Wednesday, March 2, 2011

"Boys will be strong / Boys soldier on / ... / So fathers, be good to your daughters"


In honor of the Youth Day (Journée de la Jeunesse) celebration that was held February 11th, I’m devoting this entry to all things children (les enfants).

Many will find this to be shocking given my usual fear of kids.  To their credit though, it has been my instances with them that have helped me feel like I at least have a purpose here.  Kids tolerate my imperfect French, are eager to answer my questions, are unabashed with their curiosity, and are still impressionable.   

Planning for Youth Day required multiple, painfully long meetings at the chefferie and a lot of formality.  Each time, we couldn’t begin until everyone was in place, but that simple task took more time than I thought would ever be possible because people were very particular about where they sat.  The whole process was like musical chairs, and just when you got comfortable it was time to move to the left two seats or back one row.  Of course, not without first inspecting to make sure the chair isn’t dusty - despite the fact that someone has just moved from that spot.  I think many are appalled by my lack of care that my backside might get a little dirty.  I lost count of the number of committees formed but, as is the custom worldwide it seems, it was like pulling teeth to get volunteers for each committee (it’s nice to see this is universally frustrating).  Once this was figured out came a long discussion about what materials would actually be needed for the event, and a heated debate about exactly how much each constituent would pay.

The day of the festivities, I donned the new dress (une robe) I had had made for the occasion.  It’s a beautiful blue color with interesting white print and I had taken the tailor a picture of a flowy Louis Vitton dress as inspiration.  It didn’t quite turn out like the photo, but it’s an adequate representation.  I was invited to sit up front with the elites of the district (the Chief of Bapa, the Sous-Prefet, the Gendarme who served as the Sous-Prefet’s security detail for the day, various other dignitaries, etc.).  This was quite an honor, though I didn’t realize the responsibility that came with the seat.  As the various school groups performed songs/dances/skits, the notables were to occasionally get up and shower them with money.  My nearly empty wallet showed that I clearly was not prepared to “make it rain.” 

Okay, my heart isn't completely made of stone.  I can admit that this demonstration was adorable.

And then, there was the marching.  And more marching.  And even more marching.  Imagine hundreds of kids (already scary), marching together (militaristic), while chanting (anyone else sense a possible uprising?).   

The parade begins.  Multiply this photo several times with various colored uniforms and youth of increasing ages.

After the parade came the culminating soccer (football) match in a week-long playoff series.  It seemed like the entire village climbed the steep hill just to crowd along the edge of the rugged terrain and cheer for a side. 

And I thought I needed a cushion for "normal" stadium seats...  On Youth Day, this field was packed.
The equivalent of box seats.

Afterwards, there was a reception for the elites, those on the planning committee, and the local teachers.  Despite my mild frustration for the opportunities missed to actually encourage education, teach life skills/health principles, or discuss the advantages to investing in the youth, a bright spot was that I learned that a my chief has a pet(?) crocodile.

The Chief of Bapa (also known as, "His Majesty")

One very minor way I’ve contributed to my community was helping to weigh babies and record the results on individual growth charts during the monthly vaccination campaign at my health center.  No high tech equipment here – just plopping naked babies into the basket of a scale.  It’s reminiscent of grocery shopping in my former life, though I never had to try to get a reading as my produce cried and flailed about. 

In general, the kids in my village are usually either terrified of me or attempting to goad me with chants of La Blanche (the White), but luckily most of the children who live closest to me are polite enough to refer to me by name.  Although, “Charmayne” – despite being French in origin - is apparently very difficult for all to pronounce so if you come to my village, ask instead for “She-men”.

I’ve had the most interaction with the children who live in or around my concession.  I’ve given them a Slinky, made a toy out of a toilet paper tube, and provided the materials and supervision for the construction of a cardboard car (voiture).  Despite all this, they seem most content just to be invited into my house.  Whether watching me prepare dinner, looking at my photo album for the hundredth time, or examining my old magazines, they don’t seem bored by the repetitive monotony.  Critical thinking and general mental stimulation isn’t a top priority for parents or educators in Cameroon, so I try to make my time with them both fun and, occasionally, informative.  

Toilet paper tube toy.  Aren't I crafty?

The making of the cardboard car that put my toilet paper tube to shame.  Future engineer?

They are especially taken with a “talking” Hoops & Yoyo Hallmark card I received and love to open and close it over and over again, causing the endless background noise of the recorded “Hiiiiiiiiiii….HI HI HI HI….Helloooooo…How are youuuuuu???”  This never ceases to crack them up.  Of course, they’re also intrigued by the corner where I have my exercise mat.  I’ve ripped a few work-out techniques out of magazines, and they love emulating the various crunches, planks, punches, and sit-ups.  Sometimes though, they’ll up the ante and challenge each other to push-up contests on my tile floor.  It’s times like that that I’m glad I live within a compound and no outsiders can see the strange goings-on within my apartment. 

I was recently feeling generous so, against my better judgment, invited a group in not 30 minutes after I had washed my floors.  Sitting around munching roasted soybeans while looking at the National Geographics and a world map I had spread out on the floor, the toddler looks up at me and just starts peeing on the floor.  I can’t make this stuff up…