Ngaoundéré, where everyone knows my name

After taking a nightime train ride through fields and forests, I arrived in Nagauondere, a dusty city in Northern Cameroon, on Friday morning. The suburban area where I'm living is beautiful. The red streets are filled with women in long, beautiful clothing, playing children and baby goats.
I began to explore the downtown area in the afternoon. As I walked further
into the center of the city, it seemed like every other person was shouting my name at me and waving. Hmm, I thought. Maybe this is a sign that I should stay here for my independent study project? Turns out they don't know my name (yet), but were shouting "nassara" which means "white person!" in Fulani, the local language. That first syllable can be hard to hear.

So far, I like this town. My host family is very kind. The father sells plates and pots,
and his wife is a stay at home mom. She's only one month older than me. They have two young children, but they also live in a kind of gated compound that seems to have about twenty members of the extended family. At the moment, it looks like I will in fact be here for my study project at the end of the term, where I will have four weeks to research a subject that interests me. I think I'm going to study the different ways that young Muslim women here find empowerment and liberation in their religion. I've already begun to talk to my host mother a little about this, but hopefully I'll get more information as I become closer to the family.

Before coming up here, I spent a few days in Kribi, a beach town in Southern Cameroon.
Quite possibly the most beautiful place that I've stayed in my entire life. The water was warm
and graceful palm trees extended over the sand. However, Kribi is also the place where the Chad-Cameroon oil pipeline meets the ocean. It was quite strange to take walks on the beach in the morning and look out onto the ocean. There were several fishermen in wooden canoes close to shore, and then on the horizon a string e of oil tankers lined up to fill their tanks. A great blazing flame marked the place where the pipeline came to the surface.

I've been thinking a lot about my Grandfather lately, who passed away last week. I was sorry I couldn't be there with my family for the memorial, but I think he would have been happy that I'm doing so well here. He loved living in other countries and did work to empower marginalized Americans and people abroad. Little things have been coming up that reminded me of him all week long. This morning, my host mother suggested to me that I go running, as the students they have had before have apparently been very athletic. I hadn't been considering it, but then decided that it would feel good. I donned the most conservative athletic clothing that I had and
took to the streets. Nevertheless, it felt like every single person I passed was staring or shouting
"Nassara" at me. I remembered that my father told me that my grandpa started to go running in the states in the 1940s, where he probably received similar reactions from people on the street. I kept taking deep breaths, and I thought that maybe he would be proud if he was here.

a few more photos

So I just arrived in Yaounde, the capital city of Cameroon, and it seems like the lap of luxury. I've already delighted in icecream and a hot shower, and hopefully this week I will find sushi and some american medical products. Right now I'm sitting in the library at the World Bank. Although I don't agree with many of their politics, I'm not about to complain about their high-speed connection, which will allow me to post a few photos today. Above, there is one of my youngest host sister, who could totally school any other three year old in a child modeling conest. Also, one of some roof tops in Dschang, one of my french class (which was usually outside at the University of Dschang, and made me feel like a young, aristocratic girl in a Henry James novel.) In my French class are my professor Andre, my friends Chloe (in the red shirt) and my two friends Julia.

oh, technology

Okay, as you may notice, I'm new to the blogophere and often experience issues. The last post, for some reason, published in 1 point font. Uploading photos here can be really difficult. On my camera, and on another computer, this one of me with my host family looked great, but is coming up really dark on the screen here in this cafe. What does it look like on your screen??

While I'm waiting for this to load, I have a confession to make. While staying with my host family, I've become addicted to Venezualan

Soap Operas. The family favorite, Saborati, is translated in French as Destins Croisés, or Crossed Destinies. Attempted murders, love triangles, adoption disputes: this show has got it all. Nearly every Cameroonian woman I meet seems to be really into it as well.

On a more serious note, I continue to be shocked by the amount of corruption in this country. Students regularly pay their teachers off for grades; in fact, sometimes the only students who pass are the ones who pay. When my host mother went to the hospital to give birth to her son, the nurse told her she needed to pay extra under the table to get the proper service. I've heard that 40% of Cameroon's wealth goes into paying people off in corrupt interactions. Several Cameroonians I've talked to don't think that the country can go on like this; many seem to think that some sort of monumental change is on the horizon. I hope to gain some sort of understanding about what this change could be by the time I leave.

a weekend with the chief

I just spent this past weekend at the house of the chief. This chief's village was a fw miles outsideDschang, and has a population of about 300,000 people. A chief from a village this size can have up to fifty wives, but this cheif explained to methat he prefers to keep his family small so he can provide healthcare and education for everyone.

I was able to hang out with four of the five wives. For the fourth wife, polygamy seemed to be the ultimate feminist lifestyle. Thanks to the other wives, she told me,she is able to take time off housework when she is sick. She also can pursue a career in nursing without worrying about who is taking care of her children. Other wives also seemed pretty happy with their lives, though all of them told me that, naturally, conflicts arise when everyone is splitting housework and time in the fields. Of course, my stay at the chief's was only long enough to get a superficial feel for family dynamics. I'm sure there would b much more to discover.

Two of the wives took me with them to two funerals on Saturday. Both events took place in courtyards of large houses, each of them packed with people and decorated with bright colors. At first, each time, I felt supprised that someone had died. I guess I'm probably used to the sevices in the states that are so somber from the beginning. But then then ceremonies started. All the women gathered in the middle of the courtyard and began to wail, chant, and hold eachother. It was really quite moving. I stayed on the periphery at the first ceremony, but the second time someone took my hand and led me in. I did my best to do as the others were doing, and hopefully, didn't look like too much of an idiotic foreigner.

Alright, I've got to run to lunch. Thanks for leaving comments! If you have any questions, please post, and I'll do my best to answer! I apologize for the grammer errors-- this keyboard is quite temperamental!!