Is it me or is it the place now
transforming itself?
I see the colours of life
the laughter and tears
of being

doubtless being
fearless being
trustful being
in how it is and has to be

no fear of future and
no more counting days
til I go home again...

This place is part of me now,
as I am part of the place.

19-21/8

These days were great, passing away like clouds on the ever changing horizon...

I had some coffee again which has such a big effect on me that I have a very hard time when listening to Cameroonians. They are very slow in their responses and during a meeting this Monday I couldn't help running outside pretending I had to pee, just to run around the compound and come back with some new patience...

I went back to Clifford's uncle's house to take another picture. He gave me a little sachet with powder in it. Clifford translated to me, that with this powder I would be safe in the most dangerous situations - I just had to lick some of it. Just after giving me this, he asked me if I had a mobile phone that I could give to him. I said no, but I am still wondering whether I should try to get one for him...

On my way back, I saw how peanuts grow. They are called grandnuts in here, and are sold everywhere in the street. I saw a mother with her 4 children working on the farm, she greeted me and said "Wait, I will give you some grandnuts!" I ended up spending my afternoon with her, harvesting the peanuts that are in fact the roots of a very inconspicuous plant.

Later on  I saw a couple holding hands in the dawn. I had never seen this before here and it seems to be very frowned upon.

The next day, I visited my new friend, Pamela, in the place she works in: it is a very decent restaurant selling fine African food and I was introduced into a new plate: Eru with water fufu. It is very, very difficult to describe. It tastes a bit like a sponge filled with salty algues... and it is one of the many plates that first tastes totally awkward, then better and better with every bite you have.

And I have a new task: I am now writing for the blog of RUDEC, which is:
www.rudec-cameroon.blogspot.com -
And if you are interested in the work we are doing here, also visit www.rudec.org.

In the last days and weeks I have been to some of the orphans houses, to the school were they are taught and to other projects, like for example the delivery of 50 school benches sponsored by RUDEC for the children to finally sit two by two on a decent bench instead of up to 4 children squeezed on a small one.

I am everyday more convinced of RUDEC's work and necessity in this place. It is very important for non-for-profit-organizations to do serious and fruitful work, which is not easy in the poor and corrupt  circumstances of Cameroon. Their work is essential to the health and education of the children, as they need to pay school fees, pay for medicine, a uniform, and more...

girl selling her doughnuts and peanuts in the street - but as noone was walking by at that time, she took a nap

17/8/2013

The  day starts early at 7 for a trip to Bamenda, the capital of the North West region. We go with the motorbike, it was my choice and I soon start regretting: Every hole in the street reverberates through all the vertebra of my spine, although I start pushing all my weight up holding my hands onto the frame of the motorbike’s back side. I try hard to focus on the stunning nature and the continously changing 360 degree view on the passing by mountains and waterfalls, all coloured in blue with a layer of fog hiding parts of the landscape.

The arriving to Bamenda is never ending – on every corner of the street I hope we’ve finally made it, but our bumpy road continues in the middle of taxi’s, buses and people walking with their goods on their head and backs.

The trip to heaven of consumption finally becomes more of a trip to hell for me: When getting of the motorbike I can’t actually believe I am still complete and have to get used to walking on the ground as if I hadn’t been doing so for a long time. With a hurting back I try to get money from the ATM, but my VISA doesn’t work for some reason. I try to develop two films, but the more precious one to me gets spoiled because they didn’t realize it was a black and white film (and I forgot to mention it, also) and destroy it with the wrong chemicals. The other one gets printed eventually, but as I see the pictures I get a shock: They are all printed in shiny bright colours surrounded with a nice frame of cheesy flowers. I pay the money and try not to be attached of that possibly best photo I have shot in my life of an old man standing in front of his nephew, with that nice contrast of the handicapped and elegant man dressed in black being sharp in the foreground and his little nephew wearing bright clothes, blurred and melting into the background of the picture...

I surrender to the situation, and walk off with my eyes down on the ground... I get drawn into the supermarket next door (it doesn’t feel like my decision) and spend half a lifetime inside. I can’t manage to decide amongst the quantity of things offered to me. They are just the same as in Europe: I first think I am dreaming but there are huge pots of nutella, olives, a unreasonable variety of soaps and shower gels and...yes, milk. I haven’t seen milk since I am here. I grab it, and buy some chocolate, guava juice and coffee with it...all things we can’t get in Belo. But I don’t feel like I have bought something necessary for my life. I am still wondering why I had to buy these things that are obviously not produced locally but shipped in from China, Brasil or wherever. Just the coffee is Cameroonian (and I actually wonder why it is so difficult to get if it is cultivated just next to our house).

Loaded with a full and heavy bag, I take the next taxi back and can’t even bother anymore about the fact that my legs are squeezed as I am sitting in front with the driver and two more men (together we are 8 people in the taxi) After some bends I fall semi-asleep and just wake up with a little shock of someone actually touching my legs. But it’s just the driver, and he has to do so in order to move the gear upwards. I acknowledge and fall asleep again. I pay probably more than the others but being safe back home and finding a plate of beans and potatoes on the table is now the most consoling thing.

Being at home makes me feel more relaxed than usual, and I realize I really prefer these moments being alone than having to be around with people I didn’t choose to spend my time with... Later in the afternoon some kids come around and I start drumming with a boy. Although he doesn’t seem to have experience drumming we very soon find a common rhythm and even create different layers to it. This lasts in a few minutes, until he ask me if I have music he can listen to. I ask him what kind of music he likes and he says: Let me listen to anything. Just start with the first song you have. The first song was a Klezmer piece by Amsterdam Klezmer Band and he seems to enjoy it. Afterwards comes Arvo Paert. He is still listening to it, and doesn’t seem to get tired of it.

18/8/2013

Sunday starts with a good shower (it will probably be the last one for a few days because I can see the water coming out of the tub getting towards the end. I spend the morning washing my clothes with the collected rain water of the last days, taking a walk in the sun... I make a new friend, Pamela. I greet her and realize she is holding in her arms the baby that is the youngest orphan supported by RUDEC, my organization here. Her name is Princess Martha, she is 4 months old and very awake for her age. As soon as she sees me (it’s the first time we meet personally) she smiles at me and holds her little arms towards me. Pamela, who is a neighbour of Martha’s caremother, gives me the baby and I carry her around the compound for a while. After a few minutes I realize she fell asleep and bring her to her caremother. I stay with Pamela for a while and we exchange some interesting viewpoints. I tell her I like her house more than the one I am staying in (hers is colourful and shady, with many trees and flowers around, chicken picking corn, children playing around...). She laughs at me and doesn’t believe I am serious about it. We agree to exchange homes for one day. Than she asks if I would like to work on the farm as she does. I say I would love to. She laughs again and invites me to come one day for planting beans and corn. She tells me she is a mother of 5 boys (three are hers, two are the sons of the ex-wife of her husband who died time ago) and she shoes some handcrafts she makes in her house: collars, bracelets and bags made out of colourful beads. She says she is sorry not to offer me anything, but I just like her natural way of showing me around and being surprised by my eager to work with my hands.

On the way back home I buy some avocadoes, tomatoes and eggs for breakfast, happy about the new friend I found this morning. After a rich breakfast (coffee with milk has never tasted so rich and creamy to me before) I go for a walk again, the sun is surprisingly still shining for a long time, and I go to the riverside. I make my way through a cornfield and through a jungle of bananas and many other thick and dense, green plants. I arrive to a impressive waterfall, and sit down next to it covered with plants in a shady, refreshing place. I discover some plants that I haven’t seen here before, probably because they prefer the wet soil next to the river... amongst them a carnivorous plant that looks like a fir cone of which thick purple and yellow flowers are springing out.

Later on I reach a place of the river where I can sit with my legs in the water. I sit there for a long time, meditating over my life, putting together puzzle pieces of past and future. I feel like getting inside the water entirely. I don’t want anyone to see me because this is probably something no one would do here, but the place is well hidden from the next road. The little waterfalls make it as a very effective massage for my back. This is another beautiful day in Belo, with the time I really start enjoying my self discovering those hidden places on my own...

16/8/2013

I did an experiment at school with that poem: I copied it on several colourful papers and cut the single verses out. First of giving the little papers out to the children I wrote the whole poem on the board and I managed to read it together with them three times. I couldn't here everyone’s voice, but it was moving to see how even some of the smaller ones who probably didn’t understand what it was all about did read the sentences with enthusiasm and power.

After distributing the verses it all becomes a mess: Everyone arguing with their neighbours to change their verse, or shouting at me to give them another one, etc.

It was actuallyexpactable. I tried to get them back into silence and explain the rule of the poem: Everyone had to read their verse when it was their turn. A very difficult task: somehow they didn’t understand that there was an order to the verses imposed by the poet. But when we went back to the poem as a whole that I had written on the board, everyone joined the quire with joy. It has been a good final French lesson.

I spent the afternoon on the weekly market on top of the hill right next to our house: Merchants of the region gather here every „Kom“ Week, which means every 8 days to sell their fruits, vegetables, pastry, fabrics, fish, meat, shoes, cosmetics and much more.

The past visits to the market had been rather a challenge, and while I was still challenged by all the different colours, the smell of dried fish, and the merchants calling me („Madame!“) from all the sides, I was more concentrated on my path through the market and found it much less annoying and stressful than last time. I bought some of the typical pastry, beignets with hot pepper sauce („pepe“) and yams, which are similar to potatoes, but with a nutty taste.

I kept riding on the day’s wave – dancing in our compound and being observed by some little kids looking through the fence – there must have been something funny for them seeing a white person dance. I had a pretty long walk down to the river Mughom and back up the mountain. On my way I was greeted by many women carrying their harvest or their babies on the back - I like how they all giggle when I answer them in Kom, their native language. The dark clouds were quicker than me – but just after climbing up on a small path it was a welcome guest to my walk and I enjoyed the tender raindrops on my skin

The finishing of the day was a hot and spicy soup prepared by our georgous cook, and the mint he got on the market gave a very nice flavour to it... later we had some grilled fish outside at „three corners“, the center of the village. I would probably never have thought of buying a whole grilled fish just for myself but I followed some locals doing so and it was worth it. The taste was very fine and delicious, and the price unbeatable: For fish and yams with pepe we paid 500 francs, which is, yes, 80 Cents. I was also astonished observing that it is very normal to go into the bar were only drinks are served with food from outside.

It was a good, dancy and delicious day, still I would have liked to finish it with my own rhythm but that wasn’t possible – as we have a „Full Gospel Church“ right next door to our house equipped with percussion and a microphone that is mostly misused we had to suffer their extatic songs and prayers until late in the night... sometimes it seems someone is drumming and singing desperately right next to my bed...

I eventually managed to sleep with my earphones on, listening to Faures Cello Pieces.

 15/8/2013

After walking 100 Meters towards the school I turn back home. My body is feeling like my bones were all out of glass and I feel out of breath even though I just started walking. This is very strange, how can all my physical health and fitness just vanish in so short time? I sleep and sleep and give it another try to walk outside in the afternoon. I walk consciously and slowly, like the old ladies here when they are balancing their harvest on their heads. I walk through the changing vegetation of bigger and bigger trees, walk further till I arrive to a meadow in front of an apparently abandoned school. The kids that are playing in the grass tell me it is their secondary school and they are just on holidays. Some of them are playing pushing wheels in front of them with a stick, the girls are picking huckleberry leaves, a vegetable that is very much eaten here, mostly together with fufu, a nourishing paste made out of dried, finely ground corn.

The view from this place is amazing, I sit there for a long time just observing the kids playing, the clouds getting darker over the shining green grass, and the mountains slowly disappearing behind it. I ask „When is it gonna rain?“ The answer is yes. I insist twice, the answer is half an hour so I start walking back, with some grandnuts in my pocket for the way. I cross a little girl that seems to be afraid of me and hides behind her big sister. I feel like playing a bit with her to take away her fear – but the opposite happens. As I come closer to her, she starts to cry terribly and runs away. It is the first time this happens to me, and I feel very sorry for scaring her so much... the sister explains me „she isn’t used to, em...“ „white you mean?“ I ask and she says yes.

I realize that I would probably have been afraid of a black man or woman coming towards me as a child, too. I still wish I had a chance to take this fear away from her...

14/8/2013

A long school day with lots of surprises.

I woke up with terrible back pain and didn't think I could actually go to school. I finally stood up and when I went out the sun was shining, and all my tiredness and pain from the night was suddenly forgotten. I taught the kids some wordpairs, la guerre et la paix, le vent et la pluie, la mer et la montagne... I did it intuitively and noticed it was not a bad idea at all. Through the repetition of those word pairs they would easily remember the second word when I told them the first... It is a preparation for a poem that we are going to read tomorrow:

J’attends...

J’attends la pluie                                             moi aussi dit l’oiseau

Dit le désert                                                    J’attends mon heure

J’attends la paix                                              dit le prisonnier

Dit le soldat                                                    moi aussi dit la liberté

J’attends demain                                             J’attends la paix

Dit aujourd’hui                                               dit le soldat

J’attends la nuit                                               tu l’as déjà dit

Dit la luciole                                                    Je sais dit le soldat

Moi aussi dit l’astronome                                J’attends un enfant

Moi aussi dit l’étoile                                       dit la mère

J’attends le vent                                              J’attends tout

Dit la fleur de pissenlit                                    dit l’enfant

(Hubert Mingarelli: Le secret du funambule)

In the break, I start taking pictures of the kids running and doing cart wheels and handstands in the grass. I managed not to attract all their attention so that they would just continue their game. Later on they started performing for the camera, singing a song and dancing in a line, coming towards the camera. I liked very much the effect of them coming closer and closer towards the lens while dancing. I wonder why they are so self confident in front of the camera and in the same time so shy when talking to them. Some don’t even look into my eyes but keep searching something on the ground, trying to hide away... Sometimes I have to ask many times and sit beneath them to get an answer to my question.

First Cameroonian impressions

I start writing only now, after almost three weeks in Belo, North West Region of Cameroon, Africa, because the last two weeks have been tough for me.

I realized I just entered the probably most challenging situation in my life so far.

And this is not because I am in Africa, no, I actually felt very much at home from the first day on. The way things go here seems mostly more natural than surprising to me.I say the most challenging situation because I am living with three other volunteers who I probably wouldn't have spent more than a couple of minutes with if  I was to meet them in my country. Tu put it in a nutshell, I never felt such a general lack of warmth, enthusiasm, empathy and love around me as I do here.

This seems paradox to you? It is. Now all I can do is one thing: Stay true to myself, to the love for my life and mother Earth, stay curious and keep my eyes and my heart open in every moment.

I have had very hard days here, crying silently at home or on the phone, getting sick and tired and just not understanding why I am here, why I have put my little clumsy foot in such a weird situation and constellation of people, when I was doing so fine and enjoying my life, my work and my company so much back home.

This said, I just feel like something has to change now. I knew from the beginning that it was going to be a big challenge, but just now I feel that I am actually able to face it. That I can transform it into something worth living, into something I wouldn’t regret later.

To live from within, stay true to what I am and what I can do, sharing my ideas and skills with people that are willing to share. This blog will be part of my sharing.Everyday I am living surprising, challenging, sometimes disturbing and always interesting moments, which I would like to share for you to think, cry or smile about...

12/8/2013

I wake up with the happy feeling of being alive and with the wish to make something special out of the day. I start with my own timing, not in a hurry for breakfast, taking my time for some exercise that I know my body will benefit from. It is actually the first time I do more than one exercise at once, taking just the time it needs, until I feel it is enough and eventually have breakfast. I am a little disappointed it  is scrambled eggs and not crepes (those are the two breakfast alternatives prepared by the cook who daily cooks excellent meals for us), but it tastes better than every other time, maybe the taste of some extra onions satisfying my need for spice on this particular morning. Brushing my teeth and looking at myself in the mirror I notice I am looking different than in the past days and weeks – or maybe I haven’t even looked into the mirror since some days, I don’t remember. I quite like my hair in the way it is without brushing since coming out of bed... I put on a very colorful t-shirt and my now earth-colored originally white-linen shoes.

I start teaching French at Summer School. It is surprisingly quiet in the beginning, even though there are a lot of kids today, more than 30. I realize that I am at some point only giving my attention to one kid, who always knows the answer to my questions and thus satisfies my need for getting feedback and correct answers. I try to switch my behavior and give my attention to the whole class, but it is very difficult to include the small ones because they are not ready for writing or concentrating, and I also don't exactly know what I can expect from them in terms of reading and writing. We repeat some things from last lesson, and later on add some new expressions. Most of the kids know how to count, and answer general questions, the problem is they keep answering with only one word, without saying a whole sentence. I wonder if this is due to their education (answer only what is asked and as shortly and quietly as possible) or due to their laziness of pronouncing the whole thing when for example the answer „treize“ delivers enough information to the question how old they are.

Then the class gets very quirky and I decide to end the French lesson with what we did so far and let them repeat some of the sentences all together. It makes sense to me to make them repeat what I say or write on the board, still I need to think about other methods to hear their voice, because most of the kids are too shy to speak alone when they are asked something. I also notice how difficult it actually is to end a class in an appropriate way. Right now it feels more like leaving the classroom without saying „bye“. I have to figure out in the next days, for now I realize how important to find a good and clear beginning and ending of a lesson.

While playing handball with the kids I take my shoes off for the first time here and am very surprised how comfortable the ground is, it feels so much better than with shoes! At some point I would like to introduce a new game to them, I think about it for a minute because I actually prefer just catching their ideas and games and embracing them.Yet I tell them my idea and ask them if it suits them. There is actually only one new rule to this game: One person is in the middle of the circle and we don’t want this person to get the ball. If one kid in the circle lets the ball fall to the ground, he or she must get into the middle and the other one gets out. The kids love it and I am surprised how they immediately adapt to the new rule. But I observe even further: Although we haven't clarified who has to go into the middle when the ball falls on the ground in between two players, there is no discussion about it. Every time this situation, where you can be sure of hearing a lot of discussion about Who, if, when, why, etc. in Germany, occurs, the kids seem to imediatly agree on who has to leave the circle, and thus, who’s fault it was. Or, if at some point they don’t agree, the flow of the game is much more important to them than the discussion about the fault that was made.

This is an important observation to me, since I am very interested in how children here and back home behave while playing, how they cooperate, and how they coordinate their physical and mental activity. I somehow guessed before that we „civilised“ Western people have a lot to learn from the kids here concerning these essential skills.

After school I go for a little walk barefoot up the street. The solid, warm and springy texture of the earth under my feet makes me think I never want to use shoes again. At some point I realize there is a girl from school walking right behind me. I greet her gently, but we  don’t talk, just silently walk beneath each other. This is often happening to me, and while I would be quite surprised or annoyed or embarrassed for the silence in Germany, it feels all natural here. Someone wants to accompany my walk, I accept it and let it be without asking. There comes a moment where I feel some men sitting on chairs beneath the road talking about me: „Ubangna“ is the word for white man and is used very frequently when talking about, well, us volunteers. I want to ask the girl walking with me what they just said, but even before I ask she explains: „They say that you are beautiful, but that you are crazy to walk like this without shoes“. I laugh and continue my walk. Later on I think about getting my shoes back on, yet decide to continue walking barefoot, just letting them talk. It would be wrong to say that I don’t care because I do, but in the same time the discovery of the warm ground under my feet is bigger than my thriving of pleasing people of the village. Some people even offer me shoes on the road, I refuse saying that I just need to fix mine at home because they have a hole. The excuse seems acceptable.

Afterwards I have a meeting with the man of my organization, Ch., about my tasks here in Belo. The meeting starts very slowly. Whereas in Germany you want to get to the point as quickly as possible, this isn’t the general rule here. The road to te point of the conversation (if there is any „point“ ) is bumpy, slidy and winding. and uneven, just as the real roads are. So Ch. starts to tell me his whole morning and afternoon until now, nearly as detailed as I am doing now. Eventually he arrives to the Here and Now, and we start talking about the project and how it is going for me. I tell him the truth: I don’t like the energy at home and I want to work as much as possible in order to find a sense in me being here. He seems to understand everything without need to explain. He proposes me some things and gives me new ideas on what I could do to promote the organization and know better about it. This week I will keep teaching in Summer School, and after next week he will also take me with him when he visits the orphans and their care families so that I can understand better what is going on. Just while talking I get a lot of new ideas, for establishing new partnerships and networks and get the volunteer house project running with Crowdfunding. I know that my skills are good enough for this and that setting up those things on my own will teach me a lot. I am very thankful to him for this fruitful meeting and Ch.’s encouragement, and he also seems to be happy about my ideas and my enthusiasm that just recovered from a little winter sleep...

But today’s luck is still not achieved entirely. The biggest surprise is the evening meal served punctually at six o clock, like every day: It is my favorite dish I have only seen my father preparing, him saying it was a dish that his ancestors introduced from Cuba:

A plate of rice with tomato sauce and a fried egg on top and fried, caramelized bananas at the side. I can’t believe this is really on my plate, but the taste is just the same! I know it sounds very awkward to everyone who didn’t try, so let me just tell you how well the yellow part of the egg melts together with the sweetness of tomatoes and bananas, the spice of the onions, all hold together by sticky basmati rice...but you have to try yourself!

And still a surprise waiting for me this evening. Just after dinner, when I lean into the sofa, satisfied with the food, yet somehow feeling the need for something sweet that I always feel after eating well. I struggle with the temptation of cookies and I win. No sugar this month, or lets say, no refined sugar in any form.

In this moment, someone knocks on our door and doesn’t come in after we answer.

So I go to the door, the others sitting around without any curiosity or will to open the door to at least see who is outside. There are the three children from next door, holding in their hands a little basket with chopped sugarcane. They brought it to me after I told them that I really liked sugarcane this afternoon, but I would never have thought to get the honor of such a present... I feel only embarvrassed about not knowing how to thank them, I eventually give them some cookies although I feel that what they just brought me is hundert times more valuable. 

This is my African experience for today, now hoping to keep the good energy up!