Jill Newton Moore

Dateline: Bafut Mambo February 19.

 The last 1/2 hour was the most fascinating we’ve had. It’s Sat. and Annie and I took the dvd Planet Earth series and the projector up to the dorms and showed two segments–one on the ocean and the other on the rainforests and tropical jungles. (Last night we showed Jurassic Park.) I was sitting with two girls from Form 6 (high school seniors) who kept pointing out to each other things they had read about in Biology / Geography class. Our movies are a success so far.

We packed up and hiked back down the road to the main road to the convent and ran into a man we met earlier outside the Yankee Experimental Shop. He is quite old, claims to be a prince, and is very social, smiling and greeting us and shaking hands whenever we see him.Today he was wearing an embroidered and faded pink traditional ankle-length gown with a black braided Muslim-style cap. Slung over his back was the most amazing handmade instrument. It looks like a wooden baseball cap with various sticks coming out of the end of the bill, and there are thin wires tied to the end of the sticks and attaching to the bottom of the cap (on the open side, not the round side.) Annie has seen these before and asked him where to get one. He said he could get one for us, then he played it and sang the most wonderful version of two hymns in a sort of pop-meets-carribean sound, like the version of Over The Rainbow/Wonderful World from 50 First Dates. He seemed delighted to have an audience, and he sang quite sweetly.

Did I have my camera? No.

 After talking with him and giving him 150 francs, we resumed our trek back to the convent, got about 10 yards, and heard squealing and running behind us. People were spilling onto the main road (which would be equivalent to one of the roughest and rockiest logging roads in the U.S.) from a  small path that goes into the back village.

We were near the gates of Sajocah across from the convent. One of the men in the road said, “The Juju is coming!” A few seconds later, two Jujus leapt onto the road. One looked like someone from a bad old African movie–bare chest painted red and black, face painted white, a loin cloth, a big feathered headress, and a long spear. He stopped in the middle of the road, threw back his head and spit out a cloud of something white–like smoke but more textured. People were running away in every direction, screaming.

Then the second Juju came. He had what looked like painted burlap bags on his head and body, and wore some sort of wooden death mask. Both Jujus danced wildly, throwing their arms about and running at people. More shrieking and squealing and running people streamed down onto the road, keeping a wide berth around the Jujus. The few cars on the road stopped to give the Jujus plenty of space. I had no idea what was happening (can still hear the shouts now that I’m in my room.)

One of the men outside of Sajocah told us that this was part of a death ceremony. The Jujus come down to scare the evil spirits away from the dead and his family, using their magic powers. They run through the village of the deceased and chase people all the way to the site of the burial ceremony. If they don’t, there will be a curse on the survivors, which will be passed down in the family.

If a Juju catches you, he will “flog about” you with his stick/spear, which he has treated with some kind of substance so that when he lands a blow, your skin swells painfully and burns. There is no point in going to a doctor or hospital; they have no cure. The only treatment is to get a goat or a fowl and present it to the Juju, who then will rub the antidote onto the welts.

 For foreigners like us, if the Juju gets near because we are clueless and didn’t run (and believe me, I was prepared to hustle my white butt to the convent at breakneck speed if one of the Jujus had turned towards us) we need to bend down low and keep our eyes to the ground, and he might not “flog about” us.

It was so wonderful and frightening in a thrilling sort of way to see this. The Jujus and village people have probably made it to the site of the death celebration nearby, so I expect to hear gunshots this evening and well into the tonight.

We have learned that these guns do not have real bullets (or whatever old rifles take.) They are fired in honor of the deceased and, I think, to keep evil spirit away. I know they keep me at a safe distance.

I mean really–we are walking down a red dirt road after watching a BBC documentary, and genuine  African Jujus leap out onto the road spitting smoke and waving spears. This does not happen on N. 53rd St. And of course, as I said, I did not have my gorgeous, high tech camera with hd video capacity. Bah!!!

Have I mentioned that I really love it here?

I wanted adventure, but this may have been pushing it just a bit.

Last night after dinner, the Sisters, Annie, and I were sitting around in the dining area, working on the jigsaw puzzle A and I brought. The tv was on, some Sisters were on cell phones, and it was very relaxed and chatty. Then one sister said, “Hush! I hear something. Turn off the television.” Someone did, then we all heard the shriek of an alarm. The Sisters all ran outside because it was coming from the parish up the hill,The Sisters knew immediately that the parish was in trouble. Then we heard gunshots and people shouting from every direction.

The parish is atop a small hill and consists of the church, the primary school, the residence of the priest, Father Gregorio, and a small center where the Brothers who are in training live and study. The parish is surrounded by fields and trees, red dirt trails roads leading up, one rutted and narrow road that goes right to the church, and a graveyard that spreads downhill behind it. Although it is only a ten minute walk from the convent and the village, it is not visible.

The Sisters had cell phones out, calling the priest and other people nearest the parish. One of the sisters called our high school and instructed our friend Carin, who lives at the school and oversees the dorms, to get every girl inside and lock all of the iron gates leading in. Another Sister got through to someone from the village who said that armed thieves had Father Gregorian, a visiting priest, and the young Brothers surrounded in the priest’s house and were trying to force the door open. Sr. Celestine told us that the priests and Brothers would all be killed if the thieves got in. The Sisters were terrified, trying desperately to get word about the priests and Brothers.

Then we heard screams from our high school, which is atop another hill on the other side of the convent. Annie and I wanted to run up there, but the Sisters had locked all of the gates in the wall surrounding the convent.

By then, we were all in the  courtyard, which is at the center of the Convent and enclosed by the Sisters’ quarters, the guest rooms where Annie and I sleep, the chapel, and the kitchen/dining room and the laundry room.  The courtyard was well-lit by a nearly full moon.  Sisters were calling the police at several stations, the priests at other nearby parishes, and people they knew near the parish.   Sr. Celestine, Superior of the convent, kept trying the priest’s phone but didn’t get an answer. 

We stood in the courtyard for about 45 minutes, listening to occasional gunshots and the shouts of mobs from every direction. A skinny black dog dashed through the courtyard, making us all jump. He had belly crawled through the drainage pipe that leads outside. He did mad circles around the courtyard, but no one dared open a gate for him to get out.

Finally one of the Sisters got someone else on the phone and learned that the priest had heard a car drive up a few minutes earlier while he and the others were cleaning up from dinner. He  went out to see who was there, and the visiting priest and Brothers followed. Two men were standing in the yard, saying they had been sent from Bamenda. When Fr. Gregorio approached, they drew their guns and shot into the air to show that the guns were loaded. The visiting priest and Brothers ran to the house and sounded the alarm. Fr. Gregorio punched one the thieves, knocking him down, and five other men with guns got out of the taxi (!)  Father Gregorio ran to the house, followed by one of the thieves who had his gun out. Father G. managed to jump the fence around his home and make it inside, with the others.

Finally everything quieted down, and we opened the gate to the road and saw villagers with machetes, sticks, and guns. One was a former student at the high school, and the sisters called her over. She recounted the entire scene, how as soon as the villagers heard the parish alarm, they grabbed whatever they could use a weapons, and ran up the hill to help the priests. “There was not a body in the village,” she said. She was out of breath, extremely agitated, and was waving her machete (“cutlass”) as she spoke. “Even the grandmothers came with sticks,” she said. She had put her baby down to go outside and pee when she heard the alarm. She grabbed her cutlass and ran with the others, who poured in from every direction. Others ran to the school and surrounded it in case any of the thieves were headed there. Still others made blockades in the road (human blockades) so the thieves couldn’t escape.

The thieves heard the villagers shouting, and the taxi driver, who was in on the robbery, jumped in the car and sped off. Somehow he got out of Bafut despite the blockades. The other thieves ran through the graveyard and disappeared into the countryside. No one was caught.

This morning Fr. Gregory told the entire story at mass and said that one group of police arrived at midnight (this all happened between 8-9 p.m. and another group came at 2 a.m. People felt that was okay as the police are sometimes in on the robberies. There was speculation that this may have been why they took so long showing up, but no one can say. At school today, many of the students were tired and crabby because they hadn’t slept at all. While I tried not to be crabby, I was one of the tired ones who tossed and turned a good part of the night.

So, life in Bafut, Mambu, continues to be interesting. I wish I had seen the villagers en masse charging up the hill from every direction. When I think of their courage and their dedication to the priest and parish, and when I think of Fr. Gregorio knocking down an armed man to keep him out of the parish house, I am nearly speechless. Would this happen in the U.S.? I wonder. I’ve been told several times today that no stranger will make it into Bafut Mambu without every eye on him.  Tonight I feel very safe here with the Sisters, and I am so proud of our neighbors and friends.

It has been a spotty week for technology so I have a lot to catch up on now that I have Internet.

First, the school. The girls continue to be delightful and very enthusiastic.  It’s been a long time since I worked in a high school on a regular basis, and it’s so good to be around all of that young energy. Before I write anything else, I need to thank some of the girls who came down to the convent last weekend and cleaned and did laundry. Thank you my friends!   The girls at the school have service duties (they call them “labor” on the weekend, and they do so much to keep the school and the convent in order. I love that they are responsible for their environment. It must be such an adjustment for the girls to come to a boarding school when they are just in 7th grade (form 1 here), but I believe they come to think of the school as another home and are sad to leave, much like our Alverno students. And while I’m giving thanks, thanks Nancy Towle from Alverno for the offer of supplies. Let me find out if it’s possible to have anything sent here. That was kind (and typical!) of you. When Annie and Sr. Theodosia and I flew here, we had 11 pieces of luggage, and much of it was for the school. We have already had to shop for more paper, glue, letter stencils, and other items to make sure we have enough for every student to make her Leadership Book. We were quite lucky to find most of what we needed in Bamenda. We also have some scissors to pick up that the wonderful school Bursar got for us. And Sr. Pauline has been a true blessing with all of her help buying a printer and the right inks. It is certainly nothing like going to Best Buy or Target! 

 As to the programs, our work is going well even if it does feel a bit hit-or-miss at times. I think most of the 300 girls have made their books by now. The idea is that each girl has created a book that will eventually hold their work on leadership–writings, poetry, art work, and so on. We have started working with some of the upper form girls on projects that involve research, critical thinking, and computer skills. One class is researching women leaders (whom they didn’t know–we had them tell us all of the leaders they could think of, then said they couldn’t research any of them.) When they’ve done their basic research, we’ll teach them how to put everything into a PowerPoint so they can give presentations. The two little laptops I brought for the school are going to get a very good workout. Other form 6 girls are already learning PPoint and creating slide shows about who they are and what their goals are.  Annie really shines at this. Because she is a tech native and is much closer to the girls in age, she does a great job. She is using her Mac and the projector we brought. The girls love seeing their work take shape on-screen and also on the wall of the room we work in. That projector was such a good thing to bring. The school has one, but we don’t have access to it all the time. We can take the little portable Epson with us to class. Teachers can also check it out to use in class, but they haven’t done any training on it yet.

It is fascinating to see how fast the girls get technology. I may have mentioned this earlier, but most students at SJCHS have a Facebook page that they go to whenever they have free time in the Internet lab, which has, I think, 8 ancient working computers. But probably fewer than 10 girls have used the computer for anything that is not Internet related, i.e. FB, email, and research. One of the biggest challenges is that none of the computers in the Internet room have MS Office, so the girls can’t use MS Word to write papers (and the only printer is one antique laser printer that they don’t have access to.)

 This is going to be my biggest mission: get computers and software for the school. Our program is about building Leadership skills, and having the right tools to continue their education and be in communication with the rest of the world is vital to that. They need to know how to apply for grants and scholarship, put together reports, documents, and so I’m. My dear friend Beth also told me about a downloadable free program that is Word compatible which I will explore more.

I have been wrestling with whether I am trying to impose western values here, but so many girls want to go on to the university, or go into business and professional practice (accounting, nutrition, science, medicine, teaching, banking, etc.) that I do believe those skills are imperative. I worked with three girls to create a newsletter on leadership that so far includes an article on how one girls is being a leader in her family by helping her younger sister who is also at SJHS, and another article on why Cameroon needs women leaders. And of course, the girls’ photos are in there. We haven’t done much at all with photography yet. I put Photoshop onto one of the laptops I brought, and I’m working with Benjamin in the lab to download GIMP (free downloadable photo editing program that does much of what Photoshop does) onto the computers. It remains to be seen whether the OS can handle these. So to any potential donors out there, think technology.

We have been working on writing and critical thinking together. The curriculum here is very good. The teachers cover a lot of subjects thoroughly, and girls know their information. They know facts and processes very well. What I think could be explored more is the ability of students to do something with their knowledge. This is not to say that there isn’t application, but rather that that when I’ve talked with the girls and ask questions that prompt them to answer what all of my Alverno students know are my three critical questions–How? Why? and So what?–the girls struggle. So when we’ve worked on all of the projects, I keep bringing that in and challenging the girls to think in more detail. Why is it important to have women leaders? How would that affect the country? So what? Give me evidence. I feel just a tiny bit like an Alverno evangelist–but my role models are some of best educators (Mary Diez, Joyce Fey, Dara Larson, Donna Englemann, Tim Riordan, etc.)

Last week I also had a chance to meet with all of the faculty and staff for an hour after school  (two more sessions planned for the upcoming week.) We made introductions, got basic information from everyone, then went through a set of questions on teaching and learning. The teachers were great. I gave them questions and asked them to talk in pairs about the ones that struck them the most, then the pairs shared with the whole group. The questions were general–What was one of your best (or worst) learning experiences? What would you like to change about your teaching or your students? What goals do you have for yourself as an educator? The discussion was affirming. They love it when students really get what they are teaching, they wish they had more opportunities for professional development and more strategies to engage/excite students, and they want to build their expertise in both their subject areas and in their methods.  They also want to have access to more teaching material and more technology. And like every K-12 teacher on earth, they wish the pay were better.  After that, we talked a little about the technology that is available and how to make the most of it. Because so many teachers expressed an interest in furthering their education but felt that it was not possible while they work, we talked about on-line programs. They were extremely interested in this. I’ve worked with three teachers individually to identify on-line degree programs in Africa, Europe, and the U.S., and this will be the focus of the two professional development meetings this week.

So it’s been a busy time. Annie and I seem to go, go, go, then we crash into bed at night. I just love this life.

On a personal note, Annie is recovering from a gastro-intestinal bug. She was having fevers that came and went, and some confusion and dirorientation. Like her mom, she went to one of our favorite websites, Web M.D., and looked up illnesses common to this region. At first re refused to have any of the sisters who are nurses help her. She wouldn’t even let anyone take her temperature. But she got frightened when she read about cerebral malaria because it causes both fever and mental impairment (along with a host of symtoms she didn’t have.) So she finally let Sr. Angelina–my current best friend as I keep telling her–take her temp then send a doctor over to do blood tests. When Sr. A. asked him to be sure to run both malaria and typhoid, both Annie and I got worried. But the tests came back negative for those, and Annie is taking a 10-day course of Cipro and another anti-parasitic, and already she is feeling better. I am proposing Sr. Angelina for sainthood or the Nobel Prize. She is one dynamic, smart, and committed person–new to this center and the director of the health center/hospital.

Annie is feeling the effect of being alone in her age group. She relates beautifully to the sisters and the students, but I know she is longing for some other 20-somethings to socialize with.  Still, she is such a good part of this project and really a lot of fun (she makes the sisters laugh a lot) that I think she really does love being here. And she is such a great companion–she is always up for an adventure, and she has a wonderful sense of responsibility and committment.

The goat and pig project at Sajocah

 Sorry for such a long post, but I wanted to catch up and keep adding to the record of this incredible experience. As always, many thanks to everyone who helped during the planning and proposal of this, and endless thanks to the lovely Sisters here who have welcomed us and who are our friends, guides,c olleagues, and mentors. The other night in a community meeting, Sr. Celestine, the superior at the convent, said that we were no longer guests; instead, we are part of the community. I am proud to say I didn’t cry.

Our days…

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There is simply no way to communicate everything that has happened or that we have experienced. After some hard-core jet lag, Annie and I got settled into the convent with the sisters. I will write this a dozen times over the next few months: I love these sisters. They are the kindest and most hard-working women I know. They face seemingly insurmountable obstacles and still carry on their work. And despite how hard they toil, and how challenging their lives are at times, they are consistently warm and welcoming to us. I have found a kind of peace and purpose here that fits my soul.

Annie and I have been working at the school for about two weeks. We go every day for most of the day, walking up the long, red dirt road, or taking the short cut path through the eucalyptus groves. It is a path that would suit a mountain goat a bit better than a person. We will have great strong legs when we come back.

We began our leadership work with a simple get-to-know-you activity. We went to each class and had a q&a session with the girls (“Do you beat your children in America? No? Then how to they respect you?” “Do teachers beat their students in America? No!?! Then how to students learn?” “Do you know Hannah Montana, and would you sing one of her songs for us?”) Thanks to Jim and Linda Martin, we brought with us about 300 name badges and had each girl make one with her name and many stickers, starts, stamps, etc. They now wear them to class every day. They loved this, especially the 7th-11th graders (forms 1-5.) After the name tags, we began working on a variety of things–essay writing, cursive (the principal and teachers really want the girls to learn to write in cursive), some technology, and the big project of the last week: book making. This was something we thought of before we came, and we bought so many great supplies so each girl can make several kinds of books. They are making simple books that are held together with folder prongs, brass tabs, and glitter swizzle sticks and rubber bands. As they work, they will be adding things to the books: essays, their cursive practice, photos, poetry, etc. It is a fun project, and the girls are extremely excited and active during the process. I subbed for the English teacher one day when she was gone, and Annie did a presentation on the U.S. Government’s history, structure, and roles. She is going back next week to do part two, and I’ve been asked to work with one of the teachers to prepare some lessons on conflict and mediation. Luckily I taught courses on that several times and have a lot of materials.

We also spent a morning at the primary school (up a long red dirt road in the other direction) and had the kids make little books out of Christmas cards. They too stamped and colored and put on every kind of sticker we had (thanks Mary Rose for suggesting we bring stickers!) Then we put a big sheet of white banner paper around the class room (by the way, there are 63 students with one teacher in the 5th grade class we worked in) and measured each child, taped their card/books at their height mark, then had them sign the banner paper. They are supposed to check in June to see if they’ve grown. The kids at these two schools have been taught several things. When a new adult comes into the room, they all stand and sing “You are welcome in the name of the Lord” through many verses. When the project was done, the teacher let them sing and dance. 63 little kids dancing and singing and clapping because they were so happy to have made something. There are no art supplies at the school–none. There are no scissors, staplers, crayons, or markers; there is no construction paper or glue or paint. We brought a lot with us, but it will never last us a month, much less three. We are going into Bamenda to see if we can find something we can work with for more books.

Last Sat. we went to Bamenda to buy a printer for the school, which took many rounds of negotiating, then we went to the big outdoor market. I have never seen anything like it in my life. The sheer volume of stalls, vendors, chickens, clay pots, embroidered fabrics, fruits, spices, and so on is beyond comprehension. It is like a small city, with tiny dark alleyways between stalls going all directions. I could get lost in 15 seconds flat and might never find my way out. We weren’t there long, as our two sisters needed to get back, so we are planning a longer trip with more time to explore.

On the way back, we stopped because Sister Judith’s aunt had passed away, and they were having the post burial celebration. There are few times I’m in a situation where I feel absolutely foreign, but this was one. The celebration was down in a compound in a tiny valley set back from a dirt road and surrounded by trees and brush. We parked by the road and hiked the path down to the clearing. People were streaming in from all directions, wearing traditional clothes (the over-20 people) and carrying food, drums, hand-made instruments and, with many of the men, shotguns that looked like they were from the Civil War. They carried them loosely, like you might carry a tennis racquet after a game. Hundred of people streamed in, the flow constant, and people crammed tighter and tighter into a clearing between houses in the compound (houses made of the local red brick and adobe). There was an awning set up, but it just covered a small portion of the quests. People were playing their instruments, and the heart of the gathering, at the lowest and most level place, was filled with people dancing. Every few minutes someone would fire a shotgun into the air. Our sisters had gone to visit the grave, on the far side of the compound, and suggested we not join them, so Annie and I stood and later sat on the rim of the deepest part of the valley. Every single person in the gathering studied us. Some casually, some very intensely, and some simply seemed baffled at our presence, two white women in t-shirts and jeans. Annie received two marriage proposals, or rather marriage demands: “I will marry you!” from elderly men missing teeth and, apparently, wives. She politely declined. Every time another shot was fired into the air, we jumped. Many of the men had clearly been drinking, and as they turned to greet friends or pick their stumbly way up or down the narrow rocky paths leading to and from the center of it all, their shotguns flopped about. At one point there was a shotgun about six feet away aimed right at us–not with malicious intent, but we just happened to be where it was pointing. In my mind, I dropped down in the red, scrabbly dirt, stones digging into my knees, and prayed. Back on top, I maneuvered myself between Annie and the gun and tried to press us both out of the line of fire.

After the sisters returned, we went into the home of the widower, Sr. Judith’s uncle, to pay our respects and to give Sr. Judith some time to visit with her family. When we left, the sun had begun to drop: it was a huge, vibrating blood orange  through the haze that always hangs above this part of Cameroon, and the ever-present swirling  red dust. We returned to the convent for a late supper, a shower, and finally bed.

I came to Cameroon to teach and to serve, but I also hoped for some adventures. I think this day qualified.