I’ve now put several months and thousands of miles
between Cameroon and I, and need to gain a little closure on my experience by
finishing this blog so I’ll wrap-up my last month in village - November.
To thank some women in my village that helped with the
Field Trip, I spent one morning making chocolate cakes with my neighbor,
Monique. Although the recipe is simple
and it comes together quickly, it took each cake an hour to bake inside my
makeshift Dutch oven on my indoor cookstove so it was a long, lazy morning.
Election Day brought sun and time to run errands, with a
few of us volunteers coming together to learn the results. Leading up to the election I had a few
conversations with Cameroonians about the way the process works and how I was
voting. I even got to tell my anecdote
about eating breakfast “Obamelets” since the joke works in French, too. I had wanted my vote to be informed, so spent
an entire day in October using my slow Internet connection to research all of
the candidates and issues on my absentee ballot. Perhaps it was the fact that I was wrapping
up my service, but I was especially patriotic this Election Day. In between reading exit-poll projections, I
enlisted the talented Kim to cut my hair.
I’d been in need of a cut for awhile and, in typical
Cameroonian fashion, the power went out just as she was about to begin so the
initial cut was made by candlelight. She
did a fantastic job and I was really pleased to get rid of more than 11 inches,
which I was able to donate to Locks of Love.
By 4am, I was the last one still up clicking “Refresh” to
learn election results so I threw in the towel and got a couple hours of sleep.
I got to head to Bafia yet again to teach First Aid one
last time to the newest group of trainees.
Luckily, I was there on the day they got their post assignments (many of
them replacing members of my group) and was able to share in their excitement
and answer questions about the unfamiliar names of villages they knew nothing
about. It was a surreal and bittersweet experience.
In making my way back to Bapa, I took a detour and made a
side trip to celebrate with my friend Marcelle as she was honored with the
title of Mafou/Queen of
Bandrefam. I was nearly late since the
car I was in had radiator problems and overheated every 10km but I made it to
the ceremony just in time. It was such a
pleasure to see her village show their appreciation and I was surprised that,
unlike so many fêtes, it remained
fairly tame and low-key.
In response to a need expressed by women in my village about
the frustrations dealing with saggy boobs, (see earlier blog post [near the end]), my final project at post
was an odd – but important – one. I
walked away from that day’s presentation happy with the information exchange
that had occurred, but unsure how to do anything in a meaningful and
sustainable way. Several months later, a
woman in the U.S. came across my blog entry discussing this issue and reached
out to me. She asked if I would be
interested in providing free bras to these women if she organized a collection
among her friends, neighbors, and co-workers.
I spent a month reflecting on the offer, knowing that the gesture was
generous but that becoming the Oprah of Bras (“YOU get a bra! And YOU get a bra!! EVERYONE gets a BRA!!!”) didn’t exactly fit
into the Peace Corps model of development.
Eventually though, I conceded with the justification that it met a
community need and, as my post was not being replaced, I had no personal responsibility
of ensuring that my successor didn’t walk into a situation where they’d be
confronted for two years by people asking where their soutien-gorge was.
Once she had the go ahead from me, the woman got to work collecting
and shipping 170 new and gently used bras.
On my end, I organized a Women’s Health Day, advertising that this would
include a bra distribution campaign. Want
to get people interested in attending one of your events? Mention that there will be something free and
hang up posters all around your village with hand-drawn pictures of bras… :)
One Sunday afternoon just after church let out, we opened
up the health center for this day, including a discussion and proper fitting
where women were measured and informed what their true band and cup size was. We touched on the causes of sagging breasts (again,
mentioned here) and a few other health lessons and also had shea butter made
by a Bangangté women’s cooperative for sale - highlighting its use in minimizing
the appearance of stretch marks and softening skin.
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| Sorting |
The day wasn’t as organized as I had hoped (always to be
expected, for sure, but not helped by my involvement in a minor moto accident en route to the event, counterparts not
showing up, and a general lack of time to prepare due to it occurring in my
final weeks at post). However, I
envision that a similar project could be carried out using the opportunity to
thoroughly talk about women’s health issues, including numerous topics
surrounding the theme of breast health such as: breastfeeding, breast cancer
detection screenings, and the traditional but tragic practice of breast
ironing/massage.
In the end, the lesson I learned was that what at first
seemed to be a vanity issue - a matter of simple aesthetics and concern with
appearances - has deeper implications. Understanding
the true obstacles and consequences to this particular behavior (that we assume
should be relatively easy to change) showed itself to be quite complicated the
more I probed. It is an unfortunate
reality that women in Cameroon must typically rely on men financially – not
only for themselves but to ensure their children’s health, education, and other
expenses are covered. Thus, their
concern with how they look is a direct link to economic insecurity. It’s a complex and nuanced problem, but a
fascinating reminder of gender inequality and how we must bridge the gap and
involve both parties in taking ownership of the health of their families.
The highlight of that day though, was the fact that as I
was walking home a Cameroonian friend stopped to tell me that her daughter had
recently given birth to a baby girl and she asked that the baby be named Charmayne! (Finally, having an obscure French name was
useful!) I was walking on Cloud Nine the
entire way home.
The power remained out in my neighborhood for the last
weeks of service so I decided to head to Nkongsamba a day early for a presentation
– without notifying the volunteer who lived there (no electricity = phone dead). Unfortunately, I first had to walk the hour-and-a-half
to neighboring Batie in the rain since there were no motos to be found. Then, I relied on my hitchhiking prowess to
catch a ride with a tanker truck hauling palm oil in that direction. Hoisting my soggy self up into the cab, I had
no more than gotten settled when the driver demanded 7000CFA ($14) – 7 to 10 times the actual price. I used the last shred of patience I had and
countered with a joke: “Do I LOOK like Paul Biya (President of Cameroon)? … Do
I RESEMBLE his wife, Chantal? Do you
think if I HAD that kind of money I would be searching for a ride by the side of
the road?” We all had a good laugh, and proceeded…though
he insisted that I’d have to spend the night with him if I couldn’t get ahold
of my friend. I assured him that she
would be there and, although I did indeed somewhat surprised Tess, I received a
most comfortable welcome.
The next day we did a soap-making demonstration at a
hospital followed by fabric dying. The
technique was fun to learn, though there wasn’t a great system for moving
people through quickly. In the end, I
was proud of my work and left with a few great pieces.
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| Beautiful mountain in the distance |
I also helped lead a soap-making demonstration in my
friend Martine’s home. She has 6
daughters and was looking to supplement her income in order to afford to send
them to school. One day, we made the
trip to Bafoussam together to buy all the ingredients so she could get her business
started. I was so happy that someone was
going to actually put the skills to use and that this could indeed be a
sustainable project. The woman that runs
the shop where I buy all the supplies was terse, but in the end very helpful in
helping Martine learn how she could economize even more and still turn out a
quality product.
For our last Girls Club, we held a small party at my
house. In anticipation, I made a carrot
cake and a chocolate cake.
My counterpart, Silvere, had been at my house in the morning
and, while she braided her daughter’s hair, agreed to help out by giving her
testimony of how she became a nurse. I
didn’t know all the struggles she had encountered along the way (failing the
tests, financial set-backs, etc.), but I was in awe of her story and proud of the
girls for listening intently and asking really perceptive questions. We paused for refreshments and an informal
discussion of strong African female role models (researchers, a Cameroonian
pilot, etc.) They gave me a woven basket
as a gift and a summary of what we had learned and then it was time to get
silly taking pictures.
For Thanksgiving, I made a pie using the precious
apples I had found in Bafoussam and then chocolate chip cookies with Monique
and Laure. Sometimes all it takes to put
you in the spirit for the holidays is to bake.
Pamela, a neighboring volunteer, brought tofu and we made a festive
little meal.
Closing my bank account in Bafoussam took a handful of
hours and nearly as many people to interact with. Blatant corruption came in the form of various
responses for the closing fees to shut down my account. I had to eventually hand write a letter
essentially begging the higher authorities to let me close my account. This, from the same
institution that had me draw a map of my residence when I opened the
account. Oh Cameroon…
The last week in village was spent alternating my time
between cleaning my house to close it up and walking around saying my individual
goodbyes. The Chief had asked if I wanted
a customary large send-off but I told him that I preferred more personal
interactions so it was a win-win. There
was a lot of koki (my favorite meal) eaten and a lot of
pictures taken:
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| Koki in the banana leaf it is cooked in |
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| Unwrapped |
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| Bapa Health Committee |
On my second-to-last night in Bapa, a friend collected
the furniture she had purchased from me and then, I settled in for a quiet
evening with Monique and her family. We
had arranged to make koki together. Then, as a farewell soiree, the kids read goodbye letters to me and I started
crying. Even today, as I write this, my
eyes well up remembering that very special night.
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| Pouring the liquid mixture into banana leaves and tying the bundles off to cook |
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| Giresse and Derick |
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| Family photo |
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| Laure and me |
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| I never realized how much I towered over Mimi (and baby Derick) |
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| Cristelle reading a sweet letter the kids wrote for me |
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| A touching moment between Monique and her youngest sons |
My last day in village was a day for laundry, packing,
and thorough cleaning from floor to ceiling.
I gave the last of my gifts and spent the night by candlelight in an
eerily empty home.
