Departure, Return, and Resolutions

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.