows like this
Grandma 1 : You’ve come back
Sarah: I’ve come back
Grandma 1: How is your health
Sarah: My health is good
Grandma 1: How is work?
Sarah: work is good
Grandma 1: How did you sleep
Sarah: I slept fine
Grandma 1: I met some white people a long time ago, they were Germans
Sarah: really (that’s like WWI era), I am not German, I don’t speak German
Grandma 2: White people have always been scared of me and I of them. We didn’t talk. You and Mariamou talk and you live together, that’s weird
Sarah: we’re friends
Grandma 2: I’ve never known a white friend
Then the dialogue turns to all the women talking at the same time: “Does she dance?” “Do you dance?” “ Look at her legs” “What is she doing now?” “Oh, white girl your funny, are you picking up that off the ground?” “Are those zits on your face?” “Why do you have zits on your face?” “I like your legs, she wears shorts!” “Are you leaving? Where are you going?” “What do you eat?”

I slowly back out of the room not knowing what to do and usually hear Mariamou laughing behind the next wall. It’s amusing that I am such an outsider to them, when really we’re not that different. Old people can play that ignorant and naïve card by default, which is usually entertaining. I learn a lot through them. Because they never went to school, most have no clue about the history of Cameroon and therefore colonialism. Their concept of race relations is really non-existent. That is why they have no problem calling me white girl every time they see me instead of learning my name, and would have no problem if I called them black grandma. They do not understand why that would be offensive, as in fact, I am a white girl. In truth, in Fulfulde when you see someone you say “ Hey man – Sanu gorko” or “Hey girl- Sanu Debbo” It’s not uncommon to point out physical differences, because the differences are just that, different, not bad. “Oh, go talk to the man who’s eaten a lot of pork (fat) or the lady with the big scar on her face” I have to pay attention when walking around town as the word for white is Nasara, very similarly pronounced to Sarah- which often creates problems when people want to talk to their teacher rather than the people who want to sell a shoe off of their head to the white girl.

The disposal/ hole in the ground that catches all water from the outdoor/kitchen sink is full. The odor started taking over, so the time came to open the hatch and get rid of all the disposed of stuff. The concrete was cracked in a two foot square and we all peered down into the abyss. 11 meters (36 feet) of filth oozed. As we all peered over I looked around and thought, who here can swim? And then the second thought crossed my mind: only me. Can we all back away? I really don’t want to dive into the pit of doom. The six year old dances in circles and I pull her arm. We all took a step back and discussed what the emergency rescue would be like in the pit of doom. Yaouba, who helps with house chores, told me not to worry, if he fell I could just let him go, he didn’t see survival or a heroic story coming from the pit of doom. For the past two nights, chemicals that make the water evaporate and the sludge disappear have been put in the pit. I do not know what these magical chemicals consist of, but the idea is rather frightening and I don’t want to imagine the environmental impact or swimming through them to fish out a child.

I hope those stories were slightly entertaining. Sometimes the barreling over, cramp laughter of moments doesn’t transfer into written literature. Maybe read them aloud, or act them out for a better interpretation of the moments. Try to read them with David Sedaris’ tone of voice.

Thus far three projects have been launched. It’s a strange feeling to visit my previous students and demand to see their books, I am much younger and it makes me feel like I am a tax collector. Each time I have asked, however, I have received. Their books and budgeting are immaculate. I have seen the products they have bought and the initial stages of developing their business. Saturday I will be blending up some fresh pineapple juice with Madam Pauline. I am jealous that she has a blender for her business. Decent blenders here cost about $40! She also has a snazzy machine that seals plastic bags. They are like the bags you buy frozen peas in at the grocery store, but smaller. Doing this reduces her cost of plastic cups and bottles, and is better for the environment!

I traveled to Ngaoundal to see the Glory Bilingual School. The men were working from sun up to sun down and Madame Becham was the leader of the pack. The school is almost roofed and has beaten the rainy season! This project, as fantastic as it is, disturbed me because it didn’t represent as much community action as I would like. Becham is amazing and driven. Her school is her baby and represents wholeheartedly her passion to improve Cameroon, but did it cover Breaking Ground’s mission? Was it her going into another region and imposing education upon people? I went to Ngaoundal to check on the project and to get a feel of how the community was accepting the 3 year old school.

Community members came out of their homes to thank Becham and me. One man has volunteered his younger brother, Sambo, as Becham’s assistant. Sambo runs where Becham says run and is eager to help. He cannot read and never attended school, but is thrilled about the prospects of the school. The previous mayor thanked me for supporting her saying “you know if we had three of her in Cameroon, it would be an entirely different country. She beat on my door and sat down in my living room pleading for me to send my children to school. Until her third visit, the importance of schooling didn’t register. I didn’t go until I was nine and then it was too late, why would I do that to my children? Even my daughters should go. A man…a man would stop after the first rejection, but Madame Becham she doesn’t accept defeat. Do you know this is the first nursery school in our town?” I asked him about community action and he responded that the community is very supportive and they are starting to understand and wanting to become more involved. He reassured me that it takes time, but nothing is being imposed.

The next day we were short money to buy more bricks, and he gave us the small, but important amount of money that we were missing. Community action will happen.

Four of the ladies that Breaking Ground selected to launch their projects are still waiting to receive funding. Seven women (including the three selected) who are all tailors with differing specialties have formed a Common Interest Group. All of these women have taken my course. Together, they opened a bank account and have bi-monthly meetings to discuss the reach and goals of their organization. Upon their request, I attended their last meeting. At this meeting the women decided that they should start a boutique selling all the items that they use in their line of work. They have already done the feasibility study and have proven it profitable. One of the women takes yearly trips to Nigeria to wholesale buy all of her materials. She proposed that two women travel twice year and buy a couple tons of materials, then ship them back to Ngaoundéré. The group has been discussing the idea for a couple months, but wanted me to hear their concerns and give some advice. We came up with a couple of pages of questions that need to be determined. Who will work in the store? How will profits be split? What if a woman moves or dies? Can a man be in the group? Who will you employ? Who makes the journey? What are your bi-laws? What if someone has invested and wants to leave? What if the president dies? The list went on forever and the women for three hours discussed their responses, all determining that they needed to have another meeting. Finally, they looked at me and questioned, well what do we do about funding? I took their bank notebook and said and why can’t you get credit? Credit? Such a scary word. Well…in two months we will have saved enough money. The president looked up, ladies, in two months we will be organized and take out a loan for our business! They all giggled and I smiled! My first students to take out a loan!

The Breaking Ground apartment is coming along. I have slept here two nights and have just made my curtains. I have a bed, mosquito net, and rug (used and dirt cheap)! All of the necessities! This weekend I will set up the kitchen. It is a real pain fixing up a house here as it takes a day to research prices and barter, then another day to get things actually bought and another day to get it set up. No Ikea! Slowly but surely it will come together. Who needs a couch and more than two pots anyway?

The moral of my apartment story is that I won’t budget out luxuries like pots and pans for the house until the projects are funded. If I am living in a decked out apartment and don’t have money for my projects, I might as well be at home. So this is me begging everyone to support my women! 10, 20,30 dollars will go along way! They are prepared and organized, let’s let them begin! More are coming in June and I want to have all the women that were selected in March, start working before then!

Breaking Ground Football - Photos

2008-04-11T13:55:00.003+01:00

Women's Day, WEP, Football Update, and more.

2008-04-03T20:11:00.002+01:00

The difficulty within Breaking Ground right now is that we all are volunteers. For the Ground Coordinators (now two of us) in Cameroon we demand that the US Breaking Ground team dedicate the majority of their free time to reviewing our budgets, transferring funds, working on donor relations, writing grants, and updating the website to name a few tasks. The necessary element to note here is that everything gets done correctly, which with passionate volunteers takes more time than with a paid staff. In saying this after a couple stressful weeks, I thank the Breaking Ground administration on the US end because I am doing the fun part and they are supporting me through it with countless hours of thankless efforts. The website will be updated soon, and when it is I invite all of you to donate to my WEP projects. To potential donors, I would rather that you know the story and follow the progress of the projects than just give with anonymity. Rest assured, we are making sure things are properly completed rather than rushing. Good development is not done quickly.

The dry season is in full gear averaging daily temperatures over 100˚F. I am fortunate, as a couple hours north of Ngaoundéré it heats up to 120˚F during the day. Either way, it’s sweltering, but comes with a plethora of beautiful mangos! The irony is that I have a new allergy to mangos. Nothing serious, a small rash on my hand and lips appears only if I cut the mango myself. The consequence of my situation is that someone else has to wash and cut the mango for me. My childhood princess status has been revitalized; many will argue it never disappeared.

March 8th was International Women’s Day. I organized the BGF girls to march together in the town parade. It was fantastic: about 45 girls dressed in their soccer uniforms with the ones leading the lines juggling soccer balls. I marched in front with my Women’s Day fabric caba (imagine what mama wore on “Mama’s Family” the old TV series) and waved. The program was explained over a loud speaker and as we walked through the crowd. Women cheered.

Because of the February strikes, and consequent riots, I missed a couple weekends of games. Five minutes into the first game, a goal was scored off of a crossed ball and headed into the goal. I did a double take and looked at Etienne who smiled a welcome back nod in proud approval. I am confident that in five years we will have at least one player representing Ngaoundéré on the national team. The national team is currently composed of girls from Douala (the economic stronghold and port city) and Yaoundé (the capital).

That night, the town lit up. Women took over the streets, bars, and dance clubs. When walking down the street everyone wished me a happy Women’s Day and congratulated me for being a woman - it was fabulous. I possibly hugged every woman in Ngaoundéré. I danced on the street until 3am with my Women’s Day caba and a couple girl friends.

In conjunction with aerobics, I’ve started taking a ballroom dancing class that has replaced afternoon runs (look at Cameroon develop with activities!). Sometime during the wee hours of dancing on Women’s day the American song “Who Let the Dogs Out” screamed through the speakers. My dance instructor leaned over my shoulder and said, “Sarah, listen to the rhythm, it’s the lambada” and grabbed my hands. Who would have thought?

I don’t know if it was Women’s Day or the many radio interviews that I have now done, but I have suddenly and disturbingly found myself to be a well-known character throughout town. I will have lengthy conversations with people who seem to know a decent amount about my life, but I will have no idea who they are. People take offense when I don’t know them, so I just always pretend that I do. I ask about their work, family, and health like I have a secret note pad of details hidden under my dress. I have even been to weddings not knowing who exactly would walk out as the bride or groom. It’s overwhelming.

During the first season of Breaking Ground Football, Dynamo, a young team lost every game. My heart constantly went out to them as they never scored and continuously got pounded. During the second season they finished 4th out of 6 teams and recorded 3 goals. The Dynamo coaches invited me to practice with the team and play in a couple out of league games. I obliged and have been working with the team for a couple weeks. A benefit to working with them is that I have increased my knowledge in Cameroonian song lyrics, slang, and pop culture; however, the frustrating part is that every time I have the ball at my feet, the girls just expect me to do something incredible and stop to watch me. I yell a lot.

Saturday Dynamo’s coach scheduled a match in a village outside of Ngaoundéré. We met at 9am and waited about an hour for a bus to take us 30 kilometers outside of town. The second the bus door closed the girls broke out in song and dance. They made up cheers yelling “message” “yes” “message” “yes” “we’re going to win” “YYYYAAAAHHH!” The spirit was unbeatable and for the first time made me feel old.

We did a small tour of a factory that processes flour, oil and other corn and sunflower products. Most of the products are bought by the United Nations World Food Program and are shipped to Sudan. The village (around 1000 people) thrives on this well kept and managed factory.

That afternoon we faced our competition. Twelve girls dressed in yellow uniforms that they had rented for 2 500 Fcfa ($5) from a men’s team faced us ready to play. This I learned is why previously the BGF teams sometimes had uniforms and sometimes did not. Our first order of conduct was to walk around the field to get a feel for it. No lines, no nets, and a couple small bushes created our playing field. The tilt of the red dirt field caused the ball to slightly role anytime a free kick was taken.

Over three hundred fans came out to support the girls in yellow. During half time at least 50 kids surrounded our team huddle and listened as we discussed improving our game. At one point I took a throw-in and the referee asked me to please not score again as he didn’t want the girls to get discouraged. Subsequently, the girl I marked asked if she was positioned correctly and told me that soccer is tough.

After the game ended the two coaches came together and asked me to speak to the girls (Cameroonians love impromptu speeches - if only I had memorized the mighty ducks movie or anything with Steve PreFontaine). One coach asked the girls if they liked to play soccer, asked them if they wanted to continue and if they are hard working. After every question, the girls, who were standing in front of what appeared to be the rest of the village, screamed “OUI! OUI!” He explained that the Dynamo girls team is only a year old, that they have united to form a team and practice twice a week. He explained the merits of Breaking Ground Football and the program goals. He continued and yelled are you willing to work hard ? “OUI!” Do you want your own uniforms? “OUI!” Will you respect your body and your coach? “OUI!” She, this lady here, she is here for you. She believes in you and wants you to play. She doesn’t want you to use old men’s uniforms, she believes you deserve your own. The energy flew through the crowd. The floor was mine. I explained that if they can prove to me their dedication and love for the game, we will work towards getting them uniforms. The girls and fans behind them screamed.

We re-entered the bus and the singing restarted. The second time around, I sang all the words that I new and mouthed watermelon to the rest. I didn’t feel older; I felt that I was a part of something. A part of some magic that I call good, small-scale, locally initiated development. I had nothing to do with this village visit. The coaches are taking Breaking Ground Football to a new level - a new level that I am currently preparing for by restructuring the budget, having meetings about new team expansions, and finding more equipment. It’s a pleasure and it’s hard work. I have secured a great relationship with International Children’s Awareness (ICA) based in Canada who sent over 25 team uniforms and other soccer equipment to the program. Keep an eye out for a full soccer report coming soon.

The Women’s Entrepreneurial Program ended last Thursday and I was pleased to hear things like “ Madame Sarah, I be feelin’ you” from one Anglophone and “Madame Sarah, you may not give me money, but you have shown me the road and that is what’s important” (translation). I printed certificates of completion that the Women’s delegate handed out. Madame Pauline Kierne (of our current sponsored Fresh Juice business) prepared fresh pineapple, ginger, and foléré (a local plant) juice for over 75 people. The women in class pulled money together and provided ground meat sandwiches. After three hours of speeches, food, pictures and proper stuffy French-Cameroon etiquette, we parted ways. The women said if they had known the ceremony was going to be that much fun they would have hired a DJ and danced all night (the ceremony began at 11am). I have to remember that for many of these women, WEP is the first time in their life that they have been honored, especially academically. I can’t imagine what it means to them to have a certificate with their name on it.

The WEP graduates now have the opportunity to write their own business proposals and give them to Breaking Ground before May 1st. I look forward to reading them, but anticipate this time around that the projects will be twice as competitive, making selection much more difficult.

There are a couple women in WEP whose daughters play in the Breaking Ground Football league. Speaking with these select few has been exceptionally rewarding as I have a relationship both with the mother and daughter. I feel like I am systematically improving women’s empowerment within their household through leadership and educational activities. It also reminds me of my mom who always said she wished she could have played sports as a child, but couldn’t because there were no girl’s leagues in her small town.

With the rainy season fast approaching, the Menouet River Bridge Project, affecting 34,000 people in 4 villages located outside of Dschang in the West, was coming under threat. Cameroon weather and people are not concerned with time. You hear expatriates often say, “nothing works but everything works out in Cameroon.” With the rain approaching sooner than expected, the project needed $5000 to finish the first stage of the project and ensure that the work done thus far was not destroyed by rising water levels. On behalf of the communities of Foreke-Dschang, Fotetsa, Fossong- Watchang, and Fongo Ndgeng, Breaking Ground and I would like to offer a huge THANK YOU to Christ Episcopal Church of Ponte Vedra Beach who generously donated the money to complete the first phase before the rainy season! The community of PVB understands the necessity of bridges and the importance of this project. Words cannot explain the gratitude, but hopefully the pictures on our website will aid in explaining everyone’s appreciation from Cameroon. Check the site in the coming weeks for photos of the work you made possible!

In every aspect of my life things are moving, growing, and fantastically…developing. I have found a new house and will be moving out of my Cameroonian family’s home. Do not worry, it is only 30 feet away from where I currently live and I am setting it up for Breaking Ground. I will not be surprised if I continue to eat every meal with Mariamou and even move back in her home within a month. It’s fun living with a best friend and her family. For the next few days I will be painting walls, fixing doors, and budgeting for furniture! In the meantime, I am waiting in anticipation for the next Oxford family addition who will arrive any day now! My brother and his wife are expecting and our entire family is in anxious anticipation, even me over here in Cameroon. COME ON BABY!

Projects Projects Projects.

2008-03-06T03:48:00.001+01:00

At the second launching of Breaking Ground Football, I took more pictures than video, with the hope of sharing the moment with you. What I tried to capture was the energy and spirit of Cameroon. I have concluded that it is impossible to capture this inexplicable spirit for life in either photo or video.

Have you ever tried to describe the beach to someone who has never been? You, having been there, visualize the soft salty air hitting your face and the crashing waves serenading you to sleep after a day of feeling the sun warm your face while watching children create sand castles. The sunset is beautiful and your connection with the environment reawakens something inside you and is mentally fulfilling.

The person who has never been there says, wait on television I see hurricanes that kill people and demolish houses. And, did you not see the Tsunami? I see kids drowning in the undertow and people being bitten by sharks. I hear people complain of painful sunburn and sand that seems to never wash out between their toes. Why would you ever want to go to the beach? It’s dangerous and sounds miserable.

This is my newfound analogy for Cameroon. I tell people about the weather, and they assume excruciating heat. I talk about life and they see AIDS. I talk about work and they see poverty. Yes, heat, sickness, and poverty are elements in Cameroon, however, when I think of Cameroon I think of hospitality, life, and laughter. If life were miserable, I wouldn’t be here. I love my life here.

My vision of Cameroon is walking into my neighborhood and being hugged by at least 6 shoeless kids yelling my name with a partially inflated ball at their feet. Sitting in the kitchen and feeling the warmth of the fire heating up the tea that I will then share with friends over conversation about the latest town gossip, which always ends in perpetual laughter. And then suddenly music carries you to your feet – we are all dancing together, laughing and making movements the best we know how. That is my Cameroon, full of life and hope.

Just like the beach, until you experience the real thing, the TV stereotypes are hard to ignore. Once you dance to the music, see the children, taste the tea, and become a part of the laughter, however, these pre-implanted images disappear and you never want to live without this inexplicable energy again. I can’t imagine a life without Cameroon, without Africa.

Projects Projects Projects. My day starts at 7:30am and doesn’t end until I crash on my bed. I have so much to do that I schedule 3 meetings at the same time; whoever gets there first gets priority and thus more time to discuss the issue at hand. Women are learning to arrive early if they want my time. I have had 4 radio interviews, 3 about the business class and 1 about the soccer program. I have never felt more accomplished.

Thus far in my life, this past week has been the most rewarding. Everything I have dreamed of has come into fruition. I am working for an NGO that believes in giving people the power to help themselves. I have 7 women who are preparing to launch their own businesses. I have passed my teaching responsibilities to two Cameroonian women. I have a successful soccer program giving adolescent girls a chance to learn teamwork and leadership skills while having fun. Women trust me, they are building self-confidence, and positive action within the N'Gaoundéré community is happening. I am watching it happen and I am a part of this movement, but at the same time, my “string” can be detached. They will progress without me because they are learning and applying skills to their own lives.

Two weeks ago Dr. Taguem Fah and I handed out letters of acceptance and rejection for the proposed business projects. One week later, we interviewed applicants of the seven selected projects. For my first time, I was sitting on the questioning side of the table. I was drilling instead of being drilled. At first it was nerve wracking, as I know what these ladies started from and are up against. It was my responsibility to select the most capable and yet not exclude the most in need as well. I have full confidence in the conclusions we made and with pleasure ask you to visit the current projects page on our website.

I have been making house visits, learning in depth about my students’ lives and their families. As I write their history, they are preparing the execution of their enterprises. We all are working against the time constraint of the end of dry season and the upcoming rainy season, which threatens the construction projects with a strict time frame. As I run around town, I see students whose projects were not selected. There is no negativity; many women are taking the course again to better understand the material and re-write their project. There is no grudge or anger because they have still learned.

One seamstress, Aissatou Bintou, was selected to develop her business idea and is taking the course again. “Again!” I said in shock while she fitted me into a new blue and brown African dress. “ Yes, the course opened my mind so much the first time, I can’t imagine what I possibly missed. I have to take it again to master it and make sure I know everything!” She then pulled out her cashbook and said, “ Look, I write everything that comes in and out. I know what money I spend and what my clients prefer! Aren’t you proud” My smile wasn’t going anywhere.

The first day of the second session, 45 women showed up. Two men sat in the back and I impolitely asked them to leave, one woman whispered, “ Madame Sarah, they are the PRESS.” Oops. Ok you can stay, but only for today. Today was the second class day and 65 women showed up. The class is now full, even past the number I prefer.

Taguem and I have resolved two new goals. Our previous goal of attaining women’s trust and giving them confidence has been accomplished. Now we want to continue with the development of a women’s center in N'Gaoundéré within the Research Center. Some ideas are to have health, computer, and art classes that are inexpensive and give women a chance to interact, to be a part of something, and to learn new skills. The most important aspect for me is to continue with the project proposals at the end of the business class. I see no reason to stop a program that is empowering women to overcome poverty through their ideas and personal motivation, especially in a town where women have few opportunities. Ideally I want at least $10 000 per year to be pledged to the continuation of this program. The more money we have, the more women we can help.

The soccer program has also taken it’s own leap. I now have little to do except sit beside the delegate and “look pretty”. M. Ettiene Fouejio has taken responsibility for the program, Breaking Ground gives money for the field and referees and I make some photocopies here and there, but he is now the backbone. He has found female referees and has brought a new seriousness and respect to the second phase of the program. Before we handed out uniforms he made an incredible speech to the players stating how this program is for them. It is not solely about winning the game, but winning as a woman. Taking advantage of education and believing in your decisions. Afterwards, the girls clapped, cheered, and changed into their new gear.

It is amazing what uniforms can do. They not only make teams look united, but the girls act united as well. The African cup just ended (Cameroon lost to Egypt in the final) and girls are starting to do dances when they score goals. They talk about their teams at school and look forward to practices and games. Our next goal is cleats, socks and shin guards—balls are also always wanted. A single decent quality soccer ball here (costing about $15 in the US) costs about $50. I am working out a way for equipment to be sent twice a year via cargo.

Please check out the projects from my business class. I know everyone cannot financially support my students, but I want you to mentally support them and know them as people. These seven stalwart women are paving the way for women in N'Gaoundéré. They deserve to have their stories read and their accomplishments celebrated.

News from Chad

2008-02-05T12:32:00.000+01:00

New York Times: Thousands Are Reported to Flee Chad's Capital

Conflict in Chad

2008-02-04T20:15:00.000+01:00

I know many of you have watched the news about the turmoil in Chad, a border country to Cameroon, and I want to let everyone know that N'Gaoundéré is safe and I will continue with my work here. I am in no threat and the only thing that has changed here is an influx of expats who are camping out in our hotels. If there is any danger, I will be heading to the safety of Yaoundé, or, in the worst-case scenario, coming home. As of now, however, things are looking fine. Please remember that Cameroon is a large country. As the crow flies, N’Gaoundéré is approximately 350 miles from N’Djemena. Refugees are flooding into Cameroon because, above all, Cameroon is a safe and stable country. Thank you for your concern, but please do not worry.

Sox

For information on the situation in Chad, check out the following articles:

International Herald Tribune: UN Security Council backs Chad government against rebels

Reuters AlertNet: Cameroon Red Cross helps thousands displaced from Chad

The REAL world.

2008-01-31T12:00:00.000+01:00

Caddy adolescent girls love to say, “Wait until she goes into the real world; she’ll be eaten alive.” I remember hearing it and even saying it, then at one point my senior year at Sewanee I remember thinking, what exactly is the REAL world? What kind of world do I live in now? As we often joked that Sewanee is a bubble world, I questioned how many people would enter this REAL world and how would it differ from the world we knew. How many silver-spoon fed intellectuals would cross over to this rough and tumbling unknown?

It’s been a couple weeks since I entered this REAL world. However, at that time, I did not have the ability to cleanly express myself without writing words that I could later regret. I experienced new emotions of anger, frustration, hopelessness, and fear. The words you read don’t express the anxiety which they create within my Cameroonian family. The tears, the coughs, the slaps, the lack of noise, the adverting eyes, the open discussion of money, the waiting moments for test results—these aren’t words, these aren’t experiences, this is the real world. I have entered it without welcome.

Out of town relatives arrived in droves. I gained new responsibilities in the house and played the role of after school ‘Mom,’ making sure the kids ate and began their homework. Mariamou spent this time sitting at the hospital. The children innocently assumed I am getting married. Why else would so many relatives visit? I examined them softly with my eyes and sincerely wished that they were correct, that this was a joyous moment for all to celebrate.

Body language is the most precise form of communication. You can whisper, you can wait until they leave the room, but children know when something is wrong. More children than normal were living with us, and they fought like never before. I dispensed more Band-Aids in one week than I had my entire stint in Cameroon.

“You know when you see kids here that are crying that nothing has yet happened to them.” Mariamou spoke quietly. “What do you mean?” I questioned slicing a plantain. “Once your parents die, you learn to stop crying, what’s the point? That’s life.”

We learned that day that one solitary action has the potential to break down an entire family. An uncle in our family has contracted the HIV virus and has passed it to his wife. This news swept over us like a dark storm cloud and has yet to dissipate, and we are searching ways to play in the wind. He has since left the hospital and sits at home gaunt and fragile coughing and losing his mind. Trying to eat soup with a knife. His wife has gone through phases of starving herself, and refusing her retroviral medication. Is this the real world? Is the real world injustice and suffering?

The wife is angry. I feel she has a right to be. Her husband cheated on her. Now she has been diagnosed with a death sentence (the virus is far enough along that she receives government subsidized medication). She has no personal income. She has no formal education or trained skill. Her children will be one day orphaned (ages 3 and 5). Sound real yet? To exacerbate the situation, the family has blamed his sister because she asked him to move to N'Gaoundéré, to start over, because he was being promiscuous in another town.

My family, however, sees things differently that I do. I have been asked, “Why are women so complicated?” and “Why can’t she just forgive him and move on with it?” With my temperament and lack of timidity, I have to say that my role in the house and as a woman within this community is about as simple as running through a labyrinth. I want to slap the uncle, to yell at him and ask him if wearing a condom is so difficult? Was it worth abandoning his family? It all is too infuriating for me to discuss, so instead of losing any more sleep over it, I listen and think about how to express myself.

Figuratively, women are put in a closet and spoken to as children. Not allowed to go to school (that is changing in N'Gaoundéré as all but one girl in my quartier attend- but it remains 1 in 6 in the region), hold bank accounts, or have personal incomes, the women with whom I surround myself are caught in a constant conundrum of submission to males. I can’t stand it. It is their culture and it is changing out of necessity, but I am this middle person witnessing difficult moments of suffering and pain.

For two weeks I could not escape the prison of the AIDS dilemma. I did my work to the best of my abilities and ran in the afternoon, but sleep was still escaping me. My anger, frustration, and disgust took over the hours that my sheets begged to be silent. And then I decided to make a personal change.

At 6am that Saturday morning, I dressed and walked down the street to my first aerobics class. The teacher, a student of mine, had invited me before but I laughed at the thought. I am now a member and 4 time a week regular. The pop music fluidly carries the hour of dance, leg lifts, Tae Bo, and sit-ups practiced in front of fake mirrors. It is my escape.

I joined with a colleague of mine who has become one of my most admired mentors. Madame Abe Marie, fluent in 5 languages and studying English, she has practiced both Islam and Christianity and does not move 5 feet without someone yelling her name, smiling, and telling her to have a great day. She understands the problems, concerns, and realities of women in the Adamaoua region. She represents Cameroon for the International Rural Women’s Conference and we spend hours discussing potential projects and her experiences. She’s the only woman in town I have seen with her own motorcycle, and it’s a Yamaha dirt bike for going off road to villages. She is also one of my business teachers. She has made a goal of taking the class village to village covering the Adamaoua region within the next three years! Nothing less than the word Fantastic describes her.

We visited a village outside of N'Gaoundéré where I frequently bike and she said “see that water pump, I help put it there!” She has a leadership program that she plans to launch for women in the next year and is currently taking female adolescent dropouts and putting them through an educational training course. One afternoon at her home, a woman came by and asked to speak with her. She giggled and said “my door is open, let’s have a consultation!” The lady complained of money woes and exasperated, “oh poverty, that’s Africa.” Madame Abe Marie quickly counteracted “Poverty is in one’s head. You can have money or you cannot have money, either way you are going to live. Real poverty is being in the hospital and not having the ability to do anything about it.” I agreed completely.

Madame Abe Marie told me that my students who already have businesses have saved money since they adopted budgets and other practices taught in the class! I am so proud! The reports are excellent and I want to announce the selected one’s to begin fundraising and organizing, however, it is much harder than I anticipated and I am doing more research to certify that the correct one’s are selected.

I had my first coaches meeting with the coaches today. Because I now have uniforms, I have leverage over them. I can say if you don’t turn in your roster by this date, your team won’t receive uniforms. Most teams have been practicing since the last season ended. Two games will be played for the national children’s holiday next week with the governor present. I planned a tournament at the end of the second season, but I have been told that the winners must receive trophy and envelope of money. This is the cultural cup norm. I told them Breaking Ground doesn’t support giving envelopes of money to teams and if that is how they feel we will not have a cup, case closed.

Last week I was invited to the University of N'Gaoundéré verses the University of Yaoundé Men’s game at the local stadium. I sat in the front row of the bleachers with 15 elders/grands from the community in a crowd of approximately 1000 people. I counted ten women, two who play in the Breaking Ground Football program. I did not know what to expect, but to my surprise the men thanked me and shook my hand. I don’t think anyone said my name; I am the promoter of women’s soccer. Some apologized that N'Gaoundéré is not advanced like Nigeria, where girl’s soccer has apparently taken off. It will happen here they said.

I did notice that the men’s jersey’s had a cell phone logo on them. As the N'Gaoundéré men’s team could not afford bottled water, I asked who puts up the money for their program. They have to travel to other regions, which does cost money. This cell phone company foots a lot of the bill along with the government.

My Football colleague and I have come up with many community service ideas for our players to teach younger girls how to play etc. The problem we constantly encounter, especially in N'Gaoundéré, is finding sustainability for a women’s program. Our latest idea is to find the country marketing director for Maggi Cube, an extremely popular spice product used for cooking throughout Central and West Africa. Keep your fingers crossed.

If I have learned anything from entering the real world it is this. One, I am very thankful that I have family and friends who call me and care about my well-being. Two, I am being confronted with the exact things that I am combating with my soccer program, which teaches girls leadership and teamwork, as well as my business class, which empowers women with entrepreneurial skills and gives them freedom of their own financial decisions. I believe I can say I have a meaningful job. Small victories make the real world worth combating, but I still do not wish it upon anyone.

Departure, Return, and Resolutions

2008-01-18T14:46:00.000+01:00

My last couple of days in Cameroon before I left for Christmas holiday were a blur. My phone was ringing non-stop: literally, I had 12 missed calls during one shower period. I had gifts given to me for my family, dresses sewn, food for my voyage delivered. I felt appreciated, albeit like people thought I was going to die or never return. I gathered the gifts and took my full bags to the train station. I was to leave at 9pm, so we loaded up as a family at 8pm. By 10pm the father, mother, aunt, and baby yawned and sleepily trekked home. Daouda, a friend and Mariamou’s brother, stayed with me until 2:30am when I boarded the train.

The train station is the apex of people watching. You get to see everyone from the grands to the poor, all ethnic groups, men and women, young and old - everyone takes the train. One young couple kisses publicly and the girl wearing jeans lights her cigarette. An elderly lady’s face peeks through bright fabric as she washes her hands, face and feet, lays down a prayer rug facing Mecca, and prays to Allah until the train boards. Babies cry and frolic. An albino man searches for dinner from local venders with luck. Adolescent males, unsuccessful thieves, get dragged outside of the crowd, with their heads down in shame, by police officers.

I often tease my students who speak fearfully about pickpockets, which exist everywhere in the world, but I don’t stress over. They carry purses, but sew little pockets into their skirts and underwear where they guard their money. When they pay for things I always feel like I am seeing something I shouldn’t as they stick one hand down their skirt and pull out wads of cash or coins. But inevitably, it is PG rated. They also keep their cell phones in their bras. When it rings and lights up it’s like their breast, without warning, decided to have a party. After watching about 15 arrests, my money and passport slipped into my underwear and my cell pirouetted into my bra. I really didn’t think anything of it.

Arguably, the train is romantic. It makes me feel like I am dreaming my way through Cameroon traversing through cities, villages, jungle, and countryside. Hearing the clink clank of the train and my body jolting to the sudden stops, I can change the century or decade with each dream sequence. The distance would take less than 6 hours in a decent car on reasonable roads, but the train makes the voyage last between 12 and questionable hours. My trip took 16, not including the wait beforehand. I slept most of the time and looked out the window or read for the rest.

I arrived in Yaoundé phone in bra, cash in crotch and met up with Taguem’s wife. When my phone rang and my right breast started to groove, she quickly asked me what my phone was doing in my bra. “It’s for security, everyone does it!” I don’t remember if she answered or if her look alone explained that I needed a vacation, but I understood. Take your phone out of your bra, you’re in the capital now, and that is embarrassing. After three months of not taking a single day to myself, I took my phone out and headed to the beach for two days before my long journey home.

Home was not as difficult for me as the first time I returned from Cameroon. I knew what to expect and what to ignore. Examples: A good simple question “ What do you eat and how is it prepared?” A bad question “Do you speak African?” or statement “ You can’t return, there are problems in Kenya!” Instead of getting frustrated or trying to teach a lesson on Africa, I just simply ignored the second grouping, often changing the subject. I would like to break stereotypes and educate, but frankly it starts with reading a newspaper and looking at a map, wanting to know for yourself. And, it was my vacation. Furthermore, Cameroon is a diverse paradox and once I begin to explain one aspect of life here, I feel I have to explain much more. For the most part I appreciated the interest that people had in what I do, and hope that people will take a greater interest in self-education and current politics from the responses I gave. Fun fact: the United States is approximately the same size as the Sahara desert. It is estimated that the continent of Africa is the size of the United States, Europe, and China combined.

My New Years resolution is to stop judging other expatriates. F. Scott Fitzgerald opens The Great Gatsby with “Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone…just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” When I meet up, typically at a bar or to cook dinner, with other foreigners I become overwhelmed. It only happens a couple times a month, but usually I run home and tell my family I won’t eat out again. I blame myself in part for not wanting to talk about work or politics, but I also don’t like to compare what I do to others’ work. Everyone is in an entirely different situation and I find it pointless in many ways to compare and try to find success in one’s work when it’s incomparable. It inevitably becomes a game of security searching and proving your work as sustainable and just. It also baffles me that I should befriend people just because they may look similar to me or come from a western country. Often, that is all we have in common, besides the fact that we live in Cameroon. So I decided to work on this problem of mine. I will listen more, and not criticize preemptively.

My first test was 30 minutes after I landed in Douala. I refer to Douala, the port city of Cameroon, as the armpit of Africa. Sprawling population, sweltering humidity, appalling sanitation, potholes, and a reputation for being unsafe: I didn’t want to be there, much less alone. My ride didn’t show up. I have never been in Douala alone and had no idea where to go. Quick, don’t panic, think—I saw two white men at baggage claim and moseyed towards them to feel them out. I stood beside them for a couple minutes before asking if they knew of a decent and safe hotel. We bantered tired, but amicably, for a couple minutes and I disapproved of their hotel options that cost, in a night, more than I normally spend in a week.

When it was absolutely definite that I had no ride, the men offered graciously to help me find a hotel. Conversation continued and we spoke of home and family, looking for something that relates us. As they come from the DC area, I told them of my boarding school days at The Madeira School. I don’t know if surviving Madeira made me a damsel that needed to be saved from the perils of Douala, or what, but minutes into the ride they offered for me to crash at their apartment complex. Given the situation I was in (side note—I couldn’t lift my bags by myself as it appears I have soccer gear for every girl in N'Gaoundéré) I gladly accepted to go to these strangers apartment. No reservations.

We discussed work and I learned they work for a well-known American/Cameroonian company that does work countrywide. When I learned this I joked, “hey you really need a second computer in my town, and more staff, it can take 4 hours to pay your bill.” It took me about 30 seconds to realize that I needed to take a spoonful of shut-the-hell-up and say thank you. However, to my surprise, they helped me successfully pass my first test of my New Years resolution. They responded that they certainly know there are problems, more than I know, and their work, just like mine, is complicated. I am glad that I was innocently rude and that they responded as they did.

In the past I judged foreign business workers here. They live a comfortable, if not plush lifestyle. But they, unlike me, have children at home and have lived a more mature and settled lifestyle before they came to Cameroon. I believed international businesses played by different rules that I deemed unethical. After discussing my thoughts, I learned that these men would rather play by the rules of business they know, but Cameroon is corrupt and has a large population of citizens that have not received the same style of education, thus making business much more difficult. They don’t have the choice, necessarily, to play by the same rules. It’s challenging to find well trained and motivated foreigners to come to Cameroon without paying them obscene salaries and difficult to find Cameroonians qualified for the job. It doesn’t seem fair to pay a foreigner more money than the Cameroonian next to him for a comparable job; however, the sacrifices of leaving his or her country are higher. It becomes complicated. It’s not like just because they have money, these men don’t face the challenges of Cameroon as well. Possibly the challenge is greater as they are more alienated, because of there status, from the population with whom they work.

When they opened their bags, loads of diapers fell out. I honestly think that is all they packed. Diapers are expensive or non-existent here and if I read them correctly, as fathers, that seemed inconceivable. I thought the night ended up being really fun. We worked out at the local gym, they cooked dinner, and we watched a movie. One man gave me his apartment, which wasn’t over exorbitant, but a one-bedroom apartment similar to how many twenty-somethings live in the States. He stayed at his friends and even let me keep a towel as I had forgotten mine at home. The next day I was escorted to the bus and continued my travels. I feel indebted and grateful to the two men whom I sought out for help and only wish that something of similar merit will in return be given to them.

I traveled through Yaoundé, and then jumped on the train for N'Gaoundéré. I had not walked a foot out of the gate before Mariamou embraced me and Souriaya was in my arms. Family—they too are my family and it was more than wonderful to be welcomed with loving arms on this continent as I am at home in the States. They built me a desk in my room with a lamp as a surprise. I spent countless hours in the fall grading papers and writing out plans on the backside of an oversized plate. The desk is a sleek brown patent leather material upholstered to wood with a matching chair. I have determined that it will save my back.

My life strangely went back to normal and within an hour I had my Tantine meeting (I had forgotten to leave money while I was away and owed the presidents 2000 FCFA!), then we all headed as a group to the hospital. When someone is sick, you visit. Sadly, I know the two hospitals here as if I were raised in them. Someone is always sick and as life rages and babies are born, sickness prevails and death tolls. My friend’s husband has had over two liters of fluid drained from his side, however, today he sat up and we are hopeful. On another note, Mariamou is pregnant. I have known this but waited to announce it publicly. She went to have her first scan and the doctor said that she looks unusually large. He suspects twins. Mariamou told him that she didn’t want to know without me here, and told him she was going home and would return for the scan once I returned. I guess everyone needs a hand to hold sometimes. I am flattered it’s mine she seeks.

Soccer meetings are being planned with coaches and the games will continue in mid February. Business proposals have been submitted, and I’m in the process of reviewing them. The project proposal of a village infirmary in Djilougou has been postponed as the road bandits are now a constant threat and I cannot travel there. The paradoxes of life continue to enthrall me here, and I am excited to be back, but am not making haste like last fall. Fitzgerald later wrote and I must not forget, “Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope.” As it may be impossible not to judge, it is possible to be more open-minded and tolerant. That is my resolution.

Getting Tested.

2007-12-03T19:37:00.000+01:00

Saturday when I had finished my work, I decided to go take the HIV/AIDS test. I took a moto to the private hospital only to be told that there was a fee for the exam. Because I had told the women that there wasn’t a fee, I was determined to not live a lie. I walked to the public hospital to find that the HIV/AIDS ward was closed.

I left my house this morning at 7:45 to make sure that I was the first patient seen in the ward at the public hospital. I went early for multiple reasons. One, I wanted to be discrete and not draw a lot of attention to myself. Two, I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. And three, I had a lot of questions and wanted to make sure they gave me the time to answer them.

The discrete idea went out the door when I walked into the complex. The man who cleaned the building asked me to wait outside. On the steps of the AIDS ward, I sat alone reading a book. Everyone who walked by greeted me and stared. Around 8:30 I was led into a room with chairs and a television. Then he asked me into his office. Quickly he revealed his roles as janitor, secretary, and nurse. He could possibly be a doctor or lab assistant too, but I was passed to another person before I had the chance to discover his other roles.

In the man-with-many-roles’ office, I was asked what I wanted. I told him I would like to be tested for HIV and he led me into a different office to ask a list of questions. This part was not hard for me, but I think it would be intimidating for Cameroonians. I was impressed with the list of questions and his explanations. For example he asked me if I knew the difference between HIV and AIDS? What are the ways in which the virus is contracted and how to prevent contraction? What will I do if I am positive? I then asked the price of the test and the price of medications. The test is 500 FCFA ($1) normally, but for the next two weeks the government is subsidizing the price and it is free. If your results reveal that you are HIV positive, you have to pay for your own medication, which can range from 6 dollars a month to 30 dollars a month. Once you have progressed to the next stage, when your immune system is extremely weak, the government then subsidizes your medicine. The man said this timeframe of getting sick to sicker is unknown. You make routine tests. You can live with HIV for 10 years before anyone will know, but your immune system is constantly getting weaker. Possibly you will have frequent diarrhea or headaches. I was troubled with the fact that you have to get weaker to be given free medication. He responded that he didn’t like it either, but he had no control over the situation. The money is distributed by the government in Yaoundé. I asked him if he had seen an improvement in the past year, as I know the US has given Cameroon a significant amount of money towards HIV/AIDS. He said he didn’t know where the money was coming from, but that tests, consultations, and medication use to be much more expensive. He felt this change must have come from outside resources.

I was then led to the hallway to wait for someone to come and open the laboratory door. In the hallway I met no less than 5 more people who asked why I was there and my name. So much for confidentiality. I had my test number, but what difference does it make when you are being passed around like a celebrity. This is when I saw another white woman who ran up and hugged me asking me a laundry list of questions without stopping to breathe. She is a doctor from Russia who speaks perfect French, is married to a Cameroonian, and has lived here for 27 years and frankly wants me to marry her son. She likes my eyes. I will never get use to the fact that the marriage question follows directly after the “where are you from” question. Each time it catches me off guard and I can never decide if I want to live a lie or not. I usually counter with, why does everyone ask me that? She continued to auction off her children for marriage and to tell me that she works in the Tuberculosis ward. I must go visit!

She then told the nurse to not let me go, take me directly to my test! Heaven forbid I wait! I was led into a closet sized room where a man in a white lab coat laid out all the test materials. He sprayed my finger using an AJAX bottle.

“Excuse me, is that really AJAX? Isn’t that a cleaning solution?”

“No,” he giggled, “it was AJAX but we’ve since filled it with alcohol.”

Ok… He opened the needle to prick my finger and didn’t wear gloves.

“Shouldn’t you wear gloves?”

“Well usually I do,” he said, “but really what difference does it make?”

“Well, if I am HIV positive and you have a cut in your hand, you could contract the virus too, right?”

He replied, “I don’t have any cuts and the needle could penetrate the gloves.”

He took my blood with a little plastic suction and put it in a litmus test. My finger would not stop bleeding and I said, “see this is dangerous! Who wants blood everywhere? You should wear gloves.” He handed me some cotton and through a smile told me to wait outside.

I was told to go sit in front of the television and wait. Less than 15 minutes later I was led back to the first office I had entered with a doctor I had not met. He had the results stapled together and held them in his hand. He closed the door and people talked to him through the open windows. They asked him why he closed the door and he said for confidentiality. Really, it’s confidential? Everyone out there can hear and is very attentive to the fact that I am here. Five minutes passed and two nurses walked in and out. This time seemed like forever. I had no reason to believe that I had contracted the virus, however sitting across from a doctor who is waving around a stapled piece of paper with my results and asking me what I will do if I’m positive did make me nervous as hell. After the nurses left, he opened it and asked me if I understood a couple different terms. As this was in French and I was nervous, I couldn’t think fast enough to respond. Finally I paused and then rebelled. Stop with the medical terminology and say positive or negative! He said, ok negative, have a good day. He shook my hand, opened the door and I left.

As far as the whole experience went, it would have been easier if I had someone with me, but it was much less painful than it could have been. I was impressed with many of the medical technicians that I met. I have no idea if there is confidentiality for Cameroonians. There definitely was not for me. I feel that the reality of taking a test that determines the fate of your immune system, the course of your sexual relationships, and whether you can breastfeed is scary. What is more frightening would be to test positive and then not be able to take medication until you are even weaker and the government will pay for it. If I were in that situation, I would rather not know, and can understand why people do not go to take the test. It is irresponsible, but making yourself an outcast with no options of medication is horrible.

On the same topic of medicine, it seems that there are only two illnesses here: AIDS and Malaria. When one goes to the hospital, it is like you walk in, sign your name, and bam! without questions, you have malaria. One possible reason is the in-pouring money towards the virus and malaria. The medication is often cheaper or subsidized and because malaria is a large problem, doctors just diagnose it for everything. I have a friend from Djilougou in town and she has been treated for malaria, but is still sick. She is returning to see the doctor today and said she knows she does not have malaria, but doesn’t know if they will treat her otherwise. Interesting to think how money towards one medical problem makes others be ignored. I also wonder whether if doctors stopped reporting X number of malaria cases, if testing and medication subsidies would be halted? Do doctors need to report a certain number of cases? There’s something to think about.

Go get tested. We all should know. That’s my two cents for the day.

The Season of Mice (plus update on classes, students, and football)

2007-11-25T19:34:00.000+01:00

I woke up three times last night and jumped out of bed, yelling Mariamou’s name in excited anticipation. Yes! I had three mice fall into my glue-on-wood trap. Three in my room alone! We have had a mice problem for the past couple weeks, and its not just us. It is the entire town. Sleeping is difficult when you hear your door being chewed and know that your underwear is going to have holes the size of quarters in them tomorrow morning. I kept asking about a trap and we tried a couple times, but it didn’t work. A couple days ago there was an odor in the house. I just assumed it was the kids, but Ismaila moved the couch and found that a mouse had dug a hole through the wall from one room to the next. This mouse met its end when it continued to be a glutton and walk its everyday path. The fat thing was stuck in the hole, tail and hind legs hanging out, and rotting to death. The Putrid odor took over every room in the house. That’s when I decided we were moving past traps and onto glue. By 10:00am this morning, we had 4 victories, and tonight is another glorious opportunity. You may think I’m cruel: I ask you to live with them before you judge. Not only are they loud, and eat your stuff, but they have the audacity to poop everywhere, too.

I’ve moved into a new stage with my students in which I visit their homes. Here, going to someone’s home and eating is like grabbing a beer or coffee in the States, a small gesture that makes you more acquainted and shows appreciation for your friendship. As an expat, it is easy to surround yourself with a community of both Cameroonians and expats who have similar interests, are formally educated, and have comparable living standards. Most of my students do not come from this group.

Today I went to Soubataya’s home in Quartier Baladji II. The experience left me with a broken heart. Her husband died 2 years and 4 months ago, leaving illiterate Soubataya broke and virtually helpless. She lives far on the outskirts of town, which required a moto ride. Eight of her nine children (age 2 years to 18) jumped in glee and greeted me with a cultural greeting of respect (using one arm folded over the next when shaking hands) when I arrived. The family dressed in their finest clothing and gave me an omelet and bread to eat. I gave them a kilo of meat. Soubataya then told me she had no recollection of the last time she had eaten meat. Their two-room house has no running water, but does have one light bulb. I ate the omelet and we discussed the potential of her fish business. She showed me a family photo album and told me, frankly, that she’s done crying. She’s cried for two years, she’s responsible for these children and their education and she can’t take it anymore. She refuses to cry now and life has to be more than suffering.

I looked at a huge hole the size of a football in her wall two feet below her ceiling and said, man Soubataya that’s a big hole, how did that get there? She responded by explaining the N'Gaoundéré mouse problem. I was so excited I yelled, yeah, I killed three last night! I am so proud! Who would have thought my relation to her poverty could come from the little boogers. We both laughed. She asked me if I liked the omelet and I verbalized its greatness, but asked her to share it with me. She said she had been stressing all week about what she could prepare for me.

After two hours I hopped on a moto and didn’t look back, it was too hard at that moment. I had never been more appreciative of my life. It’s easier to look away than to get involved; to numb the feeling of empathy. But if you walk away, you have no compassion. Here’s an intelligent woman who is driven to succeed, and will, but has been dealt one of the worst card hands I have ever witnessed.

UPDATE: While writing this I have had two mice confrontations. The mice have a path through a corner of my door from the living room and I have placed the glue-board behind the door. As they lost 3 brothers last night, they wised up and I have been watching them climb on top of my backpack attempting to hold onto the bolt of the door and squeeze through to the other side, therefore avoiding my glue-board. I just rearranged the glue-board and placed it on the other side of the door, and within thirty seconds, we had another one. We also just found one in the living room. That brings us to a count of 6 mice in less than 24 hours! Mariamou went to bed and said “see you later” instead of “goodnight” in anticipation of the next mouse ceremony. I just had another confrontation and this mouse knows that the board is on the other side. I need a new strategy.

I’ve just returned from another house visit. I realized the correlation between most of my students. I’m so stupid. I should have realized long ago that a good number of my students are widows. They can attend classes because they do not require their husbands’ permission. If their husbands are living, then they come from a very progressive household and typically already run a business that they want to improve. During my second home visit I was given a couple pounds of peanuts, a liter of honey, 2 melons, and a drink. I felt like I had won the lottery when I walked out with such a heavy bag of stuff. Her 5 children all attend school and one is finishing his last year as a teachers-aide. She owns a moto and by comparison is well off. This pleased me to see that although her husband has past away, she wasn’t left in poverty.

****

Since I last wrote, we have killed 3 more mice. That brings us to 9 in 48 hours and there are more living in the ceiling. When you sleep, they play, and frequently will do something that makes it sound like the roof is falling on your head. At first it’s frightening, but once accustomed, it just brings eventful images into your dreams.

I previously wrote about my students’ determination and hard work. I would like to amend this statement to not include presentations. Tuesday the business class was divided into 5 groups to present various marketing topics. Each group had a president that I selected based on outstanding homework grades. To my disappointment only half of the class showed up for their presentations, thus making me threaten them to prepare another presentation in order to receive their certificates of completion. That was disappointing, but not as frustrating as it is when my class time is taken away from me for political meetings over which I have no control over. I will not further comment on this do to security, but it is exasperating to plan a two hour course and have someone else cancel it, thus leaving me to deal with 30 angry women.

Today my course was interrupted for the second time. Today, however, the subject was the female condom. I had never seen a female condom and appreciated the doctor’s demonstration and the role I played as a translator. Now I know that HIV/AIDS tests here are free, as are all medications concerning the disease. As it is HIV/AIDS awareness week here, I plan to go to the local hospital and be tested - something that is free, smart to do, but really difficult to make yourself do. I feel like if I don’t go and get tested, it is hypocritical to preach to women who face many other obstacles to get tested. If I can explain the process in full detail, chances are much higher that I will persuade others.

Breaking Ground Football has become a full on community project. Mr. Etienne Fouejio and I have developed a two-year plan to make it sustainable. The impact it’s having on the girls is tremendous. They now practice with their team multiple times a week and having weekend games keeps them from drinking and going out (if they have the money to do so) the night before the game. Multiple delegates now come to the games and there is an entrance fee of 100 FCFA (20 cents) to watch. People congratulate me on its success all the time. I had a coaches meeting on Monday in which I anticipated problems. (Coaches, by nature, are competitive and argumentative people. I know this because I’m in the club.) Through all the small squabbles, however, we all agreed on the next steps to be taken. I have been sent equipment and materials from a number of universities and I am anticipating a couple more to send uniforms. The uniforms in the pictures are borrowed for games from men’s teams or old programs. They are filthy and passed around. Typically girls are told to wear one solid color shirt, which makes for a team with 3 girls in orange, 4 in blue... you get the idea. Just to add to my competitive spirit, my team beat the top ceded team 1-0 last weekend, with a goal scored by yours truly!

As my classes come to an end, my work continues to pile up. Now the pressure is on to visit everyone’s home. This is a fun thing to do as I get to see different areas of town and meet the families of my students. However, it leads to eating mass proportions of Cameroonian food and sitting around for hours. It is really difficult to plan around these time frames. Plus it doesn’t matter how long I stay, or how much I eat, the hours and amount will never be enough. I went to a home today of one of the players/coaches that I have previously written about. When I walked in the door, two monkeys greeted me on leashes as well as a parrot, 3 cats, ducks, and goats. I know I grew up on a farm, but leave me from the monkeys as pets. I’m testing my patience with mice and really do not need anything that looks and acts so similarly to me running at me. I will probably dream of a nice large glue-door tonight.

Au village: Djilougou

2007-11-21T17:46:00.000+01:00

Visiting my grandmother, Granda, is one of my favorite things to do. At her home in rural North Carolina, I could sit on the back porch stringing beans or peeling apples until the season changes without a problem. Even just thinking about the sunsets and our afternoon walks puts my mind at ease. I consider her friends to be my friends and, although we are at different stages in life, we greatly enjoy each other’s company.

Going to villages here is not hard for me because there is no electricity or running water. It’s hard for me because it is just like going to my farm. As much as I love it, I can’t stop thinking about Granda and wishing she were here with me. It’s a bittersweet feeling of pure joy and homesickness. It makes me want to hug everyone and cry in happiness as the children chase chickens and the women grind corn. Life is untainted. People are genuine. And the kitchen is the most important place.

To give you a mental picture, Ismaila’s village, Djilougou, is 107 Kilometers east of N’Gaoundéré (that’s about 66 miles- roughly 2 hours by car). You take a dirt road to another dirt road to another dirt road before hitting a dirt path that you then take by foot. Once you arrive, you go visit grandma and give her some fruit or fabric. She then tells you that you’re dirty and must be tired. You go bathe because red dirt covers your body from head to toe from the journey. After you bathe, you take a nap and are woken up with delicious food sent by grandma. You eat, and then take a walk to see the cows and visit friends. These visits either take place in the garden where you all pick leaves for the sauce you will later eat, or in the kitchen where food is being prepared.

Imagine there are 8 fields. Each field is roughly 2 acres and has about 30 people who are related living on this property. One acre is used for subsistence farming of corn, potatoes, and other crops. On the other acre, a family has built a red mud square wall around a portion of their land that contains 4 or 5 circular mud thatch-roof houses. Each house has a couple of beds and a place to store clothing. If you are a mother and father with 5 children, you all live in your red-brick thatch-roofed hut. Some now have tin roofs and painted walls. The kitchen is one large circular building shared amongst the family. This is where the action happens. It takes between 5 and 30 minutes to walk from one family compound to the next and everyone knows each other. If you hike up the mountain you can look down and it appears that there are scattered villages. But in Djilougou, all of these family compounds make up one village. They do not all share one ethnic group, and therefore speak multiple languages in the village, but rarely French.

Three years ago I went to Djilougou to meet Ismaila’s family and to attend their annual education meeting. Going back was like going back to my family farm. Although I had not been there in three years, everyone was excited to see me and treated me as if time had not passed. What I love about Djilougou, not only for my health and safety but for a potential Breaking Ground project, is how the community works together to take care of what they have. Every aspect of their lives is maintained to the best of their ability.

Although the citizens of Djilougou follow a conservative cultural Fulani lifestyle, and are far away from modern life, they are very progressive. In the village, it is easy to notice age gaps. Kids are either under the age of 7 or over 16. Education is very important and because they only have an elementary school, children are sent to N’Gaoundéré to live with their relatives to attend school. I was impressed to see that their homes are kept up very nicely. I did not enter one home that was not properly swept or untidy. I did not see one mouse or cockroach. The community recently built a new mosque, and is currently clearing trees and bushes to improve their entrance road. They had installed a generator in one building where kids can study at night. Their cows are strong and healthy, and they give them vitamins when they are sick. Their fields are well rotated and plentiful. I was even told to wash my hands before I ate.

As we walked from kitchen to kitchen, meeting women from different families, Mariamou and I asked women about their families and concerns. Every time, the women’s answers had something to do with health. Ismaila and I had previously discussed the idea of building an infirmary in Djilougou, but speaking with the villagers and hearing their justifications made the possibility more real. Some women said their concern is that when someone falls ill, it takes at least two days to find a car to drive them to the hospital (hospitals are in N’Gaoundéré or Bilel). What they have in mind is a room where the sick can wait for their ride. Since the village is very spread out, it is hard enough to make the walk to the road and then have to wait outside (especially given that you only go the hospital if your case is dire.) Other women want their children to be vaccinated, but can’t afford to pay the transport to send them to the city. They’ve been told that if they have a health center, the city doctors will come to them.

My retreat to Djilougou was uplifting for multiple reasons. One, the city had exhausted me and I needed a peaceful country vacation. And secondly, it revealed an option for a future project for Breaking Ground. Months ago, the village selected a site for the infirmary (alongside the road, which they are repairing) and has since cleared the area in preparation for construction. They are in the planning phase. They are going to surrounding villages to research the problems their health centers face, which medications and supplies are necessary to keep it fully stocked, and to learn how to organize weekly doctor visits.

I anticipate this becoming a small community project that will benefit many people and not be too expensive. I look forward to spending more time in Djilougou in the spring. Granda, want to visit?

Just make do.

2007-11-21T17:42:00.000+01:00

"What you are looking for?"
"Sarah, je ne comprends pas.” (Sarah, I don't understand)
I repeated, "What you are looking for?"

I believe I said it three times. I then proceeded to explain to my English grammar class the word dyslexic and that my example should say “What are you looking for?” I could not help but laugh at my mistake. Every time this happens to me I am shocked because I always feel that I'm over it, that all those one-on-one classes as a kid freed me from spelling errors and word reversals. It also shows me that my students are paying attention and can recognize when English is not correct.

I plan my English classes using four books: an English as a Second Language book, a Fulfulde book, a French grammar book, and my trusty dictionary. The reason I write my own lessons is because the books here are geared towards children and do not contain the vocabulary that shopkeepers, parents, and business people need. I also often find grammar mistakes in the Cameroonian books, and I prefer that they have correct examples and rules to follow.

I never imagined having such motivated students. All my courses last 2 hours and I schedule a ten-minute break in the middle. I do not think that I have been able to take one break in the twenty plus classes I have taught thus far. When I say, “let's take a break,” they say, “well, we have a question” or more typically “we'd rather keep going.” My students take a lot of pride in their classes, always doing their homework and keeping me on my toes. Some days I'm like, man, where are the slackers! Let me take a break!

I have learned a lot with my business class. Time here is viewed as something that cannot come with a schedule. I have strict rules about students coming to class on time and participating. Today I had one student call to tell me she was going to the hospital sick, but then she showed up. She had decided she did not want to miss and would come to class first. I begged her to miss and go see a doctor, but she said the idea of missing bothered her too much. I have codes in my attendance book that I did not anticipate. X means present, X highlighted means present and great participation, H means at the hospital, D means family death, C means called, and T means traveling. I wanted to withhold certificates from students who missed more than two classes, but with the dedication my students have and the legitimate reasons for missing class, not giving certificates because of two absences seems ridiculous. Their family responsibilities must be respected and not used as reasons for punishment.

Saturday was the second Breaking Ground Football game day. Over 300 people came to watch; an announcer showed up and did play-by-play announcements. I had never played a match where every time I had the ball at my feet my name was yelled through a speaker and my next move was judged out loud. Music was played when he did not speak. The referees stepped up their jobs doing cleat checks and fingernail checks. If girls' fingernails are too long, they must cut them. You will see girls in line biting their nails down before the referee checks them. The delegate stayed for all three games. As result, I have two interviews lined up with Cameroonian newspapers about Breaking Ground.

The program is awesome. The concern I have now is making sure that nothing gets out of control with the teams' new-found fan base. I'm looking into the possibility of charging an entrance fee that can be used for the programs sustainability.

Every time I tell my mom a story like this, she asks, "well, where do you go to the bathroom?" It’s actually a good question. While playing soccer, the issue hasn’t come up. Saturday, however, I found out. I asked someone where to go to the bathroom, hoping to be directed to a nearby hole, but was told, "we just make do, just go.” I went to a corner and told fifteen girls standing there that I was going to go the bathroom, and I went. When a young boy walked over, they all yelled at him, and continued to pass the ball amongst each other.

I also witnessed a girl breastfeeding her baby during halftime. That was something I should have anticipated, but never did. Many of my players are married and have children, but I never thought about the need to have a breastfeeding substitution. Makes you think.

The rainy season in the north has come to an end, making evening runs difficult. The dirt on the roads will quickly blanket your body and remind you that washing your clothes after just one wear is now a necessity.

I am headed to Ismaila's village, which is a couple hours east of N'Gaoundéré, and will report soon!

Breaking Ground Football - Photos

2007-11-12T17:33:00.000+01:00

Breaking Ground Football had three games yesterday. All six teams showed, as well as the referees. The government Delegate of Sports even "kicked off" the competition! We're off to a good start!

Patience

2007-11-10T20:06:00.000+01:00

The first thing I teach in my business class is the cycle of management. I draw a circle on the board and explain that the first step towards being an entrepreneur is having an idea, the second is planning (including research and organization), followed by execution and finally evaluation. I think it is important that I not only teach this cycle of management, but also show that I apply it to my own life. As I do this, however, I must insert the word PATIENCE with every phase.

I want to start projects, and from emails I have received I know other people want me to start them as well. What I ask of you and of myself is to have PATIENCE. I have been here for two months (In N'Gaoundéré for a little over one) and I have started three programs: I have founded a soccer program, I teach business classes, and I teach English classes. It may not seem like a lot, but in actuality, it is. My idea is to ameliorate the lives of women in N'Gaoundéré; currently I am between the planning and execution stages.

My goal by the end of my business class is to have a group of women who are dynamic, motivated and capable of becoming entrepreneurs. I want to use my "start up funds" for community projects to help these women start their businesses. That way they can ameliorate their lives and the lives of their families. I have been asked if this is SUSTAINABLE? Is it not better that you build something CONCRETE?

First I will address sustainability. The definition of sustainable is “able to be maintained.” I teach the business classes so that I can ensure that these women learn the skills needed to be entrepreneurs. When I am not here and they want to take out a loan or need to sign an official document, I want them to act with confidence. My class teaches women the skills to maintain their businesses successfully.

The average Cameroonian family has eight members. If you teach the mother a business trade, without a doubt, her children will help her in the trade and learn the trade themselves. Family lines here are often blurry. A child does not have to be your direct child to be treated as your child. Cousins, neighbors, and friends' children are often added to the eight making it realistically fifteen. If the next generation learns the business trade, and can use it to support their own families, is this not sustainable?

I chose to teach women because they are not given the same opportunities as men. Frequently, for both economic and social reasons, they drop out of school early or do not attend at all. If I can give them a tool that they can apply to daily life, it will give them power and self-confidence. Women also take responsibility for their families. They typically use their money for family necessities such as food, healthcare, education and clothing. Men tend to spend it on personal and luxury goods. I do not know why this is, but it is an important aspect of culture to consider. By empowering women with the expertise to run their own business and providing the tools they need to get started, the investment and its profits are guaranteed to benefit the family. As it supports the family's survival, it maintains their livelihood and passes the expertise and tools onto the next generation.

What about being CONCRETE? Is it not important to me that my projects are physical structures?

The definition of CONCRETE is: able to be seen or touched because it exists in reality, not just as an idea. For a community to develop, there must be infrastructure. But there must also be people with the capabilities to work and maintain this structure. Whether women are selling boiled peanuts along the road or growing manioc on their farm, they are doing work that helps build a concrete social structure. I have a problem with strict concrete projects and I think after you read my example below you will understand why.

As I have traveled through Cameroon I have witnessed many failed development projects. One example takes place in a village outside of Garoua-Boulai in the East province. As I drove through this village, I saw many women and children bathing in a river. Taguem and I discussed the topic of clean water. In the center of this village there is a clean water pump that was a development project from an outside source. It is free and clean water, but no one touches the pump. Why? During certain hours of the day, women walk together to get water for their households. In their society, women spend most of the day inside their home cooking and taking care of their children. They do not have ample time to socialize. The allotted time during the day when they walk to the river to get water, they are given a free period to socialize with their friends without being troubled by children or having their conversations overheard by men. This is their time. With the pump in the center of town, their time is taken away. Understand that the outside source meant well, however, they did not take the time to understand the community. And now the water pump is useless. How would you feel if someone came into your home and did something for your "benefit", with the consequence of taking away your personal time? I believe we all would do the same thing as these women and continue as we did in the past.

In my opinion, it is important not to lose sight that what we are doing is for the good of the people in Cameroon, be it rebuilding a school or helping women develop their businesses. If we can both teach a skill and follow it with a concrete project, that would be optimal, but this isn't always the case. Understand that the successes of Breaking Ground may not always be tangible at first, but eventually they will be visible. Patience is demanded.

Why is Breaking Ground different? “Development” in both the “developed” and “developing” worlds has become a dirty word. It is trailed with implications of imperialism, capitalism, and outsiders trying to re-arrange a culture into what they know as best. Breaking Ground wants to change this notion. My role is first and foremost to become an active member in the community. This cannot be rushed, and depending on the job and community will take different amounts of time. To do this, I have a "day job". Basically, something that I do daily to make sure I am interacting with the community. For me, this is my soccer program, business classes and English classes. When I feel competent that I understand what the needs and wants of the community are, then I begin my community projects. These project ideas must come from Cameroonians, not just from me. These projects do not necessarily come only from my business classes. I will not begin projects with my business class until they can think through the 4 stages of the cycle of management on their own. This again, requires patience. If I walk into class Tuesday and announce that I have money at my fingertips and want these women to start their business projects now, I will ruin the foundation of trust and education that I am creating. They also will not be prepared to handle the business on their own. I will also not be following the theories of Breaking Ground.

If I find projects in my community outside of my classes, then bring it on. I would love to start projects. I know they will come, but it takes time and patience.

What does it require to make development a functional, positive word again? Listening to the community and most importantly Patience. Americans want results and they want them immediately. It is clear in many cases of American culture. You want to eat, go to a restaurant. You want a new dress, go buy one at the mall. That is America, not Cameroon.

Every Sunday I prepare for the following week. I write lesson plans (literally, I don't use a book for various reasons), translate texts, make drawings, call coaches, read articles and try to organize my life as best I can. Monday is my print and photocopy day. I have to plan an entire day around making 600 photocopies. Here is what I have to do. I take a motorcycle to the Stadium. Once at the stadium I wait until a taxi fills with passengers to drive ten minutes to the university. At the university I wait until a computer is free so I can print out my documents (it is much cheaper to print at the university). I then ask them if their printer is working (last week it was broken). I then cross the street and wait for a taxi to return to town. Back in town, I find another photocopy place. I write exactly what I need done on cards and staple them to the documents. I barter for a cheaper price because I am printing so many documents. I leave for two hours to go eat and attend a meeting. I come back to see that their machine has overheated, but they have a second machine working. Half of my documents have been printed. I look through them and demand 1⁄4 of them to be redone because words are blotched or sentences have been cut off the page. I then work with them for another hour and half to finish. By this time it is getting dark and I must run home. I take the 350 printed documents and tell them that I will return to finish the rest tomorrow. This was my last Monday. It took me roughly 6 hours to just print the materials I needed. I then went home to organize them. Here I can't run to Kinkos and drop of my materials, grab a coffee, go to the supermarket, and return to pick up my copies. Cameroon is not ready for the multi-tasker and until it is, I have to have patience. The patience it takes me to print these pages has to be applied to all aspects of my life, including starting projects.

What I want is for everyone to understand the culture I am working with and to stay on your toes in anticipation. When my projects come, and they will, I will be rip roaring and ready to go, and I want you to be with me. But I cannot force anything or it will be a waste of my time and your money.

We can give a man a fish to eat dinner for one day. We can teach a man to fish so he can catch his own dinner every night. But what if we taught him how to fish and helped him build a boat so then he could eat, catch, and sell fish for money? This takes time, but this is the concept behind Breaking Ground.

"Contact and Connection" vs "Contacts and Connections"

2007-11-01T12:05:00.000+01:00

In the US I have mixed results when I tell people what I “do”. Some people view me as some weird saint character, others think I’m crazy/fascinating, and some have absolutely no interest. With one or two expressions and statements, I can read people who relate, want to relate, and those who don’t. When I graduated from college, I felt this pressure (from no where in particular) to get a “serious and respectable” office job. I went to a couple interviews and knew right away that my path did not consist of those jobs, at least not yet. I had no idea what I should do and people kept telling me to use my “contacts and connections”. This was absurd to me. I know that connections and contacts get you places, especially in the US, but I did not even know what I was looking for. I remember talking to my parents about “my path” and they seemed more relaxed than I was. My Dad told me and my mom told me things will fall into place when they shouldshe didn’t know anyone that did the kind of work I was interested in, but would help anyway she could.

For me, “contacts” and “connections” mean someone that I don’t know giving someone else that I don’t know my name and information. It doesn’t make sense to me. It leaves me feeling cold and confused, with some weird pressure to be someone extraordinary. Whoever “they” want me to be and not who I am. What I want to define is the difference between contacts/connections and contact/connecting.

My job is to connect with people, to take their face, their home, their story, and make it mean something to me personally. Not just another person in poverty, but a friend who works hard and has a beautiful family. Once I do this, I gain their trust and we work together towards a goal. This connection I speak about, this one-on-one contact, this is why I do the work I do. It is not always difficult, but is rarely easy, however when the connection happens an ordinary day become an extraordinary day.

I had my final pre-season coaches meeting yesterday. During the entire meeting I felt like I was slamming my head against a wall. The simplest concepts were being made into complicated fiascos. The good thing is Etienne Fouji, who works for the delegation of sports, helps me organize and run the meetings. When people ask questions, he’ll confer with me then answer. This gives me more time to think about the problem and helps with any language barrier. When there are 10 plus people arguing, M. Fouji is my saving grace.

The coaches were to bring their team roster and I was to give out soccer balls and whistles. Only three coaches came with team rosters. I was disappointed. I told them that the coaches with lists would receive balls. Fire was thrown from coaches’ mouths saying I didn’t understand the difficulties. I threw it back. For two weeks I have gone to practices everyday, sometimes three in a day. I didn’t just watch, I ran sprints and I played in scrimmages. Last Saturday I went to watch a regional game, when the opposing team didn’t show up, I ran home got a sports bra and proceeded to play center mid with a novice-level motley group against a regional team. I have walked from house to house to make the needed connection with parents. I have asked over and over again, what can I do to help? What amused me was that the three coaches who succeeded with their lists didn’t say a word the entire time. The one’s that argued had absolutely no founded argument. Were they just arguing to argue? Or did they want two free soccer balls? I pointed out that the three coaches with registered players weren’t involved in the conversation. I spoke with fire, this program is to promote girls soccer. It is not a fierce competition; it is to give girls a break to do something fun and healthy. Will the three coaches with rosters please help the other coaches and give them advice on why their teams were proving successful. Share the secrets of success, if you don’t there will be no one to play against! If we as coaches and delegates cannot work as a team, then how can we expect girls to learn from us and work in teams? That question somehow ended the nonsense debate. Maybe it was my tone, I’m not sure.

Half way through the meeting a man walked in and introduced himself as the representative of women’s soccer for the Adamoua region. He asked what we were discussing then preceded to tell me that he needed to be paid for his position. (Often in Cameroon when you have a certain government position you get paid, even if you don’t do anything). Frankly I didn’t know why he was there. M. Fouji and I looked at each other and I told him to tell the man he had no role here, and he could leave. Once the man realized that the American woman wasn’t going to give him anything, he stood up and walked out. Another problem arouse. There is one woman who plays, coaches, and has claimed that she is the head of women’s soccer in N'Gaoundéré. She also wants some monetary retribution. I think this is when the delegate himself stood up and told people that if they didn’t realize they were volunteers they too should leave.

I have tried repeatedly to get this woman involved. As it is her “position” and she seems to love soccer, I would love to give her some responsibility in the program. This is proving impossible. We planned to have 6 teams in the program and suddenly there were 9 teams represented. Two coaches complained that they didn’t have enough players. What if you worked together to form one team? They agreed (head wall, head wall). I made the final list of 6 teams from the teams that I had literally seen practicing. I wrote the list and passed it around. These teams will receive balls and whistles, and return Friday with their rosters. She stated that her team the “angels” weren’t on the list for competition. I asked her why she hadn’t asked me to a practice? And why she did not have a list of players? She had no response. I told her if she wanted a team, she could work with another coach. The rules are the rules, despite your position title. Again, FIRE. By the end of the meeting I had six teams, a schedule of matches, but wanted a helmet for my head.

I mentioned in my last blog how it was difficult to organize the business class; really I had not met the right woman. My connector. Last week Taguem and I presented ourselves to the Delegate of Women (who happens to me a man). We actually never met the delegate, but his secretary bought into the idea of the business classes immediately. Apparently, so did the delegate, as I am teaching the class in the classroom next to his office and he signed a list of women’s names with his signature and seal. His secretary sells ginger and orange juice that she makes at home and totes to the office. I gave her one week to make two lists of twenty women. There are certain aspects about corruption that I don’t understand, at least not in time to combat them. They are missing pieces in my puzzle of Cameroon. One was that I didn’t know to collect the first list from her that next week. Taguem told me that she probably re-arranged the list so that her friends get priority (she said there is a long waiting list with hundreds of women who want to take the class). There is really nothing I can do about this. I appreciate that she knows so many women who are interested in being entrepreneurs. I took the final list she gave me and will proceed.

I had the business classes meeting this morning. Taguem ran into the room before the class began and said good luck and remember connect with the women, make them believe in the course. I looked down at myself wearing all Cameroon clothing for that purpose and laughed. Here goes, I thought. About 45 women came to the meeting, some eager with enthusiasm and others more timid. One woman stuck out particularly. When she walked into the room, everyone started clapping, smiling, and cheering. She glowed in her yellow flowing dress and bright smile. She shook everyone’s hands and immediately went to the front row. She told the other women to occupy the seats closest to the front. As I began to introduce myself, my translator walked around the room taking names. Some women are illiterate and many do not speak French. As my translator was busy filling out their details, I waited to have my words translated. The mystery woman in the front row stood up and said I’ll do it, as long as the translator doesn’t feel I’m taking her job. We proceeded and everyone seemed upbeat about the class. One man walked in and sat down to listen, I asked him if he was a woman and told him to leave. All the women chuckled and said, yeah this is for us! Thursday the illiterate class begins at 9 and the literate class starts at 11. I need to start drawing, as I haven’t drawn out any of the homework assignments for the first class.

When the meeting ended I had many personal conversations. Two in particular stuck out. The woman who sat on the front row and helped with Fulfulde translations pulled me aside. She told me that she knows rural women. She is taking the class to gain knew ideas for rural women. She then told me she wanted to take an English course. I told her about my courses but said that I would rather she wait and take the February English course as both courses together will be lot of new vocabulary. She said Because, I can. Her face was a full smile as she explained that at the last world summit of rural women in South Africa she had many ideas that she couldn’t share because she couldn’t express herself well in English. And before she goes to the next world summit in India in 2010, she will be prepared. My eyes were probably as big as oranges at this moment. I told her she is more than welcome to take both my classes. I then understood why all the women stood up and clapped as she walked in the classroom and that when she said who thinks I can’t handle it you or me?I know all the rural women that she really meant it. She is a dynamic figure to say the least.

The last conversation I had was with three Anglophone women. They waited to speak to me privately and said that they did not know the course had a fee. The course is roughly $5 per person. I have told the women that they can pay in small amounts throughout the course and that the money goes to material costs. I am a volunteer and not paid. One woman, who spoke perfect English, told me that they all are from the same family and they grow ginger on their farm. They have extra land that they rent out. She said that right now, they can pay me, but asked if I could return the money if their next crop is bad. They had discussed sending only one woman to the course, but all three want to take it. They are using their emergency money for the course in hopes to improve their business. I told them that I wanted them to pay in very small amounts when they can and that their requirement is to take me to see their farm. Together we will come up with new ideas and work on them throughout the course. I didn’t want to tell the women the course is free because then they may lose a sense of pride in the course and feel that it’s a hand out, however, I also don’t want to put their families at any risk or for them to drop out.

When I feel like I’m going to hit my head against a wall I either go running or call Taguem. When it has to do with work, I always call Taguem. We meet and great each other in all the languages that we know before we begin conversation. I explain to him what my concern is and he laughs and says you have to write this down. It’s amazing what your learning. He then will give me incite to Cameroonian culture and what I have missed or do not understand. We discuss the best solution to my problem. By the end of the discussion his hands are rambunctiously flying around as he always talks with his hands and we are both laughing. I no longer see the wall that my head was banging against and I know that tomorrows a new day.

The following quotation comes from the movie Waking Life and possibly elsewhere. The quotation encompasses my life here in Cameroon. For the past two years, this quotation has followed me. It’s shown up in emails, I painted it, and finally I heard it in Waking Life that a friend here gave me. I think you will enjoy it as well.

When it was over, all I could think about was how this entire notion of oneself, what we are, is just this logical structure, a place to momentarily house all the abstractions. It was a time to become conscious, to give form and coherence to the mystery, and I had been a part of that. It was a gift. Life was raging all around me and every moment was magical. I loved all the people, dealing with all the contradictory impulses - that's what I loved the most, connecting with the people. Looking back, that's all that really mattered.

-Sarah

Breaking Ground Football

2007-10-21T19:54:00.000+01:00

I think I have transformed into an ear. I know more gossip about my friends, family, and total strangers in this town than I could ever have imagined. As an “outsider” people confide in me and trust me without a second thought. I will hear the story first in Fulfulde, then in French. With each language I learn something knew. I listen as well as I can and rarely give personal advice. My head spins with cultural and social differences, sometimes in shock and in other instances with amusement.

The soccer program is rapidly growing. News has spread around town that the program is legitimate. The season is to start in two weeks and I have already witnessed two teams with no less than 25 players (both Christian and Muslim!). Each practice I attend, more girls show up excited to play. I spent last Friday walking from home to home with one coach to meet the mother, father, or husband of his players. I learned that because I am an “outsider,” an innate trust exists; I can gain the confidence of family members to let their daughters play. When I explained who I am and the nature of the program, I rapidly gained their confidence and approval.

In each home I faced obstacles such as language barriers, cultural issues, and health and transportation questions. At the end of the long hot day, the biggest parental concern was that their daughters use soccer as an excuse to run around town. The players come home two hours after practice has ended, often after dark. I explained to the husband of one fifteen-year-old player that his wife’s responsibility is to return home immediately. I believe he as a legitimate complaint. The coach made it clear that practice is done at 5:30 giving her 30-minutes to walk home. As the girl begged her family to play, we explained to her that she has been given an opportunity and if she does not follow the rules, we will not come to her house and fight for her again. Her husband said she could play and the coach said that if there is a problem, he will pay for her moto ride (25 cents) home.

One problem that I am facing has to do with compensation for the coaches. I am thrilled that three out of six I have worked with thus far are extremely passionate and dedicated. This is great. Where’s the problem you ask? My coaches, as a rule, are volunteers. The problem I am facing is that they take the necessary time to go house to house, they sometimes pay for their players’ transportation fees, and they bring water to games. They are motivated for social change, but I do not think they should lose money and have to literally pay for that social change. Most of them are Physical Education teachers and do not have any money to spare. They have not asked me for money directly, but have explained that it is difficult because they feel a responsibility for their players and the future of the program.

Yesterday my team, AVENIR, scrimmaged against VINA. It took place on a Saturday afternoon at 4pm in the largest soccer facility in town. We had a referee, everyone had a green shirt to wear (they were turned in after the game) and the game started on time. There were no less than 150 people who watched the game and cheered. Groupies learned players’ names and circled around our huddle at half time. Fans shook my hand and told me I played well. Girls’ soccer? Hell yeah it exists. What caught me by surprise was how well the game was organized. Now I know for a fact that the coaches are working hard to prove that we should develop this program.

I was told that starting a program that promotes girls soccer would be extremely difficult, but I had nothing to do with organizing the first scrimmage. The infrastructure and players exist without me. What’s lacking is organization and finance. At the next coaches’ meeting, rosters will be submitted. I am planning to have the coaches write down where they see Breaking Ground Football headed in the next 5 years. What are their short-term and long-term goals? I fault myself as underestimating the level of play and dedication that is already established.

Just to inform you, my team won Saturday 2-0. Not one player wore shin guards and some girls wore “jelly shoes” as they do not own tennis shoes. Their foot skills and passing skills constantly impress me. The team spirit is unparalleled. I actually feel awkward because I’ve never been on a team where everyone dives on each other when a goal is scored. We dominated the entire game, which included a rainstorm. I am trying to limit my playing, as I fear that other coaches will complain that my involvement could lead to corruption. So far, everyone sees it as leading by example for which I am grateful. I played stopper the entire game and am learning how to yell rather quickly in French. I have also learned that if I do not lay my legs flat during half time, you get yelled at and that because I am not use to the terrain (imagine hard dirt covered with sand as your “field”) I have to play two touches. If I try to take on a player the ball always rolls more quickly than I anticipate and I lose control. I am greatly looking forward to the next coaches meeting. I am insanely proud of the girls I have played with thus far.

Organizing the business course is taking longer that I hoped. Women do not yet understand the concept of what I am trying to teach and are uncomfortable with that fact. Imagine that you have never gone to school and someone is saying, come learn how to start a business or improve the one you have already. Learn to write down your expenses and advertise. It will happen, but I need to keep putting my ear to work and listen to the women’s concerns.

La Fête de Ramadan

2007-10-15T18:53:00.000+01:00

As a student here in 2004, I rarely told Cameroonians if something upset me. I felt extremely conscious about accepting their culture and respecting it for what it is. Now that I am back for work, my cultural sensitivity can be better defined as cultural realism. For example, the other day I sat outside separating leaves to make a sauce when two cow legs (from the knee down) were dropped off. Quite obviously they were freshly cut. That night the skin was roasted off and the bones were chopped with an axe, then put in water and boiled with tomatoes and onions. This meal is expensive as one cow leg/hoof is $5. You eat it with bread and pull out the meat from the bone. I think it is great that they use all parts of the cow. In 2004 I would have eaten this for dinner and said thank you. This time around, before it was prepared, I made the announcement that cow hoof really isn’t my thing. Just as they are hesitant to eat macaroni and cheese, I am uncomfortable with cow hoof. I don’t feel by any means that I am being rude or degrading their culture, I am just defining my role and what I am comfortable with. Living here is different than traveling and if I’m not direct and honest the first time I am uncomfortable with something, I better be prepared to see it again.

Ramadan ended Friday the 12th. I didn’t realize that it ends when the Lamido decides it is over. The Lamido is the Fulani ruler. The Fulani people select him, but usually the position is passed down through family. He is wealthy, has many wives, and can be a liaison between the people and the government. This year the Lamido decided that Ramadan ended on Friday, when everyone had expected it to end Saturday. School kids cheered as last week was an exam week and school was cancelled (their version of a snow day) and Mariamou panicked, as she still had not made her clothes or prepared all her food for the party. I found myself cutting carrots and stringing green beans at midnight.

Friday morning came and suddenly the town was beautiful. Cameroonians, regardless of which ethnic group, are beautiful people. Everyone in town wore knew clothes and jewelry; joy was all around. That night I was late coming home and I noticed a strange feeling in the house. I wasn’t sure if I had done something wrong, so I ate my dinner and went to my room. A couple minutes later I heard screams and my door flew open. We were going to the cinema. We joined well over 350 people in a huge auditorium supposedly built by a French person years ago. Since Mariamou dressed me, I was in a green outfit with huge shoulder puffs and a head tie. This was Mariamou’s second time to go to the movies (last time she was 15) and she was beyond excited. She repeatedly told me how lucky she is to have such a nice husband, and I agreed.

After searching for seats and fighting the crowd, we decided to head to the balcony. The show started with a famous Fulani singer, followed by a comedian, and then again the singer with backup dancers. This was a cultural experience to say the least. Everything was in Fulfulde including the movie, which included the word Action in English before each scene. The words were muffled, but the script was not difficult to follow. The wife was cheating on her husband. He hit her and cried. She ran away and was alone for the rest of her life. I was not surprised in the least that the plot consisted of a woman that did something wrong. This seems to be a common theme in Fulani movies. The program ended after midnight and I was exhausted.

Saturday consisted of visitors and more parties. I went to the festival at the Lamido’s house where I was warmly welcomed because I had a camera. Imagine hundreds of people watching a parade. I was constantly pushed into the center, where horses were galloping at full speed, to take pictures. When the horses came too close, someone would grab me and pull me back, and once the horses passed I was pushed back into the center and everyone would yell, Film Film Film! It was an awesome ceremony. Men wore traditional costumes and played traditional horns and drums. The Lamido rode a white horse and carried an umbrella; he was fanned with palm leaves to stay cool in the heat. The women in his family wore matching clothes and yelled together (like Americans do as children playing cowboys and Indians). I was told that there is a party in December where everyone kills goats. My house alone kills and eats two goats.

Sunday, the family dressed up and visited friends, giving them small cakes. I biked to Crater Lake. A 40-minute bike ride along dirt roads, made a great day trip for a picnic. When Marimou returned home, Ishmaila told us we were going to a restaurant (the 3rd time in Mariamou’s life)! Mariamou and I arrived first and waited for the others. The waitress handed us menus and I began to read. In less expensive restaurants the menu is told to you as typically restaurants have about 4 meals which change daily. Mariamou giggled and asked, what will you eat? I said, give me a minute to read the menu, how do you already know what you’ll have? She looked at me and giggled even louder and said well there’s a picture of a chicken, eggs, and a drink. The chicken looks the best to me. I forgot that she does not read. We laughed really hard as I proceeded to read her the menu. We both chose chicken and fries.

Mailing address, soccer, and life in N'gaoundéré.

2007-10-10T17:54:00.000+01:00

Since 2004, N’Gaoundéré has grown immensely. There are now 3-story buildings, and the urban sprawl is shocking. A couple days ago I was walking down a main street (no one knows the name of the street) when I saw a white-man store. This is what expats call a store that has mostly set prices, chocolate, sometimes refrigerated goods and cookware. I browsed the store to see what it has to offer. Last week I searched everywhere in the market for cotton balls and could not find any. I finally saw something that looked like big cotton squares and thought, well that will work. What I realized in the white-man store is that I have been ripping up Cameroonian maxi-pads and using them as cotton balls for my face. It’s really the same product and not that strange, but I couldn’t help but freeze in the store and burst into laughter.

Last time I wrote about Mariamou and her sewing machine. At that moment I did not realize that she actually has a sewing business. Because this weekend is the fete de Ramadan, everyone (including me) is having clothes made. She has made no less that 15 outfits for this party. Women drop off fabric for her as if her days last much longer than 24 hours. She has given up on sleeping. She wakes at 3am to prepare a meal for at least 11 people to be eaten at 4am before the sunrise. She goes back to sleep at 4:30 to wake up at 6 to get the children ready for school. When they leave (around 7) she begins to sew. She sews and cuts fabric until 1pm when school ends and she prepares lunch for the kids. She continues to sew until 4 or 5 when she starts to prepare dinner (she’ll have prepared sauces that simmer all day). We eat dinner when the sunsets around 6:15. Then we hang out until 8, when typically she’ll say I shouldn’t work tonight, but will pull out her machine and work until midnight. She has 4 outfits left to make before Friday and the homestretch is looking good.

What surprised me is the cost of labor and supplies verses monetary profit. She makes quality clothes with buttons, choice thread and backing. She purchases the extra products herself. Prices vary according to the complication of the outfit; however, a typical charge is 2,000 FCFA ($4). When she is finished, after the supplies costs, she makes about 700 FCFA profit ($1.40).

What I have come to realize is that saving money in Cameroon is extremely difficult. Imagine if everyone in the US either had a minimum wage job, or no job at all, and the price of goods remained what it is today. Trying to save money would be extremely difficult. With your earnings you support yourself and your immediate family, as well as your extended family. By the time you have fed, clothed, and housed everyone, you may have extra money for health and school fees. What’s difficult about Cameroon is that goods are not cheap in accordance to how people are paid. For example, let’s say Mariamou makes $1.50 from each dress she makes. If she makes 10 dresses a week, she’ll make $15. Below I have written out expenses for one day at the market to feed her family and extended family that eat here daily.

1-kilo meat- 1500 FCFA ($3)
Oil- 500 FCFA ($1)
Maggi spice cubes – 100 FCFA ($0.20)
Onion- 100 FCFA ($0.20)
6 Tomatoes- 200 FCFA ($0.40)
Garlic- 100 FCFA ($0.20)
Beans/legumes- 300 FCFA ($0.60)
5 kilos Cous Cous/manioc mix- 600 FCFA ($1.20)
Plantains- 1000 FCFA ($2) (not at every meal, x2 a week)
Bread- 500 FCFA ($1)
2 packages of Spaghetti- 500 FCFA ($2)
(I have left out sugar, tea, and chocolate which are luxury goods we have a couple days a week)

Total- 5400 FCFA ($10.80)

Keep in mind that is one full day of food for 10-15 people and includes meat and plantains. On Mariamou’s salary alone, it would be impossible for a family of this size to survive. She would most likely only pay for her children. What I want you to understand is the discrepancy between the money made and the cost of goods here. Internet is $1 an hour, 1 liter of petrol is $1.30, and rent for a secure two-bedroom home with a living room, pseudo kitchen, and bathroom is $60 a month (that does not include the water or electric bill). Finding and keeping a decent paying job is rare. Having a government job often comes with a secured salary because of corruption, whether you are qualified or not. (This does not include educational jobs, as teachers are often not paid.)

The idea of taking the next step and starting a bank account or taking out a loan is scary for a woman like Mariamou. Would you trust someone with your money if you couldn’t read? Furthermore, the written language isn’t your native patois? What if she doesn’t have any business next week? Or if one of her kids is sick and needs medical attention? That’s just an example of the cycle of poverty in Cameroon.

Fortunately for the extended family, Mariamou and Ishmaila both earn income. Last week, however, when the motor to Mariamou’s sewing machine broke at 8pm and she asked me for a $10 loan because they didn’t have it that night, I was happy to have a role in the family income structure. I don’t pay room and board because I’m considered family, but I can help with sewing emergencies. After a night mission to find an open boutique, I told her the motor was a gift, not a loan, and the adventure alone was worth the motor’s price to me.

On a different note, I have a Post Office Box! If you want to send something to me, please send it to:

Sarah Oxford
BP 657 N’Gaoundéré
Cameroon, Africa

(Please note that mail delivery is unreliable. Your letter or package may take several weeks, a month, several months or longer to arrive, and it may not arrive at all. Please take this into consideration when sending anything of value.)

Obtaining this P.O. box took four hours, visits to three different government buildings, and five trips between the three buildings, but I successfully have a box for as long as I want it (as long as I pay $20 a year). I filled out many forms and on each crossed out the M. for Monsieur and wrote in Mademoiselle.

When I do professional business oriented activities I can’t help but imagine that I’m a female revolutionary paving the way. That’s at least what I try to imagine when I want to scream at someone, but know the yelling won’t aide my situation.

I have started the process of creating a girls’ soccer club. I arranged a meeting with the delegate of sports hoping to discuss the best way to forge the way. I arrived at his office at 8:30 yesterday morning and waited for 30 minutes. He arrived at 9 and led me into his huge office with couches and a table. I had underestimated the level of his position (I forget when your American your often automatically directed to the most important person) and his interest in my program. Within ten minutes of the meeting starting, I was sitting with 10 men. The delegate of youth, head of basketball and team sports, head of Pedagogical studies, head of Physical Education, and the list goes on. I explained that I work for an NGO and have a background in soccer. I am here to teach business practices to women with the goal of raising their standard of living. I told them that I believe sports are an integral part of leadership and teamwork practices, plus they are fun. I want a girls soccer program. I said it …pause… pause… They were thrilled.

For over three hours we discussed how to organize the program. Today I am to write out the rules of the program. What amuses me is that I sat with 10 men all paid by the government and they all stated over and over again, we will not call it a league because then the government will ask for money. What I stated was that I am not paying anyone, but for the test program (over the next two months) I will divide the soccer balls I brought and if the program is successful I will return in January with uniforms. There is a radio announcement being made for a coaches meeting for next Monday at 10am. I am observing a team practice at 3:30pm that afternoon. We know there are 8 groups that meet and play with each other (10-20) girls. I am hoping to have 4-6 coaches dedicated to the trial program. Their teams practice once a week, and then I organize the Saturday matches between the teams. I’m the official organizer and the coaches are volunteers. We decided that the girls who play will be between 12-18. At first I wanted to do Saturday clinics with younger girls, but I realized that younger girls are not afraid to play. They play at school. The older girls have nowhere to play. Plus, if the younger girls see the older girls playing it will make them excited to play when they get older. I am hopeful and determined to make this work. Over and over again, the men said, this is hard in N’Gaoundéré. I asked—If we don’t try, what would happen?

Looking through my finances the other day I realized I had not drank a beer in 18 days. Honestly, in this world, I don’t think that’s healthy☺. Today, maybe after I tone my face using a maxi-pad I will go back into the world of men and drink a beer.

Home.

2007-10-04T21:12:00.000+01:00

You know that feeling when you have a new boyfriend/girlfriend and you walk into their room and your picture is displayed on the wall or corkboard visibly for all to see? Suddenly you realize that the relationship is going somewhere. They want to be reminded of you when you are not around. You are done wondering how they feel about you. Usually this makes you really happy and boosts your confidence.

I did not tell Mariamou that I was in town, just that I was “coming.” With Cameroonian transportation, this could mean today or in two weeks. I decided I would surprise her. I knocked on the door and walked into the entryway of the house. I heard the 2 year old, Souriya, yell, “mama, there is a white person here.” Arms flew and I was tackled. Tears ran and screams of happiness echoed. For the next two hours I was reintroduced to the quartier as her best friend. I had forgotten how many people I actually knew and loved. Ishmaila, her husband, has 29 siblings (His father has 4 wives). Family members in town came to visit one after the other with their children and friends. Kids that I once played with have transformed into teenagers, babies into children. Over the past 3 years things have changed, but I have not been forgotten.

I walked into the living room to see six pictures framed on the wall. My picture is the largest one in the center. My confidence automatically boosted and I realized that they missed me as much as I missed them. The relationship is mutual and I am done wondering.

For the next three days I stuck by Mariamou’s side. She rarely leaves the house. In this culture, when you are married you clean, cook, and take care of the children. You only leave the house when your husband gives you permission (small trips around the quartier are OK). The strange thing is that I can sit and stare at the wall and things actually happen. Gossip flies, people visit, clothes are made, and I learn. It’s rarely boring, as you would expect.

My second day here Mariamou asked me if I wanted to go to a meeting with her. I agreed and walked into a living room where about 20 women sat. Only two spoke French and they all stared at me. Over the next hour I learned that these women have formed a tantine. Every Saturday morning 24 women meet and give one dollar (500 FCFA). One member leaves with $25 that she can use however she pleases. The order for taking the money rotates. They also give roughly 40 cents (200CFA) to be put into a bank account that will not be accessed for one year. If someone is sick, they give another dollar for hospital expenses. I was thrilled to say the least. Not only are they starting businesses and money saving practices, but also they invited me to be a part of it and are interested in my ideas! I am officially the 25th and final member of the Circle of Muslim Women- Quartier Tongo-Pastoral Tantine (They do not care that I’m not Muslim and are really proud to have a white member).

Over the past three years I have sent Mariamou a small amount of money for Christmas. I told her it was none of my business what she did with the money, but of course I was extremely curious. Time and time again she impresses me. It amazes me how different we are and yet how well we get along. She is 25, I am 24. She has 3 children and has been married since she was 15. I am in and out of relationships all the time. She prepares every meal for 15 people. I barely cook for myself. She cannot read nor write. I read a book a week for pleasure and am always studying something on the side. Neither one of us really speak French well. Her first language is Fulfulde, mine English. She does not play sports. I spend a lot of my free time doing athletic activities. Yet somehow when we are together we have some of the most engaging and interesting conversations that I have ever had. Our cultural exchange and mutual respect to learn from each other is inexplicable. She’s brilliant. She can watch someone cook a complex dish of food and go home and make the dish. She will improve its taste without ever writing anything down. She’ll make it for at least 15 people. What I learned is that with the money I sent she bought a sewing machine. She loves couture and clothing. She told me that she wanted to learn to sew long ago, but I put it off as a pipe dream. Now she has an electric Singer. A young, unmarried seamstress comes into her home a couple days a week to make clothes. The seamstress sells the clothes she makes and teaches Mariamou how to sew. Mariamou doesn’t just sew simple things; she makes complex shirts and dresses. She now makes all of her children’s clothes and probably will make mine, too.

Her husband Ishmaila is a winner as well. Literally. He seams to win everything. He is a great bike rider and when he was younger he entered a bike race and won $50. One of the richest men in Cameroon said he liked how hard working he is and doubled his winnings. With $100 he moved from his village to N’Gaoundéré where he opened a small shop selling powdered milk, sugar, flour, and other items for cooking. Over time his boutique has grown and he has made enough money to support his family and Mariamou. He now has purchased his home, two televisions, a Toyota, and can pay for medical expenses. A couple weeks ago he entered a question and answer contest with Nido (the company that makes powdered milk). He won a refrigerator! Mariamou now has a refrigerator that sits in the living room next to the TV. She buys powdered juice mix, mixes it with water and sells it both as juice and popsicles to children in the quartier. Sometimes she’ll make up to 5 dollars a day! Her goal is to save enough with the juice business to buy another sewing machine and run a tailor shop. She told me that if her husband were to die, she would be left with little money. She wants to buy a small room and lease it out. If something happens she will have a place to live (the current house goes to her children). She also said that they have an agreement that they will have a monogamous relationship, but if he does change his mind (polygamy is accepted here, and often encouraged for wealthy men and chiefs) she will leave and live in her room. Again, she is brilliant.

My life outside my home is developing as well. Taguem and I are researching the classes I will teach at the Research Center. I will have two business classes, one for illiterate women and one for literate women. In addition, I will teach two English classes, one for beginners and one for advanced learners. There will be a 25-person cap on all classes. I have purchased a printer (to print out homework- over time this will save money) and two chalk boards. One is for classes at the Research Center and the other for classes in my Quartier. Things are progressing, but nothing will start until after Ramadan. I am going through the process of opening a bank account and a post office box.

I am starting to work out at 5 o’clock every evening. Abdu, one of Mariamou’s children, is now 8 and his cousin, Bopo, is 12. They come with me to the track to run and pass the soccer ball. I love that they come with me. Walking around a Muslim town in shorts and a t-shirt can be tough, but with the two boys I am protected from slurs and men hitting on me. They are being labeled my two husbands. I could not be happier that they run with me. When we come home we do pushups and sit-ups together. Then we shower and eat dinner, followed by homework time then some TV (usually the O.C.. or Super Man).

As you can read, my life is good. If anything gets me down, all I have to do is walk home to know that I am loved. Although I do not have a boyfriend right now, I have a Cameroonian family, and for now, that is what I need.

The road north

2007-10-01T20:56:00.000+01:00

Dr. Taguem Fah is a professor and just returned to Cameroon after spending a year at Northwestern University in Chicago as a Fulbright scholar. He established the N’Gaoundéré Research Center. I will teach classes at his center; Associate Director Brendan Schwartz (our next GC in N’Gaoundéré) will work there daily.

Together, Taguem and I drove north from Yaoundé via the East Province (click for a map). We left Yaoundé early last Wednesday morning to hit the dirt road into the east. The east is financially poor, but mineral-rich. The green is outstanding and the waterways are beautiful. We drove for nearly two hours without seeing one person. The next couple hours we sporadically viewed cattle in small herds led by one or two men with sticks. The road divided villages where people sat outside their homes and waved as we passed.

Homes in the East are constructed with sticks in a grid-like fashion with red clay-dirt solidifying the walls. Occasionally there is a white mortar finish. The houses are square (that surprised me) with palm thatched roofs and dirt floors. Some have doors. Every third village or town has a decent looking school. Many schools looked devastatingly horrible.

We crossed bridges and rivers where kids and moms alike bathed and washed their clothes. This is their water source. I saw a viper hanging dead on the side of the road next to a bunch of plantains. And wondered, what else is out there?

People walk everywhere. The elderly made it look more painful than I hope to ever imagine. People stared at me and, frankly, I stared back. All men had machetes. Both women and men had baskets woven from palm leaves that they wore like backpacks and stuffed with fruit, cloth, etc. Countless numbers of people carried water in buckets on their heads. Large and small tree branches were bundled and toted on heads as well. I can’t imagine the distance they are carried.

As we passed, I reflected on the culture of the East. I’ve been told that village Chiefs are not given power like in other regions. Instead, heads of families make all decisions. This makes community action difficult because each household works independently as opposed to being united by a chief-run community. Within their communities, there exists no infrastructure with which to work together. I began to list all the ways that I was trained as a leader, even in grade school: I led the class in clean up when I was 3, led the line at 5, chose teammates at 8, held school student government positions at 13, was a PEER mentor at 16, became a sports team captain at 17, mentored a child in college, and again sports. The list is endless. My parents, teachers, coaches, and friends have all been training me in leadership skills since I can remember. No one in the East, even if they have the innate skills, is given the chance to develop them as I was. What an amazing idea to have a leadership program. How can a society progress without those people who have the skills to work together, listen, debate, motivate, speak publicly, comprehend problems and seek the answer in a fair fashion. They understand how their community works, they have to initiate and lead development, but who can do it? Who can unite the masses? What a predicament.

The dirt piled along the side of the road coated my face like it does during the dry season. Each hour, three or more trucks passed carrying gravel for the road. Taguem told me the road is known as one of the worst roads in Cameroon, but that soon with the reconstruction it will be one of the best. Cement gutters were being put into place (this seems to be happening all over Cameroon). We slept in Bertoua at a Catholic mission, which is a huge training center for priests and nuns.

We awoke and continued to drive along the red dirt road, surrounded by green, with no secondary roads branching off. Taguem and I discussed the politics and social chasms of Cameroon; we shared ideas and time and time again frustrated each other with questions that we cannot answer. We came upon an accident. I could not figure out what had happened but a truck carrying furniture had lost most of its cargo. A 4-wheel drive car was turned around and another 18-wheeler carrying beer had lost half of its cargo. The area reeked of beer and the men cheered as we drove through. I believe they were all drunk. The road becomes worse here, with more potholes and bumps. We stopped and asked the police along the road if there were bandits ahead. They told us no problems had been reported and we should continue.

Two weeks ago, there was an uprising (very rare in Cameroon). The town had not received electrical power for four months, causing students to protest. Tear gas was used; two students were shot and killed. The power is now back on. Stories like this one are depressing because Cameroon is known for its peace-loving citizens. But everyone has a line. The second day we made it to Meiganga, a small Muslim town in the Adamaoua province.

The third day the road became horrible with potholes feet deep. Then, it began to rain. We feared the muddy roads becoming impassible. We came to a stopping point where suddenly there were lines of 18-wheeler trucks. Over thirty trucks easily blocked the road. Taguem took his Mercedes off road (no 4-wheel drive) and parked to investigate the situation. He reported that there was no road. I didn’t understand: how does a major road just end? People were all around. I got out of the car (trying to be inconspicuous and not cause a scene as “la blanche”). Literally, there was no road. It transformed into muddy wholes and ledges. A military car came with gun-carrying police. They tried to tow the trucks out of the mud and brought wooden planks to put down. It didn’t work. The chain snapped off every time. Three young men offered to help us. Taguem slowly drove through the mud. When we got stuck, the men pushed from all directions. Mud flew and people watched. Somehow, we got through and continued on our journey. We arrived in N’Gaoundéré that afternoon.

Mom's Advice

2007-09-25T16:02:00.000+01:00

Last week I talked to Carla Clarke, Breaking Ground’s secretary, and she told me something to the extent of “take it easy, it seems you’re really busy.” I laughed and told her I am fine and not to worry. A 30-minute car ride and one business meeting later, I was vomiting. What I rediscovered is that Mom’s right. Although she is not my mom, she is a mom and they have this obnoxious way of always being right even half a world away. I believe I ate some old beans with an omelet that caused what would be my three-day withdrawal from the world. I am now doing much better and will manage my work verses rest time with more diligence.

Saturday I climbed onto a bus and chose a window seat, hoping to leave within the hour. Buses here leave when they are full. There is no given timeline. The bus was almost full when the driver closed the door and drove to the gas station. I was elated, only a 30-minute wait! It was 11am when we drove to the gas station, then circled back to the street where I boarded. We parked and I began to read a book. An hour later I heard some angry comments coming from passengers in the back seat. (Six very unhappy women who had been there since 6am.) The bus appeared full, why are we not leaving? The demands grew angrier and louder. Soon small fights broke out all around the bus. I appeared to be the only calm person. Someone even shouted “why is the white girl so calm?” I had two bags on top of the bus, I had paid my ticket and I really didn’t feel that fighting with anyone was going to help my situation. Plus I don’t like to get involved when I don’t fully understand what is going on. I also don’t like to let others know that I don’t know exactly what is going on. So I often keep my thoughts to myself. Two hours later I learned that the bus driver had gone home to sleep. He returned around 2:30pm. I had already spent 4 hours on the bus and had gone nowhere. I arrived in Yaoundé around 7pm. It was raining, now dark and the bus drops you off in a sketchy quartier, Tongolo. I asked the man next to me to stay with me and my grossly large bags until my ride arrived. Kindly, he did.

Two days before I left Bafoussam I called a Cameroonian businessman named Usumane, whom I met as an SIT student. I knew he didn’t remember me from three years ago, but I asked if he would let me stay in his home for a couple days before I continued my journey. I have now been here four days. I feel that I am in an Oasis in Cameroon. I sleep in and I have meals prepared for me. I have been given tours of the city, visited the new U.S. embassy (that overlooks a golf course!), and, best of all, been welcomed into a family. His four daughters speak English and play soccer. They all tell me that they will attend Harvard, maybe Stanford, without a second thought about the college process. They are Muslim but understand that I eat during the day (it’s Ramadan). At night we sit on the porch and discuss life. It’s amazing how things here turn around. Every moment is a journey and when you feel down there is always someone to pick you up and laugh.

My “marriage story” is becoming more realistic every time I tell it, although I need a gold ring (my tarnishing mood ring does not look so bona fide). During a ten-minute walk through the market yesterday, I was asked at least 15 times if I was married. I shoved arms away from me and held up my left hand, yelling “of course I am.” When people ask to see pictures of my family I have to be prepared to have my stories straight of who is my husband and when I will see him again.

Tomorrow I am taking a private car north. This is not usual. I have always taken the train north to Ngaoundere, but jumped on the opportunity to take a car through the Eastern province. Concerned about road bandits, I went to the embassy and asked their opinion. They told me to go for it! They said the province, although poor, is currently stable. The lady I spoke with said she was jealous and heard it’s a tough but beautiful trip. I am relieved by their confidence and compassion.

I have a huge bag containing a water filter, 40 soccer balls, a mosquito net and books. I hope this bag fits in the trunk. I have my pack containing all dirty clothes that I am pretending are clean, as I haven’t had time to wash and dry them because of my unknown departure time. I feel like a new refreshed Sarah after my couple days in Yaoundé and will listen to any mom advice with more appreciation. Moms, bring it on.

Sarah

Success in Doumbouo!

2007-09-18T00:17:00.000+01:00

There are certain moments in my life that I will never forget. Last week I traveled to the village of Doumbouo to check on Lindsay's projects. This day became one of those select days, a defined moment in time. The pictures catalogued on our website show the exact projects I will discuss below.

After a thirty-minute moto ride along a dirt road past a small beautiful lake and lush green forests, I arrived at l'École Publique de Doumbouo. There, teachers, the principal, and different administrators greeted me. I took a tour through the classrooms filled with students eager to see the person "who claims to know the famous Lindsay Clarke". Students sang welcoming songs and clapped after my introduction. One girl around 11 years old stared at me with tears and told the teachers she could not stand the thought of Lindsay being gone. To state that Lindsay is missed in the community is an understatement. Lindsay transformed the lives of these students and teachers; she taught them that if they want change, by working together and setting high goals, it is possible.

This experience struck me in two ways. My first thought was: Wow. I am so proud to represent Breaking Ground and to work for Lindsay. Not only has she been successful in implementing the theories of Breaking Ground's concept of development, she has formed a relationship that will forever be cherished. My second thought was that a high bar has been set and I am excited to work as hard as I can, in my own manner, to be a success as well.

The elementary school was the first stop on my tour. Each classroom had remarkable floors that were clean and well kept. The murals looked beautiful and gave vitality to the classrooms. The principal explained that last year they only had two students fail the exams to enter high school, a remarkable rate considering Cameroon failure rates are typically around 20-30 percent. There were more classrooms with partially cemented walls, which showed further work will be done and that small goals have been set.

The library was the next stop on the tour. I was nervous about the library. Library projects can be risky as there is a lot of upkeep. I entered the library and held back tears of joy. In the first room, a slogan on the wall reads something to the extent of "Be quiet! People are reading!” The room had no less than fifteen students seated at large tables reading.

I continued to investigate and walked into the room holding both French and English texts. Not only was the Dewey Decimal system applied to every book, there were cards filled out by students who checked out books, catalogue books showing the order of books, and, to my surprise, a computer. Both librarians were there working. The library is a success! The leaders of Doumbouo kept saying, "she's emotional, look at her, she's so happy!" They all smiled and shook my hand over and over.

The last project I asked about was the water pump. The pump at that moment was locked, but the teachers emphatically stated that it is used every other day. I will do further research on the payment of water and use of the pump, however after a day of such success and joy I was not going to get upset over the pump. I am looking into other methods of water storage that may be applied to the pump in the future.

The last part of my day consisted of sharing beer and eating lunch in celebration with the teachers and local leaders. This was followed by a meeting with a local dignitary. A common thread between expats in Cameroon is that we never really know what will happen during the course of the day. You can have a general plan. Mine was to go to Doumbouo and tour Breaking Ground's projects. Where it lead from there was lunch, a drink, and then meeting local dignitaries. I waited outside a building for thirty minutes and met someone who could be compared to a Congressman in the US. Why? One, because of Lindsay's success and my working with her. Two, because I'm American. This I do not always understand, but it gets you somewhere. I was then invited to multiple homes for dinner, but insisted that I travel back to Bafoussam before nightfall.

I could not ask any more from the people of Doumbouo. I went to check on projects, but left feeling like a welcomed member of the community. I am going back to Dschang today and will check on the well in the quartier of Tsinkop, where Lindsay lived with her host family. Thursday I leave for Yaoundé and, hopefully, by Saturday I will be on the train heading to Ngaoundéré. My journey is about to begin! Hopefully the water will come back on so I can shower before it does.

Cheers,
Sarah

Comments from Bafoussam

2007-09-12T18:25:00.001+01:00

The power is out in the town of Bafoussam (map) , where I am currently residing. Not a rarity, and it typically takes 15 minutes for it to come back on. I have been surprisingly impressed with the progress Cameroon has made since 2004. It may sound trivial, but I am finding in markets things that, in 2004, were rare or only available in the capital (Yaoundé)—lettuce/salad stands to acceptable eating standards, milk, cheese, or dependable refrigeration, tampons (although very expensive), Sushi (now in Yaoundé), a city bus system (now in Yaoundé), a private free-market medical school, and Red Sox world series t-shirts. As for commerce, there is a new coffee company bringing competition to the previous monopoly. From a technological standpoint, there are three cell phone companies (up from two), two that offer Internet for a laptop through your cell phone. These programs are expensive, (12 dollars a day or cheaper monthly programs) however, they do show progress. Twice today I saw internet being used in private business.

I have been living at the home of Peace Corps Volunteer Lee Allen (Sewanee Graduate 2005), who has aided in my progress in developing a business curriculum. I have decided to teach a business class focusing on entrepreneurial and management skills for women. Class examples include basic accounting, inventory management, leadership, marketing, and goal setting. The program is structured to have up to 30 students. There will be two classes a week, each for two hours (taught in French, with a Fulfulde translator). I am hopeful that by the end I will have a couple students who excel to the potential that I can collaborate with them to start a business using a loan system facilitated by Breaking Ground. A small fee will be mandatory for the class in order to denote a level of seriousness and pay for copies, the translator, and a membership to the Research Center that Dr. Taguem Fah operates. Another idea is to have an English language class for public school teachers. Both programs will not come to fruition until I perform further research in N'gaoundere. I am also working on an orientation packet for Breaking Ground "Ground Coordinators." I am surveying English teachers, agriculture workers, business personnel, as well as other professions to give outlines of lectures and ideas for future GC's. As I study Cameroon, I learn more about different elements of life where Breaking Ground has the potential to be a successful catalyst for positive change.

I have decided to spend more time in Bafoussam (in the Western province) getting oriented and planning my work because Ramadan began today. In N'gaoundere, a predominantly Muslim city, it is nearly impossible to start new programs when the population is generally tired and hungry for most of the day. It is also the heart of the rainy season. Rain here is like nothing I have ever seen before. When it rains, a bucket can be filled and over-flowing in less than an hour. If you do not have a coat or umbrella, plan to camp in a store, restaurant, or street shack for any inexplicable amount of time. When in doubt, RUN home. This means that the roads become one big mud hole and travel slows down at a rapid pace. I had not experienced Cameroon in a full-on rainy season, and I am very appreciative for it. I think it is fun and adds a new element of excitement.

I have also found my niche in sports. I played basketball with a group of elder Cameroonian men. I took a charge at the top of the key, and later made a three point shot. They asked me to return next week. You earn respect where you can.

Life's good,

Sarah