Its
true, I suck at blogging. I can’t seem to find the rhythm of this entity. You
know what it is? I think I’m getting old. Sure, 28 is still very young. But I
have encountered many circumstances during my time in Cameroon where I have
seriously dated myself amongst my peers. The other day I was in a meeting, and
someone suggested creating a “meme” to advertise our group. I very innocently
inquired as to what this “meme” was, which resulted in abrupt laughter and more
than a few “get with the times gramps” type remarks. It’s a hard truth, realizing that you’re on the outs with
claims on youthood, youthdom, and your youthesque understanding of life. But
with new bitter, I believe comes new sweet.
In the last couple of months I have been examining the ways in which my first experience living in Africa in 2007, differ from my current situation in Cameroon. Considering factors of longevity, accommodations, mission, and location, the two experiences are wholly different. Yet the experience of being a white man in Africa, experiencing true “otherness” will always be a parallel. Upon much rumination, I have concluded that the most substantial difference in my experience is myself.
My first time in Africa, in Senegal, was my first time off the east coast. I was wide eyed at the prospect of flying over the ocean and dropping myself in this foreign land that I hoped held infinite mysteries. I was enthralled by the thought of experiencing a world I couldn’t imagine. I plopped into Senegal like a puppy you just took home for the first time. What’s that strange metal thing on the floor there, radiator you say! Looks like a good thing to lick. Hmm that coil of paper in the room with all the water looks like a great thing to chew on! Wait, did you say do, or don’t eat that bottle of stuff that makes the bubbles? Whether it was a good idea or bad, whether I found myself in situations of discomfort or danger, it was all new, all exciting, all good. The naiveté I embodied in Senegal seven years ago is both admirable and terrifying. It enabled me to experience my surroundings in a way that left me perplexed and exhilarated each day. But this time around has been interestingly different.
I’m sad to say that I have lost my soft puppy coat. Not to say that I have lost my youthful attitude. For those of you that know me well you know that I will never lose this. But as a seasoned canine now, I’ll stay clear of that damn radiator, cause that really hurt last time, but I’m sure as hell going to jump and yip every time that steam comes shooting out. So I’ve grown, not just older, but more experienced, more discerning, more pragmatic. But fear not sports fans; I always keep a little wahoo in the tank.
At present, acknowledging this change in myself has been difficult. Sometimes I feel jaded. Because I am no longer open to the rhetoric of every man on the street that sees me as an opportunity for riches. I still get pissed sometimes when people walk by me and just stare and laugh. I believe that this is a necessary evolution. To keep up with the bright eyed and bushy tailed perspective from my previous experience would be to deny that there are things in every part of the world that you just don’t like. I believe that if I am to have any future in the field of development work, it is important to be truthful with myself about my experience. I need to give myself the room to be discontented with some facet of an experience I wanted to be nothing but sunshine and rainbows. In the end I feel as though my first time in Africa, I played the part of a manically active observer. This time around I live in Africa. This is where I work, play, eat, struggle, succeed, and learn. I am an active participant in the culture here. Just as I had my misgivings with living in the fast paced rumble of NYC, I have my issues with Cameroon. Coming to this more realistic attitude about my experiences has been humbling, but I think very illuminating.
So now I’m here! Coming up on a year since I’ve had McDonalds or a fine steak. And things are moving. To give you an idea of some of the work that I’m doing; I am working with a governmentally sponsored volunteer project in my community. 20 community members from Bali (my village) signed up for a volunteer project that would give them knowledge and skills at market gardening and poultry farming. Seizing an opportunity, I petitioned to implement a supplementary model of life skills training, and men as partners work (the latter being a program that promotes men to be advocates for women’s rights and gender norm transformation). I am also working with a number of other Peace Corps volunteers in coalition with epilepsy awareness NGO called CODEF, to create a comprehensive approach to mitigating the negative social and medical effects of epilepsy in Cameroon. Another project that I am just beginning is with the president of the moto taxi association here. Moto’s are little 125cc bikes that everyone uses as public transport around the villages. These men (typically between 18-30) are one of the more at risk populations as far as the youth is concerned in Cameroon. Many of these men decided to drop out of school to make money instead of obtaining an education, which has its implicit negative social and economic effects. They work very long hours, and have the reputation of “rough boys” because they are known for drinking and wily antics. So I have come into contact with for all intents and purposes, their union rep. We are beginning to go through the men as partners curriculum and ideology with hopes of creating sensitized young men that will advocate for the betterment of the lives of women in Cameroon. He and I will also be traveling into the bush to an orphanage where we will be working with orphans on the same material.
As for general day-to-day life here, lets just say that the last couple of months have been a doozy. I have traveled to 6 of the 10 regions in Cameroon. Experienced the lives of other Peace Corps Volunteers that vary completely from my experience. And had a few moments of unrivaled fear and joy. To manifest all of the stories in this medium is a task that I don’t feel burdened to complete. For a full account I expect each and every one of you to lock yourself in a room with me for a full day and just listen, and I swear I’ll try to let it go after that. I will leave you with one story though just to give you an idea.
In the last couple of months I have been examining the ways in which my first experience living in Africa in 2007, differ from my current situation in Cameroon. Considering factors of longevity, accommodations, mission, and location, the two experiences are wholly different. Yet the experience of being a white man in Africa, experiencing true “otherness” will always be a parallel. Upon much rumination, I have concluded that the most substantial difference in my experience is myself.
My first time in Africa, in Senegal, was my first time off the east coast. I was wide eyed at the prospect of flying over the ocean and dropping myself in this foreign land that I hoped held infinite mysteries. I was enthralled by the thought of experiencing a world I couldn’t imagine. I plopped into Senegal like a puppy you just took home for the first time. What’s that strange metal thing on the floor there, radiator you say! Looks like a good thing to lick. Hmm that coil of paper in the room with all the water looks like a great thing to chew on! Wait, did you say do, or don’t eat that bottle of stuff that makes the bubbles? Whether it was a good idea or bad, whether I found myself in situations of discomfort or danger, it was all new, all exciting, all good. The naiveté I embodied in Senegal seven years ago is both admirable and terrifying. It enabled me to experience my surroundings in a way that left me perplexed and exhilarated each day. But this time around has been interestingly different.
I’m sad to say that I have lost my soft puppy coat. Not to say that I have lost my youthful attitude. For those of you that know me well you know that I will never lose this. But as a seasoned canine now, I’ll stay clear of that damn radiator, cause that really hurt last time, but I’m sure as hell going to jump and yip every time that steam comes shooting out. So I’ve grown, not just older, but more experienced, more discerning, more pragmatic. But fear not sports fans; I always keep a little wahoo in the tank.
At present, acknowledging this change in myself has been difficult. Sometimes I feel jaded. Because I am no longer open to the rhetoric of every man on the street that sees me as an opportunity for riches. I still get pissed sometimes when people walk by me and just stare and laugh. I believe that this is a necessary evolution. To keep up with the bright eyed and bushy tailed perspective from my previous experience would be to deny that there are things in every part of the world that you just don’t like. I believe that if I am to have any future in the field of development work, it is important to be truthful with myself about my experience. I need to give myself the room to be discontented with some facet of an experience I wanted to be nothing but sunshine and rainbows. In the end I feel as though my first time in Africa, I played the part of a manically active observer. This time around I live in Africa. This is where I work, play, eat, struggle, succeed, and learn. I am an active participant in the culture here. Just as I had my misgivings with living in the fast paced rumble of NYC, I have my issues with Cameroon. Coming to this more realistic attitude about my experiences has been humbling, but I think very illuminating.
So now I’m here! Coming up on a year since I’ve had McDonalds or a fine steak. And things are moving. To give you an idea of some of the work that I’m doing; I am working with a governmentally sponsored volunteer project in my community. 20 community members from Bali (my village) signed up for a volunteer project that would give them knowledge and skills at market gardening and poultry farming. Seizing an opportunity, I petitioned to implement a supplementary model of life skills training, and men as partners work (the latter being a program that promotes men to be advocates for women’s rights and gender norm transformation). I am also working with a number of other Peace Corps volunteers in coalition with epilepsy awareness NGO called CODEF, to create a comprehensive approach to mitigating the negative social and medical effects of epilepsy in Cameroon. Another project that I am just beginning is with the president of the moto taxi association here. Moto’s are little 125cc bikes that everyone uses as public transport around the villages. These men (typically between 18-30) are one of the more at risk populations as far as the youth is concerned in Cameroon. Many of these men decided to drop out of school to make money instead of obtaining an education, which has its implicit negative social and economic effects. They work very long hours, and have the reputation of “rough boys” because they are known for drinking and wily antics. So I have come into contact with for all intents and purposes, their union rep. We are beginning to go through the men as partners curriculum and ideology with hopes of creating sensitized young men that will advocate for the betterment of the lives of women in Cameroon. He and I will also be traveling into the bush to an orphanage where we will be working with orphans on the same material.
As for general day-to-day life here, lets just say that the last couple of months have been a doozy. I have traveled to 6 of the 10 regions in Cameroon. Experienced the lives of other Peace Corps Volunteers that vary completely from my experience. And had a few moments of unrivaled fear and joy. To manifest all of the stories in this medium is a task that I don’t feel burdened to complete. For a full account I expect each and every one of you to lock yourself in a room with me for a full day and just listen, and I swear I’ll try to let it go after that. I will leave you with one story though just to give you an idea.
It
was June 8th and I was in Yaoundé (the capitol) for a committee
meeting. The Indomitable Lions (Cameroon’s national football team) were playing
their last match in Cameroon before shipping out to Brazil for the World Cup,
and I got to go. So me, and about 10 other volunteers donned our freshly
purchased Lions jerseys and headed out to the stadium. The game was incredible,
Cameroon was playing magnificently. By 30 minutes in they had a 1-0 lead over
Moldova and they showed no signs of faltering. The excitement and national
pride felt by 50,000 people in one place was magnetic, palpable. Overcome by
infectious joy, my friend decided to get up and start a movement. Following
suit another volunteer and I got up and started shouting 1, 2, 3 and jumping
into the air. Much to the chagrin of my stationary peers, we got nothing but
looks of perplexity from the surrounding Cameroonians. Alas we persevered,
until the three of us were sprinting up and down isles, to and fro from rows,
shouting our numeric sequence, punctuated with the display of a manic jump in
the air with arms extending to the clouds. After about 5 minutes of this it
started to catch. Voice aquiver from over exuberance, it started in our
section. And when it stopped at the next fenced off section, we hollered, we
rangeled, we deranged until no one could ignore us. What happened next I could
not ever forget. From the ashes of our shameless enthusiasm 50,000 people were
mobilized at the same instant. For the short minute that it lasted, each an
every person in the stadium worked together to make a perfect “wave”, I dare
say the first time ever. How’s that for development work!
