Gorillas and Bars

Sunday, February 7: 4:12 pm

Another day of laundry and dishes. I just ate cassava for the first time, mashed up and called couscous (similar to the mashed corn couscous, but gummier). It has no flavor at all, but I ate it with a sauce made from tomatoes, “gombo” (not sure what that is), and various other vegetables. It was quite tasty.

Outside my window, I can hear the Italian song “Time to Say Goodbye” playing loudly. Odd...I wouldn't have expected arias in this neighborhood, but I guess you can never judge!

I don't know if I'll ever really get the hang of doing laundry by hand. My host sister helped me do it today – apparently I don't “frotter” (scrub) with enough force. Also, for the second time, one of my shirts bled in the bucket, turning my white underwear pink. Oh well.

Things are going pretty well in our new apartment. The living room, though much smaller than the old one, looks lovely. The family told Nathalie, the homestay coordinator, that we moved here, and I talked with her a little bit. I told her I didn't want to change families, though she said she's a little concerned because this neighborhood is so far from SIT. It's only a ten-minute cab ride, though, so I'm not too worried. Nathalie isn't concerned about safety, though, and she said that if I want to stay here, it's no problem. I'm supposed to keep her updated.


The living room

Last night was my first attempt at a night out on the town. While I wouldn't call it an epic failure, it came pretty close. The outing was organized by Jovial, one of the three Cameroonian students who is with the group all the time, and the plan was to start at a bar nearby at 8 pm and eventually head to a nightclub, where we would dance until 4:30 am. (According to all of the Cameroonians, this is the normal ending time for parties; all of the Americans were shocked and admitted they weren't sure if they could stay out that late.) In order to go, we had to get permission from our host parents; Maman said that I would need to bring my host brother Simon along, since it's dangerous to walk alone at night. Simon was enthusiastic about going, though I realized that since I had invited him, I would have to pay for him (Cameroonian rules). In addition, since Simon doesn't currently have a job, he's always low on cash.

We met up with the rest of the group at a bar in Carrefour Golf, not far from the house. Almost all of the Americans had brought their host brothers along. Simon was wearing snazzy clothes and the Chicago hat that I gave him, of which he is very proud. We drank some beers at the bar and kept waiting for more and more people to come. In the meantime, there was a big argument between Zach's host brother and Liza's host brother about some sort of hippie drum circle that Zach had invited Liza to; her brother apparently thought this drum circle was dangerous and inappropriate (and might involve substance use) and that Liza shouldn't be able to go. Liza, being a free-thinking American girl, refused to back down, and Zach's host brother insisted that it was fine. There was much gesturing and near-shouting, and eventually Liza's brother said she could go, but that he was very disappointed in her and he wished she respected him. Feeling guilty, Liza changed her mind and Zach went off alone.

A man arrived at the bar who was some sort of rent-a-cop who had been paid to guard a nightclub visit (by two of the American girls and their host brothers) last week; this time, he wasn't being paid, he just wanted to join us (a little shady). The Cameroonians seemed to know him, though, so it was all very friendly. After a couple hours, we were all ready to go to the nightclub, but the man invited everyone to another bar, where he would buy us drinks and food. We all hopped in cabs (7 people per taxi – lots of lap-sitting and squeezing) and headed to the other bar, which looked nice. I ordered a drink and chitchatted with Simon and Liza's host brother, who speaks English fairly well. He told me that his sister is in Washington, DC working for the World Bank (though he said he doesn't really like the World Bank, which is the message I get from most Cameroonians). My conversation with Simon was a bit more depressing, since we talked about how he's frustrated that he's a good technician but can't find a job in Cameroon. He wants to go the US, where he believes he could find a job much more easily. I explained that there are a many unemployed people in the US and it's not so easy to find a job – but I felt bad because this seemed to crush his dreams. The chance that he would ever make it to the US, though, is low.

At midnight, we still hadn't left the bar; finally, the bill came and it became clear that the policeman was angry at being excluded from the conversations (not that I had noticed) and was not going to pay for all the drinks. Again, I had to pay for my own drinks and Simon's; the night was becoming expensive. Everyone was upset at having to pay after being told we were getting free drinks. At 12:15, it was time to go the club – but I had already spent more than I had intended and, having been awake since 6:30 am, I was exhausted. I thought that if I went to the club and paid the 5000 francs ($10) entrance fee for myself and for Simon, I would end up going inside for a half-hour and then being too exhausted to dance. Plus, we had to get up at 6 the next day to go to Mass. I asked Simon if he would be upset if we went home, and he said it was okay (though he seemed disappointed). Jovial was also disappointed and apologized for leading us to the second bar with the policeman.

Back home, I collapsed immediately into my mosquito tent and fell asleep. When I woke up this morning, I was still exhausted and got up to talk to my host sister, who was preparing for Mass. She could see that I was very tired and asked if I was too sleepy to go; I said yes. I felt bad not joining the family, but I think that maybe one Mass experience is enough for me. I went back to bed and didn't wake up until 9 am (so late!).


Mirror Jesus scolds me for skipping Mass

So, the night wasn't so great. Even so, talking with people at the bars was fun. And fortunately, I had a fantastic day yesterday – art school and gorillas!

The art school was interesting. It's run by a Catholic Mission (there are pictures of the Pope visiting), meaning it's much cheaper than the public or private universities. People say it's the best art school in Cameroon and, indeed, the art we saw was impressive. A lot of people in the group bought pottery and sculptures. We also met a young Italian man who was studying art there – it's always exciting to see other white people around.

From the art school, we took a bus to Mefou National Park, a primate sanctuary that I had actually found online a few years ago. It was as incredible as I was hoping. There were baby chimps in the nursery, full-grown chimps and gorillas running around large forested enclosures, baboons, mandrills, and various smaller monkeys. I was smiling the whole time. The animals generally have free run of the enclosures, but if you shout their names, they come running to see who's there. The silverback gorilla in one group was named Bobo (also the name of the SIT office coordinator); we shouted “Bobo! Bobo!” until he ran up, his family tagging along behind.

We met a middle-aged American woman there who said she'd been working at Mefou for about ten months. Before that, she was a corporate interior decorator in Manhattan for ten years. One day she just decided to leave her life behind, put all of her things in storage, and move to Cameroon to live with gorillas and chimps. Talk about a midlife crisis!

We met another interesting person repairing a fence around the chimp enclosure. Though he was Cameroonian, he was wearing a Hebrew shirt that said “Israel at 50” on it. The other Jewish students and I were intrigued – we asked him where he had gotten the shirt, and he said that he had gone to Israel to learn how to build enclosures. Evidently, the Israeli government and various Israeli individuals support the park. The man even spoke a bit of Hebrew.

Inside the park, there's a small village, which I suppose has been there since before the park was built. The people go about their daily lives in mud huts, not paying much attention to the gorillas romping about (behind the fences). I'm interested in their lives and am considering inquiring about doing my independent study project there, learning about their relationship with the park and how they feel about the primates (which are seen by most Cameroonians as bush meat).

Now I'm off to do some readings for class tomorrow, all about development (and a critique of Obama's speech in Ghana, which some Africans found disappointing). And I need to read more of my French book, “Je suis noir and je n'aime pas le manioc” (“I'm black and I don't like cassava”). I can understand that...it's pretty flavorless.

Tuesday, February 9: 7:50 am

More stories to tell, never enough time to tell them. A couple things:

1) There's a group of people outside our house who sing and clap loudly all night. My siblings said it was a Christian cult.

2) Children here will do anything for people who are older than them. After a drama involving our former guard being fired by the landlord, and Maman insisting that he return, we enlisted the help of a child who looked in every bar on the street until he found him. He's back. More on that later.

3) Zach ended up in jail on Saturday night, apparently because the police was collecting random people from the street at 4 am. By giving 2000 francs ($4), he got out.

Today we're going to hear from a government minister who resigned after his attempts to fight corruption failed. Interesting!