Slumber Party

            This is the story of how I ended up hosting a slumber party at my house on Friday night. It was a classic mix-up. A he-said, she-said, no-I-never-said sort of thing.

Here’s the back-story. I have plain cement floors and they get dusty very quickly, especially in dry season. Most people here wash their floors every single day, using a bucket, soap, and rags. They scrub the rags over every inch of every room in truly back-breaking labor. It’s similar to the downward dog for all you yoga-lovers. You spread your legs, touch your hands to the floor, and then move backwards through the room making figure-eights with the rags as you go. I do not do it. I have tried it, but it’s really not very enjoyable. You sweat, your body aches, and my technique is totally off and it takes me forever. Instead, I sweep, and I leave the actual “dry cleaning,” as they call it here, to the neighborhood children. The kids are all responsible for this duty in their homes and are normally beyond thrilled to help me in mine where I give them treats and candy after the task. Two girls in particular normally come to help me. I asked them to come on Friday to help out and they agreed.

On Friday afternoon they showed up. They showed up with packs of clothes. That was my first clue. They came in an seemed a bit more excited than normal and eventually it came out that they were under the impression that they were going to sleep here. I started to explain that there was some sort of miscommunication, I was so sorry, but I had not planned on that, I wasn’t prepared… their faces absolutely sank. I was giving them the biggest letdown of their lives. “We asked our mothers,” they said. As if that somehow explained everything, as if that meant it had to happen. “Our mothers said yes.” And again with the sad faces and their mothers’ approval. It was crushing my heart. Look, I just didn’t prepare, I don’t have anything for you to eat, I don’t have a place for you to sleep… “We can sleep here on the floor. We aren’t hungry. We already ate.” I tried to say maybe we could do it a different time, but they just looked so crestfallen and devastated and on the verge of tears. How could I send them back to their mothers like that? How could I crush their hopes and dreams? I couldn’t. There was no way.  I finally gave in. I still am rather unclear what I said to make them think I wanted a sleepover. Looking back, I have no idea where I went wrong or what I said differently this time that induced a slumber party. Nevertheless, I agreed to my first sleepover with two 12-year-old girls. They were so excited though, that I couldn’t be very upset and just had to think, when else would this happen? We watched movies, they made drawings for me, they hung them up on my walls, they enjoyed popcorn for the first time ever, we made pancakes, they ate cake, we painted our nails (and no, they didn’t sleep on my floor, they slept on my couch). I know it made their week. And, truth be told, it also made mine. 

How I Came to be White

            Today I went through the normal routine of a herd of children trailing me around town (market days are always the worst), but wound up with an unexpected twist. As usual, the kids followed me back and forth through the street, all the while trying to hold on to some part of my body, little hands clamped down on my wrists, my arms, my hair, my ankles. Eventually most of the children went home, but three of them were adamant and continued to trail along with me. They were no older than 6 or 7 years old. They began stroking my arms and petting me, which, after a year alone, is really not so bad (I understand dogs just a little bit better now). Anyway, they were petting my arm when one of them asks out of the blue, “Do you take your bath with cold water or warm water?” I replied that I use cold water (that’s how it comes out of my showerhead and I don’t really have any option about it). That led to a little bit of whispering amongst themselves. I asked, “Do you use cold water or warm water?” They answered that they use warm water. And then the kicker— “If a person uses cold water he will turn [white] like you?” They had done a process of elimination and found that the difference between our lifestyles was that I used cold water instead of warm, and that therefore must account for the difference in our skin colors. I said, “No, he will not turn like me.” Upon hearing this, they pondered for a bit, then asked, “What has turned you white?” This was an even more interesting insight—they did not just think that cold water was the reason I was white, but that I had once been black and had turned white. I explained to them that nothing had “turned” me white, but that I had been born white, just like they had been born black. They considered this. Eventually one girl concluded, “God has just made you that way.”

Family Visit

My whole family came out to visit me in Cameroon and it was one of those typical family visits, full of fufu, songs about me, and a goat. It was a wild time. They arrived in Yaoundé, the capital of Cameroon, which was a bit of a rude awakening for them. The city is loud and constantly bustling, and right from the moment they landed they were being hassled. We escaped to a small beach town the next morning where we ate fresh fish and took a canoe ride up a river to a pygmy village. 

Our next stop was the town of Limbe, famous for its black sand beaches. 

After those few days of general luxury and relaxation (although here, my family might disagree), we headed up to my own village. The community was beyond thrilled to receive my family. Each section of the village wanted a role to play. Every person we passed on the road wanted to shake their hands and hug them and bless them and buy them a beer. People were literally fighting over who got to buy them drinks. (In that instance, they eventually decided they would pay for separate rounds). After several drinks we finally made it down to the neighborhood where I first lived. 

They went all out and decorated the house with balloons and ribbons. They gave a few speeches in honor of my parents and prepared a giant feast! There were drinks, palm wine, rice, fufu, ndole, vegetable, plantain, sauce, chicken, and fish. Then, the women performed a few original songs in honor of my family’s arrival. Our favorite featured the line, “whitemen are in our midst.” The next morning we went to Akid, which is one of the communities that is getting a new water system. They were so excited that they had decorated the whole roadway coming up to the village with flowers and palm fronds. This celebration was not only to welcome my family, but was also to name me the mother of their village. I now also have the name “Nyah Akid,” or “mother of Akid” for the work I have done to bring water to their community. It was an incredible honor. They gave a few speeches explaining that water gives life, and they see me as responsible for bringing potable water to their community, and thus I have given them life, just like a mother. They stated that I am the mother of every child of Akid and performed a few songs that dubbed me with my new title. Then, in a final flourish, they presented my family with a live goat. They wanted my family to bring it back to America with them, but after a few explanations about the rules and regulations of airplanes, it was ultimately decided the goat would stay with me. So I am now the proud and clueless owner of a ram. (In fact, I have so little idea of what to do with a ram, I went to my counterpart for help and the ram spent his first night in the male ward of the hospital). 

The party did not end there though, as we were then ushered to a big party in the center of town. There were more speeches, lots of drink, and so much food! There was fufu, plantain, rice, ndole, beans, fried rice, vegetables, fish, chicken, and more! Some of the children in the community performed traditional dances and played drums. 

It was a wonderful event! The next morning, a neighbor brought over food and then we went to our next party. We went to Nzimbeng, which is a very remote community. We walked over the bamboo bridges together and once there, they fed us pasta, rice, chicken, sweet potato, and sauces. Then they performed songs with lyrics like, “our Peace Corps’ name is Allely Albert who will go down in the history of Muambong health center,” and other classics like those. They also performed traditional dances. After many photos and goodbyes, we began our journey back. 

The next morning my adventurous family agreed to get on motorcycles for over an hour and a half to leave town. Before we left, my family had to be given several outfits from the local tailor and food to eat on the way from my counterpart. Finally, we climbed on our motorcycles and took off. It was incredible to have my family here and to be able to show them my life. It was really a wonderful experience and I am thankful to everyone in my village who welcomed them.