Gwinn's first guest blog is here... everyone rejoice.
gwinn blog entry
march 26, 2003
Intro
It will quickly become apparent what my focus of interest and learning has been while visiting Ben in Lomie: i.e., I wanted to discover what it takes to manage the basics of daily life in a place where most modern conveniences and a centralized utilities infrastructure do not exist. While I’ve observed some things about the society itself (and I will certainly make some anecdotal comments about that later on), I’m not at a point in my French-speaking ability, or social integration, to have much data upon which to base any opinions or conclusions. That’s really Ben’s area of expertise [as he’s had far more experience(s) here than I] and one upon which it would be foolish for me to transgress at this time.
I will say that from the moment I arrived, I began to feel more alive than I have in quite some time. One has to pay attention here to everything. People are in motion constantly. Every activity, from dealing with the most basic bodily functions to having a conversation about the logging industry with a neighbor, requires one’s full engagement. It is simply not possible to slide through much, and, while it can be really tiring, it is also exhilarating and eminently interesting.
So, I will dive into more of what I know (or at least have a better capacity to understand) based on my observations and experiences, so far. I hope this is as interesting to you all to read as it has been for me to live.
Around the House
Household maintenance is more than a full-time job here. As in the “olden days” in the U.S., (and most parts of the world today) women seem to spend the bulk of every day taking care of the basics: cleaning the house, doing laundry, getting/preparing food, and gossiping…(more on that later).
Water
I’ll start with my biggest adjustment and household maintenance consideration: there is no running water here at all (in the bigger towns and cities, e.g. Douala and Yaounde – yes; in Lomie, and all other villages – no, as far as I can tell). This lack means that every single drop of water has to be lugged from one of the town pumps, the closest of which is about 75 meters away. The pump is usually open from 6-10am, and again from 3pm until dusk. Most people fill up several 4-5 gallon buckets at a time, which, when full, are balanced atop the head and carried home, one at a time. I am not nearly coordinated enough to do that, so I carry one at a time back to the house, sloshing a good portion of the hard-pumped water onto my pants and into my shoes. Usually, we get two buckets of water in the morning, and two at night, which have to serve all our water needs: dish washing, drinking water filtering, cooking, sponge baths, toilet “flushing”, watering the garden, etc. On laundry day, I try to rope someone else (i.e., Ben and the infamous Alex, who lives in a room in Ben’s house) into also filling up one of the bigger “tubs”, which holds around 10 gallons. It’s a bitch to carry, even with two people, and there is no way I could do it, even with my slowly strengthening biceps and triceps.
There’s also a lot of waiting around time involved in getting water. I believe there are three other wells/pumps in Lomie; the one near Ben’s house is in the middle of downtown and there is always a line of buckets/people waiting. (It’s clearly a kid responsibility to get the water, so there are always hordes of kids hanging about, playing games while waiting for their turn.) Oftentimes, I’ll go put my buckets in line, head back to the house for a bit and watch from afar as my buckets get moved up in line as the people ahead of me fill theirs. This method works only so far: if someone further up in the line isn’t around, people from behind start jumping ahead, and at a certain point, all order breaks down. Then it becomes a more complicated negotiation of who is deemed worthy of more respect (and can thus fill their buckets first), who has the chutzpah to push their way up to the front of the line, and most likely several other societal nuances that I have no clue about. As a white person, I seem to be afforded a bit of privilege (sometimes) so if it’s unclear about who’s next, someone will often take my buckets and even offer to pump the water for me. I always say, “C’est pas necessaire – tu veut pomper?” And they always seem to want to do it, so, of course, I let them. I’m still not clear on why this happens: Is it a respect thing? Do they get some sort of increase in status by helping me, a white person – and more than that, a white woman with long blondish hair? This is what Jen (Ben’s roommate) seems to think, although I really don’t know… Anyway, I’m not entirely comfortable with it all, but again, I’m happy to let someone else pump (it can get really difficult, as the water table falls rapidly since the pump is well used.) So far, only one (teenaged?) boy has offered to actually carry my buckets back to the house – and I said no thank you. As with the whole pumping thing, I’m not clear on what it means for someone to do things for me, so I didn’t know if that meant he would expect to be paid, or if he thought it would give him license to hang around…or what.
Washing Clothes and Dishes
Again, having to pump/carry all of your water dictates how much cleaning/washing you really want to do.
Doing dishes is pretty straightforward: I heat up some water on the gas cook top, pour it in a dishpan, wash the dishes, dump out the dirty water, get (cold) clean water, rinse and stack.
The necessity and frequency of doing laundry, like everything else, is subject to interpretation: clothes are always worn for more than one day, most often for at least three or four sweaty days at a stretch. Most people here just don’t have/can’t afford much in the way of any possessions, e.g., 3-4 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, a pair of shorts and one pair of “proper” shoes and some flip-flops. Even though I did bring a substantial number of clothes (more than I needed), I’ve adapted to not doing more work than I absolutely have to in this climate and have realized that deodorant can go a long way toward keeping clothes in the “okay to wear again” category.
But, when it is time to do laundry, it all happens in a big tub, by hand. You dump in a bunch of powdered soap (Note: we, the white people, use “fancy” – “Omo” -- laundry soap. Everyone else in Lomie uses the same soap for everything: it’s a big square chunk of all-purpose soap that seems to work fairly well, but doesn’t have the advantage of modern perfumes that help lend the illusion of clothes cleanliness) into the water, then add the clothes, stir them around and let them sit for a couple of hours. According to the soap box, your clothes will magically become clean in a couple of hours. This is apparently not true, as my somewhat chapped hands will attest to. Scrubbing everything with a brush is required, as the red dirt of Cameroon (you Midwesterners, think Oklahoma dirt) infiltrates everything from the moment you step out of bed (or accidentally touch something to the cement floor or anywhere else.) Keeping your clothes clean here is an art, and most Cameroonians have mastered it. Being starched and well-dressed is a point of pride here, and it is amazing to me how many people manage to sport completely clean, crisp white shirts. I walk out the door, and instantly have dirt all over me. I don’t know how they do it.
Oh, and it seems I made a good move when I first got here without even realizing it: I had been here for just a day or so, and I decided to do Ben’s laundry for him. I sat out on the front porch steps to do it -- this activity was apparently noticed by the entirety of the Lomie community. Now everyone thinks I am an extremely hard worker, and a good “wife” for Ben! One can never underestimate the power of a good (if inadvertent) publicity stunt!
Food and Supplies
The stores here seem to sell only canned or packaged goods, and you can buy only a limited number of fruits and vegetables anywhere (bananas, a few tomatoes, onions, potatoes and pineapple, some eggs periodically, although since refrigeration is a luxury here, the egg quality is definitely not a sure thing, as my egg-buying experience of yesterday illustrates: I bought 5 eggs, only one of which was good) during the week. There are no leafy greens to speak of, and it seems difficult to grow them (e.g. conventional lettuce) here, although that may just be because it’s currently the dry season. Ben’s roommate, Jen, has a garden in back of the house, and although now it appears somewhat barren, they tell me they got quite a bit of food from it at the end of last year: peas, carrots, green beans, peppers, herbs (basil does really really well here), radishes, and a few other random things.
Each Saturday, there’s a town market, and if you get there early (5am) you may be lucky enough to get some better tomatoes, manioc, herbs and spices, etc. Everyone here, and I do mean everyone, has a “field” in which they grow their own food so what makes it to the weekly market is only that which is surplus, and that is really not much.
You can, however, buy prepared meals from various women/mini-storefronts throughout town. A “plat” is around 500CFA, which is less than a dollar. This involves taking your own pan/dishes, walking down the main drag, asking each person what they have to sell that day, making a decision and having them dish it up. The standard fare seems to be some combination of: rice, beans, fried plantains, manioc, koki (like a spicy polenta molded and wrapped in a little palm-leaf pyramid) and meat. Despite what I initially intended, I’ve eaten pretty much every kind of dead animal on offer, even monkey. I will not eat monkey again, as it made me ill – both physically (we think something was wrong with it, because everyone who ate it got sick) and mentally. Once I saw the little hands floating in the pot, well, that was the end of that.
The condiment of choice is piment: I don’t know how it’s prepared, but it’s obviously got some sort of extremely spicy pepper in it. It’s pretty yummy, and a little goes a long way.
In general, the food here is quite good, and much tastier than my un-African-traveled mind expected. Much to my surprise, I think I’ve actually gained weight on this trip, as we eat very well every single day. Food and other supplies are also pretty cheap: Ben has allotted 5000CFA ($10) /day and between the two of us, we have not yet spent that much money in a day.
I’ve also had several women offer to teach me how to cook “Camerounais” and if I end up coming back here, I will definitely learn how to do it. (Not least because I will be an object of ridicule if I continue to get “take-out” every day! One of the neighbors, Yolanda, or “Yo Yo”, as she is affectionately called, asks me every day, “Gwinn. Pour quoi tu ne fait pas la cuisine?”
Personal Hygiene
Taking care of one’s body here certainly requires an adjustment of personal hygiene standards.
Bathing
As a wimpy-ass American girl, who is accustomed to sitting in front of her computer all day long, I have to say I’ve realized that I just don’t need to be that clean if it means having to carry big buckets of water to get that way! Everyone else here seems to have no problem (undoubtedly for the reasons I mention above) being fairly stinky, so the sheer fact that I wear deodorant every day puts me in a sweet-smelling category all my own. (Cold) sponge baths are the only option, and I’ve been happy to realize that I can survive on them quite happily.
Defecation
Using the toilet is an experience somewhere between that of an outhouse, and a perpetually backed-up toilet on a septic tank system. I should also clarify “toilet”: it is a toilet bowl, that sits over a hole in the floor that apparently leads to a somewhat larger hole in the ground below the house. There is no seat, no lid, and, most importantly, no tank. So, one hovers over the bowl, hopes that the laws of physics and gravity work as they should, and takes care of business. Then, afterwards, you take a big bucket of water and dump it into the bowl itself, again hoping that everything rushes away, down into the hole in the ground. If you don’t use enough water, things tend to make a reappearance and it’s an unpleasant situation all the way around. However, most people here really do just have some sort of pit latrine out back of their house, so in comparison, I feel pretty fortunate. Oh, and I was also very relieved to find that the little store next door sells toilet paper. No Charmin, but it ain’t leaves or newspaper so thank god for that.
Electricity & Telephone
As you’ve undoubtedly figured out, electricity is available, but there are no telephone capabilities (except satellite phone.) The electricity has, so far, been pretty reliable since I’ve been here. I believe it runs off of a diesel-powered generator, and is shut down between 8-10am every other day (why, I’m not sure.) I did hear that last year the electricity was off for ~3 months (again, I’m not sure why) which would certainly change some things about how people live here. No stereos blaring the same Shania Twain album every few hours, no cold beer (quelle horreur!) and no satellite TV, just to mention a few.
As far as the telephone goes, there is no countrywide infrastructure (although I did see some wired phones in Yaounde), and it seems as if there are no plans to put one in. I believe there are fewer than 5 satellite phones in town, as they are quite expensive to buy/use. I brought one from the US for Ben’s boss, Charly, and just the equipment itself cost around $1000. That’s more than most Cameroonians make in an entire year, and in several years for the vast majority. Making a call costs an average of at least $2-3/minute, so you begin to see why, until someone figures out a way to make cell phones affordable here, that outlying villages will remain essentially isolated. I did see several ads for cell phones in Yaounde, and I believe they are affordable enough for many people who live in larger commercial centers to have one.
Money
Cameroon’s currency is called the Cameroonian Franc (CFA), and the current exchange rate is about 600CFA = $1. There’s not much more to say about money, other than most people don’t have nearly enough (or any) and are constantly trying to figure out a way to get more.
Oh, I do have one other thing to say about money: in general, it seems like things cost the stated price, i.e., there is less “bargaining” for basic supplies than I had anticipated. I do think I’ve been ripped off a few times, to the tune of a hundred CFA ($.20) but so far, I’ve not been seriously cheated. I think Ben has had some different experiences with people trying to blatantly take advantage of his ignorance early on in his sojourn here, but as of yet, that hasn’t happened to me. (This is most likely due to the fact that I haven’t had to purchase any big ticket items – Ben has dealt with all of that, and is savvy enough to know when to negotiate.)
Transportation
Vehicles
In town, the vehicle of choice is the motorcycle. There are a number of motorcycle taxis, upon which you can get a ride for about 100CFA/kilometer (???). Many of the area NGOs also have motorcycles, and you can see people zipping about all day long, doing what, I’m not exactly sure.
Several people have cars in varying stages of working order, and they seem to spend quite a bit of time getting them repaired, obtaining the necessary parts, etc.
Other vehicles on the road include various NGOs’ 4x4 SUVs (although one does wonder how long something that has essentially been turned into the vehicle of choice for American soccer moms can really last on the rutted paths that pass for roads here), a few bicycles and the ubiquitous Grumiers. Grumiers are the really big trucks that continually haul away the last of the Cameroonian primary growth trees from the local area rainforest.
In order to get from one town to another, most people have to take the “bus.” The bus costs about $10 to get from Yaounde to Lomie (~300km). I know Ben has written about the “bus” before, but the experience is so intense, it deserves another telling. First off, the “bus” (and I promise I will cease placing it in quotes here in a minute) requires some definition: it is actually a passenger van (usually Toyota), with a couple of special modifications made to it. Steel bars have been welded across the ceiling, to provide for reinforcement. This is an absolute necessity, as the amount of stuff that’s piled on the van equals the height of the van body itself. It also seems that an additional bench seat has been added to the interior, so that instead of it holding the 10-12 passengers for which it was originally designed, it’s possible to cram in at least 20. On the trip down, we were sitting 5 people to a seat, for a total of 24 (including the driver) and I am using the word “sitting” loosely. The trip took us around 9 hours, and for 5 of that I had a woman sitting squarely on my lap. (At several points I wondered to myself if having a leg that “fell asleep” for hours on end could result in a required amputation.) There is not one millimeter of space to move in, and all of my previously held notions of what “dirty sweatiness” might entail took a quantum leap into another dimension of meaning.
All in all though, and I know I’m weird, I enjoyed the trip down, as I was squished up right next to a window so I could see everything and everyone we drove by. I know the novelty would quickly wear off, but my first time was pretty interesting.
Roads
The roads here are all dirt. I saw a few paved roads in Yaounde, but even there, dirt appears to be the norm. As far as I can tell, the notion of a “road grader” is nonexistent, (or, more likely, there’s simply no money to pay for one) so the roads are full of ruts and holes and giant bumps requiring a slow-down to about 5mph each time one is encountered. So, what could really be about a 4-hour trip from Yaounde to Lomie ends up taking at least 9 hours, and apparently that’s considered making good time. During the rainy season I hear that the roads are completely impassable and it is not uncommon to be stranded for days at a time while one waits for the roads to dry out enough to attempt to traverse.
Society/Culture
As I mentioned before, this is a big one and a topic upon which I don’t feel that I know much about, so far. Much of what I’ve “learned” has really been told to me by Ben and/or Jen. I have no reason to doubt what they say (most of you know Ben, in particular, has this annoying habit of being right almost all of the time), but it is important to know that I don’t have much first-hand experience to base my opinions on. Also, the fact that I am a woman (and to a somewhat lesser extent, although obviously significant in its own way, a white woman) would undoubtedly lend itself to a different experience than Ben’s if I were to actually live here.
People
Most everyone I’ve met to date has been very warm and nice – men, women and children. People tend to live in large family units, and it is the norm for a few adult women to live in the same house with at least one or two men, and a whole passel of kids. Polygamy is also in practice here, and I know of several men who all have more than one wife – everyone lives together in the same house, and from the tiny bit I know about it, all seems to work fine.
The “houses” are more like compounds, containing a main structure and a few smaller structures. I’m not sure how everything is arranged, but I do know that most everyone (except for Ben, ‘cause he lives in the white man house) has a traditional Cameroonian kitchen, which is to say, one cooks over an open fire.
I’ve had primarily superficial interactions with most adults I’ve come in contact with, with the exception of a few people: Alex (who we think is about 25, but seems to have the emotional maturity of a teenager), Petit (who is somewhere between 15-19; he is a complete ham, is rumored to be an amazing dancer, and he loves to draw), Charly (Director of the GECEC – credit union -- Ben’s boss, late 20s or early 30s, smooth operator, handsome and amiable, probably one of the – if not the – most sophisticated people in town), Brigitte (late 20s, works with Ben, seems nice and friendly, although I have a hard time understanding her French so it’s hard to really make any sort of connection), Eric (mid-20s, Charly’s brother – he runs all of Charly’s “other”, i.e., under-the-table businesses, super nice guy; I’ve been tutoring him in English most afternoons for about three hours, as he is attempting to pass his baccalaureate exam for the third time), and Patrice & Antoinette (couple in their mid-30s, fairly sophisticated, Patrice is one of the very few – less than 5 – people in town who has been outside of Cameroon; they invited Ben, me, Jen and Brian, another VSO volunteer who was visiting for a few days, to dinner last week and put out quite a spread. We even had a bottle of wine, which indicates a truly special occasion, and a really big deal. They’re both pretty nice, although, again, a bit hard to read, I think not only because of the language barrier, but also because they have enough experience with white people to be a bit wary, and rightfully so.)
So far I’ve had no problems with men yelling at me, wanting to touch me, making rude comments or anything like that. Of course, it’s also entirely possible that because I can’t understand Cameroonian French terribly well, any semi-undesirable comments have just passed completely over my head! But in any case, I just say “bonjour”, smile and continue on my merry way.
The women have been uniformly nice, and, apparently open to and interested in getting to know me better. As with women everywhere, I do feel that tiny bit of reserve that manifests itself in the “glance of assessment”: who are you, what are you about, will I need to compete with you in any way, where do you fall in my social hierarchy, will I be able to trust you, etc. As a white woman, I think I exist outside of their hierarchy, which is an advantage in some ways, but not so much in others. As an American, I and my behavior are subject to review against everyone’s notions of what Americans are like, how much money we have, what we know and are capable of, and how we can benefit them. It does seem to be possible to make real female friendships here (Jen seems to have made a few real friends) but I’m unsure as to how the whole equality thing would play out. I clearly have more material advantages than anyone here (men or women) and I can leave at any time. Additionally, it’s clear that I will be leaving (soon, in a week) and while I may come back, that will also be for a set period of time. It’s certain that I will not live here for the rest of my life, and while my generation of Americans has adopted more nomadic living habits, that is really not the case here. People do move to different villages (marriage being a primary motivator), but as it takes a lot of effort (and time) to get even a finger-hold of stability established, most people seem to live, and die, in the same place.
Kids run around wild everywhere, and their parents seem to pay very little attention to them as long as they are out of the way. Any misbehavior results in some pretty serious yelling and often a beating, as corporal punishment is alive and well here. Ben is very patient with the kids (much more so than me; I’m more in the camp of “oh they’re cute until I’m sick of them” and then I flip over into “children should be seen and not heard” mode) so they are constantly in and out of the house, rolling about on the floor, playing with rocks, screaming loudly, and just generally having a good time being kids. One activity that occupied the little neighbor girls early on was braiding my hair. Apparently they all learn how to braid at a very young age, and were fascinated to touch my (straight) hair and put it into braids.
Several of the children appear to be either mostly or entirely neglected. One little boy comes over almost every day, and he has been dubbed “no name” kid because no one knows (or can elicit) his name, nor where he lives. A few of the little girls have varying problems (like a propensity for theft, or pooping in the so-called water cistern – which doesn’t actually hold water) and it’s not uncommon to see them wearing the same dirty, ill-fitting clothes day after day. Sigh.
Communication
Since there are no telephones, the only way to talk to someone is to stop by and see them in person. People come by the house several times a day, for various reasons, and I’ve been surprised at how nice it’s been to not hear the ringing of the telephone all day long. There’s something about having to talk to someone f2f that makes the communications more human, solid and real. I like it quite a bit, although the constant stream of traffic can make it difficult to engage in tasks (like writing!) that require a certain amount of focus.
In general, people here seem to act much as they do in small towns the world over. They are concerned with, and talk about who is saying/doing what about/with whom, who is perceived as having the most power, who owes whom money, etc., etc.
Work
Some people here have “office” jobs, like those that work at GECEC with Ben, but the vast majority of people seem to be some sort of a merchant. Someone gets a hold of a few cartons of cigarettes and a bunch of bananas and Voila! Insta-Store, with nothing more required than a chair and small table. I noticed this in Yaounde as well, and was struck at how it seemed that the entire city was one big marketplace. Little tables lined every street, and it is obvious the commercial and entrepreneurial spirit runs rampant here.
Other work consists of, obviously, housework and fieldwork. For example, Brigitte, who I mention above, is the Controller for GECEC, so works all day long in the office – then tends her field during the evening and/or on the weekend. The women (and some, although fewer, of the men) work extremely hard here, and manage to pump out a number of kids to boot.
Entertainment
From what I’ve observed, many people seem to have satellite television, and most everyone has some sort of stereo or radio. Music blares loudly and continuously from the several bars that line Lomie’s main street, and unfortunately, people here seem to like the worst of bad North American pop (think Celine Dion). I have heard some great (recorded) African music, although I have no idea who the artists might be.
It doesn’t appear that there’s much in the way of live musical performances (other than some infrequent drumming, and the music the Pygmies make, both of which I have yet to see/hear) which is somewhat surprising to me, considering how much singing I hear on a regular basis. For example, last Sunday, one of the women’s tontines* met at the house next door. After their meeting, they all stood outside the front door in a large circle, singing, clapping and dancing, taking turns dancing individually in the center of the circle. I have no idea what they were singing about, but it looked like they were having a lot of fun doing it.
*Tontine = a women’s collective. Each member contributes a certain amount of money to the group “account”, which is then used to make certain business investments. For example, one of the women’s tontines here in Lomie is raising money to buy a grinder.
So, my computer is working, and soon, I will have a guest blogger to keep everyone up to date, and give a fresh perspective. I have been a bit swamped. When I got back, Jen was pretty much on the verge of not only being fired by CIAD, but the director is also a deputy mayor, and threatened to have her put in jail if she didn't leave. Needless to say, I have been in political overdrive for the past few days, trying to prevent this meltdown. Things seem to be stable enough for me to write a bit, and get back to working. Things are never boring here.
Why did I stop writing? I didn't.. my computer stopped working. A gorilla attack? Snakes? Riot? Power Surge? No.. Manufacturing problem. At least, that is the most likely culprit. So, now I am in Youndé, picking up gwinn, and getting the files off of my old (new) computer, and putting them on a new (old) computer... thanks to JP and Tomas. So, now that I have the machine, and the files, I am heading back to Lomié with Gwinn tomorrow morning. Once I am settled, I have a ton of stuff to post, so, bear with the technical difficulties if you please, I am wounded, but not dead (technologically speaking). If you don't see anything in the next few days.. I am.. toast. finished. At least for a month or so.