The REAL world.

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.