Healy in Africa: My Cameroonian Adventure

Something happened this past trip to the Bush that got under my skin and I need to work out with words (which my mom will be sure to tell you is my number one way to process stuff). So bear with me. I promise my other posts will be more positive/less heavy.

While eating at a “restaurant” (I use that word loosely- restaurants in the Bush are really shacks of straw where you can feed 10 people for under $10 US) in Mazera, a member of the team (I’m not going to go into specifics because this post is not about bus tossing anyone) jokingly said “L’argent du blanche n’est jamais fini” while I paid for our meal. Translated into English, essentially he said “White money never runs out”. Now, I know it was a joke and maybe it rubbed me the wrong way because it was 100 degrees, I was sweaty, covered in dust, and I had just eaten rice and fish soup AGAIN (meaning I just ate a ball of rice); but behind every joke there’s an element of seriousness. And it’s now been about three or four days since this happened and I’m still marinating in my thoughts about that one comment.

I don’t mind paying for things related to the support of my research. That’s my part and I’m happy to do it. And I realize that it’s hard for my African counterparts to understand that I am only in Africa because of the generous support of my grants/scholarships. Even though I’m a “poor” college student in the US, the reality is that I still make much more money than most people here. I understand how they see me go to the ATM to get 100-150,000 CFCV (about 200-300 bucks) for cloth, antibiotics, and food for the team every time we head out to the Bush. And that my biggest money concern here is that most places can’t give me change for bills larger than 5,000 CFCV. I totally get how that looks like from the outside.

What I do mind is perpetuating the image that white people are walking piggy banks. And that, if you’re with a nasaara, a budget, financial accountability, and conservative spending doesn’t matter. Do we need $10 dollars worth of bread for a two day trip into the Bush? No, but that’s how much she gave us and it’s ok if most of it get moldy in the food bin before we get back. Do we need to eat at restaurants for every meal when we already have food in the truck? No, but the nasaara pays for it, so why not.

I know this might sound very whiny/stingy. I’ve even gone back and forth in my head about it-especially after I do the conversion from CFCV to $US and realize I’m getting upset about feeding the entire team a hearty meal of stew, rice, tomato salad, and a round of tea for under $1 per person. But after many mental ping pong matches of “Should I really be mad about this?”- “No, the amounts are trivial” followed by “Wait, but its the principle not the amount”, I’ve finally arrived at the core reason I think hearing “L’argent du blanche n’est jamais fini” upset me: it’s a direct by-product of the dependency of Africa on the West and the mentality of “spend now, get as rich as possible now- don’t worry about the future” that is holding so many African nations back economically/democratically.

I fully realize that a lot of this dependency can be traced back to European colonialism in the past and the neo-colonialism that is still going on today. But I have met so many super intelligent, creative, and ingenuous people here. And it’s frustrating that the reality here is that they DO need white people/white money to help support their projects/dreams. From my own observations, it seems that having white people involved adds an aire of legitmacy to something (not to mention funding from Western sources).

Now that I’ve gone through this mental exercise calling blogging, I’ve realized that neither the amounts or the principle upset me. I’m upset that this situation exists. I’m upset that people with good ideas here can’t get the funding they need from African institutions. Essentially, and I know how Western “pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps” might come off as, I’m upset that Africa can’t help Africans. That corrupt African governments can’t get their sh*t together and care more about their people and their country’s future-and not about their Swiss bank account balances. I am also upset (and filled with “white guilt”) that many international and American institutions/corporations are just as guilty as African ones at fueling this toxic set-up.

Some of you might have been wondering what my response to this joke was. Luckily, my French has gotten better enough to respond “Oui, eventuellement, il sera fini”-Yes, eventually, it will end. But now I realize that I need to be more vocal in about how “l’argent du blanche” is spent and stop inadvertently giving my permission for this monetary relationship to continue. One person won’t change the big picture, but a lot of people thinking that will definitely allow the status quo to go unchanged.

Sorry for the lack of updates recently. It seems that the past week and a half I’ve been either getting ready to leave to go out on a road trip or just returning from one. Nothing makes one appreciate a nice, semi-warm shower like spending a few days in the hot and dusty Bush.

Interesting new foods tried update: I learned on my trip to Garoua/Ngoundere that I am not a fan of kola nuts. A man handed one to me at the Grand Marche in Ngoundere and I went back to hotel and tried it (I tried to try it right then and there but my Cameroonian friends were looking out and said “Non, non! You have to wash it first!”). The taste was def not what I thought it would be. I thought it would taste like coca cola haha (which, after doing some wikipedia-ing, I discovered wasn’t too far off. They used to use kola nuts and coca in the original recipe of Coca-Cola). But, it was super bitter instead and not really nutty at all. Bummer.

I’ll have to try them a few more times just to be sure I didn’t get a bad one but I have a feeling this is going to be one Africa food that I won’t look for upon my return to the States.

This week is turning out to be quite the busy week. Dr. R, a veterinarian from my lab group at OSU, arrived on Sunday and yesterday (Monday) I got to tag along with her and S for some meetings with important people around town. I can now say that I’ve met personally with the head director of the department of forestry of the Far North Region. Pretty cool. Plus, my French is getting better. I was able to follow most of what they said to one another. It’s always easier to understand another American’s French though, maybe because they talk slower? My spoken French still needs a lot of work but I’ve been having more success with making people understand me, so that’s encouraging.

This afternoon, the team and I are heading back out into the Bush to visit two more herds. It’s just going to be a quick visit but M (my translator) and I are starting to find our rhythm in terms of going through the survey with each herder, so we should be able to complete two surveys in roughly 24 hours. Then, when I get back on Wednesday, I get to turn right around and go with Dr. R and S to Garoua for an evening for a meeting with somebody important. We will spend Wednesday night in Garoua, then head to Ngaoundere for two nights. Apparently, it’s about two hours from Maroua to Garoua, and another 6-7 from Garoua to Ngaoundere. I’m not stoked about being in the car for that long, but I am super excited to see a lot more of the country. I’ve posted a map of Cameroon so y’all can see the layout of my road trip.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of updates upon my return on Friday!

My interest in public health (with some luck I’ll be heading off to get my master’s in public health at OSU in the fall) has led me to be keenly aware of how many things are NOT conducive to public health in Cameroon. For example, one of the things I noticed right away driving from Chad to Cameroon is just how much trash is constantly present everywhere. Food is bought on the roadside and put into little plastic bags, usually black, and then just thrown to the ground when done with. Passing by a field, I almost asked S what you called the little black flower plant in French, but then realized that they weren’t plants at all. Just all the food bags that had gotten stuck in the dry ground. I know there are a lot of factors that go into why there is so much trash, the lack of funding for public services namely one/lack of funding for infrastructure in general, but it still makes me a more than a little bit sad to see such a beautiful landscape marred by so much trash. But I digress, this post is about something with a much better, tastier ending.

I should probably start a running list of things that I do in Cameroon that I probably shouldn’t (for the sake of my immune system) but I do anyway because I want to experience everything possible while I’m here. The latest was homemade yogurt. The second herd we visited belonged to S (the man who is hosting me and the director of CARPA) and when we went out to Mindif, we brought with us a couple of empty plastic jars. I asked S what they were for, and he said “You will see!”

As we packed up camp and headed back to Maroua the next day, I saw that A (S’s brother and the person responsible for herding S’s cattle) had filled each container to the brim with fresh, raw milk. We just loaded them into the back of the jeep. I was going to ask where our cooler was to pack them in, but a) my vocabulary isn’t that extensive and b) I am quickly realizing that I am way more concerned with food safety than most people here.

We drove the two or so hour drive back home and I quickly forgot about the milk while gazing at the beautiful landscape around me. After getting back to CARPA, unloading the jeep, and shaking out my gear, it was time to head back to S’s house for lunch. When we got there, S’s wife, H, had already unloaded the containers of raw milk from the jeep (somebody had run them over while we were still at CARPA)- which were now bulging out from sitting unrefrigerated for the entire day. She promptly got a bowl from the kitchen and carefully started to open one of the jars, which began spewing sorta chunky, very fragrant milk from it. The littlest daughter of S ran over and gleefully liked the edge of the jar while her mother wasn’t looking.”That’s kind of gross”, was my initial thought.

S then brought out a smaller bowl, a little dish of water, and some sugar cubes. I watched as he spooned in some of the very fermented milk into his personal bowl, dipped two or three cubes of sugar into the water, and dropped them into the milk. Stirring it well, he looked up and asked if I wanted a taste. Now- knowing full well that the milk had been milked this morning from a cow in the middle of the bush, by a herder whose hands were *maybe* clean into an old plastic jug that used to hold some sort of lubricant for a car, then had been packed into the bag of our jeep without any sort of refrigeration, and driven in the 75 degree heat all day-I of course said “Oui!” And as I tentatively brought the spoon up to my mouth, I thought “Meh, I probably can’t get brucellosis from just a taste.”

OMG. It was fantastic! Anyone who knows me (or my brother for that matter), knows that we’re big fans of yogurt. And this was great stuff. Sweet but with a hint of delicious bite at the end (probably due to the 12+ hours or so of no refrigeration). I probably should have just said “Merci! That was delicious!” and left it at that, but before I knew it- I had an entire bowl of my own in my lap. And I couldn’t get enough. I ate every single drop, and even used some baguette to sop up the stuff left on the sides of the bowl.

My belly full of yogurt, baguette, and tea, I leaned back on my little stool, felt the warm, Cameroonian sun on my face and thought “I am SO probably going to pay for that later. My apologies in advace, GI tract.” But the negative consequences never came. Either my GI tract is super tough, or I just got super lucky. Probably the latter, but regardless, although my Cameroonian yogurt experience was NOT public health, it was definitely delicious. Every last, potentially-disease-inducing, drop.