Back in Ba(h)fia

July 4th, 2010




It’s so hard to believe that it has already been a year since the big 4th of July bash at the Spaulding castle. Growing up I always heard that the older you become, the faster the time seems to pass and every year I look back on it seems to become more true. I am missing my brother and Adrienne a lot today since last year’s celebration with them was so memorable. I have no doubt they are missing me as well and that in itself is a comfort.



Another milestone is arrived today too. It has been a month exactly since I left the States. It feels so much longer than that already but I’m happy to report that I’m not really counting the time anyhow. A really good thing considering that I’d have a pretty long way to go!



I returned from site visit yesterday evening and it was exciting to have some independence for the first time since my association as a Peace Corps Trainee. One of our cross culture training sessions included a depiction of the culture shock continuum; a series of peaks and valleys that we can expect to encounter throughout the next 2 years and once we’ve returned to what used to be our perception of normalcy. I’m lucky because of my experience in Senegal making the first few valleys far less intense and practically unnoticeable for me, but I did finally have a brief culture shock moment early in my site visit on Wednesday.



I believe I’ve already written about the issue of polygamy and in many ways I could already tell the frustration I initially felt at the cultural norm was only going to continue to manifest throughout my time here. I had not yet had an up close and personal encounter with the phenomenon until my trip and seeing it firsthand filled me with agony at the position of my sisters here.



I will give a brief overview of my site first and then go into more detail about what I have witnessed here so far. Our group of trainees headed to the Northwest, Southwest and Western regions of the country left together in a traditional Cameroonian bus on Wednesday with our community hosts in tow. With all the stories we’ve heard and my experiences traveling in other underdeveloped countries around the world, I’d have to say that, despite being 30+ crammed into a miniature bus and needing to change seats in our row when possible to keep our hind ends from going completely numb, our voyage went pretty well. Luckily my post is easy to get to, near the regional capitol, and in close proximity to other volunteers.



My community host turned out to be the second most important guy in my village, known as the sous-chef, and as a result I was treated like royalty the entire trip. We met up with a friend of his who works on national elections in Bafoussam, (the regional capitol), where we ran some errands in his nice Toyota pickup, including opening my new bank account for after swearing-in, before heading on toward my village.



Bahouan is in a mountainous region and the earth all around is red clay. It took about 20 minutes from Bafoussam before we turned down the unpaved stretch that reaches into the village. We pulled up to a discreet bar where the friend told me, “Voila, this is where you’re sleeping”! I laughed but later realized he was telling the truth, my community host’s house was attached to the bar.



After having a Castel with several men from the community (there are rarely ever women in the bars; another frustrating chauvinistic cultural norm), Wambo (the regal name meaning ‘King’ for my community host), gave me the tour of his compound. He himself has 3 wives, only 2 of which reside in Bahouan. The other wife is in Douala where he has another home. It suddenly became clear why when I’d asked him at our seminar how many children he had his response had been, “Au moins, dix” (“At least ten”). The chef of the village who I later had dinner with has 12 wives on his compound, which I’m told is a decidedly small number for someone of his community stature.



Here is what I wrote in my journal following this tour, “I can only think with this cultural screen which tells me that development of any kind is virtually impossible without women’s equality. Am I judging? Am I biased? Have I had the opportunity to ask the women their feelings? Yes, yes, and no. Yet, it seems that the women themselves are conditioned to accept their positions in society as though they are indifferent to it. I feel my job here is to understand the women and help them value themselves in spite of the cultural norm. I see these women who appear to be just baby-makers and home-makers; they work all day while the men drink and socialize in bars.



I feel luckier than ever in my life to be an American woman. To feel empowered and equal from birth as a human being.”



I boldly took up this discussion with many of the men I encountered at my site, particularly because of how difficult it was for me as a woman to mostly interact with only men the entire visit. At one point the arrogant friend of Wambo’s who had picked us up in Bafoussam ,who was at least twice my age and who had seemed to take a liking to me, said as we were all preparing to eat, “Lindsay, serve-moi!” I wanted to break down in tears and was angry as well but am happy that I didn’t just sit and stew to myself but did react in my defense by saying that I was not a Cameroonian.



I know there is going to be a very fine line to walk on this issue between expressing myself and offending people. I know I cannot assume that even the women will automatically admire me for standing up to their male-dominated culture. In fact, during one of the heated but cordial debates I had with Wambo and another chef du village they both assured me that it is often the women themselves who go out in search of other wives for their men. That, in fact, you are not seen as a real man unless you have many wives. To me this is an obvious barrier to development because of the economic implications of having at once so many wives, often who each have their own home entirely separate from the man’s home which he has to himself, but also so many little mouths to feed that often it is seemingly hard to even know how many.



In spite of this gender stratification constantly creating a rumbling irritation under the surface for me my visit was overall wonderful and I am now eager to actually begin my work in village. Because Wambo was in charge of making the arrangements for my stay he has secured me a house that is far too big for myself alone and which the emptiness of intimidated me greatly at first glance. But, it is a fine home and I am excited to live on my own for the first time in my life. I have 3 bedrooms which I have no idea how I am going to afford to fill with any furniture at all and they are working everyday painting and installing plumbing and lights for me before my arrival. There will be plenty of room for the dog and cat I plan to rescue from the hands of Cameroonians once I arrive who I hope will help keep me company when I’m in dire need of someone that doesn’t speak French. There is a big space in the front for the garden I hope to cultivate, most likely with someone’s help since I am up to this point severely lacking in green thumb. The view from my porch is stunning and peaceful and I live directly across from the main Chefferie. The Chef assured me his protection and my safety at post and I believe it.

Part of the site visit was with the goal of trying to meet important community members before my arrival so we took Wambo’s motorcycle around a bit doing so. One particular ride into a neighboring village to meet the prefet and commander was breathtaking. The red mud road is surrounded by lush forest on both sides and dotted with yellow sunflower-like flowers. Everywhere in this rich part of Africa things are alive. We passed field after field of corn, bean, nuts, manioc and much more. After riding a while a huge valley opened up to our left with rolling hills speckled in rusted tin rooftops of houses the same deep red-brown color as the earth around them and I had one of those enlightening moments of realization of how insane it is that I am here. I look forward to serene walks and jogs around the area to reflect on the beauty I’m surrounded by.

In meetings with all of the political figures in my community it was amusing to note them all remarking on the issue of corruption. Of course none of them implicated themselves as elements of this problem despite the extravagant living quarters many of them occupy and the fact that they do possess so many wives. In the case of the chefs in particular it was fascinating because they receive money from the state but are actually in power due to royal lineage. I’m told it is the chefs whose families founded the villages. While dining with the main chef he caught me staring at a blown up photograph of him in traditional garb dancing at a ceremony. He told me the outfit he was wearing cost more than $4,000 - that’s U.S. currency, money that would go a very long way here. Money that could’ve perhaps funded the road to Bahouan which many people have sited as an obstacle to their community’s development.



I am glad to have only touched the surface on so many issues and to have been given such an intimate look at the hierarchy here during my site visit. I truly believe it will take the full 2 years I am here to integrate myself enough to give straightforward, well-informed recommendations for the villagers. It is difficult to comprehend the marriage of tradition and modernity and I think it will undoubtedly be a challenge in my work. Americans pay quite insignificant attention to tradition and I think regard it primarily as a roadblock to progress. We learn from history but we don’t have the need or the desire to repeat it.



All this being said, I did spend about 2 hours Friday morning talking with a future colleague of mine at the school who stopped by to introduce himself. He worked closely with the last Peace Corps volunteer who went to Bahouan, who everyone kept referring to as though she had just left which I assumed was the case because it is at most sites, but later discovered she left in 2005. Everyone I met pointed out that she interacted very little with the community and barely spoke a word of French at all. I have yet to discern why the hell Peace Corps even placed her there in the first place. Apolinaire, the colleague, did make a good point about the importance of we Americans learning a few things from Africans about communal culture. He was very well versed in our individualistic ways. If I take away anything from the next 2 years, I hope it is related to that aspect of African tradition. I want my time here to be a two-way cross-cultural exchange and I would be want for purpose here if I believed I myself had nothing to gain.



All-in-all I think I made a solid first impression on my community. I made 'cous cous' with Wambo’s third wife, played with babies, attended some ceremonies where lots of people stared at me but giggled with bliss when I greeted them in the mother tongue; even the discussions I had with the men challenging their views on polygamy were lighthearted and we were able to laugh together at the cultural divide. Several people told me they could already tell I was going to be much different from their last volunteer and despite Wambo’s social status being somewhat of a stratification for us, he was very dedicated to explaining to everyone we came in contact with exactly what my goals are for Peace Corps and countering their initial belief that he had taken on a white wife! My first day in Bahouan I could not wait to be back in Bafia but now that I’m back, I can’t wait to settle into my new home!