Life in Cameroon (so far)

February 5, 2011 at 2:02 am (Uncategorized)

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.