My Doctorate

If I wrote a story about a single different thing that happened to me every day here, I would have a doctorate thesis waiting for me at the end of my stay.

I could write about peoples’ mannerisms; the way people cluck their tongues at something unbelievable, their exclamation of “ah-ka” for the same reason, or how people push out their lips as they talk to point at the object they are discussing.

I could write about music; how no one is ashamed to sing aloud even when they can’t hit a note, the fact that everyone in my family listens to the American music on my ipod while belting out nonexistent words to the tune of the song, or the 7:30 AM start of school with the students singing.

I could write about the dust and dirt; despite the daily rain everything is covered in a red film by the end of the day, the roads that have become obstacle courses, or that no matter who you are it is impossible to stay clean.

I could write about the educational system; how hard it is to come up with effective ways to teach when both the teacher and the student do not have adequate supplies, the method of speaking and having students finish the word as recognition of their comprehension, my consternation at the teachers’ negative reaction when I forbade corporal punishment at any level, or the reality that teaching is considered a “last resort” profession.

I could write about the importance of having a diverse network of friends; the fact that you will be crushed if you can’t find a government official to help you, or the brotherhood that somehow will arise between good people despite the squeezing hand of those in power.

I could write about the Cameroonian image of foreigners; the sad truth that Cameroonians give white people far greater privileges than their Cameroonian compatriots, how Americans are still considered the highest on the ladder of success and respect, or the universal money sign and single status that is printed on our skin.

I could write about the multitudes of ethnicities and sub-ethnicities; in any number of places people can immediately identify others of the same background, how anyone belonging to the same ethnicity is considered brother, sister, mother, father, or that even though there is no reigning majority a hierarchy has arisen between groups allowing for prejudices to fester.

I could write about the food; Cameroonian ability to prepare a few key ingredients like plantains and cassava in such diverse ways that meals rarely feel repetitive, the grilled fish you can buy on the side of the street for $1.00, the fresh fruit found in my backyard that has amazing natural flavor, the natural remedies my maman has for all number of ails and diseases, the avocado sandwiches I eat on weekend mornings, or the 5¢ bananas.

All of these would make great chapters. My reality incorporates these segments into my life every day. What is incredible is how many chapters are still missing, the topics yet to be discovered. I really should be writing down more of my experiences; however if I did, I wouldn’t have time to be living it.