Harambe-Cameroon

I am really excited about my internship here in Yaounde. Rachel and I are working with a foundation called Harambe-Cameroon, and more specifically on an environmental project that they are currently working on. Harambe-Cameroon was started by Olivia Mukam, who is just 5 years older than I am. She came to the United States in order to study at John-Hopkins University. While there, she was involved in a project that involved African students who were all, like her, studying in the United States. They wanted to make use of their experiences and opportunities in the United States in order to make a difference back home in Africa. They made a collective initiative (which I not sure of all the details and objectifs of which) but is still going on today. So, Olivia came back to Cameroon, her native home, with a lot of talent, experiences, knowledge and most importantly passion for making a difference for her people here in Yaounde. She began Harambe-Cameroon, a non-governmental organization with the idea that a large majority of Cameroon’s “enjeux” if you will, are actually pretty solvable. The problem is that the new generations simply don’t know how to make a living for themselves and solve the problems at the same time. It is commonly known here that a vast majority of the population is incredibly smart, and I think more than 50% of the population actually has a master’s degree. The problem can be found within the employment system. There are not nearly enough jobs in Cameroon, and no one has been taught the kind of entrepreneurial skills that are necessary to MAKE jobs for themselves. Olivia saw this as a huge opportunity. There are more than enough problems in Cameroon to be solved, and with the correct ideas and initiatives, those problems could be turned into businesses. And hence, the creation of Harambe-Cameroon. Olivia immediately focused on university students once she had set up Harambe. Last year they created a competition. Students had to identify a problem in their society, come up with a solution to this problem, and then propose a business solution to it. They got funding from other organizations and so forth, and were able to offer a valuable sum of starting money for the winners creation and commencement of their entrepreneurial idea. The winner of last year was Abdou NJOYA. He proposed the creation of a recycling system which would be installed on the different universities campuses and then potentially after a very long while, potentially within the city itself (as recycling here is actually non-existent.) He wanted to set up sets of 3 large waste bins-color coded as the Cameroonian flag in order to collect plastics, compostable materials and glass. Now a year later, the project is beginning to come together. He has since solidified his idea with essential particularities, for instance where the material would be taken and stored, how to create the bins so that stealing of the material (such as glass which gets a fairly good price from the retailers) and how they would educate the student population and make this system effective. Rachel and I have arrived just in time for the fun part: making this idea on paper become a reality for Abdou. This week we went with Abdou to the University of Yaounde I –our first campus choice. We talked with the Vice-President and with the Dean of Administration in order to see what the field looks like so far and what kind of support we might be getting. The President is the only person that we need permission from in order to start this program on his campus, but the others are a vital piece to helping us get the go-ahead. Both Abdou and I went into the meetings well prepared to answer the skeptical questions that these men would have for us, because I were them, it would seem a little too good to be true in a way. We need no help from them other than their permission-everything else is covered and would be self sustaining. We certainly were not expecting the meetings to go as well as they did however. The Vice-President said while he obviously could not give us the go ahead we needed, if he could help with anything he would and he got us the appointment with the Dean. The Dean was what I thought to be a tad condescending in the beginning of the meeting-he was only doing what anyone would by asking us all the details and being sure Abdou had indeed thought of everything-but at first it seemed as though he thought we were being naïve with this dream of recycling. However, Abdou is incredibly intelligent and has been working on this project for more than a year now, and answered all his questions with ease and reassurance. By the end of the meeting, the Dean told us he would help the project be expediated to the President, (really great because with African time, us getting our request to the president could be a long time without the dean’s help) and also told us he thought this project was a really great thing we were doing. Abdou was overly pleased afterwards, which was so fun to see after all his hard work. The communication between Abdou and I is also really great. He speaks English well, only slightly better than I speak French. So we both speak in interchangeable French and English, depending on what vocab we are needing and when we both want to practice our other language. We still have a lot to do obviously, with making educating posters, getting the bins created, setting them up on campus, etc. but it is so exciting to think we are actually putting this idea into development that will help the community immensely. It would be great to come back in about 5 years and see it in full swing. (Hopefully it will be doing really well by then.) While Rachel Abdou and I are working on that, Harambe is in full swing with this years competition. When we have time therefore, we will also be helping with that. We are coming up with all kinds of fundraising ideas, such as karaoke night, dance competitions, and “American cooking” type of bake sales. If anyone who is reading this has a facebook and has not done so already, if you could “like” Harambe-Cameroon on facebook or add them as a friend, it would be such a help. Olivia is trying to get funding and being able to say we have a thousand likes or friends on a social network would help a great deal. Thanks!

A cultural spanking

This weekend Eliza’s camera went missing. I had borrowed it to take pictures during our environmental field trip, and was keeping it very safe in my backpack in my room until I could remember to bring it to her safely. On Saturday night, we all went out to go dancing. I had the camera in my hand, thinking, "oh I will bring Eliza’s camera to record some of the night!" But then, for once in my life, I am incredibly self-admitting and responsible, and think, "no Elizabeth, you will do no such thing because you lose everything but the shirt on your back, and it is not even your camera." So I put the camera back in my bag and leave it safe and sound in my room. WELL much to my dismay, on Monday when I come home from sleeping over at the apartment on Sunday night, I realize the camera is gone. And even though I had been gone for a day and a night, and couldn’t remember exactly what I had done with it, I had a gut feeling it had been stolen. My host brothers had cleaned my room on Sunday morning because they are great and love doing nice things for me, but I was worried that this was when the camera had disappeared. I didn’t want to not believe the honesty of my brothers, but I didn’t want to be naïve either. So I traced my steps like my mother taught me so well to do-and figured out exactly where I was and when. I investigated all the possibilities and finally came to the conclusion that no, I had not been irresponsible with the camera, it had indeed been stolen. I was positive that my two older host brothers had not stolen it, but had a feeling that it had probably been my younger host brother Morris. My family reassured me that they were going to find this camera, and had thought that our other little “brother…not actually a brother” had taken it. The next night, I come home and wait to see how they are going to go about doing this. I was not at all prepared for what was coming. They had the 15 year old “brother” come over, and my host mother started interrogating him. When he didn’t have answers or when his answers did not bring us any closer to getting the camera, she would simply tell him he was lying. She gets herself a little worked up about the whole matter because he is not admitting to anything (I am thinking that I am pretty sure he is not the one to have stolen the camera) and all of a sudden comes over to where he’s sitting and begins to beat him. And this is not just a kind of slap on the face that stings a little, like spanking punishment. This is two fisted as hard as she possibly can pounding on his back, hitting his head with her flat hand, and stomping on his feet with her heels. The sound of her fists upon his fragile back was absolutely terrible. I am 5 inches away from him in the next chair. So is a guest of my mothers, who is eating his chicken like absolutely nothing is happening. Naba, my host brother, tells her to stop and wait for Morris to come home so that they can see what he has to say. She stops for a bit and goes back to sit down. They boy is sitting very still with his hands covering his head and trying not to cry too loudly. After a few minutes, my mom starts talking/interrogating him again, and again, gets herself worked up. She walks across the room and grabs the large wooden broomstick. A sharp intake of breath from me alerts Naba to what is about to happen, and as she strikes the broomstick down full force from all the way behind her head, both Naba and the boy attempt to stop the blow, which in my opinion, could have been potentially life-threatening depending on where on his head it could strike. She manages to hit him, but not on the head, and so goes for a second hit. At this point Naba and Cyril, my other host brother, manage to take away the stick from her, which as least told me that this kind of treatment had crossed the Cameroonian standards of punishment as well. Finally Morris comes home and they start asking him what happened. He admits to taking the camera just to use it, but says that now he does not know where it is. When Autance (his real but secret mother) finds this out, she too takes both fists and pounds Morris on the back to the ground. He is ten. He is so upset and crying and hurt that he starts to dryheave from hyperventilating. Naba takes him by the hand to go and calm him down, and also search his room for the camera. They come out 5 minutes later with the camera. At this point, my heart is in my throat because while I of course wanted the return of the camera and the problem solved, I knew the consequences that were about to come with the appearance of the camera. Morris was guilty and had clearly stolen. He knew this as well, and was hysterically crying. My host mother told him all the things that we would tell our children in America. That stealing is wrong, and you are even only 10, how are you already stealing? If you need something, you ask for it. She calmly told him to eat his chicken, and then she would hit him. I could do nothing but wait. Because of the cultural difference, it is no ones place, especially not mine, to interfere with the punishing of children. My host brothers are also chuckling at how upset Morris is. A new host brother who just returned home from school the other day, takes responsibility and takes Morris by the hand out into the dark courtyard, butcher knife in the other hand. From the dark I hear the horrific screams of Morris as Freddie hits Morris with the flat blade of the knife. He is told to go to bed, and the other “brother” is allowed to leave. Throughout this whole ordeal, I have been sitting stunned and stuck in my chair, afraid to leave in case things get out of control and I do actually need to step in like Naba did, and also because it is because of Eliza’s camera that all this happening. I am well aware of the cultural difference, and even though this was my first real experience with serious child punishment, I tried to keep my complete horror hidden from my face. My brothers however, since they know me, can tell that I am upset and know why. They start joking with me, saying oh how funny it is that I am upset, because they don’t hit kids in the United States so I don’t like that. This reaction almost bothered me as much as the beatings did. It seems very unfair or at least unequal that here I am, trying to not interfere or say anything and being understanding that this is a huge cultural difference between the two countries-understanding that these people aren’t cruel or don’t not love their children, that this is simply their culture….and here they are, making fun of me for being upset when they know that we don’t do that, that people go to jail for doing that in America-definitely not be understanding to the cultural difference. It just felt like, if I am making the effort to understand from my point of view, why can’t or why shouldn’t it go the other direction and they make that effort too? I of course still love my family, but it did of course shake me up a little and was incredibly hard to sit through. But, like we discuss here a lot, it is very easy to make assumptions like our way is better or this is right and this is wrong. And while I will never think that beating a child is the way to punish them, I think it is very important to realize that there is not necessarily a right or wrong way, and because its easy to make fast judgements and assumptions we have to be even more aware and vigilant about not making those decisions quickly. We have to be able to see things through all kinds of different lenses and learn about why differences exist in the first place. It is only natural and good to have your own opinions, but important to realize there is a difference between judging and simply observing the situation.

How many class changes is that now? 4?

Our first days at l’Institut Catholique went well, even though we were enrolled in two classes that none of us wanted to take to begin with, but that were the only ones that weren’t 8 hours every week, hadn’t started yet, but also didn’t wait to start until may. Getting to the classrooms we got lots of the usual stares, but once in class I was surprised by how little attention we got. It was pretty refreshing! Week two, however, we realize that because of a change in time of our religion class, we would be missing half the class every week due to our other class…SO we have to drop our anthropologie des religions, and just keep sociologie politique. HOWEVER, this leaves us with only one class. We talked to the doyen, and asked him if, even though it starts in april and Mr. Teku didn’t want us to not be in class and was also skeptical of the probability of it actually starting in April, could we try and take that course now that we have no other options since all the classes have already had 2-3 classes. He said we could, and while Mr. Teku was not too pleased and is having us join other classes at the Dickinson Center in the meantime, we are all really hoping the class starts in April because it should be super interesting—it is the cultural problems in western Cameroon. The University also has a dress code, no skirts above the knee and covering up on top…which two of the guards enforce, and the rest do not. So some days when we have skirts that go right to the knee or just above, we get a little reprimanded, but it’s a tad confusing because we see other Cameroonians wearing the same thing. We do realize, however, that we are just slightly more visible than the other students, haha. It takes us two taxis- or a moto and a taxi to get to the University, which is kind of a pain because it costs a lot then and requires us to leave our houses at 6:30 am, BUT a moto ride in the cool morning air for 30 minutes makes it all worth while. So now we wait and hope our April class starts, and are doing pretty well in our other one too. In addition to our other classes at the Dickinson Center it makes for a nice change of pace to go there.

Le sable noir

We took a weekend trip to Limbe, another coastal city in Cameroon. We got into the car on Friday afternoon after our classes at UCAC, spent a good 7 hours in the van (for a 4 and ½ expected drive) due to all the traffic. Traffic here not just meaning car jams, but also hold ups for large herds of cattle crossing the roads. Mr. Teku bought us bananas along the way, as people are constantly selling items like that on the sides of the roads for the drivers. When we arrived at the hotel (Holiday Inn! Not exactly the chain in the states) they served us this amazing dinner. We ate these delicious sandwiches with bread and mayonnaise, tomatoes, and hard boiled eggs. There was rice and chicken and really delicious vegetables with garlic and of course pineapple and papaya. Eliza Doob and I got to share the “guest apartment” out back behind the outdoor kitchen. The following day was really full and fun. We first drove to Buea about 15 minutes away-which was a great drive. We were able to see the huge palm oil plantations and rubber tree plantations. The rubber trees were the most interesting. They are these really tall skinny trees that are all bent over as if the wind has pushed each one in the exact same manner. Each one is tapped just like a maple syrup tree. Along the way we watched Mount Cameroon grow bigger and bigger. That particular day was the Race For Hope day in Buea. Each year they have a huge race up the mountain. About 600 men and women summit the mountain—in, get this, about 5-6 hours. WHAT! It was crazy. We came mid-day, so some of the first runners were coming down the hill, and we got to stand on the side of the road and cheer them on. Next we drove to an artist’s house named Max. A few years back, Mr. Teku found this man and was really impressed with his work. Max paints absolutely beautiful African tableaus. Mr. Teku tracked him down, and brought him to Dickinson to teach a course there and also get some awards. He got his name out, and now is known world-wide. He sells his paintings for thousands, millions of dollars now, but instead of getting himself a nice house and living exceptionally well, he has kept his little studio to work in and donates his money to different organizations which help children in Africa with things such as AIDS. Getting to talk to him was amazing, he is so genuine and happy. He told us how he was not supported for wanting to be an artist at all. His family did not want him to do this and his friends thought that he would never go anywhere and he should be a doctor instead. Now that he is slightly famous he reports with a huge smile on his face that he has brought him family and town pride and they are very very happy that he is an artist. He also has not let go of any of his African ideas and instincts with his entreprenurialship. He will only sell a painting if he feels that the buyer’s soul goes well with the painting and rubs him the right way. If a painting falls down on the floor he sees that as a sign that the painting needs to stay in his studio and never be sold. He has one painting that he has refused to sell for 20 years because of this, and obviously is now worth millions of dollars. The UN even tried to buy it…no go. His work and his words were really moving, and even made Eliza a little teary eyed. Next we went to go see the tea plantations! They look just like bean fields, but with beautiful blue flowers on top. How do they harvest it I asked? Women pick off the bijillion leaves by hand. How many women and how many hours this must take blew my mind. Really amazing, but the tea in Buea is a big economy for Cameroon. We then drove to the zoo. We were all really impressed with it because it was not like a zoo in America at all. This zoo was made with the goal of saving animals from human captivation or extinction. It isn’t uncommon for people to have baby monkeys or tigers and keep them as pets, not really being aware of the danger and difficulties of this once the animals grow older. It is also a big problem that people hunt and kill chimps or monkeys or..whatever really, and sell it as bush meat. So, this zoo was opened and has since really expanded and become much better for the animals over the years. They now have lots of chimps, monkeys, gorillas, a huge boa constrictor, crocodiles, and more. It was really fun to watch the animals, and the incredible human characteristics they have. From the zoo we headed to the beach! The beach was much more touristic than Kribi was. We were certainly not the only people there, and definitely not the only white people there. The sand in Limbe is black! Very bizarre, but really fun to play with on our faces and skin to pretend we had mustaches or black skin. We also got to take some horses for a ride on the beach! While not as amusing as we thought it was going to be originally, it was really fun for the people who had never been horseback riding. Colleens horse was being very stubborn and was intent on not coming back from down the beach for about 10 minutes. Mr. Adolf, who is a friend of Mr. Teku’s that helps us with whatever we need, got in the water this time in his boxers and a “north Carolina” t-shirt. Highly amusing. That night we got to eat the delicious fresh fish straight from the ocean, and other yummy goodies back at the hotel. Eliza had broken the faucet in our room that morning, and so because our water was still turned off, we had quite the issue with bathroom needs until our morning departure. On the way home, Mr. Teku bought us the biggest pineapples we have ever seen, and we came home straight away to, as Mr. Teku likes to say…DESTROY them.

You think your wedding was cute?

Friday night I come home to my host mom and dad sitting with one of our family friends outside about 9. I quickly learn that the family friend is getting married, and we are planning the wedding meal because we are having the wedding at my house! How fun! When is this wedding taking place I ask? Saturday. As in, the next day. At two. WHAT?! This is Africa folks, this is Africa. In any case, I am really excited. I know there is going to be a lot of work to be done to prepare all this food and prepare our house for the wedding, which I can help with. My host dad also told me to make sure I bring some of my girlfriends to the wedding as well, and be ready to dance! So that night I help my mom prepare these meat ball type of things and get the chairs all outside along the wall. Here in Cameroon it is typical to line up all your guests chairs along the wall, in order to save a big space for dancing on later, and not have the area be crowded. Also great for getting to check out who’s all there as you sit around facing each other and eat your food. On Saturday morning I get up and am ready to go. I made friends with my host brothers girlfriend the week before, and so in the morning she came prepared with kossam (drinkable yogurt) and beignets (delicious pieces of fried bread and sugar) for the both of us to eat while cutting up mass amounts of papaya and pineapple. I then go out back to help my other host brothers girlfriend cook all the fish in hot spackling oil out back on one of the three woodburning fires. After that, I helped my host mom cut up chicken. Thankfully, we did not kill them ourselves at our house, which is pretty common. They killed it when they paid for them at the market. So now, I am completely knowledgeable in the butcherie process of chickens, head and eyes still on the chicken and all. No squirmies here, because in order to halve the chicken, you need to take a couple big blows to the sternum with a huge butcher knife and more often than not, spray a little chicken gunk everywhere. We cooked the plantains, made the rice, and swept and washed the house. After all was said and done, we all washed up and made ourselves look nice, and when the wedding party arrived from downtown signing the papers, (about 2 hours after the so-called start time of the wedding) the festivities began. The Cameroonian torrential downpour of course came at the most inconvenient time, and brought the good majority of the guests inside, but stopped in enough time to not ruin the entire party. Once the wedding party had eaten, everyone else ate, and the food was demolished in the span of about 45 minutes tops. Anne, Doob, Anna and Rachel came over to see the party. Once everyone was done eating, the couple came out and did some of the rituals, which were quite possibly some of the cutest gestures I’ve ever seen. The parents from both sides came up and welcomed the other into their families. Then the newlyweds both took a bottle of champagne, stood facing each other, and popped them at the same time and shared a little of the celebratory drink with everyone. Then the newlyweds said things to the crowd, thanking them for coming etc, etc, and then were cheered on as they had their kiss and hugged each other. They both looked like the happiest people on the face of the planet. Rachel and I were literally tearing up it was so adorable. They then did their first dance, and everyone got up to dance along with them. Things settled down a little after that, while people all got their drinks and got ready to get down! From there, the dancing never stopped. They all thought it was really hilarious and great that we were dancing too, especially since none of us can do much dancing at all. Everyone was dancing of course, the elderly, the young kids, the newlyweds with their baby (it is common to have a baby together before getting officially married here-and the couple had an adorable half albino baby which I was allowed to dance with later!) and my host mom, who’s got moves! All my host brothers were dancing with us, and it was just a really really fun evening. As the night wound down and guests slowly trickled off, I learned more dance moves from my slightly tipsy hilarious brothers and host dad. It was a really fun time, and the newlywed husband told me that it was the happiest night of his life and was so glad we were all there to join in. One great wedding.

When it rains, it pours

Cameroon has four seasons, two wet and two dry.
We are technically in the dry season right now, however, the beginning of the wet season has come early here.
And when it rains, it pours.
Power goes out, life comes to a halt, and the rains comes down. I have never seen so much rain in so short amount of time. It is actually incredible. And really gives the dirt roads a beating.
However, it is great for cooling off Yaounde, and also as I came to find out, great for taking showers.
Because the rainfall is so heavy, and it is so hot before the rain, taking a shower out in the rain is more than necessary. It's pretty heavenly.
From an environmental standpoint, without some good ole herbal essences, taking my shampoo out in the rain with me is not exactly kosher, but seeing as how my shower inside drains the water out the exact same place where the soap would be going in the rain, it isn't quite as much of an issue. I do, however, regret not bringing herbal essence here because water pollution is terrible, and while I am only one person, and shampoo is certainly not one of the more dangerous things being put in the water, it would make me feel a little more environmentally sound.
In any case, getting stuck under la pluie is not always a bad thing.

Fidelis goes to school

A while back, Fidelis, Mr. Teku's son and my new buddy, told Eliza and I that we should quote on quote "come with him" because he wanted to show us something. Eliza and I, being skeptical, kept asking what it was, but he would not budge, and since we trust him, we decided, while in africa...
We walked down the road a little ways and started to hear music and voices in the near distance. As we approached our destination we realized that Fidelis was taking us to a school. A primary school at that. When we walked in, literally every little eye was on us, and we got escorted to the front of a huge assembly of kids, and were awarded seats in the shade-clearly a sign of respect seating arrangement. We soon discovered what exactly Fidelis had wanted us to see.
The only way to describe it is to say it was a sort of talent/fashion show, with an african twist, being put on by a kind of student council. There were multiple girls and boys who, upon the music cue, would walk out on the invisible runway and model their attire--eveningwear-- which consisted of the very typical "this is what the people in music videos going out to dinner look like", african traditional wear--which was my favorite as it was exactly what it sounds like, and casual "i am 'a la mode' right now lookin good wear. They would display these outfits and also do a little bit of african dancing at the same time, to what was presumably a few judges in the front row next to us, while all the little ones looked on and cheered. Intermission was a huge dance off, different guys and groups of people would get up there and dance like crazy.
I mean, dancing here IS their culture. I know no one who cannot dance. And the ones who are known as "good dancers" are literally out of control. It is amazing.
At one point, the dancers were getting people from the "audience" to come up and dance, and of course, "les blanches" were prime candidates for such an activity. Thankfully Eliza, and not me, got pulled up and taught a little dance move, and the crowd went wild. Fidleis was extrememly amused, as later we found out that that was his goal all along.
Later that week Fidleis took us to his own school for the same kind of event, but only with dancing. That time we came willingly and it was so fun to watch group upon group dance their pants off. I made friends with the young lady sitting next to me with an adorable baby, and so was allowed to hold the baby for half the show. Anne got a great picture of me in my kaba with a cameroonian baby, which im hoping she will put up at some point and i can attach a link on here.