Leaving - For Good

There’s this song that’s been stuck in my head lately. 

“I’ve heard it said people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow - if we let them. And we help them in return. Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true, but I know I’m who I am today because I knew you…”

(Can you name that song?)

My departure is looming, less than three months away - and some days, I simply cannot wait to get out. But other days, or even other moments in those same days, it really does feel as dark and dramatic as that. And it’s not because I’ll miss the food (no more macabo rapé or nkwi? oh darn.) and it’s not because I’ll miss parts of the culture (I’m less than you because I’m a woman? cool.). It’s because of the people who have adopted me as their own, loved me, appreciated me - and yes, even those who have taken me for granted. 

It’s because of my awesome counterparts who commiserated about the parts of Cameroon I couldn’t stand, enjoyed the things I loved, and celebrated all our successes big and small. Anne and Delphine, two women without whom I wouldn’t have made it through these two years. 

It’s because of all the other PCVs who went rode the same roller coaster. Though we may have screamed and covered our eyes or screamed and kept our hands up in the air, we all screamed together.

It’s because of this little boy - no, young man - Borel Faustin. This boy who came running to me, the definition of “grinning ear to ear” to show me his school report card when he passed at the end of the year. This boy who came running to me in tears when he had a splinter. I gave him one of my favorite t-shirts that I found in the market - a Zara boys t that says “Welcome to Hollywood!” - because I thought that was the best possible thing I could do with one of my favorite t-shirts. And he rewarded me with another one of those Hollywood grins. 

It’s because of these two little girls, Samira Paschale and Lauren Fabienne. These kids who drove me absolutely nuts, throwing my shoes onto the roof and ripping my baby sunflowers out by the roots. These kids who perched one on each hip, baby heads resting on either shoulder, and slept. Who reached their arms up to me with faces screwed up in screams and let themselves be conforted. Who learned to say thank you (we’re still working on please) and learned to make fish lips from me. 

It’s because of the 200 elementary school students who I watched transform from timid copy cats into creative and excited artists in art class.

It’s because of the 70 or so high school girls - and three boys - who I watched blossom into confident young adults during our after-school club. 

It’s because of the 46 young women trained as peer educators during our summer camp who said, now I can talk to my parents, now I am not afraid to speak in front of my class, now I know so much more - who looked us in the eyes and told us, Because of you, I’ve been changed for good.

No one can tell me these two years were a waste of my time, even in my darkest and most miserable hours, because I have touched the lives of all these individuals - as they have touched mine.

At the end of two years, it’s these people and relationships more than anything else that I will carry with me as I move on to my next adventure. Most of what I’m feeling, I don’t know how to express in either English or French, and I’m forced to turn back to this song that plays on repeat in my head. “Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better? But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.” I hope that I can come back in a few years and see how my friends and family here have changed and grown. But even if we never meet again, I know I will carry all these people in my heart no matter where life takes me. Most mornings lately, I wake up and I open my door and walk out into the sunshine and my chest feels ready to burst with all the love I feel for Bansoa and by extension the world. 

Fight on for love. 

A Gaggle of Giggling Girls

I remember vividly my days of summer camp. There were many. The art camps, the soccer camps, cross country camps and 4-H camp. Camps kept me out from under my mother's feet during the beautiful, blissful, sweaty summer days. Sleepover camps were the best. I made friends I would never forget, I drove counselors crazy, and I completely ignored lights out to whisper and giggle late into the night.

I loved camps, and it has been one of my greatest pleasures so far in Cameroon to bring summer camp to 26 lively girls here. Not that it was easy or quick... Danielle, Lara, our counterparts, and I started the grant process in late February. We wrote or updated two handbooks entirely in French. We found a location, someone to cook us three meals a day, we negotiated over mattresses and flip chart paper and paper for coloring. We sent out applications and consent forms and invitations to the final ceremony. We stressed and worried and fretted. Everything that could go wrong or could be harder than it needed to - was.

And yet - somehow - magically - miraculously, even - the camp went off virtually without a hitch.

The formatrices: Anne, me, Danielle, Lara, and Antonia (Allison missed the picture.)

The morning of June 16, still misty and damp from rain the night before, the 6 facilitators (me, Lara, Danielle, Antonia, Allison, and our good friend and counterpart Anne) and 21 participants appeared on the campus of elementary school Kinder's House at Banock. The girls came from Bafoussam, from Bansoa and Bassosia and Penka-Michel, and from Baleng. They were excited and nervous, carrying their belongings and wondering what exactly would be happening that day, every day. What would they learn? What would they eat? Would they make friends with the strangers from other places? Would they have time to nap?

After many introductions and energizers and ice breakers, the girls began to relax a little around us and around each other. They seemed to enjoy learning about life skills like communication, decision-making, and leadership. They laughed riotously when I forced them to shout "PENIS!" over and over, so that they wouldn't be ashamed of saying the word. They screamed and shook their heads when Lara handed them condoms blown up like balloons and stuffed with myths and facts about contraception; but by the end of camp they were all capable of demonstrating and explaining how to put a condom on a wooden penis.

Of course, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows (we did see one!). Sometimes those girls drove us nuts. Half of them stayed up all night, whispering and giggling about the things adolescent girls whisper and giggle about.  The other half got up at 4 am because - well, I have no idea why. They raced to get seconds at meals, pushing and shoving like starving beasts for the delicious food Laurentine prepared for us. But we got a glimpse into the feelings of our own former camp counselors, and if that's not karma I don't know what is.

We watched these girls grow, gain confidence, and find answers to all the questions they never felt able to ask before. Every time I teach, I have to hold in the laughter that bubbles up as I decipher the anonymous questions that seem so impenetrable and pressing. Can a pregnant woman have sex, and if so does she have to be on top or on bottom? What happens if a man urinates and ejaculates at the same time? Can you get pregnant from using the same towel that a boy already used? The list goes on and on... But we don't laugh, because we want these girls to feel safe and know there are no stupid questions.

At the end of the week, on a sunny Saturday morning, parents and officials started streaming in for the end-of-camp ceremony. The girls performed skits, songs, and poems that they had written themselves. Others showed artistic posters they had done. All demonstrated what they had learned and would, in turn, teach to others in their communities. They promised to be good role models and peer educators in a solemn oath, they received certificates and group photographs, and we took even more photographs. There were speeches. And then - as at any good Cameroonian fete - WE ATE.

This has been one of my most fulfilling projects and experiences in Cameroon. It was not just about the learning or peer educating, but also about building relationships with girls who have faced a lot of adversity already. It was learning their dreams and singing along to Justin Timberlake and Maitre Gims together and getting my hair done in cornrows. I felt like a part of things. And I forgot the cultural differences and remembered all the similarities: adolescent girls are adolescent girls the world over.

Cherry on top - one of the girls has already done a condom demonstration to about 30 youth in her quartier, hoping to help the prevent some early and unwanted pregnancies (a major problem in my village). I thought: we must have done something right.

Danielle leading an energizer on the first morning of camp.

Fun time in the evenings; a night of dancing sport, led by Lara & Danielle.

Me teaching a lesson about something to girls from Bafoussam & Bansoa.

Photo de famille / Group photo at Kinder's House de Banock. 

Cages: It's All About Perception

The other day, a bird flew into my apartment. It was flying all over my main room (containing my kitchen/living/dining room). I really wanted to take a picture of this birdy flying around my house, but I was afraid to let it out of my sight in order to go get my camera. So instead I just sat down and watched it fly around, keeping my fingers crossed that it didn't poop anywhere, until it found its way back out the open window. 

More recently, I was gazing out my window when I spotted a bird gazing back at me. It was sitting among the baby green bananas on the bananier (banana tree) outside my "kitchen" window, just hanging out. As I was looking at it through the bars on my window, I thought sarcastically, Who's in the cage now eh birdy? That would be me!

But then I realized… Wait! I can't be in a cage! That goes against everything I believe in! And more importantly, the name of my blog!

Ups & Downs

A lot of times it's fun - or surprising, shocking, laugh-out-loud funny, pleasant, or generally happy - to be here. I'm starting to do some things that are satisfying. For instance, I have a bed and shelves in my bedroom, which means I at least have one room that feels pleasantly like home. Yesterday, my bartender/landlord presented me with a table from the bar downstairs, which I think is entertaining on so many levels but mostly because I had joked with some other volunteers about stealing a bar table as furniture. Today, I went to a school competition and was asked to give an on the spot speech and the one joke I managed to throw in (in French, of course) didn't get so much as a lone laugh, but the story threw my lady neighbors into fits of giggles afterwards. Next week I start teaching sex ed classes at a nearby school. And a school girl where I'll hopefully be re-starting a girl's club after Christmas break brought me a pineapple and three of her younger siblings tonight, for no reason as far as I can tell other than kindness.

But a lot of times it's really tough. I'm the only person who looks, dresses, acts, and speaks likes me in this town, and that gets pretty lonely. Recently, I read The Places In Between, which the author wrote after walking across Afghanistan. (Nonsequitor: I'm currently on my thirteenth and fourteenth books since leaving the U.S. and feeling pretty impressed with myself about it…) At the end of the book, he comments:

"…almost every morning, regrets and anxieties had run through my mind like a cheap tune - often repeated, revealing nothing. But as I kept moving, no thoughts came. Instead, I became aware of the landscape…" (p. 288)