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Learning to be a super citizen

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

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….

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

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

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.

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.