...in no particular order...
BIRTH & MORTALITY
On occasion, we’ll read about life expectancy, birth and mortality rates, and note how dramatic the differences between the developing and developed worlds can be. It never crossed my mind before coming to Cameroon that it would be so visibly evident. A few small examples for you: I went to a small cemetery a while back – a popular pastime in any country!! There were about 40 to 50 people buried there. I saw only one headstone from someone who was born before me; a woman who passed away in her 70’s. The next oldest person was born in the mid ‘60’s. Kind of gives a very loose, albeit not entirely scientific, idea of the mortality rate in Cameroon (life expectancy at birth is 46 years, I’m 47 – I beat the odds!!!). Cameroon’s population is relatively young (42% of the population is less than 14 years of age, and 72% is less than 30 years old).
Another unscientific sign of the mortality rate here is the unbelievable number of funeral processions I’ve seen. I’m certain I’ve seen more funeral processions in one year in Cameroon than I have in my entire life in Canada. People are constantly missing work because they have to attend a service for a relative who just passed away.
I recall reading that only 3% of the population here is over 65. In that light, I was quite pleased to meet a 102 year-old man the other day. Of course, he still lived in the same village where he was born. He fully had his wits about him, but spoke only his local dialect, with Pidgin as a backup. He needed help getting up from a chair, climbing up the single step to get into his house, etc, but he was all smiles. It made my day. It also left me wondering what kind of changes, for better or worse, he has seen in his lifetime.
Along with the mortality rate, of course, is the birth rate. Once again, an unscientific observation, but I’ve never seen so many kids in my life. I suspect that has to do with the culture here, where people are more likely to let their children move around unattended. Also, many people bring their children to work, as babysitters and daycares are not so common (not to mention the cost).
Associated with the birth rate is the remarkable number of women’s breasts I’ve seen. This is a family show, so I’ll qualify that by noting that they always have babies attached to them. There is no place too public, no taxi too crowded, and no need for modesty (I rarely see a woman cover up with a blanket, or even shift her top to give herself a bit of privacy).
My favourite breast feeding story (we all have one, don’t we?) comes from the Pygmy village we visited last Xmas. A mother was sitting down, feeding her baby, when she abruptly felt the need to jump from her seat up to attend to some important matter. She didn’t bother grabbing or detaching the kid from her breast before standing up. I happened to glance that direction, just in time to see the little guy swinging from his mother’s breast, holding on only by the force of suction. It only lasted an instant, but I continued to watch, hoping it would turn into a part of the song and dance we were viewing. My desire was that at some point, she’d drop the baby again, and he’d use the opportunity to spring into a back flip, then latch on to the other breast.
Tada!!
No such luck. Nevertheless, I felt I was watching a future trapeze artist in rehearsal.
That was an inappropriate story, definitely in bad taste. I should delete it before I upload this entry.
WHILE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT KIDS….
It’s hard not to notice the absence of children’s toys here. Or, to put it more accurately, it becomes very apparent how many different toys are available in Canada. The most common means of amusement for children is to push an old bicycle tire or pot lid around, guiding it with a stick. The more elaborate version of that toy will be a small hand-made wooden car attached to the stick. I hope to get a photo of one of these, as I think it’s kind of a cool innovation. Other than that, all I’ve seen kids playing with are partially inflated soccer balls, or dolls or teddy bears that look like they’ve been handed down enough times that maybe my 102 year-old friend may have played with them when he was a kid.
Being that there are often so many kids running around the streets here, it is not uncommon for them to greet me, given that I’m a something of a novelty in Santa (I think it’s my great sense of fashion that gets their attention). Children who know me usually call me ‘Uncle Eric’, although there is a little guy out here who calls me ‘Uncle White Man’. Here is a sampling of a typical conversation with children who don’t know me.
(As I am walking down the street)
Child (with big smile on face): White Man!!
Me: Black Child!!
Child: White Man!!
Me: black child….
Child: White Man!!
Me: (wave to child or children)
Child: White Man!!
Me: (less enthusiastic wave)
Child: White Man!!
Me: (mumble to myself)
Child: White Man!!
Me: (wondering how long it takes to get out of shouting distance)
….and so forth
After the children have finished addressing my presence, they break into song. Here are the lyrics in their entirety:
White man, white man, white man
White man with a long nose
Since my mother born me
I never seen a white man
Usually they only sing the first two lines. I’ll sing it to you all when I get home.
The really young kids (less than 3 years of age) who’ve never been out of their village and have never seen a white man before, don’t sing the song. They scream and run for their mothers. I’m not kidding. I have unintentionally been the subject of nightmares of several toddlers here. Everyone has a good laugh, except for the poor little kid.
PUBLIC APPEARANCES
It’s quite remarkable how many times I’ve seen people stand up at public gatherings and make impromptu speeches. It’s a bit difficult to appreciate without seeing it, but speaking in public seems to be a part of the culture here. People don’t just stand up a say ‘a few quick words’. They’ll give long speeches, leaving one to wonder if they’ve rehearsed for the moment (they haven’t).
On that note, it is also quite remarkable how often I’ve been asked at public gatherings to stand up and ‘say a few words’. I’ve also made several radio and television appearances (including live interviews). I’ve reached a point where, whenever I see a camera or microphone pointing my way, my vocabulary increases dramatically. Kind of a Pavlovian thing, I suppose. I’ll immediately start using words like “unequivocal, normalcy, de facto, microfilm” and of course, “irregardless”. I suspect my vocabulary will be well beyond most peoples’ comprehensile approbilities when I get back to Canada. My apologies in advance. We can only anticipate my swollen head will eventually reconcilionize itself as I ease my way back into my simple-minded world of arguing with my friends about who is the best girl-band in the history (the obvious answer is Bananarama, but some people are so stubborn).
Speaking of girl bands, I was asked to be a patron of the Our Lady of Assumption Church Choir in Santa, to which I gladly obliged (a life-long dream, and all). Once a month, I attend a rehearsal/meeting, which involves singing, dancing, eating, and discussing the business side of the choir. At one meeting, as per usual, everyone got up & starting singing songs and dancing. There was one particular dance that involved some rather unique positioning, and one woman approached me, and started the dance. I took that as my cue to get up and imitate the moves she was making. Everyone in the room burst out laughing, and then I noticed I was the only man dancing, everyone else was female. Turns out they were singing in their local dialect: “I open my legs for you…” Needless to say, I was the hit of the party, and the attendees have told that story many times over to their friends.
THE AFRICAN WORLD OF INSECTS
I realize I’ve said little about wildlife in the time I’ve been here. The reason is, in part, I’ve not seen much, other than dead monkeys being sold along the highway (not a common sight, but not a great surprise when it does happen).
It’s time for some wildlife stories. Unfortunately, my interaction with wildlife here is limited to the insect world. That’s where I’ll start…and end.
Something I never knew about myself before coming to Cameroon: I’m one of those people who, upon discovering a spider living in my house, would capture it and safely set it free outside, where it would be welcome to roam its new surroundings as desired. In fact, there could arguably have been a time where I may have even offered to help it spin a new web, had I the capacities, and in acknowledgement of the legwork undertaken by the little guy within my household.
Alas, the times have changed. I now think nothing of squashing even the largest of invaders into insect oblivion. That is not to say that Cameroon has turned me into a cold-blooded insect-killer. It’s just that my place is small and the bugs are big. As a side note, physical contact without a slappy weapon in hand is not recommended.
Perhaps this will help you understand my new-found killer instinct. There’s this little insect, about a half centimetre long. It’s called krichi, and if you’ve never encountered one, be grateful. It doesn’t bite or sting. What it does is excrete an acid-like fluid on your skin, if disturbed while out for a walk on any part of your body. The acid burns. A lot. Burn, burn, burn. I have become known in Cameroon (soon the world over, I expect) as the Krichi King. I’ve been nailed by those little guys 7 times now, including once on my eyelid, which left my eye swollen shut for a couple of days. One would think that krichi must be a major hazard here. Not so. Most Cameroonians have been nailed once in their life, if at all. Some of my VSO colleagues have never even seen one. I learned the reason why. Krichi are attracted to light, and when I first got here, I used to leave my window open at night with the light on outside. My day-glo complexion probably contributed to the appeal, as well.
There’s also this little fly that lays eggs in clothing while it dries outside. The preventative cure is to iron one’s clothes before wearing them. If I get dressed without ironing my clothes, just at the time the eggs hatch, then the little baby flies get to feast on my skin. Nothing more annoying than a mosquito bite, really, but a tad unsettling, nonetheless.
The other little guy that likes to make a home of people’s bodies is the jigger, which I’m sure some of you are aware of. This one usually bores into your feet, if it happens to latch on while you’re wandering around in sandals. You literally have to dig them out of your skin. Bluck. I fortunately, have not experienced the fun of “jigger digging”. They’re probably afraid of krichi.
END OF CHAPTER
That’s it for now. I’ll be on hiatus for a month or so, as I’m heading back to Canada next week. I understand they have cold beer there. Probably Urban Myth, but I’m up for the experiment. I’ll be back in Cameroon from September, staying for 6 months, to March of next year, this time living in Bamenda on a different placement with VSO. Details to follow.
I don’t know about you folks, but I think the previous paragraph had a real ‘edge of your seat’ tone to it. Like a season finale, and all.
Stay in touch!!
eb
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