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. 

Snake in the House! 12/2

Power has finally just returned after a month of being out at post! I was thrilled to be able to turn on my computer and immediately seized the opportunity to relax and watch some TV. I took a break from my movie and went to my kitchen for a snack. I flicked on the light and then entered the kitchen when a slight movement caught my eye. Under the door that leads to the backyard I saw a dark, scaled tail. I immeadiately thought lizard… or snake! The tail slowly retracted and vanished under the door. By its slow movement I was convinced it was a snake. I thought about letting it go, but then also thought about it coming back or all my neighbors who would be walking out there to the latrine that evening. I opened the door slowly, and sure enough, there was a two-foot long snake! It was relatively thin, with a dark black green color, just sitting on my steps. I ran around to the front of the house and called my neighbor. By just saying there was a snake, all the Cameroonians in my compound jumped into action. A snake is not to be taken lightly, apparently. She ran and called for one of the men. He came out equipped with his machete. The snake started to climb back up towards my door. The women looked on anxiously and with extreme caution. They were all leaving ample space between them and the snake. “This is a bad one,” the man said. Then he swung at it with his machete, leaving a hefty blow. The snake writhed and tried to lash out and bite at the machete. The man continued to hit it until it was clearly dead, and then he continued to hit it some more to really make sure it was dead. I guess they really don’t want to take any chances. They even decided to throw it into the latrine for good measure. My neighbor thanked me for getting her and continued to make disgusted noises for several minutes before everyone disbanded. I was very glad that power returned when it did, that I turned on the light before entering the room, and that I decided to get someone about it. My next step will be contacting the carpenter to extend the bottom of my door a bit. 

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! I had my second Thanksgiving in country! On Thanksgiving day itself, I had a small celebration with my friend from home (who also happens to be serving in Cameroon—it’s funny that our first Thanksgiving together required us to travel all the way to Cameroon). We did not exactly have a traditional meal, but it was delicious nonetheless! What we ate was by no means what I would want back in the US, but it was incredible and definitely felt like a real celebration in this country. We had kraft mac-n-cheese, zucchini, and sweet potatoes. All of which are luxuries and were absolutely amazing. Is it sad that those items made me so happy? Very possibly, but I stand by it. And in the true spirit of the holiday, I was very thankful for that meal. I don’t think I could have imagined a better dinner here. To top it off, we even had oreo pudding pie for dessert! We are so incredibly grateful to those who sent care packages and made that meal possible.

That Saturday we had a more traditional celebration with all of the volunteers in the region. There were maybe 30 people present, including some Cameroonians. We started cooking early in the morning on our camping stoves and broke out the dutch ovens. We made pumpkin seeds, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes, salad, green bean casserole, dinner rolls, pasta salad, baked mac-n-cheese, key lime pie, pumpkin pie, cookies, and several other dishes. We even had a real turkey that one of the volunteers killed and cleaned herself that morning! It was fun to have such a big celebration that felt so legitimate! 

Happy Halloween!

Halloween isn’t exactly celebrated here in Cameroon, and in fact, no one in my village had heard of it. It was a bit difficult to explain, but people were happy enough to hear about it. Their lack of celebration did not stop us from celebrating, however. Some of us PCVs got together and put on our outfits and went out to the market. Two of my friends had the local nursery school uniform made in their size. People either thought it was hilarious, or were very very confused (often a bit of both). They would laugh with their friends and then just stop and stare. I went as a market bag. They have these giant woven plastic bags here used for transporting clothes, food, or anything else you can imagine. The bags are large enough to fit me inside one of them. So I just cut a whole in the bottom and wore it like a dress. I chose not to wear it during the day, since I attract enough attention as it is by simply being a foreigner, but I did wear it out at night. We all went out for food after it became dark. We walked out of the house and a group of young children were standing around out front. The second they saw me they burst into some of the most genuine laughter I have ever heard. Like side-splitting, doubling-over, pure joy laughing. One kid literally ended up on the ground in the dirt he was laughing so hard. “Dat whiteman di wear bag-oh!” He cried. (Or, “That whiteman is wearing a bag!”). They thought it was absolutely hilarious and were also a bit bewildered perhaps. It sure made my night though. 

Glasses Distribution Round Two

The first event went so well, and so many more people were requesting glasses, that we decided to do it again! Eyes on Africa was kind enough to donate a second shipment of glasses. Again, we gave small lessons on how to properly take care of the glasses and how to use them before anyone actually received their pair. 

Then we had patients come up and test their eye strength and matched them to the correct lenses. We gave out over 170 pairs of glasses this round, and there are still more that we continue to give away. People are so thankful and appreciative! They put the glasses on and the smile lights up their face as they say things like, “I can see it!” or “It is all clear now!” There are lots of hugs, vigorous handshakes, and thank you's.

One of the best parts of the event, for me, was helping my counterpart sell glasses cases as a source of income. She is a volunteer nurse at the health center, living at the hospital and thus working all sorts of hours. She is dedicated and extremely hard working, she truly does it all—from assisting with births, to giving injections, dressing wounds, applying IVs, giving medicine, attending to patients, and cleaning the center—for no pay. Not only does she volunteer full time at the hospital, she must also find time to manage her farm. She is also now responsible for supporting and taking care of (and feeding) her brother’s wife and one-year-old child, who have recently come to live with her. She takes care of the baby while the mother is at school during the day. This extra strain has been difficult on her financially, even though she is more than happy to do it. So when the opportunity of making and selling cases presented itself, she took it. She made over 100 USD in the first day and sold all the cases that she made. She pulled me aside and told me, “Allely, thank you for what you have done for me. I don’t have words to express my thanks. What you have done is a very good thing. It has made me to be so happy. I can now pay for my sister’s schooling. I am so grateful.” Of course, she was the one to actually do the work and make the cases, but nevertheless, I was, and am, so touched by her appreciation and am so happy to have helped her in some small way.