Outside the Looking Glass

 The only mirror in my house is a 4x6 inch one that my older brother gave to me before leaving to come to Cameroon – it hangs from a tiny nail on an army-green shoelace and day after day it welcomes me into my kitchen.  It’s a sweet little sentimental pearl that he was given back in his war days by someone serving in Her Majesty’s Australian military.  He told me not to lose it and bring it back to him.  Given my clumsy nature, the pressure is felt.  It has mirror signaling instructions on the back of it -- in case I ever find myself in a hard spot and need to mirror signal my way out.  Sometimes I find myself imagining all the fun, crazy places that that might be and how I ended up there and of my heroic, probably handsome, rescuer.  Like a thick-armed Doctors Without Border type who likes puppies and going on outdoor adventures.  But, I’m digressing.   All to say, unlike in the United States, I’m not surrounded by mirrors.  Sure, there are some around and I could buy a bigger one, but on my huge Peace Corps Volunteer salary, I have to prioritize and choose where I want to spend all my extra thousands of cash CFA.  Whiskey and an occasional trip to the not-so-far-off shore.

Not having mirrors surround me…I’ve slowly come to realize that it’s quite nice.  It dawned on me that I don’t think ever in my post six-year old life have I been less self-conscious of my physical appearance – my body or what I’m clothing it with.  And no, it’s not because I’ve become cute and thin here or started dressing better than those around me.  Still the same – plumpy (or ‘short-round’, as an unfairly skinny brother may have lovingly termed it) and like back home, I’m still the worst dressed in a room.  Most Cameroonians may not have plush pockets, but dressing nicely - clean and pressed - and appearances are quite important.  (And their shoes! Always super clean – I’m in complete ignorance of how in both of our two seasons – muddy or dust-caked – their shoes can still be shining.  And you think you wear heels well?  Ha.  Some of the younger crew can gracefully sport their four inchers day or night down rocky roads.)  Maybe I can’t completely credit the lack of mirrors -- maybe it’s because I’m just getting more comfortable in my old-lady ways or maybe it’s because I live in a small Cameroonian town without a constant influx of media or model-stamped magazines staring at me everywhere I go, but I don’t feel my own or the industry-desired constant comparisons or that battle of whom I outwardly need to be.  And, that’s not so terrible – one less thing for my small brain to have to regularly consider.  (Don’t worry world, I just mean less regularly, I’m still very humanly self-conscious.)  Plus, when you have honest Cameroonians, without our American sensibilities, who will quickly point out all your blemishes, ask why you’re wearing house flops outside of your abode, or tell you in French that you are a good fat woman, who needs mirrors?  People’s reactions and what they say, tactfully or not so much, work fairly well.

And, it’s not all good that I don’t have more looking glasses around me.  Now, I’ve become an even weirder person who when finding myself in bigger towns and where they have full length mirrors in their bakeries or specialty shops will look at them (and me) for what are probably awkwardly long stretches and think, oh yeah, that’s what I look like.

Only somewhat unrelated, I might one day have to tell you about Cameroonian Mirror Dancing…