Women: Always a Rantin’ and a Ravin’

I don’t know if it’s because I was brought up in Louisiana (lucky), if it was the media that surrounded me, if it's my particular generation, or what, but the term “feminist” always brought with it some significant negative connotations for me. I never liked the term. To me, it always and immediately brought up thoughts of angry short-haired scary lesbians. And while there’s nothing wrong with being an angry short-haired scary lesbian, growing up as a hetero self-conscious “tom-boy” (another term I hate - yes, I like wearing "functional" clothing), I never wanted this particular word to be brought to the top of everyone else’s mental “Elizabeth Résumé.” I didn’t want to be in that feminist category, even if I was in strong opinion that a woman’s place wasn’t necessarily in the kitchen or if I thought it was malarkey that women couldn’t be Catholic priests. Silly, I know -- but who doesn’t have their insecurities? However, on occasion, I do feel somewhat obliged to pull out my what-I-like-to-call “equalist” insignia from my back pocket and wave its pink and blue banner around a bit.

(appropriate time for first yawn)

But first, a(nother) preface: When Cameroonians give us a hard time or are just messing with us for shits and giggles, PCVs sometimes like to say things like, “Hey, I’m Cameroonian. I’m Bamileké! [or whatever tribe you happen to think of at the time] I live here and this is my town." And usually, the agitators cut us a little slack and might warmly laugh because although we’re foreigners, they realize that we actually are familiar enough with their culture to warrant a little respect. Peace Corps Volunteers do a great deal of “integrating” into their host communities compared to most any other ex-pats living abroad temporarily, but we’re still somewhat outsiders during our relatively short 27 month stint. We get to see and experience an amazing amount, but culture goes pretty deep, and often we only see what’s on the surface – just a little glimpse. (I know, I’m good at stating the obvious.) All to say, it’s sometimes hard to be completely objective about commenting on certain “cultural norms” because we simply don't understand everything. So, I won’t be.

A little rantin'…

Cameroonian women’s lives suck. Ok, fine, that’s definitely a gross overstatement. I’m sure if I was to ask a hundred Cameroonian women if they were happy, I bet way more than half would sincerely answer yes (a subjective thing, but I’d argue fairly important) . So to restate, I would not want the life that the majority of Cameroonian women bear. Generalizations: Cameroonian women work incredibly hard – harder than the men. Most – including young girls (if they’re not at school,) mothers, and grandmothers - will spend all day doing manual labor at the family farm, carry home giant loads of food and firewood atop their heads, prepare all of the meals for the large extended family (and often their dishes need ingredients that must be first “puréed” by hand between two rocks and then cooked for a long time over an outdoor fire), eat after the men, wash all the laundry by hand, often in a stream, sweep with handle-less brooms and mop floors on their knees, they will sell their fresh produce or grilled and fried foods at the market or out by the road all day, keep track of the money, check in on the neighbors, and at the end of the day if their husbands (just to mention, who might also have other wives and who might have been out spending their money on beer that day) want sex, they get it. For those Cameroonian women, who go onto have what might be labeled as “more professional” jobs like teaching or working as a civil servant or who might go onto university, they often don’t get the same respect that their male colleagues garner. Prostitution is a fairly common calling. For many young women, it’s a simple survival solution (not really lucrative – especially if you add-in the major possibility for contracting AIDS). Male counterparts, male teachers, male Cameroonians – they’re used to getting their way. That’s how things work. They’re the chiefs.*

Uncool.

Recently, I started working with a high school in Njombé doing an English Club (I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can speak a little English so there’s that…), but soonish I would also like to start a Girls’ Club there. You know… teach “lifeskills” and “empowerment” – whatever all that means – just some extracurricular fun that could maybe usher in a little adolescent confidence. I’ve been trying to think of some good Cameroonian women role models to focus on, but probably because I’m an outsider and still very ignorant, I’ve been having some troubles. There’re no obvious Eleanor Roosevelt’s or Susan B. Anthony’s, no Amelia Earhart's or Ella Fitzgerald's, no Mia Hamm’s or Sheryl Swoopes’, no Tina Fey’s or Ellen DeGenerous’ here (unrelated side note: both of the latter two would be friends with me if they knew me…and...they would think I was sort of funny). There’s already enough major foreign influence here that I’d like to try to talk more local (yeah, I realize I’m a foreign influence). For Pete's sake, can’t we just do a little Cameroonian woman idolizing?? A lot of Cameroonian “mamas” are genuinely amazing, strong women. They are the epitome of that nurturing life-giving archetype. They are women to be admired. But, they just aren’t famous or venerated – because what they do is what womenfolk do here. They are beautifully standard. (I don’t think First Lady Chantal Biya and her hair really count.)

How do you strike that balance between preservation and progress? It’s going to be a challenge (and maybe presumptuous) to try and explain to these young girls that with these great qualities which have continually been passed down through their generations, they can use them to do something else – if they want. If current life isn't cutting it for them or if they aren't happy with making a living by cooking over a hot flame all day or prostituting themselves, it would be nice for them to know that things could be different. They could be like…umm, I don’t know…someone cool. Just because they have ovaries, doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have choices!

Yet, my bigger preoccupation is that I’ll be just fibbing to them. What’s the real likelihood of them not ending up subservient to their husbands? Why fill their brains with such ideas? Sounds defeatist - I know. But hey, who said I’m against telling “uncertainties”? Plus, it’s technology that’s already spreading this epidemic notion that women don’t have to stay in the kitchen. I can’t be held responsible at this point. Who knows, maybe one of them will have other opportunities and just think of who or what she might influence. Girl power. Or something.

Now for some ravin'…

For more than one reason, I’ve been pretty lucky in where I landed on the spectrum of life. It wasn’t all that long ago when women weren’t treated very fairly in the ole’ U.S. of America. I was born at the end of a century in a country where great women had already paved the road to make my life way easier. Well, maybe not “easier” but maybe more enjoyable - by allowing me to have more different and chosen experiences and by giving me automatic respect, just by being an American woman - which wasn’t always there – no matter the non-traditional choices I might make.

I have never had to think twice about who a good female role model could be for me. I have always been surrounded by good women. Some are just memories while others still endure but all still exist in some weird paradigm of who I would like to be. If I could just pick and choose little elements from all of them, I would be one badass super-woman (my superhuman costume would not consist of tights though). Of course, no one’s perfect -- we’re human. But, I have never had to look far or look to some foreign celebrity for inspiration, and that’s been a nice feeling.

No-thought-needed examples: my mom, Mary Todd - one of the greatest woman I have known (yeah, I’m biased) - a definite mix of conventional and non-conventional. I still hope to one day have a fraction her unabated warmness. The women she chose to be friends with and who were my surrogate aunts growing up and who would later be her pallbearers - like Ellen, Peggy, JoAnne or Stephanie – all incredible, eccentric women I could look up to. I’m kind of scared of getting older, but if I have half the energy, smarts, or sense of humor that both my Granny (whose age I’ll omit in fear of being voodoo-dolled) or my Grandma (who turns 95 this month) have later in life - or at any point in my life, I’ll be doing ok. If I can just take a lesson or two, such as patience or hope, from some of my elementary school teachers like Sister Elizabeth (the scariest) or Mrs. Moore (the kindest), I might be able to teach at least one thing to some little snot-faced kid. Or some of the generosity that comes from my step-mother, Mercedes, or just a pinch of the tremendous talent and determination that my sisters and girl friends possess… so many muses! And all with different lives: married, single, professionals, stay-at-homes, activists, apathetics, sports playing, spa-daying, believers, agnostics, mothers, childless, gay, straight, cooks, take-outers, republicans, democrats, homebodies, bar hoppers - with so much overlap, it’s dizzying.

I don’t want to be a man. By that, I mean I don’t think being a man would make my life easier or any better. I am pretty happy being me - who happens to be a woman. I don’t have to think, “If only I were a man…” And, I don’t think that’s a luxury that many women on this planet get to enjoy. Options -- I have them and I like them. We still have some considerable work to do in the United States in regards to giving people their freedoms (if individuals' choices aren't hurting anyone, why give two shits what they do?), but I do think we’ve made some pretty big waves on the ole’ Equalist Front. So, here’s a thanks to my long line of strong, stubborn female predecessors and counterparts …you’ve done me a real service. And for my little sisters and brothers and for my young Cameroonian students, I’ll try to keep waving the flag and leveling the playing field – even if that just means me having to be brave enough or comfortable enough with doing whatever it is that I want to be doing – in whatever unspectacular form that that may take.

*(While talking about a woman’s life here, I’ve painted a pretty ugly picture of Cameroonian men which is pretty unfair – maybe one day I’ll talk about their generalized good attributes – there really are many great, hard-working Cameroonian men about, but it just seams that it's the women who never get a break, and like I said, I was a rantin’ and a ravin’ about women today.)

Postscript: This post was very "I" filled. Gross. Sorry about that.

high school-aged girls marching for Cameroonian Youth Day

I Just Can't Wait to Be King

When most of us well-read Westerners think Africa, our brains immediately go to picturesque scenes of roaming giraffes, zebras, and elephants, and well, The Lion King (ok, or starving fly-bothered Ethiopian babies with bloated bellies -- but that’s less fun to think about). Don’t pretend it’s not. Before I left home for the Peace Corps, my little sister told me when the elephants make their way into my backyard here, I should make myself as tall as possible and stand my ground (don’t listen to your little sisters – they just make things up – things that could get you killed). I’ve been living in Africa almost 7 months now, and I haven’t seen any of those cool animals. An elephant has yet to come over to my place for some midday palm wine and peanuts; there’s an open invitation on Craigslist and CouchSurfer. Did I just strike out and not get posted to the right African country?? Nope, not it. Cameroon is home to all these cute cuddly types – forest and savanna elephants, lions, cheetahs, giraffes, hyenas, aardvarks, hippos, crocodiles, rhinoceroses, buffalo, mongoose, chimpanzees, gorillas, drills (one of the rarest primates in all of Africa), huge millipedes and a whole lot of other wild, splendid creatures. The oldest rainforest on this entire giantess of a continent is even in Cameroon!

Grr, I want to see them! Where are they hiding? Getting to East or South Africa from here is too darn expensive. I just want to be able to wear my U.S. postal service/explorer hat that I packed and jump into a Land Rover and see a crocodile and a lion fighting over a warthog right here in Cameroon. Is that so much to ask? I mean, really. Throw me a bone.

Well, major deforestation in recent times, especially logging by foreign companies in the last 20 plus years with little regulation by the Cameroonian government (great for the both parties’ present billfolds) and poaching rare “bushmeat” has kind of put a major damper on being able to see wildlife ‘round these parts. 800 year old trees? Sure, cut ‘em down - Europe and Asia need them. Nah, don’t worry about replanting. Exploitation? No, it’s development! Kill the wildlife, fill the pockets! In the last 100 years, somewhere around 90% of West Africa’s rainforests have been destroyed. Thirty-ish years ago there were more than 200,000 lions frolicking across Africa. About ten years ago, the number stood somewhere around 20,000. Impressive. Horrifying.

Ok, enough. Off the pedestal and back to me and my important tragic misfortunes of not being able to see exotic flora and fauna. Was no one thinking of Elizabeth’s future desire to hang out with Babar?! Oh, how my exaggerated suffering cuts me deep!

Actually…I have gotten to see some pretty neat rarities already – and I’m not even talking about the giant cockroaches, cane rats, and lizards with whom I cohabitate (those aren’t rarities). In just this past week, I’ve seen what I think was a goliath frog – its face was at least as wide as mine – and a pangolin, a rare scaly anteater/porcupine thingy, being held up by its tail. So weird! Now grant it, both things were being sold from along the roadside by young Cameroonian hunters, but still really amazing to see. And both were still living – for the time being, at least. That giant frog was only going for around 10USD, and that was the starting price. Again, traveling in Cameroon proves to be fun. I’ve seen monkeys on leashes, snakes in baskets, and three-headed dragons. Fine, I lied about that last one. But really, who needs a safari when Cameroonians will hold up breathtaking wonders to your passing van? Way less expensive. It’s like taking the train ride at the zoo or Disney World (you should still keep your arms inside the car). Pretty much the same thing with minor differences – you know, like the up-for-view animals might not be breathing anymore. Or they might be cut in half for easier transport – just throw that gazelle’s lovely backside atop the van (though, if you could, try not to let it soil the freshly-made empty coffin or the bags of plantains and legumes that’re already up there). Sunday dinner party!

And, another reason you don’t have to feel sorry for me (I know how much you were) -- I haven’t given up on seeing the other oh-so-typical African guardians. In half a year, I hope to be going up to the Extreme-North Region of Cameroon (up near Chad and Nigeria where it’s completely geographically and culturally different from where I live) and check out a national park where I might have a better chance of seeing some of those grandiose feral monsters. Most likely, I won’t see much, but one never knows…

Hopefully too, by the time I get up there, someone else will have given me some slightly better advice about what to do when I come face to face with my first wild elephant. Stand tall or offer it peanuts? Or both? Ahh, what to do, what to do?!

giant snail outside my house - escargot on a stick is common here.

my English Club in Njombe