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

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

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.

"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

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

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"

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