In Brazil people were convinced I was from Ecuador. In Cambodia people admired my big nose and told me that I'd be pretty if only I wasnt so dark-skinned. In India people considered me too American to be truly Indian and too Indian to be truly American. In the U.S. people (especially in Maine) have asked if I'm Mexican, Chinese, Arab, or African. In every country people are preplexed as to how/why a non-white person is carrying an American passport that says she was born in Scotland. But for all this racial confusion, no one has ever mistaken me for a "white man". Yet that's what I'm known as here. Of course, people dont literally think I'm a Caucasian male, but rather that I'm a foreigner. However, I can't walk down the street without a dozencalls of "white man, white man", mostly from kids under the age of eight. Even toddlers barely old enough to speak can squeak out 'wha-maa' and point at me.
Usually we (the other interns and I) can satisfy the kids by returning their calls with a 'hello' or 'good morning', which the kids, who are too dumbfounded by our ability or willingness to speak to them, can't reply to. Some bolder or more curious kids have insisted on rubbing my (above all the others') skin to see if the color rubs off. A few have even put mud on themselves and let it dry to try to match me.
But the biggest attraction has been my hair, especially among grown women. No adult woman here has just her own hair- everyone wears a wig or weave, or braids in fake hair. So the fact that I, a dark-skinned person have straight, relatively shiny, fast-growing, black hair is almost unbelievable, and definitely an eviable trait. More than a few women have offered to pay me to cut off my hair and give it to them to make a wig out of, especially after I described donating to Locks of Love. The rest of the women insist that I should braid it like they do, but I think I'll end up looking like a sorority girl just back from Spring Break in Cancun, and I dont really want that.
All of these behaviors and suggestions are regularly occuring and have become expected. But what I did not expect was the welcome I got in the village of Bakwele. I had gone to Bakwele, a small isolated village about 45 minutes drive away from Mamfe on a crappy dirt/mud road, to visit their health center as part of my research. With me were Sharlotte, a young nurse who is my assistant/translator, and Antoine, our driver. Because Bakwele is a rather unremarkable village, there is no reason for a 'white man' to pass through it, and we knew that I would be the only non-African many people had ever seen, or at least seen recently. Even driving the truck down the main path caused a sensation, as there are no cars and only a few motorbikes in Bakwele. This was all expected. But what the three of us were not ready for were the screams of 'AL-BE-NO! AL-BE-NO!' which erupted as I got out of the truck. Within a few moments what seemed like every kid in the village had gathered around me and taken up the chant, including a girl so young she couldnt walk without falling down every few steps, but who chanted with unparalleled enthusiasm.
Because there are a lot of misconceptions about albinos (who are relatively common here), the kids were quite scared of me. Most people believe that albinos are sub-human/ghosts/immortal/soul-less beigns who are cursed because of the sins of their parents. Several kids would run up to me to get a closer look, and then run away screaming in terror. None of the parents or grandparents sitting around made any move to quell the chaos and in fact seemed to agree with their kids' assessment of me.
Eventually we made our way into the health center, where we had a much more sensible welcome. All three of us were still startled and neither Sharlotte nor Antoine had a good explanation for that reception. (In other places we went a few kids might should 'white man' but most people kept going about the business and greeted me normally.) Even inside the health center we could hear the kids shoulding. During my survey of the clinic and interviews with the providers the kids would hang on the bars of the windows to stare at me (perhaps to determine if I was coming because of some problem derived from lacking a soul) and periodically shout 'Al-be-no' as a reminder to me of my classification.
Our walk back to the truck and departure created similar chaos to our arrival but the kids felt bolder now and would come up and touch me before running away shreiking. They ran after our car for almost a kilometer. Its hard to say if they were driving us out of town or were calling me back so they could examine me. Given that my skin is only slightly lighter than theirs, I wonder what they would have done if one of the real white interns (some of whom are imposingly large) had been with me; perhaps they would be a super-albino or even a phantom. I want to take a trip back to Bakwele just to conduct that experiment.
Outside that village no one has mistaken me for an albino but they have made other inaccurate guesses regarding my background. The chief doctor at the district hospital guessed Puerto Rican, which was unexpected since I doubt anyone else in Cameroon has ever heard of Puerto Rico, much less seen a Puerto Rican. Several people have thought that I was from the Middle East, saying that I look like 'those people America keeps fighting'. The most common guess is that I'm biracial. One guy even told me as part a marriage proposal (each foreign girl here gets at least 3 a day) that he "always wanted to marry a half black, half white", to which I replied I too shared that dream, and thus couldnt accept his offer. Yesterday a kid pointed me out to another one and said "Look, a 'black man' inside a 'white man'.
A couple days ago I had a difficult time convincing the Mayor's secretary that I was not in fact a Native American. Our conversation, which occured while I waited to take a trip to a village health center with the mayor, went as follows:
Him: So you are American?
Me: Yes.
Him: And you are an Indian?
Me: Yes
Him: So you are a red Indian.
Me: No, I'm a brown Indian, from India.
Him: (Silence)...Indians are custodians.
Me: (Shocked and perplexed face)
Him: ...of the land.
Me: Yes, I suppose that's true.
Him: Indians used to fight the cowboys.
Me: Yes, they did.
Him: As a red Indian, how do you feel about having Bush the cowboy as your President?
Me: Umm...(Considering the ways that question is ridiculous)
Luckily I was saved from answering by the mayor's arrival.
Eventually once people realize that my family is from India, they all have the same reaction: "You people make good movies and music." (I never thought there could be music and movies worse than those from Bollywood, but the comically bad products from 'Nollywood'- Nigeria- have proven me wrong.) Then they talk about how Indians are all beautiful and good singers. I have yet to disuade anyone of this notion, even after explaining that in a country of 1.3 billion people its not hard to find enough good-looking, talented people to fill up a movie set. Naturally this love of all things Indian leads the men to ask if I am married (and I always say that yes, I am, for two years to an American soldier- i.e. not someone to mess with) or if I have any available sisters, cousins or friends for them. (At this point I become an unfortunate, friendless orphan.)
So all you Indian women reading, know that there are lots of underemployed Cameroonian men who would love to marry you. And if you are a young biracial woman, there's someone here dying to have your baby. I'd take up these offers if only I wasn't an AL-BE-NO with no soul...:)
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
How to Win Friends & Influence People
A Lost Lesson from Dale Carniege: Eating
They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Well, the way to a country's heart is through your stomach.
Therefore real secret to making friends & influencing people is this: eat everything, eat a lot of it, and eat it spicy. After you've eaten, praise the cook, praise the country that invented the dish, and praise your fellow diners for introducing you to this delicious cuisine. If you follow these simple steps, you will be the most popular and well-liked person in any place you visit. Picky eaters are unwelcome everywhere.
*************************************************************************************
So I dont want to brag, but I've become famous here. Actually, that's not accurate; my stomach has become famous here. While the other 'white men' (see previous blog for an explanation of this term) prefer white bread with lumpy peanut butter, my stomach craves fufu and eru, snails, bushmeat, coki, egusi pudding, plantains in any form, gari and obono soup, etc, etc- all the classic Cameroonian dishes (see below for descriptions of these dishes). And of course, absurd amounts of pepe. Yet, while the other white men seem to have contracted every gastrointestinal illness known to mankind, my stomach chugs along quite happily, my stock of Pepto-Bismol untouched. This really the source of my stomach's popularity- its freakish fortitude. My stomach is so famous that I've been called "a true African" for possessing it. My entire "farewell and thank you" speech from UAC was about my appetite and love of African cuisine, which made me wonder if they think the only thing I did here was eat.
Naturally, the other white men are slightly jealous of my stomach, especially since they are constantly asked why they dont eat like me. (Their response is usually "I cant eat anything with oil/rice/starches/meat/anything green, anything yellow, anything not pre-packaged, anything cooked in Africa, etc.") I tell them that I can't take credit/responsibility for my eating habits- that honor belongs to my mother. She is the one who used to take us to eat weird things like goat kidney in back alleys in Bombay, feed us pani puri from street vendors whose hands were black with grime, and force us to consume anything set in front of us. So thanks mom, you've broken my stomach in well for this trip. You should do the same for these other white men. They're really missing out on some great, albeit carb-heavy, palm-oil loaded, food.
So what's the lesson in all this, you ask? An iron stomach is the traveler's greatest assest.
*************************************************************************************
Fufu and eru: Perhaps the most Cameroonian dish of all, it consists of a giant ball of bland cassava dough served with green leaves soaked in palm oil, often with snails or meat mixed in. Eaten with hands.
Snails: Very popular in the Southwest Province. In the Mamfe area they are the main source of protein. Tastes and feels like rubber. Sometimes eaten on a stick, othertimes with vegetables.
Bushmeat: Collective term for any unusual (and often illegally-hunted) game meat: antelope, monkey, porcupine, various large burrowing animals.
Coki: Either made from corn or beans which are ground (by hand) into a powder and then a paste, wrapped in banana leaves and steamed. Served in a big lump. One of my favorites.
Egusi pudding: Exactly like coki except made from ground melon seeds and often with meat inside.
Plantains: Like bananas, but stickier. Can be eaten unripe or ripe, fried, boiled, steamed, baked, etc. Either totally bland or extremely tasty.
Gari and Obono soup: Gari is basically a yellow version of fufu (big bland starch ball). Obono soup is flavored with the dried pits of bush mangoes. (Gari is sometimes served with okra or egusi soup.)
They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Well, the way to a country's heart is through your stomach.
Therefore real secret to making friends & influencing people is this: eat everything, eat a lot of it, and eat it spicy. After you've eaten, praise the cook, praise the country that invented the dish, and praise your fellow diners for introducing you to this delicious cuisine. If you follow these simple steps, you will be the most popular and well-liked person in any place you visit. Picky eaters are unwelcome everywhere.
*************************************************************************************
So I dont want to brag, but I've become famous here. Actually, that's not accurate; my stomach has become famous here. While the other 'white men' (see previous blog for an explanation of this term) prefer white bread with lumpy peanut butter, my stomach craves fufu and eru, snails, bushmeat, coki, egusi pudding, plantains in any form, gari and obono soup, etc, etc- all the classic Cameroonian dishes (see below for descriptions of these dishes). And of course, absurd amounts of pepe. Yet, while the other white men seem to have contracted every gastrointestinal illness known to mankind, my stomach chugs along quite happily, my stock of Pepto-Bismol untouched. This really the source of my stomach's popularity- its freakish fortitude. My stomach is so famous that I've been called "a true African" for possessing it. My entire "farewell and thank you" speech from UAC was about my appetite and love of African cuisine, which made me wonder if they think the only thing I did here was eat.
Naturally, the other white men are slightly jealous of my stomach, especially since they are constantly asked why they dont eat like me. (Their response is usually "I cant eat anything with oil/rice/starches/meat/anything green, anything yellow, anything not pre-packaged, anything cooked in Africa, etc.") I tell them that I can't take credit/responsibility for my eating habits- that honor belongs to my mother. She is the one who used to take us to eat weird things like goat kidney in back alleys in Bombay, feed us pani puri from street vendors whose hands were black with grime, and force us to consume anything set in front of us. So thanks mom, you've broken my stomach in well for this trip. You should do the same for these other white men. They're really missing out on some great, albeit carb-heavy, palm-oil loaded, food.
So what's the lesson in all this, you ask? An iron stomach is the traveler's greatest assest.
*************************************************************************************
Fufu and eru: Perhaps the most Cameroonian dish of all, it consists of a giant ball of bland cassava dough served with green leaves soaked in palm oil, often with snails or meat mixed in. Eaten with hands.
Snails: Very popular in the Southwest Province. In the Mamfe area they are the main source of protein. Tastes and feels like rubber. Sometimes eaten on a stick, othertimes with vegetables.
Bushmeat: Collective term for any unusual (and often illegally-hunted) game meat: antelope, monkey, porcupine, various large burrowing animals.
Coki: Either made from corn or beans which are ground (by hand) into a powder and then a paste, wrapped in banana leaves and steamed. Served in a big lump. One of my favorites.
Egusi pudding: Exactly like coki except made from ground melon seeds and often with meat inside.
Plantains: Like bananas, but stickier. Can be eaten unripe or ripe, fried, boiled, steamed, baked, etc. Either totally bland or extremely tasty.
Gari and Obono soup: Gari is basically a yellow version of fufu (big bland starch ball). Obono soup is flavored with the dried pits of bush mangoes. (Gari is sometimes served with okra or egusi soup.)
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I am alive!
Sorry for not writing for so long, but Internet access (along with electricity and running water) is a rare indulgence in Mamfe. There are only three computers with Internet access in town and service is incredibly slow on the few days there is power. However, know that I am still writing entries which will be posted when I'm back in Buea and will catch you up on my adventures. For now, here's a few highlights:
*I helped delivery a baby at a rural health center (no water, no lights, no paved roads) and now the baby is named Zara Egbe (Egbe after the two nurses who really did the delivery.)
*I took a two-hour, 3-person-on-a-bike motorcycle ride through a road (i.e. muddy roller coaster) that most Cameroonians won't dare travel on in the rainy season. Upon my arrival back in Mamfe the other volunteers commented that I was so muddy that my clothes and skin were the same color.
*I've become an expert on the quality of bushmeats, i.e. game that is killed in the area forests, such as porcupine, antelope, monkey and giant rat. My love of local food, willingness to eat anything, and my freakish tolerance for spiciness has won me a lot of fans.
*I've visited about 20 health centers and the crazinest clinician I've met was a doctor who was so scapel-happy that he did surgeries on 6% of his patients and averaged 10 a day. He claimed appendicitis was the 2nd most common illness he saw- no other provider put that in their top 10. Even worse, he kept all the organs and tumors he removed stuffed in buckets of formaldahyde under the bed in his little surgery room, and proudly showed them off to me.
*Two days ago I conducted amatuer dentistry on myself to removed my metal retainer on my lower teeth, which had come loose and was poking me. My mini- Swiss Army knife's knife and nail file have never been so handy.
*I caused sheer pandamonium in one village where, inexplicably, people became convinced that I was an albino. Children ran away from me or ran after me screaming "Al-be-no! Al-be-no!" all afternoon, even while I conducted interviews. The village elders seemed to agree with the children's assessment.
That's a bit for now, but I promise to write more soon. I'm leaving Mamfe in about 3 weeks, so I'll be coming back to the modern world then. So til that time, know that I'm alive and well (and getting fat on the copious amounts of white bread people make me eat) and enjoying Cameroon.
*I helped delivery a baby at a rural health center (no water, no lights, no paved roads) and now the baby is named Zara Egbe (Egbe after the two nurses who really did the delivery.)
*I took a two-hour, 3-person-on-a-bike motorcycle ride through a road (i.e. muddy roller coaster) that most Cameroonians won't dare travel on in the rainy season. Upon my arrival back in Mamfe the other volunteers commented that I was so muddy that my clothes and skin were the same color.
*I've become an expert on the quality of bushmeats, i.e. game that is killed in the area forests, such as porcupine, antelope, monkey and giant rat. My love of local food, willingness to eat anything, and my freakish tolerance for spiciness has won me a lot of fans.
*I've visited about 20 health centers and the crazinest clinician I've met was a doctor who was so scapel-happy that he did surgeries on 6% of his patients and averaged 10 a day. He claimed appendicitis was the 2nd most common illness he saw- no other provider put that in their top 10. Even worse, he kept all the organs and tumors he removed stuffed in buckets of formaldahyde under the bed in his little surgery room, and proudly showed them off to me.
*Two days ago I conducted amatuer dentistry on myself to removed my metal retainer on my lower teeth, which had come loose and was poking me. My mini- Swiss Army knife's knife and nail file have never been so handy.
*I caused sheer pandamonium in one village where, inexplicably, people became convinced that I was an albino. Children ran away from me or ran after me screaming "Al-be-no! Al-be-no!" all afternoon, even while I conducted interviews. The village elders seemed to agree with the children's assessment.
That's a bit for now, but I promise to write more soon. I'm leaving Mamfe in about 3 weeks, so I'll be coming back to the modern world then. So til that time, know that I'm alive and well (and getting fat on the copious amounts of white bread people make me eat) and enjoying Cameroon.
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