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

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!