My first full Month in Belel!

I have officially (successfully) completed my first month at village. Yay! The journey up to Belel was brutal.  There were many times on that awful unpaved road that I thought I was going to die. (*Side note: There are many things I’ve learned about using public transportation here in Cameroon, most importantly, there is nothing that cannot be put on top of a car, cows and goats included).  Belel is a very rural village located in the Eastern part of the Adamawa region, around 120km from the regional capital, Ngaoundere.  Belel has a population of 2000-3000.  The main ethnic group (70%) is an extremely conservative Muslim tribe called the Fulbe.  In Belel, only about 30% of the population speaks French, the rest speak Fulfulde, which is this crazy language that I have to learn if I want any success as a volunteer.    

I am living without running water or electricity, and I love it! I live in a beautiful little house right in front of the Grand Mosque.  I have a small living room, a bedroom and an indoor latrine.  I also have a small room attached to the side of my house that has its own entrance.  I’m hoping to make this room my kitchen.

I wake up at 4:30am to the sound of Prayer Call from the Grand Mosque, but I stay in bed reading by candle light or listening to music until 6:30, that’s when I get out of bed and begin my day.  I’m usually in bed by 8:00 and fast asleep by 8:30.  As comfortable I am living without basic amenities, I’m still freaked out to use my latrine at night. 

I live in the poorest part of my village, that means that most of the children do not (and have never) attended school, also my neighborhood women are not allowed to leave the house, ever. 

Belel is very, very poor, most of the people here live in traditional homes (which consist of mud walls and thatch roofs), and though we have a high school, majority of the youth do no attend.  For all the obvious problems that jump out at me as I walk through the streets (e.g.  Poor sanitation and lack of hygiene, idle youth, young mothers and neglected children), something has to be said about the kindness of the people here.   When I say that the people here have nothing, I literally mean they have nothing, but if I happen to be walking by a compound at lunch time and someone sees me, they will, without a doubt invite me in for lunch.  They don’t have very much, but what little they do have, they will share.  There is an awesome phrase used here in Cameroon; “Nous sommes ensembles” which means “we are together”.   It’s a phrase used often, but with extreme heart.  I feel that these three words completely describe what it means to live communally; we’re in this together, you’re suffering is my suffering, your loss is my loss, but also, your joy is my joy and a success for you is a success for us all.

There are many things I’m grateful for; one is definitely that I am not a Health Volunteer.  Our health centre looks like a torture chamber/storage room.  I’ve always thought nurses were superstars, and that’s in the States, but over here, they’re like gods, my village has no doctors, just nurses, and I once saw a woman give birth at night in the health centre, and because we have no electricity, this male nurse delivered this baby with his phone in his mouth, with the flashlight on.  I didn’t sleep for two nights. 

 Something else that we have had to get used as volunteers is Sexual harassment.  It is so commonplace for us that we expect it from every man we meet.  Here is a sampling of what I get to hear every day:

“I just want to hear your voice.”  “I want to marry an American by the end of the year.” “You are passing two years here with me, so I will pass two years in America with you.” “How will you be spending the night?” “Who are spending the night with?” or my personal favourite, “You will be my second (third or fourth) wife”

These are things we all hear so regularly that it’s easy to ignore and tune out.  But when you’re having a bad day, and this older man says that he must accompany you because you are a woman and woman cannot be “allowed” to wander without a male escort or she will lose respect in the village, I get angry.  I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but it does.  Most of the time I hold my head up and keep walking, but sometimes when I feel the man is getting insistent; I address it (loudly).  Then I go home, call a Volunteer friend and vent about it, chances are, if it’s a girl, something similar has happened to her in the past week.   

This being said, I feel very safe and happy in my village.  I know a lot of female volunteers who get harassed by their landlords, village leaders, both religious and political, and other big wigs in village.  I do not have that problem at all.  I live in a family compound; the father passed away 2 years ago, and is survived by his mother, 3 wives, 18 children and multiple grandchildren.  My landlord is the eldest son, his name is Aliou and he’s 19.  He’s also one of the sweetest, mild-mannered Cameroonian men I’ve ever met.  He stays out of my way and never bothers me, but when I do see him, he always smiles and asks if I’m okay, if there are any problems with the house and if anyone is bothering me in village.  I have integrated completely into their family.  I eat most meals with them and spend all my free time playing with the younger kids and talking to the older ones.

My Jarro (Religious leader) is called Ada, he is in his 40s which is very rare, as most religious leaders are very old.  But he’s so awesome; he sits on a mat outside of the Mosque and just chills there.  I ride my bike down there plenty of times just to say hey.  He has no problem with the fact that I’m a woman, and we sit together and talk about the village.  I asked him what he thinks are the major problems affecting the youth of Belel, and he told me things like early pregnancy and drugs (which are both true).  We’ve spent many afternoons discussing the best ways to teach Sexual Reproductive Health.  Also, everytime he sees me, he asks me if anyone is bothering me or giving me a hard time.  Remember this is the Religious leader; I could not have gotten any luckier.

Because Belel is predominantly Muslim, the men don’t drink, and if they do they feel honte (shame), so they’ll do it in the privacy of their homes.  This is a nice change of pace from Bafia, where you could smell whisky in the air by 8 in the morning. 

I have had many interesting conversations with different village women about the number of children women have.  People are always a little surprised to find that I’m 21 and unmarried, but it blows their mind that I have zero children.  One woman asked me how many siblings I had, and when I told her it was just Uj and I she said “just two girls? Don’t your parents want a son?” and I was like what for? My sister and I are both intelligent, independent women who love, respect and care for our parents, what more could parents ask for? And I kid you not, her exact words were “then how will the community know the wealth of your family” I was like woman, you’re breaking my heart, your 3 year old daughter is already less important than the brother(s) she doesn’t even have yet.  I told her that she needs to tell her kid everyday that she is just as important and capable as a man, and that she has her mothers support. 

[Remember all this talking, I’m doing in French (I also do this obnoxious thing where if I don’t know the French word for something, I’ll say the word in English but with a heavy French accent, hoping it translates), so they nod and smile a lot when I’m talking, but I don’t know if they actually understand me]. 

A funny parting story for you:

My post mate Michael has this bad habit of saying ‘oho’ every time someone talks to him in Fulfulde,’ oho’ means ‘yes’.  So we’ll be sitting together and this mama will be talking to us and he’ll be smiling really brightly, nodding his head and saying “oho, oho” to her, and in English he’ll say to me, “I have no idea what she’s saying..” most of the time this is fine, but one time he said “oho” to something and unknowingly committed to something.  T he Fulbe people have a holiday called the Fete du Mutton, which is the second biggest Muslim holiday after Ramadan; Michael was aware that this was a very big day for the village, so he followed the villagers to an open field we have in front of the primary school.  He was standing amongst the villagers, when he was called, by name, by the Jarro (the religious leader), who was standing in the centre of the circle with other village officials.  As he approached the Jarro, a sheep was brought to him.  The Jarro then brought out a large, blunt knife and handed it to Michael.  Michael stood there, in front of our entire village and elders, with a knife in his hand, still not understanding what was being asked of him, so he looked to his counterpart, who pointed to the sheep and slid his finger across his throat.  Uh oh!  He had unwittingly agreed to slaughter the first sheep of the festival, which is an extremely hugely honor, so he did it, in front of everybody.  Yikes!