American Individualism and African Solidarity

Probably most of you know already that generally Americans are, at least relative to most of the world, very independent and individualistic. We seem to enjoy living alone and protecting excessive amounts of personal space. Perhaps more importantly, we are adamant that "What I earn is mine." This results in a general American resistance to raising taxes or social policies of wealth redistribution. (I suspect that it also contributes to several eccentricities of American politics, including the popularity of the Tea Party, the inability of Congress to compromise, and insistence upon a foreign policy of national interest rather than human interest. But that's just my opinion.)

In contrast, many Cameroonians I've talked to are very proud of their "African Solidarity." This phrase refers to the fact that life is much more communal here, bound by familial, tribal, national, and even apparently continental ties. This is demonstrated by the Cameroonian tendency to live in large family groups, have many children, share everything that is earned with the family and neighbors… There is a culture here of giving (and asking for) gifts. If you show up unannounced at someone's house at dinner time, they are culturally obliged to feed you. There even appears to be a sort of "social contract" in which the rich give money to the less fortunate through direct gifts, road building, school support, large parties with free food at Christmastime, etc. And in exchange, the less fortunate will unquestioningly do most things the "grands" ask of them, from fetching water to carrying furniture to finding a beer… 

It is a difficult transition for me as an individualistic American to live and function in communal Cameroon. I dislike being directly asked for gifts, I dislike the assumption that I am absurdly wealthy because I am white, and I dislike feeling like a weirdo for living by myself, unmarried and childless at the ripe old age of 23. 

Probably because of my own culture and struggle, I look upon the phenomenon of African Solidarity with some skepticism. I sometimes wonder if this is more talk than walk, part of a tradition that is cherished but nevertheless diminishing for two reasons. First, because sharing everything has its drawbacks. For example, part of the Cameroonian Dream is making enough money to buy your own land and to build a house and a farm on that land. But few people can build a house in under 3 years, because they build it as they have the money. An American might save until they have enough and borrow the rest, building the house all at once; but here, if you try to wait and save the money, someone will inevitably ask for a share of it (a sick parent or cousin, for instance) and you will never ever build the house. Second, because globalization is definitely impacting life and culture here. That fact is undeniable when I hear "Hot in Here" and Dido's "Life for Rent" and Backstreet Boys and Nikki Minaj blasting from giant electricity-powered speakers in the market space of my village. How can African Solidarity survive when its being attacked by materialism, development, sameness? 

Yet despite my skepticism, African Solidarity's… solidity… sneaks up on me. This happened most recently when I took a taxi ride into Bafoussam, the regional capital of the West. I climbed into a taxi at my village's main carrefour with six other women and the lone male driver (who I instantly pitied). Only the two women in the front passenger seat knew each other, and before we'd even driven the 5 kilometers down to the main road to Bafoussam, these two started getting into a heated discussion. It's hard for me to say exactly what the discussion was about, because it was primarily in the local language which I don't speak, but enough French words and phrases were thrown in (pantalons repeatedly) that I believe I got the gist… The women were commiserating about the fact that some dude told Lady 1 that she shouldn't wear pants (apparently because of something about a motorcycle?). Immediately, all the mamas in the car (except illiterate me) were sympathizing, loudly and vehemently. And they agreed upon the conclusion that, no matter what reason Dude had stated, it was because she was a woman that he thought she shouldn't wear pants, which is crazy, and that Dude was a jerk. (I'm extrapolating a bit here, but their tones did not imply nice things.) 

In those forty minutes, these six women, all previously strangers, were all commiserating about the jerky men in their lives. They would part ways when the taxi stopped, all still strangers, but all secure in the knowledge that they are not alone; they suffer together. 

My conclusion? African Solidarity is indeed real. It may be amorphous, fluid, context-dependent, and hard to define. I suspect it is mostly about togetherness in struggle and suffering. But it's definitely not all about money and cadeaux (gifts). And I think that, despite a few disadvantages, it's a beautiful thing. Because who wants to suffer - or to celebrate - alone? 

"Friendship improves happiness and abates misery by the doubling of our joy and the dividing of our grief." - Cicero