"DRINK THE SAUCE:” How I Came to Know Myself and the Important Things in Life while Studying Abroad in Cameroon

***warning: This is my 11-page end-of-semester paper for my creative writing class. The format is kind of off, but you'll get the point! I think it sums up my time here in Cameroon really well, and I didn't want to cut any of it out - so read at your own pace, skip what you want, and above all, enjoy!

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“Abroad is the place where we stay up late, follow impulse and find ourselves as wide open as when we are in love.” (Pico Iyer)
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Sitting in a tiny eating house in Nara, Japan, I came face-to-face with one of my greatest culinary fears: food of strange textures, florescent colors, and unknown tastes. My three-week, once-in-a-lifetime trip to the land of temples, karaoke and food unlike anything I’d seen or tasted ever before was definitely living up to the culture shock our group of twenty-six high-schoolers had been warned about during orientation in Washington, D.C. In an attempt to prepare us, mentioning how it would be wildly different from what we knew and urging us to keep open minds and try new things, our counselors had suggested we “drink the sauce.” That food unlike anything I’d had before is nothing without its sauce: okonomiyaki sauce, shabu shabu sauce, teriyaki sauce - the list goes on and on and it is all delicious, once you get past the look and texture! Taking those three words to heart, I quickly dispelled my fears and grabbed my wooden chopsticks and on the count of three, plunged bright pink, raw fish wrapped in seaweed and dripping with its special sauce into my mouth.
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“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)
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Four years later in the January before my senior year of college, with those three words still resonating in my head, I embarked on my biggest adventure and dose of culture shock to date: five months of study abroad in Cameroon, Africa. I had every intention of trying as many new things as possible and the potential of making many discoveries along the way. Following Emerson’s famous advice, I pursued that path less travelled, and chose the little-known country in West Africa said to showcase “Africa in miniature,” offering savannah, rainforest, wild animals, remote villages and crowded cities. Fruits of any kind imaginable, food so fresh it was running around that morning, and people as generous as they are poor.

Sure, I could have settled on the well-blazed transatlantic flight route and joined close friends for a semester of studying and backpacking in any number of European countries, but no; instead I had chosen Africa. Africa, a dream of mine ever since I had received Zoobooks featuring giraffes in the mail and watched The Lion King on repeat as a child. More specifically, Cameroon, much to the combined worry and excitement of my parents, family, friends, and the nurse who gave me my vaccinations. Cameroon, situated in a tropical zone near the equator, where I would be forced to remember to take a daily Malarone pill or for sure suffer the effects of malaria, which worried even me since I have a tendency to forget such things. Where I would brush my teeth using bottled water morning and night and buy six-packs of bottled water each week to stay hydrated and avoid typhoid. Where a cold shower would greet me at the end of each day and huge cockroaches and translucent geckos would be my shower buddies.

Despite all of this, I made the decision. It was what I wanted, needed even. The adventure, the extreme culture shock, the experience. The opportunity to escape the pressures of American adolescence and form my own opinions and gain new perspective. The break from routines, daily planners and the colorful array of Post-It notes that usually covered my desk at school, outlining each day hour-by-hour. Spontaneity, room to breathe, the chance to live on the edge. I had waited for this since first glancing through Dickinson College’s study abroad brochures during my junior year of high school, vowing to myself that if I got accepted, I’d enroll there so that I could travel to Cameroon. I knew it would be a challenge, undoubtedly the biggest yet in my twenty years, but that in itself was a huge part of the appeal. This challenge of spending five months in a developing country drove me to go all out, opting for other challenges including living with a Francophone host-family. Hopefully, the classroom French I’d been learning since the eighth grade would finally pay off or at least get me water and beignets so I wouldn’t starve!
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“I sought to see the amazing as normal, and the daily as unique, and in that swirling paradox I found the joy of travel.” (Mary Poxon)
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Arriving in Cameroon late at night after twenty-four hours of air travel with the other students I would be spending five months with, I remember being completely overwhelmed by my surroundings. The airport was packed with people rushing to find their bags, and I recall saying a quick prayer that both of mine had arrived intact. The sights, sounds and smells overwhelmed me from the time we met the incredible Mr. Teku (our program director) to the blur of a bus ride through the lush-scented night air en route to the apartment we would soon call homebase. Culture shock set in quickly as I attempted to adjust to African time, surcharging in taxis, and the constant hisses accompanying cries of “la blanche, viens!” I remember being utterly confounded by the vast and crowded Mokolo and Acacia markets and the explosions of strange textures and flavors, though entirely different from Japanese cuisine, that filled my mouth when trying sauce des arachides, gumbo and fufu. I struggled to form a coherent simple sentence in French, hoping above all that my verb tense was conjugated correctly. I was shocked by the man who offered me a live chicken as a gift on my way to class and the fact that I could buy a whole pineapple on the street corner for the equivalent of seventy-five cents.

Now, after five months here, the once seemingly-crazy, little things that used to make my culture shock level shoot through the tin roof, don’t phase me anymore. Alright, maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration, as I am still shocked by taxi drivers asking flat out for my phone number, but not as much as the first time it happened. This is not to say that these things don’t amaze me, it just shows that in a slight way, I have succeeded in “drinking the sauce,” in trying new things, in becoming a tiny bit Cameroonian. Everyday is an adventure and a blessing, filled with moments that seem so quotidienne but yet are incredible in themselves.

You don’t need to go on a safari in search of elephants to find the awe-inspiring. A taxi filled with six people and three headless pigs complete with dripping blood hanging out the trunk in the center of Yaoundé? Just a day in the life. Women walking miles with calabashes of water balanced on their heads in Rhumsiki? Incredible, but commonplace in this culture. Meeting an English-speaking woman who studied at the University of Georgia on a taxi ride to the fabric store? Just more proof that the world is small. I have learned that once you get past the initial culture shock, you’ll find an abundance of similarities to go along with those differences – people are generous, having a roof over your head and food to eat means success, family is invaluable. While each country has its own uniqueness, there are universals that stretch worldwide.
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“One cannot divine nor forecast the conditions that will make happiness; one only stumbles
upon them by chance, in a lucky hour, at the world’s end somewhere.” (Willa Cather)
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Several weeks ago now, my host grandmother and I were discussing in French my time spent here in Cameroon while at my host brothers First Communion party. She raised an excellent point while praising me for opting to live with a Cameroonian family: “En Afrique, c’est la famille” (In Africa, it is the family). Choosing that challenge of living with a host family, I have spent the last few months completely immersed in Cameroonian family life, complete with two rambunctious younger brothers and huge family meetings the first Sunday of every month. I have been adopted into a close-knit community where, even though my skin is clearly an entirely different color, I am treated as a blood relative.

When I think about my happiest times in Cameroon (perhaps even some of the happiest of my life), I always find myself reminiscing about Saturday mornings spent watching Maman Solange sew a kaba, or the sheer joy in Papa Ferrnand’s eyes when surrounded by thirty adoring nieces and nephews on the dancefloor at his older sister’s daughter’s marriage. I revel in the memories of teaching my brothers to cook cheeseburgers and learning from them how to play any number of card games, calling the suits of cards different names, all derived from food items like arachides and macabos. At the end of every day, I find myself excited to descend the hill of Montée Jouvance to get to my house and eat delicious food with my family, rather than dreading the switch to speaking solely French for the rest of the night, something I had thought would be horrible!

This time spent with my Cameroonian family has given me the chance to reflect upon and appreciate my American family. Ever since I started college in the States, I am only ever home with my family for a maximum of five weeks at a time. During these breaks, while it is always nice to be home, tensions tend to rise as I have to inform my parents of my every move and ultimately give up a bit of my university independence. It’s funny how living on the other side of the world with a new family has brought me closer to my own and taught me to appreciate family and the unconditional love and support that accompanies it. There is nothing as beautiful as the emails, letters, care packages and unconditional love from my American family, and no greater happiness than the simple knowledge of all of this, one of the greatest discoveries I have made in Cameroon.
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“Time is a companion that goes with us on a journey. It reminds us to cherish each moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we have lived.” (anonymous)
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The importance of family is not the only lesson I have learned during my days in Cameroon. I have also learned to take time to breathe, to recognize and appreciate the simple and important things in life. Lack of patience has forever been my downfall, and I think part of this comes from living in a culture of schedules and growing up in a home where everything was structured and planned far in advance. Before Cameroon, I used to get annoyed when the slightest little appointment time was suddenly changed or my food at Wendy’s took more than five minutes of waiting at the drive-up window. I think that African time has been both the hardest and best learning experience for me. It was beyond difficult to get used to meetings that were supposed to start at one starting at three, food taking over an hour to cook at tiny restaurants, wedding receptions that say they will begin “promptly” at seven not commencing until ten.

But in the grand scheme of things, although it does not work on the business level, I think it is a better system. Cameroonians know how to live. People don’t blow you off because they are in a rush – time can always be made to eat or nap or help a friend in need. Sure, I still get annoyed when things don’t go as planned and I will be relieved to return to the land of scheduled days, but at the same time, I know that I will miss the relaxed lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to here. I hope that the patience I’ve learned from living on African time and being constantly surrounded by hyper brothers will accompany me home, and that that I’ll continue to take time to follow the simple and yet most important things.
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“The world just does not fit conveniently into the format of a 35mm camera. “ (W. Eugene Smith)
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When I came to Cameroon, I was determined not to be a tourist, to be a student and traveller above all. The concept of time and schedules is a huge part of being a tourist in another country, with an agenda and an idea of the types of pictures that needed to be taken. At the beginning of my time abroad, I used to get really bummed when what I like to think of as my “photographer’s eye” would see a perfect subject for a 4x6, and then I would realize I did not pack my camera in my bag. I used to kick myself for picking that one day to leave my camera locked in the suitcase at my host family’s house. I still get upset about it, but I have learned to unglue my eye from the viewfinder of my camera, letting go of that perfect shot saved on my camera’s memory card, exchanging it for a spot in my own memory and praying that it’ll hold up.

I’ve learned that there is no possible way, even with the technology of digital cameras and video-recorders, to capture the beauty and sense of spirituality I have felt when suddenly stuck in the midst of the Muslim call-to-prayer across from a vibrant yellow mosque in the Briqueterie of Yaoundé or the utter majesty of giraffes gracefully walking in search of that rare watering hole in Waza Park. When I return to the United States, I will not only take with me several gigabytes of pictures, but also the knowledge that a picture, though perhaps worth a thousand words according to the age-old saying, is not what matters most. It is the experience, the overall picture, that means the most in the end and will endure long after the suitcase is unpacked.
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“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware.” (Martin Buber)
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While learning all these life lessons and surviving all the little bits of culture shock, I have discovered me – what it is like to feel good in my skin. An entirely unintentional discovery, this realization has not just come from the constant attention to my blatantly white skin here in Cameroon or the seemingly millions of marriage proposals I have received in my days here, although that probably hasn’t hurt! When I started college, I remember the feeling of freedom in knowing that I had a fresh start, that I could reinvent myself or, even better, be true to myself. I had escaped from high school stigmas; all of a sudden I was no longer the valedictorian. I could just be me, and I had the opportunity to figure out what that meant away from familiar faces and settings.

Coming to Cameroon was like that multiplied by a hundred, which is funny because I came to Cameroon with several of my closest friends from school, who knew me as the self I had developed in college. In venturing to Africa, I escaped the mainstream American college culture for five months, bypassed the pressures of party life, resumé-building, and schoolwork. In a place not ruled by time, deadlines or designer clothes, I have been able to discover me, and along with that the simple things that are most important in life and happiness.

Part of this discovery, I believe, comes from my newfound interpretation of beauty, a concept that differs from culture to culture. Unlike in the United States, thin girls in Cameroon are told to eat more, and beauty is interpreted as a woman having curves and not a tiny jeans size. My straight, brown, impossible-to-curl hair is coveted by the women here, who are quick to demand why on earth I would want it braided like theirs when they would kill for easy hair like mine (rather than spending hours in salons at least once a month having mesh sewn into their braids). Additionally, my idea of beauty has shifted. I find it in the strong and striking women of Cameroon, including my gorgeous and intelligent mother, who is in my opinion in all her glory when wearing a hand-made kaba.

Kabas have also brought me to my new feeling of freedom – the magnificent designs and bright colors are the prettiest things I have ever seen. Nevermind that they are not tight like popular American dresses; when I slip into one of the kabas Maman Solange has sewn for me, I feel like a princess, and nothing can get me down. And regardless of what people think of them when I return to the U.S., I am going to rock my kabas with pride and self-confidence, remembering the love that my Cameroonian mom put into them and that sense of discovery I gained when wearing them here!
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“Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of the living.” (Miriam Beard)
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I have had the time of my life (to date!) in Cameroon. It has brought to fruition every dream from my days of watching The Lion King and then many, many more. It has been absolutely worth every single Malarone pill, every 1.5-litre bottle of Semme water, every cold shower with every huge cockroach and translucent gecko. I dare say I have learned more about life, love, the world, and the little things that matter in my five months here than I have in the past twenty years of my life. Above all, I’ve learned to cherish the simple things – family, a bar of chocolate from home, that coveted letter received two months after it was sent, a stack of fresh mangoes, water, electricity, love. Even if I spend an entire day with my brothers playing cards and eating the above-mentioned mangoes, something seemingly boring and dull to anyone else, there is nothing better than the spark of energy that ignites when the game is won or the perfect yellow-orange fruit without any brown spots is unwrapped from its green coat.

Now, nearing the end of my five months living in “Africa in miniature,” it is hard to remember life before. You know how they always say travel changes you? My five months in Cameroon have, without a doubt, irrevocably altered my life. But I don’t necessarily think it is a change; rather I think it was a realization, giving me a chance to have time to think, discover and explore not only a different culture but myself. Looking back, I probably could have done this whole growing-up/realizing-who-I-am thing on the side of the Atlantic that I call home, but I am confident it would have taken me many more years and definitely would not be nearly as exciting and filled with so many unique anecdotes.

As I count down the days of my last week in Cameroon, a place I have grown to know and love for its unique culture and extreme impact on my life, I only hope that I have fulfilled the advice I first heard before my trip to Japan, this time, “drinking the sauce,” made of tomatoes and peanuts, on an entirely different continent. I hope that I have made the most of my time here, learned as much as I could have, experienced even more and created friendships and memories that will last long beyond my stay. I hope I have grown to truly appreciate the simple things, and that this appreciation will not stay here in Cameroon with my family when I board the plane, that it will come with me in my suitcases along with all the kabas and pervade my American life for years to come. I hope that the Post-It notes outlining my daily schedule will not automatically return to my desk, that I will continue to live a bit (though not entirely) in African time, taking moments here and there to breathe, grab a cold soda and stop in to visit a friend unexpectedly. I hope that I will continue to “drink the sauce” for many years to come.

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Love from the land of adventures and self-discovery,

Kait

(This time in 2 days, I'll be on my way home!! Hope all is well in your corner of the world!)

It's a small world after all and Cameroonian Cinderella

Sorry to bombard y’all with posts to read, but seeing as classes and papers and the like are finished, I’ve been able to spend my days experiencing the small wonders of daily life in Cameroon for the last time before I head back stateside, and they make for excellent blog entries! The count is now four days until home, and my goal for the week is to enjoy every last precious moment here. The achievement of this goal began Sunday surrounded by the other students, Mr. Teku and Professors Fanso and Mutia at Fanso’s house for a jama jama and fufu-corn eating contest. You couldn’t ask for better company or food and it was a relaxing way to wind down the final week (Big Ben won the contest with four FULL plates of the stuff – impressive to say the least!).

Another goal for this week: wear something Cameroonian each day. So Monday, I rocked the new halter dress Maman Solange had just finished for the presentation in Contemporary Cameroon of our final projects – Harry, Morgan and I spent many hours walking our neighborhood of Biyem-Assi to create a comprehensive map (that never existed before) for posterity. And let me just say, it looks amazing! I also picked up my new navy blue custom-made suit at the tailors; it can probably use a few tweaks here and there but I bought the fabric and had it made for around sixty bucks! Probably the most exciting part of Monday occurred right after I returned to my house to find Jason clasping both of Maman Solange’s phones waiting for Papa Fernand to call with the results of the big concours. To get into high school here, all students have to take entrance exams and it’s a HUGE deal. Well, Jason got top scores and will be going to the BEST HIGH SCHOOL in Yaoundé next year! He was so excited when he got the call he hung up before Papa was finished congratulating him and we grabbed each other and started jumping up and down and screaming then running in the streets doing the same while Bambi grabbed any passing child to tell the news to, whether he knew them or not! And when Papa Fernand got home, I’d never seen him prouder, and Maman Solange used all her phone credit calling people to tell them the news!

After the exciting night, Tuesday brought my environmental studies exam followed by a surprise birthday party Katelynn planned for our Cameroonian friend Etienne. It was a huge surprise and he was speechless for several minutes – complete with cake, popcorn (that Alie wouldn’t stop eating!), cookie cake and beignets, it was a perfect way to show Etienne our appreciation for being such a great friend to us! Soon after, Gina, Morgan, Ben and I hit up the artisan market for one last hurrah to finish off our gift lists. This time I was smarter and had remembered the numbers on the stalls of the guys who had offered me good prices the last time. After a lot of successful and jovial bargaining, I was happily surprised to find a young vendor I remembered from my first trip to the artisan market back in January with French class (remember when I had French class? Haha). That was when the artisans still had stalls in Centre Ville, before they were torn down by the government. Whenever I had driven by that spot since, I had always wondered about this kid, probably my age, and whether or not he had found a new spot to sell his masks. Even though we’re in the same city, what were the odds of me seeing him again – small world! After we hugged it out and I bought a passeport mask from him (he was the first to tell me their significance – little clay masks painted different colors depending on the region visited, the original passports of Cameroon), we exchanged emails and I headed off to eat more jama jama (a green leafy warm concoction – hard to explain, pictures to come!) with my creative writing class, having turned my final paper in already (WARNING: I am going to post that paper, which is 11 pages, as my final blog post – read at your own pace!). Again, good food and company – it doesn’t get much better! Once I got home, the fam and I took a special trip to Casino, the Western grocery store, in town to get cake and quiches to celebrate Jason’s success. Then my host mom bought shoes from a guy who walked up the car window and told her they were like the once Michelle Obama wears. I LOVE CAMEROON.

Today was a last visit to Marché Mokolo for me, with Harry and Morgan as my shopping buddies. The quest was shoes and there is no better place in Yaoundé for such a search. More specifically, we all wanted Converse All-Stars, and the best thing is that once you descend into the market and establish with one vendor what you want, the others start looking for that thing all over the place and bring it to you, slipping the shoes on your feet until they find the right fit – Cameroonian Cinderella! Harry started the festivities with a red pair for 5000 francs, so about 10 bucks. Next, I found light yellow ones for 4500, much to Harry’s anger and my sheer delight. But I shared this anger when Morgan got black ones for 4000 francs. I’m going to miss bargaining for everything! After some more shoe searching that led to lots of email address exchanges and discussions about marriage and Obama and the night’s final between Barcelona and Manchester (remind me never to wear an Eto’o jersey to Mokolo on the day of a huge match!), we caught taxis back the apartment (I’m also going to miss public transportation when it doesn’t exist where I live anymore!).

I came home to eat hamburgers and flan that Maman Solange bought as another treat, and passed on hanging out with all the other students tonight to watch the game, instead opting to hang out with the family and go say my goodbyes to my host aunt and favorite cousin, Raissa. But don’t worry – I caught the match, and there is nothing like watching a soccer game where one of the players in Cameroonian (aka Eto’o) with Cameroonians! The city streets are vacant because everyone is inside watching the game, and when a goal is scored or the ref makes a bad call, everyone erupts. It’s phenomenal and all part of the Cameroonian spirit I’ve grown to know and love. I’ll miss it, but not the dozens of guys who have approached me all day claiming I am the most beautiful girl they’ve ever seen and could they please have my number. But I prefer to dwell on the positives!

So now, I’m off for a good night’s sleep, and several more days of savoring this spectacular place. Oh, and my suitcases are packed and UNDERWEIGHT, which is a huge feat if you could see all I’ve bought! Hope all is well in your corners of the world!

Love from the land of soccer and Eto’o fils,
Kait

ONE WEEK.

It seems like just yesterday I was writing the ONE WEEK blogpost that counted down to my leaving the United States, and now here I am, procrastinating yet again on my creative writing paper, writing a countdown until my return (May 31st, fyi). I can’t believe it!

Today, my second to last Friday in Cameroon, was probably my favorite, even though it started with an exam in my Gender and Development class. After that, it was off to find a tailor to make a few more dresses, and luckily I found an English-speaking one who will make two dresses for 5000 francs! Woohoo! Then, Harry and I ventured to la briqueterie for our mission to find pant fabric and bubus (the first for him, the latter for me). We chowed down on some delicious soya (basically kabobs of freshly roasted meat) and after successfully finding and buying pant fabric, despite the majority of shops being closed for the Muslim call-to-prayer, we set off towards Marché Mokolo to find some bubus for me. Along the way, we stumbled across a literal hole-in-the-wall artisan market filled with authentic masks, and once we were informed the owner was at prayer, we decided to book it to Mokolo so we’d have time to return.

However, booking it to Mokolo didn’t exactly go as planned, because we took the road that is closed off during call-to-prayer as all the men lined up their prayer mats to face east towards a yellow mosque and Mecca. The loudspeakers projected the call-to-prayer as Harry and I attempted to walk down the crowded yet orderly street, all the while feeling a combination of awkward, in awe, and disrespectful to the praying Muslims. Finally, it got to the point where we just could not walk any farther without absolutely trampling on someone’s prayer mat and causing a scene and so we paused to stand right across from the mosque. No sooner had we stopped than a tailor in the shack next to our standing spot hissed at us to have a seat in his shop. And this is how we found ourselves with front row seats to an event that I think should be listed in that book 10000 Places to See Before You Die – the call-to-prayer in Briqueterie, Yaoundé, Cameroon. For maybe 15 minutes, Harry and I just say, listening to the prayer of these devout Muslims, taking in the panoramic view before us, while the tailor’s friend snored almost as loudly as the mosque’s loudspeakers in the background. It was easily one of my Top 10 experiences during my five months here. As the prayer ended, the faithful folded their colorful mats and Harry and I left our perches to join the crowd as traffic flowed once again in a return to the day’s activities.

For us, this meant the rest of our walk up to Mokolo, the entire time just being in a state of amazement at the beauty we had just witnessed. Upon entrance into the market, it was as if we were in another world as vendors competed for our attention and we put on the married couple act. But success ensued, as I purchased bubus and earrings and Harry bargained down a pair of nice loafers to 4000 francs. As we descended back into Briqueterie, we reentered that other world and met up with Gina and Terence to recount our day’s adventures over a cold drink and then returned to the hole-in-the-wall, where Harry bought a great authentic mask, and I assured the owner I’d be returning next week once all souvenirs were bought to spend the last of my francs on a mask used to call the sun.

It’s funny how in our final week, we are making all these discoveries, but I guess that always happens under such circumstances. In walking our neighborhood to accurately make a map for our final Contemporary Cameroon project yesterday, Morgan, Harry and I discovered so many places we have probably walked by 100 times but have never paid attention to. So my goal for this final week in Cameroon is to cherish what I have discovered and try out a few more places before getting on the plane bound for home.

Alright, back to writing things that counts for grades…have a great long weekend everyone and see you soon! Stay well in your corners of the world!

Love from the land of new discoveries ‘round every corner,
Kait

Winding down...

So I’ve been slacking a bit at keeping this blog updated, but with ten days left here in “Africa in Miniature,” I figured it was time for a post! Let’s see, the last time I wrote was after the First Communion of my brothers, and promptly after that I caught a terrible cold from my host sister and was pretty much a homebody for the following week! Which meant lots of quality time with the family and I even managed to stop procrastinating and do some schoolwork! Probably the most interesting of these days was passed with Morgan, Harry, Maman Solange and the boys at my house. Morgan and Harry stopped by so Morgan could get measured for a dress, and this turned into a three-hour conversation about topics ranging from slavery and drugs to Cameroonian love charms. Did you know that in some villages, when the man of the compound offers the male guest a blanket at night, he actually means a daughter for marriage? This is how many young men find themselves married the next morning! Additionally, men lure women by complementing their hair, then taking a piece of that hair and having a charm put on it, while women lure men by offering them fish laced with a charm! Very interesting stuff – we were all just kind of in shock during this discussion, as it is something so culturally different!

A few days after the charm talk, Morgan and Harry returned to my house to help make cheeseburger macaroni for my host family. This was quite the adventure as Velveeta doesn’t exist in Cameroon and none of us had really ever made mac-and-cheese from SCRATCH before! The cheese sauce looked DISGUSTING in the process, but it all turned out deliciously and we welcomed a taste of home while my host family enjoyed trying something new! Jason and Bambi are pretty much obsessed with ketchup after having me as a sister for nearly five months!

The day after cheeseburger macaroni was entre-nous at our house. This is the monthly family reunion of Papa Fernand’s side of the family and each month it is at a different house. We decided to make it the reunion plus a send-off party for me. The entire morning was spent preparing food – I smoked the pork on a grill outside and helped Patricia (my host sister) cut up eight chickens. Once my family members and my Dickinson friends arrived, things got crazy and I was flying all around serving food and drinks and making sure everyone was entertained! It was great to show my friends the incredible family I have become a part of, although I think they were entirely overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of people and energy! After a while, les blancs left and I was able to spend quality time for the last time with host cousins. My beautiful cousin Arielle was so sweet and brought little gifts of jewelry for me and some to give to Becca once I get home, and there was much hugging and talking and email-exchanging. I am definitely going to miss them, and wish I could have spent more time with them! I almost started crying a hundred times during the party, as I kept thinking this was my last family reunion and who knows when I will see these amazing and generous people next! Hopefully soon!

After the party, I continued to be pretty antisocial in regards to hanging out with the Dickinson group – I think we’re all getting towards that point where we’re getting a bit tired of each other (although we still have a spectacular group and are all friends), and I really want to spend every last second I can with my host family, the people who have welcomed me and made me feel so comfortable here! I did break away from home last Wednesday for a party at Mr. Teku’s house, where his lovely wife Bridget prepared incredible food and we were surprised with a visit from the Queen of Chomba, also called Bridget, the wife of the Fon we had talked with in Bamenda. It was great to see her again and a great evening spent in the company of wonderful people. Maman Solange told me Mr. Teku has never invited students to his house for such an event, and this just goes to prove what a great group we are this year, the soccer team. I am incredibly grateful to be here this spring with this group of students, and Mr. Teku never misses a chance to tell us how happy he is with us!

This past weekend, the whole gang went for a final trip to Kribi, which seemed pretty fitting as a close to our time here since we had started there in January. The weekend at the beach with peace and tranquility was perfect, and I was able to get a sunburn-turned-tan in an attempt to prove I’ve been in Africa for five months under the sun (although the rainy season is in FULL FORCE with daily torrential downpours lasting a few hours!). I ate fantastic fish and shrimp, had some quality heart-to-hearts with great friends, and did no schoolwork whatsoever! Which could be a problem since it’s major exam and paper time this week and next! Don’t worry – this is Africa, this is Cameroon – I operate on African time now and it’ll get done!!

Other fun things: I am getting a custom-made suit! I picked up gorgeous pinstripe fabric in Briqueterie last week and took it to Jatto, a tailor Harry knows, and it should be ready Saturday (so I’m gonna stop by on Monday haha). Maman Solange is working on a few final dresses. Today is the national holiday of the reunification of the two Cameroons (from when their was British and French Cameroon). It’s kind of like 4th of July – there was a huge parade, which I watched on TV with the boys, during which we constantly laughed as First Lady Chantal Biya’s earrings constantly fell out while the camera was focused on her – well they were focusing more on fitting all of her hair in the frame (Google image search is in order!). I received two birthday packages this week finally (remember my birthday that was in March? LOVE the mail system!), and they were perfect! Oh, a few weeks ago, Harry, Morgan and I were going to the main fabric store in town and all of a sudden vendors were running at us telling us to stop going forward. I ignored them at first pushing forward until Harry told me we should probably stop and listen to them. A few minutes later, a huge van with a water cannon on top came down the road ahead of us and turned to spray water where the vendors had just been. This is the government’s attempt to prevent unregistered vendors from selling their wares on the street (if you can remember from an earlier post where I wrote about the vendors selling spots being torn down, this is what they are forced to do now, peddle the streets). It was scary and brought to mind water hoses in the Civil Rights Movement, and was largely ineffective as the vendors promptly returned to the recently-wetted street to continue their sales. Oh Cameroon.

Well, as I said I have only 10 days left in this spectacular place where I’ve had my eyes opened and definitely been changed (I hope for the better!). I can’t believe it’s almost over – I am really excited for home and for the summer (quick update, I’m returning to Upward Bound in Frostburg MD as a counselor for a third summer) and for senior year (YIKES!). But I am undoubtedly going to cry my eyes out when I have to pack the last five months in two suitcases and a carryon bag and say “see you soon” to my beautiful host family! Alright, I should probably get back to paper writing (bleck!). Hope all is well in your corners of the world, CONGRATS to all my friends celebrating graduation (particularly my sister Becca who graduates from high school tomorrow – I AM OLD!), and I’ll be seeing y’all soon!

Love love love from “Africa in miniature,”
Kait

En Afrique, c'est la famille

These are the words my hostgrandmother (whom I love!) said to me as I sat with her last Saturday taking a break from the First Communion party for my host brothers. We were discussing my friends who don’t live in host families and how they miss out on the prime focus of Cameroonian life – family. For me, I have gotten a healthy overdose of just that, and have loved every minute of it! This past weekend brought my friends and both sides of my host family together for a special celebration. Jason and Joey made their First Communion, which is clearly a bigger deal in Cameroon as evidenced by the party that ensued at my house afterwards! The Catholic Church service operated on African time and instead of beginning at 10am, commenced at 11. Morgan, Harry and Terence joined me and my family for the service, Harry all decked out in his new African clothes which prompted Mama Solange to exclaim, “Harry! You look like a Muslim!” The service was unique in that a small girl dressed as a beggar carried the Bible in a sack on her back to the altar and then everyone cried “Hallelujah!” and “Amen!,” something I see as fitting more into Southern Baptist churches, and making the mass much more enjoyable! Additionally, for the offering, instead of just bringing money, the wine and the bread, two huge regimes of plantains, several dozen eggs, and a live goat were offered. Yes, a live goat was walked down the aisle on a rope and proceeded to march up to the altar where it was taken to a back room. My host brothers were looking spiffy in their new suits and ties, and my friends and I were kept amused by the adorable babies sitting around us, namely Adriana, my little neighbor who adores making a fish face!

The proud family and friends gathered after the service for a boatload of pictures, and my hostdad was constantly saying “les Kaits, viennent!” referring to how he wanted me and all my friends in the pictures! We taxied home for the party, already filling with people bopping around to the loud music supplied by the DJ. The tables and place settings had come out nicely after all the work the night before and the catastrophe that occurred when we received not exactly the best tables in the world. But with colourful, patterned tablecloths, it all came together and the rain held off as we drank and ate and enjoyed everyone’s company. I was constantly flying around trying to help and getting pulled into conversations and pictures! After finally eating around three, I headed upstairs to the garage for some quality host cousin-dancing! My friends (which now included Katelynn and Soo) soon joined and I could tell they were overwhelmed by the energy of my little cousins! It was so much fun and even though I can’t dance to save my life, I did anyways!

After my friends left, things started getting a little creepy when the mid-twenties guy who had helped us set up the night before started hitting on me. He was a little drunk and every three minutes would ask how I was doing (same answer every time: fine). He then started looking at my pictures on my camera, trying to discretely zoom in on ones of the white girls of my group, nudging the DJs to comment on how pretty they were. Luckily, I was saved by the constant swarm of babies wanting to be held and escaped after he told me how pretty I was (correction: I was a hot mess after running around all day!). Anyways, he kept following me so I’d go hide out for a bit in my room with some babies. Then, my host parents’ friend started hitting on me once Mama Solange made me dance with him. Once again saved by an adorable baby so I wouldn’t have to hold his hands, we swayed to the music while he lisped into my ear about how we should get engaged. Later on, he asked me to step outside to “discuter toi et moi” which I replied was non-discutable and left it at that. Re-enter creeper from before who pulled me away from my host cousins to ask how he could see me outside the house to which I replied he couldn’t but ended up having to give him my number. Great. At this point, I was sick of Cameroonian men, so took the task of putting my host-cousins, who Joey had convinced Mama Solange to let stay the night, to bed. So I ended up having a fantastic sleepover with one of the girls since there wasn’t enough room in the one bed for 6 of them, and in this way did not have to deal with anyone else! Alright enough with my rant!

Sunday I hung out with the little host cousins, eating mangoes and listening to music, and realized how much I am going to miss my African family! I am so lucky to have ended up with the Ngamos and I am enjoying every last minute with them, without creepy Cameroonian men! Alright, I’m sorry this one is kinda fragmented but c’est la vie! Back to writing papers of marriage in Cameroon and gender roles. This weekend is my send-off party/family reunion where all my host dad’s family and my friends will gather at our house for a party! I’m off to the beach next week for one last hurrah – 25 days until home! Hope all is well in your corner of the world!

Love from the land of First Communion parties and creepers (oh and delicious fish!),
Kait

P.S. I just spent the day writing papers and watching Mama So make me a new beautiful kaba! After a great visit from Harry and Morgan where we learned a lot about how men and women charm people into loving them, my family and I ate a dinner of delicious gumbo. Sure it may look like mucus, but it is so good – I’m definitely going to miss Cameroonian food!