The majority of the time here in Tourningal I feel more like a man than a woman; due to the cultural constraints and roles that women perform here. That is, they more often than not; do not eat with men, cover themselves in front of men or when they leave the house (that is IF they leave the house) and usually marry by age 17 and have 5 kids by age 25. Then there’s me. I run in my short shorts and tank tops. (Granted I run at 5: 30 am so as to not flaunt in front of the men). I teach English and a girl’s home-economics and health class.(quite a funny coincidence since I am probably one of the least domestic people I know). I come and I go as I please, in a liberal fashion entering concession after concession to visit my friends who do not have as much liberty as I. I eat and discuss political and religious issues with the “Grands” of the village, including the chiefs, imam etc. I am invited to eat with the “Grands” of the village while my friends and mothers of the village are the ones forced to cook for the Grands. They are not allowed to enter where we are eating; left only to hear the noises of the men and to see the remnants of their half eaten meals that they, the women, strived to make.
Then other times I feel like a camp counselor or walking human museum. That is I always feel on display. The amount of kids and questions I attract everyday could not be counted. Wherever I go or whatever I’m wearing, holding, cooking, reading etc. etc. are always the targets of questions galore. For instance, a few days ago I used a few band-aids on my feet to cover some scratchy mosquito bites. No joke, during the day at least 100+ people asked me about my condition. Whenever I prepare anything to eat, whenever anyone walks into my house they want to know exactly what I’m making and always expect to be fed. If I go to Ngaoundere for the day, people want to know why I’m going and how long going for. Perhaps I just live in a really inquisitive village. I think it’s more the culture here and the life of a small, intimate village.
Then there are the moments I feel like a NGO representative or consultant; chatting with women’s groups about their action plans, organizing community meetings to help mobilize groups for parties and information sessions, or meeting at banks and ministries in attempt to legalize groups. Some of the best, most triumphal feelings I have had fit under this category. For instance, when I see a group I have worked with has worked together to plant a few hectares of corn. When I witness the bean harvest of another group I helped actually grow. Or when I help a group that is 1.5 hours away from my village in the brush, legalize there group, make an action plan, and try to get funding to help their group next season with their corn, potatoes, cassava, or beans. These are the moments when I feel very worthwhile and pray that hopefully the work I am doing now, that is community mobilization, will somehow be sustainable in the long-run.
Besides explaining my roles in the society, on a completely different note, currently it seems like everyone is sick here in Tourningal. Not to exaggerate I would say about 50% of the population says they have some sort of malaria, the flu, cold, cough etc. A nurse I work with claims one reason for this spike in health ailments is due to the dearth of people coming to the health center during Ramadan and their bodies having to adapt to the changing eating/drinking habits. In addition to that, mosquitoes have invaded the town. Thank goodness PC provides us with mosquito nets. I cannot imagine sleeping without one. I fall asleep to the sounds of buzzing mosquitoes.
Some of my best friends in village fall under those that have been stricken by maladies. Three out of the Four women I consider to be my closest mom’s in village are bed-ridden. One has HIV. Another is in a Ngaoundere hospital, five months pregnant. The other just lost her five month old fetus.
Well, it’s late here, almost 10:00 pm and the constant drone of crickets is providing quite a nice sound tranquilizer. I should go to sleep. Much, much peace and happiness to everyone. Allah Hokku en Jam,
Ali or Amina
