What is literacy?

It appears as if each week will be a little bit different than the last. Last week I went to the small village of Belo to observe a teacher training course. This week I am going to be in Bamenda for the week attending a primer creation workshop. The goal of my practicum is simply to observe literacy in a developing country (though when you write practicum objectives you have to make sure it sounds much more difficult than that so that people think this experience should qualify for credit at the graduate level). Anyway I have to journal for my supervisor every day. Here is a portion from today:

I’ve been thinking about literacy and it seems to me that literacy is more than just about knowing how to read the words on a page when instructed to do so. What I mean is that a literate society is a place where people use their skill of reading in order to acquire information and go about their daily routines. In that way, I think Cameroonian culture is still predominantly an oral culture. People don’t have books in their homes except maybe a textbook they had to buy their kid for school. There are no libraries, few newspapers and only a couple of bookstores. Last Sunday the list of announcements in church went on for close to twenty minutes since there are no bulletins (and the church is used as a place to announce community events and school happenings since posted notices have proved ineffective). I think there are some people who read, but as a general rule people just don’t choose to read as part of their everyday routines.

There are probably many complex factors that explain why people make these choices. Poverty means that you may need to choose to buy food and clothes instead of books. There are not many role models for children; they don’t see adults in their families reading and they are not read to by those adults either. Perhaps to a very group-oriented society, an activity like reading feels individualistic. Perhaps it is the absence of an extensive selection of genres of literature. It is interesting for me to muse about how you create a market for written literature or whether that is necessary assuming that the present system is sustainable.

Glimpses from a stroll through the city

There's a first time for everything

The other night I was watching Breakfast at Tiffanies as I stumbled upon a local blockbuster in the form of some missionaries who have a collection of movies. The movie is old with a poor plot, but at one point Audrey Hepburn says that she wants to spend the whole day doing things she’s never done before. I thought to myself, “That's my life in a nutshell right now.” Fortunately I think firsts can be fun, except when I’m not in the mood to feel humble or out-of-control (or sick, as was the case today).

This week was the first time:

• I got my dishwashing water from the shower (easier than heating up water).
• I bleached my vegetables and fruits for twenty minutes before eating them.
• I got measured for a church dress with a matching head scarf while five women watched and giggled (Do they think my measurements are funny? Are they calling me fat?)
• I have had my own personal guard, in theory pacing and keeping away the boogie man while I sleep at night (the guest house has a hired night guard and I happen to be the only person here at the moment)
• I ever ate boiled peanuts (Gladys bought me some and I thought they were dried peanuts but when I opened the shell, they were white and wet; she called them “groundnuts”)
• I have to bring a book along when using the internet because this connection makes dial-up seem like DSL.
• I’ve eaten a grilled plum (they call them plums but they are not the kind we have at home).
• I was instructed to chew the chicken bones (yes, the bones themselves) because there are no dogs around. I did my best but there were still a few on my plate I’m afraid.
• I watched the World Cup game in a small store in the midst of a crowd of Africans cheering for the team that is opposing the good ol’ USA.
• Adeline and I cooked food in a “traditional kitchen” with a bamboo pole as my spoon/masher (it’s just like the stereotype you have in your mind of an African hut set apart from the house, incidently there is no hole in the top so it gets pretty smoky by the end)
• I’ve ever spoken Kom (the language of the village where I visited this week.)
• The taxi I was in hit a "fowl" while whizzing down a mountain at high speeds.
• I traveled in a compact taxi for forty minutes with seven other adults and a child.

And I expect the list will continue to grow!

An elementary teacher's version of history

Once upon a time the people of West Africa were living in their various little tribes. Then people from Europe started coming to Africa for a variety of reasons (to explore, to get rich, to share Jesus with others); they also brought along Western culture. The tribal chiefs were curious about all the new gadgets and such which eventually led to Europeans trading things like alcohol, guns and cloth for other things like ivory and gold. Then some chiefs on the coast got greedy so they made a deal with Germany to become a German protectorate/colony if they could have some special trading privileges. So suddenly, all these different tribes and people groups with different languages and customs were lumped together to become this political whole. After a while Germans got distracted with World War I and ended up losing the war as well as their colonies. So the world leaders got together and decided that Cameroon should be divided between the French and the British. France got a big chunk of the country and Great Britain got a little sliver on the west side of the country. Several decades pass and the people learn to speak English or French depending on whether they live in the little sliver or in the big chunk. Four decades later (early 1960s) it’s not very trendy to be a colonial power anymore, the Cameroonians fight for their independence, lots of people die but eventually they are allowed to rule themselves again. After that, they all lived happily ever after (okay, so not really, though Cameroon is a stable country in comparison to some of its neighbors in Africa).

The real historians can correct any facts that I have butchered in my paraphrase of events, but the mini history lesson helps to explain the change of scenery I have experienced in the last week. Yaounde, the capital where I lived upon arrival, is in the big chunk that had a lot of French influence and Bamenda, the city where I’ll be hanging out for the next while, is in the little sliver that has had a lot of British influence. Bamenda is about six hours northwest of the capital in the highlands at about 4, 500 feet.

In Bamenda, I have started to play the “plus and minus” game (some family friends play this game on vacations when things are going differently than they expected). It goes like this:

I wasn’t expecting people in Bamenda to speak English

- I will not be learning French while in Cameroon

+ I can usually understand what people are saying

+ They can understand what I am saying

I wasn’t expecting the climate in Bamenda to be quite so cool.

-I didn’t pack enough long-sleeve clothes

+ I am not often sweaty.

+ I have an excuse to buy myself some new clothes.

I wasn’t expecting my supervisor to be gone my first week in Bamenda.

- I have had to fend for myself.

+ I have had more opportunity to rely on “cultural guides”

+ I have had a chance to use my sense of adventure

My supervisor gave me a tentative plan A and tentative plan B for this week but both plans fell through upon arrival in Bamenda.

- I felt frustrated since I am a maximizer (always wanting the most out of life).

+ At church yesterday they announced they are doing Vacation Bible School this week so I went this morning and blew bubbles with Hilda (and many others).

+ I have had some time to read some missionary biographies while waiting for plan C to take shape

(for the record: when I’m a famous missionary and someone is writing a biography about me, please make me seem human and approachable. Perhaps you could write about what a sissy I am in the dark, how I lose things a lot, even how I don’t read my Bible every day and I doubt God repeatedly; that way perspective missionaries won’t feel like they are applying to join the ranks of Super Man or Wonder Woman).

You can see that I play the game that you must counter the minus with two pluses, but feel free to borrow the game and create your own variations.

To market, to market...

Fred took me shopping for groceries at the market this weekend. It seems as if I will be responsible for some/most of my meals in Bamenda .

Taxi ride to the market $.30

8 carrots .40

6 fresh tomatoes .40

1 huge handful fresh green beans .20

1 onion .20

1 fresh pineapple .60

Loaf of bread .20

Bag of oranges .20

Chocolate spread (like nutella but without the hazelnut) .60

Eggs .20

Green pepper free (sometimes if you buy a lot at one store they throw in some extra things- it’s called a dash)

A few splurges:

Tuna (I seriously felt a gag reflex happening when I tried buying the fresh meat with flies buzzing all around it- I think maybe week two I’ll be tougher) 1.00

Pasta (I had a craving for spaghetti this week) 2.20

Garlic powder (to make garlic bread with spaghetti) 2.00

Total grocery bill (with splurges): $8.50

You know you're not in Kansas (or Indiana) anymore when....

People travel in taxi co-ops (that is you don’t have your own taxi but rather share with strangers who are going in the same general direction; a taxi stops and you tell the driver where you are going- if he is willing to take you he honks, if not he drives away)

You sleep under a mosquito net

You have two seasons: wet heat and dry heat

You follow a taxi with a potato sack and the limbs of two grown men sticking out of the trunk as the lid flaps up and down with the bumps in the road

Said taxi above (and all the following traffic) stops to allow trunk rider to retrieve his shoe that fell off 100 feet back

Church services last for three hours (you sit on backless benches)

Your church choir sings in three different languages (all the mother tongue of a handful of members in your church)

Children beg at your window when you stop for a red light

Neighbors collect funds to hire out the repair of the deep ruts in clay road (washed-out from daily afternoon downpours)

Head coverings for women refer to brightly-colored fabric wrapped several times around the head in many decorative ways

Your savings account is in the form of an extra home (culture mandates that you help relatives and friends in financial crisis if you have the money saved; if you have it in the supplies for cement and bricks for a new home, you are not obligated to give)

Taxis go on strike to protest rising gas prices; people miss work due to lack of other transportation options within the city. The next day taxi prices are up 33%.

Salespeople carry their wares on their head while walking down the street.

All is well

I woke up this morning feel refreshed after multiple nights of laying awake for hours during various portions of the night. Finally I think my body has succombed to the local sleep schedule.

A quick response to those inquiries about my back:
Traveling and lifting of my luggage turned into a non-issue really. My dad did all the lifting on the check-in side in Chicago which left me only with two small carry-ons (which I looped together and wheeled through airports for zero back stress). Upon arrival in Cameroon the Zwarts were waiting at the luggage carousel and did all of the lifting on this end. They then whisked me through customs and declared this airport pick-up a record for speed and efficiency (I believe 20 minutes from the time they parked to the time we were driving out!) In short, I feel good.

The Zwarts then insisted on hosting me in their own home for the weekend since the guest house where I was to stay was rather empty and desserted. They took me for a Saturday morning swim at the Cameroonian version of a country club and oriented me to the city. Yesterday they helped me move to the guest house which reminds me of a dorm at RBC (bunkbeds, shared bathrooms, a common kitchen...). Other people have come to stay for the week so I can interact as little or as much as I choose.

The Zwarts- they're Dutch and just the grandparent figures that every mission board needs running their personnel department.

I've arrived!

I will write more details later regarding initial transitions and such (perhaps at a time when my body has resigned itself to actually sleep during the night). In brief, travels were uneventful without any major hiccups along the way, unless you count being assigned aisle seats as a hiccup. (I hate aisle seats- there is no window to lean your head against to sleep, people are always asking you to get up so they can use the lavatory, flight attendants bang your knees with their drink/food carts).

Since arrival I have been greeted graciously by the missionary community here. They have prepared a "meal sheet" for my time in Yaounde this week (a meal sheet is when missionaries sign up to host the new person for lunch or dinner in their homes as a way to get to know each other). I have been enjoying hearing the stories of how people arrived on field and their experiences thus far in Cameroon. Today I am starting to hit the nitty gritties of exchanging money, tracking down reading/research resources, finding malaria pills, meeting my supervisor, buying adapters, hooking my computer up to the internet, moving to different living accomodations, getting my visa copy certified,..... and all the other little tasks that accompany learning to function semi-independently in a new country.

Counting the hours

So I leave in 48 hours for Cameroon. I feel ready, unprepared, excited, anxious, uncertain, confident, vulnerable and privileged- all randomly mixed together like miscellaneous items in the free box at a garage sale.

It occurred to me recently that I could have used the last months to learn some French (spoken by 80% of the people in Cameroon). The only French phrases I knew offhand were deja vu, hors d'oeuvres, and wi. Yesterday I decided to look up some other short phrases. I now know how to introduce myself, say hello, bid good-bye and tell someone I love them (one never knows when one may want to declare one's love for another). Hopefully my vocabulary will rapidly expand upon arrival. Perhaps I will even learn to use some of these "useful French phrases."