Approaching the end of my first year of teaching, I find myself asking a lot of the same questions that I asked myself before leaving. Why teach English? What role (if any) will it play in the lives of my students? Is this a good use of time and resources? I began to answer some of these questions during training, when I learned that English is both one of the official languages of Cameroon and a mandatory subject at school. Students who don't learn English don't pass their national exams and don't graduate. I set off for post thinking that at the very least, I would be increasing the chances that some kids would finish school, and that probably made this whole thing worth it.
Bilingualism Day gave me another perspective – English might actually be pretty useful for a lot of my kids. They will use it when they go to Nigeria (we live really close to the border, and everything is cheaper at the Nigerian markets), they will use it when they listen to the radio and can then translate for others, they will need it if they go to university, travel (even within their own country), or work. Speaking English can open up a lot of possibilities for young people in Cameroon.
Lately, however, I've been thinking that my bigger contribution as a teacher might not be related to the subject matter, but rather from the way in which I teach. Cameroonian students are taught to copy and memorize, and they are indeed excellent copiers and memorizers. Indeed, especially at the lower levels, it can take awhile to realize that a student does not in fact know how to read or write, because they are so talented at copying the symbols on the board. They may have no idea what they mean, but they can give you a perfect representation of what you have written. In my upper-level classes, I was originally astounded to assign reading comprehension questions and receive papers that merely copied phrases from the reading with the same words as the question. We would spend entire classes talking about why “Mansa Musa was the emperor of Mali in 1337” does not answer the question “Do you think Mansa Musa was a good emperor? Why or why not?” I would get irate students raising their hands, saying “Madame, it is not fair, the answer is not in the text!” The idea that reading comprehension meant comprehending the reading – understanding and analyzing it, not just running your eyes over the words and copying portions of it – seemed entirely foreign to them.
A good example of the way many Cameroonians teach this copying mentality comes from an exam the other English teacher at my high school wrote for his 7th grade English class. He gave them a reading passage about a man named Ali who ran a race and won it. It described Ali running fast, then winning the race and receiving a prize and some money. One of his multiple choice questions asked “What did Ali win?” and the answer choices were: a) the race b) a prize c) money. I brought this question to the attention of my colleague, asking “Aren't all of these answers correct? Ali wins all of these things in the reading.” His response was that, “No, only one is correct. They have to look in the text. It says 'Ali won the race' so that is the correct answer.” I tried to explain to him how questions like this teach kids to copy, and discourage them from thinking about what they read (a kid who understands the passage will be confused, and could select any of the answers; a kid who doesn't even know the verb 'to win' or what 'a race' is can easily select the correct answer)...I was met with a blank stare.
Since then, I have realized that I need to be a teacher not just of English, but of thinking, and I try to practice this with my kids as often as possible. In correcting reading comprehension questions, I ask someone to read the sentence from the reading that answers the question, then I ask someone else to tell me a good answer to the question. Whenever we do grammar, I ask them not just how is this tense formed, but why do we use it? In vocabulary exercises, I ask them why am I teaching them how to change verbs into nouns? There is usually a lot of confused silence, which usually leads me to translate the question into French, which then usually leads to more confused silence, then a follow up question like, “Is it because I think it is very important for you to know that 'to encourage' becomes 'encouragement'?” Some of the bolder kids agree that no, that's not it...Finally, we agree that the point of the lesson is not for them to learn the vocabulary words, but the patterns that allow them to create nouns from verbs, which will allow them to greatly increase their vocabulary. These types of questions lead us to bigger ones, like, “Why do you study English in Cameroon?”, or “Why do I give you homework?” (this one blew their minds).
In seconde (sophomores) this past week, we read a short passage about a mythical giant who lived among the Bamouns (a tribe in the south). The passage described the parts of his body in detail – how his neck was too long, his face covered in hair, his feet so big that chickens could fly under the arches of them. We made a list of the parts of his body and what they looked like, and then I asked the kids to come forward and draw a part of the body on the board. At first, they chose the best artist in the class, and he came forward with the textbook and began copying the drawing provided in the book. I stopped him and explained again – I know what the picture in the book looks like, I want to know what you think he looks like. I had to coax the first couple students up to the board, but eventually hands were in the air, everyone was laughing and shouting things like “No, his head must be bigger!”, “More hair!” At the end of class, we had a ridiculous drawing of a giant, hairy man on the board, and I asked them, “Why did I ask you to draw this picture today?” I was met with blank stares, and finally explained that what they did today was read a passage, understand it, and imagine it in their heads. To draw a picture on the board, they had to not only understand the words on the page but think about what they meant, and that this is what I wanted them to be doing every time we read anything. I saw a lot of eyes widen, and I think some lightbulbs turned on in their heads.
“Why” is an incredibly powerful word – in any language. Before you can fix a problem, you have to understand why it exists. To understand why things are the way they are is to open the door to discovering a way to improve them. When I leave next year, I hope that I will have helped some students to pass their exams, and I hope that I will have helped others to learn enough English to go shopping, communicate with others, and maybe even get better jobs. But I hope most of all that even my students who retain almost no English a few years from now will remember the word “Why?” and think to use it in their lives.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
La chaleur
It is officially hot season in the Extreme North, and it is officially hot. Like absurdly, ludicrously, hotter-than-ever-in-my-life hot. So hot that the candles in my house have melted and it feels like someone put all of my furniture into a giant microwave. So hot that I have to use potholders to pick up pots in my kitchen in the afternoon, even when I haven't used them for cooking, and life in the village stops between noon and four, because it's too hot to do anything but sleep. So hot that when I get home from school, I chug a liter and a half of water in a five minutes and am still thirsty. So hot that a Cameroonian friend of mine advised me recently to never leave the house without sunscreen, and then said, “even we feel like our skin is burning during hot season.” When Africans are worried about sunburns, you know it is really hot.
I don't have a thermometer, but judging from ones I've seen, the normal temperature in village in the afternoons is probably about 115-120. People say it could get up to as much as 130-140 next month, before the rains start in mid-April/May. You would think the rain would cool things off, but, as one of the nuns at the Catholic mission here described to me, actually “when the rain falls, it just brings up all the heat from the earth, and the ground steams and you think you are in Hell.” Something to look forward to.
When you greet people here, instead of just saying hello, now everyone also asks the question “Comment va la chaleur?” – “How's the heat?” There must be some correct response to this, but I have yet to figure out what it is, so I usually just say something like “Il fait vraiment chaud” – “It is truly hot”...which inevitably makes everyone laugh. In Mandara, the conversation goes like this:
Villager: Kar balaye? (How's it going/How was the night?)
Me: Balaye. (Fine)
Villager: Kakar avatiya? (How's the sun?)
Me: Avatiya umkwa. (There is sun.)
Villlager: Kakar dufire? (How's the heat?)
Me:Ankwa. (The French translation I got for this is “Ca me menace” – “It harasses me”. Pretty accurate).
Villager: Shagra. Use. (That's good. Thank you.)
Actually, a more accurate transcription of this dialogue would look like this:
Villager: Kar balaye?
Me: Balaye.
[copious amounts of Cameroonian laughter]
Villager: Kakar avatiya?
Me: Avatiya umkwa.
[more laughter, someone tells me once again that what I've said isn't correct and gives me yet another phrase to say]
Villlager: Kakar dufire?
Me:Ankwa.
[more laughter]
Villager (in French): Why don't you speak Mandara? You have to learn. Danielle [a volunteer who was here about four years ago] spoke fluent Mandara. Why don't you?
People here love to act like you are stupid if you don't speak whatever language they think you should speak, and always seem to have a story of some mythical volunteer who supposedly could speak fluently (these stories are usually less than accurate). Actually, on my optimistic days, I think that really they are just being nice, wanting us to speak their languages because they want us to be part of the community, which is really wonderful. But sometimes, when I get confronted with “Why don't you speak [Mandara, Fulfulde, Pidgin, Mafa, etc.]? [Name of former volunteer] was fluent!” it is on my way home from school in 115 degree heat, after a day of trying to convince my 90 sixth graders to conjugate a verb in the present continuous instead of shouting and throwing things at each other, and it is difficult not to be offended.
Sometimes I do feel like I'm making progress in Mandara. I've progressed past just being able to say “Hello, how are you?” to saying “I'm going to the market,” or “I'm coming home from school”. I've even begun experimenting with the words I've learned, to produce such eloquent phrases as “Sun, a lot!” or “Water, is there?” I've recently come to the realization, however, that no matter how I respond to someone in the village – whether it's in French or Fulfulde or Mandara or even English, whether my grammar and pronunciation are perfect or atrocious – there is a 90% chance that they will laugh in my face. And on my optimistic days, I tell myself that this is okay. It's probable that I am communicating something, and that they appreciate the effort...and at the very least, I am a source of endless entertainment for small children (okay, maybe not the smallest of children...they continue to scream, burst into tears, and flee at the sight of me...) and adults alike.
I don't have a thermometer, but judging from ones I've seen, the normal temperature in village in the afternoons is probably about 115-120. People say it could get up to as much as 130-140 next month, before the rains start in mid-April/May. You would think the rain would cool things off, but, as one of the nuns at the Catholic mission here described to me, actually “when the rain falls, it just brings up all the heat from the earth, and the ground steams and you think you are in Hell.” Something to look forward to.
When you greet people here, instead of just saying hello, now everyone also asks the question “Comment va la chaleur?” – “How's the heat?” There must be some correct response to this, but I have yet to figure out what it is, so I usually just say something like “Il fait vraiment chaud” – “It is truly hot”...which inevitably makes everyone laugh. In Mandara, the conversation goes like this:
Villager: Kar balaye? (How's it going/How was the night?)
Me: Balaye. (Fine)
Villager: Kakar avatiya? (How's the sun?)
Me: Avatiya umkwa. (There is sun.)
Villlager: Kakar dufire? (How's the heat?)
Me:Ankwa. (The French translation I got for this is “Ca me menace” – “It harasses me”. Pretty accurate).
Villager: Shagra. Use. (That's good. Thank you.)
Actually, a more accurate transcription of this dialogue would look like this:
Villager: Kar balaye?
Me: Balaye.
[copious amounts of Cameroonian laughter]
Villager: Kakar avatiya?
Me: Avatiya umkwa.
[more laughter, someone tells me once again that what I've said isn't correct and gives me yet another phrase to say]
Villlager: Kakar dufire?
Me:Ankwa.
[more laughter]
Villager (in French): Why don't you speak Mandara? You have to learn. Danielle [a volunteer who was here about four years ago] spoke fluent Mandara. Why don't you?
People here love to act like you are stupid if you don't speak whatever language they think you should speak, and always seem to have a story of some mythical volunteer who supposedly could speak fluently (these stories are usually less than accurate). Actually, on my optimistic days, I think that really they are just being nice, wanting us to speak their languages because they want us to be part of the community, which is really wonderful. But sometimes, when I get confronted with “Why don't you speak [Mandara, Fulfulde, Pidgin, Mafa, etc.]? [Name of former volunteer] was fluent!” it is on my way home from school in 115 degree heat, after a day of trying to convince my 90 sixth graders to conjugate a verb in the present continuous instead of shouting and throwing things at each other, and it is difficult not to be offended.
Sometimes I do feel like I'm making progress in Mandara. I've progressed past just being able to say “Hello, how are you?” to saying “I'm going to the market,” or “I'm coming home from school”. I've even begun experimenting with the words I've learned, to produce such eloquent phrases as “Sun, a lot!” or “Water, is there?” I've recently come to the realization, however, that no matter how I respond to someone in the village – whether it's in French or Fulfulde or Mandara or even English, whether my grammar and pronunciation are perfect or atrocious – there is a 90% chance that they will laugh in my face. And on my optimistic days, I tell myself that this is okay. It's probable that I am communicating something, and that they appreciate the effort...and at the very least, I am a source of endless entertainment for small children (okay, maybe not the smallest of children...they continue to scream, burst into tears, and flee at the sight of me...) and adults alike.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Bilingualism Week
Monday, January 31st marked the beginning of Bilingualism Week here in Cameroon, which culminated in “La Fete Bilingue” on Friday. Cameroon has two official languages – English and French – and therefore calls itself a bilingual country. However, in reality, over 250 languages are spoken in Cameroon, and while almost all Cameroonians speak several languages, very few are actually “bilingual” in the sense of being fluent in English and French. English is spoken mainly in the Anglophone regions (the Southwest and Northwest, both in the southern half of the country) and French is spoken elsewhere, although (as I discovered upon arrival in village), in the Grand North (Adamawa, North, and Extreme North), many people speak neither French nor English. Cameroonians are very proud of this idea of being bilingual, and many Francophones I've talked to have expressed shame or guilt at their inability to teach English. While it is true that English is a mandatory subject and students must pass exams in English to complete high school, few students leave school feeling comfortable actually using the language. Anyways, the idea of Bilingualism Week is for Anglophones to use primarily French and Francophones to use primarily English, thus proving that Cameroon is truly a bilingual country.
In Francophone regions, then, Bilingualism Week is an opportunity to encourage English...or, rather, to make everyone feel guilty for not speaking English as well as they should. My principal made this clear Monday morning at our school assembly, where he made a speech in English (he speaks *beautiful* English, by the way) to the students and staff telling them that if they don't speak English, they are pretty much illiterate, and that this week anyone that spoke French to him in his office would be punished. After dismissing the students, he told all the teachers that he wanted to hear all of them speaking English this week, and that I was the only truly bilingual member of the staff, and I'm not even Cameroonian, and they should all be ashamed if they don't speak English.
The English levels of my colleagues are pretty mixed – they have all necessarily spent years studying the language, but few have actually used it. I speak primarily in English with the other English teacher, and there are a couple others (my closer friends on staff) who usually greet me in English. Greetings are a big part of Cameroonian culture, and even people who only speak French and a mother tongue will be able to say things like “Hello, how are you, how's the heat” etc. etc. in several languages. To greet someone in their mother tongue (especially if it's not your mother tongue) is a sign of friendship. Similarly, when people greet me in Mandara (although I am clearly not Mandara), I take it as a sign of their acceptance of me into the community. Even people who ONLY speak Mandara know how to say “Bonjour, ca va?” but their choice to instead ask me “Kar balaye?” is an invitation to speak their mother tongue – an invitation to be part of their community.
Anyways, greetings aside, the prospect of speaking English was clearly terrifying for many of my Francophone colleagues. As a native English-speaker, I was expected to speak French...which I do all the time anyway. I was kind of dreading Bilingualism Week (see my post on Teacher's Day for my feelings on celebrations...), but I think it did earn me some major respect from my co-workers...having to face their own discomfort with English – an official language of their country – while watching me speak comfortably (although often goofily) in French – a language not even spoken in my country – made them realize that while I don't always (or ever...) speak perfect French, I do always speak it, and am (almost) always understood, and that is a pretty big deal.
As an English teacher in a Francophone region, I was supposed to have a prominent role in the festivities, although no one seemed able to tell me what this role was supposed to be, or what would happen at the fete. I was told by the other English teacher that I would be making a speech in English, then that I wouldn't be making a speech, then an hour before the celebration began that I would be making a speech, but in French...but more on that later. Anyways, Sunday night, scrambling to think of bilingual activities we could do, I decided we would begin this week in my older classes (Sophomores, Juniors, Seniors) by discussing bilingualism in Cameroon, then writing essays on the importance of English to read on Friday. Discussions can go either way, and often when I think I have an amazingly creative and wonderful idea for a class, it ends up being a total flop. But students got *way* excited about bilingualism. We began by talking about what makes Cameroon a bilingual country, why English and French are the official languages, what other languages are spoken and in what situations. Soon we were having a truly bilingual discussion – with everyone speaking both English and French and thinking critically about what languages we speak, where, and why. It's a huge part of daily life here, but not something that most of my students seemed to have thought very much about before.
Their essays were wonderful, insightful, and often hilarious, with many students talking about the importance of English for travel, for science and technology, for shopping in Nigeria (really important here – the Nigerian border is only about 20 miles away, and its a lot cheaper to buy things there than here in Cameroon). I had a couple students talk about how they need English to get an American girlfriend, one student who told me that you need it to be successful at the market so you don't think your lack of success is due to someone putting voodoo on you, and one who said simply, “English will help you to fight the bandits.” Very important, indeed.
Friday rolled around and I still had very little idea of what would happen, except that I should get dressed up and go to the high school at 10:30 and hope that a couple of my students would be willing to read their essays. At 9:30 the other English teacher showed up at my house in a suit (usually he wears boubous – traditional Cameroonian clothing; clearly he was way dressed up) to give me a copy of the schedule for the day with the theme for this years' celebration in French (“Celebrer un bilinguisme de qualite: une ouverture sur le professionalisme”) and English (“Celebrating a quality of bilingualism: a window to the professionalism” Sigh.). He then announced that I would be making a speech in French, and also introducing all of the events. This led me to demonstrate a wonderful quality of Cameroonian culture that I have picked up with relish – the temper tantrum. You throw them when you don't get your way, whether you are right or wrong, whether it's a matter of life or death or petty details. I throw them when the man at the bus station demands $2 instead of $1 to put my refrigerator on top of his car, when the lady at the post office "loses" the key to the room with my package in it, when the DJ at the nightclub won't play Rihanna...and when people show up at my door, an hour before a party I don't want to go to, and tell me (even though we've discussed it several times before, and I had been explicitly told I wouldn't be speaking) that I have to make a speech in French. The key to the Cameroonian temper tantrum, however, is not actually getting upset. At the end, win or lose, you always smile, joke, and shake hands. I've gotten really good at the tantrum part...but am less skilled at the rest of it. We ended in a compromise – he would MC, and I would introduce (in French) my kids reading their essays.
An hour later, dressed up and somewhat less angry, I walked over to the lycee. Classes had gone on that morning, and to ensure that none of the kids left before the fete was over, my principal cleverly ordered them out of their classrooms at 10:15 and locked all of their belongings inside. Our high school is in the process of getting electricity, but as it is not yet working, someone had rented a generator so we could have the obligatory obnoxious sound equipment. Truly, a Cameroonian fete is not a real fete unless it involves the following:
1) A microphone that makes everything anyone says (in any language) completely unintelligible. There is great excitement over these microphones, despite the fact that most of what they produce is static, with the occasional prolonged high-pitched shriek. Half the time they don't work at all, leading to an exciting relay race of microphones and wires being passed around and plugged into different holes.
2) Filler music, to be cranked up to a ludicrous volume every time something goes wrong with the microphone. I think this must be a set mix-tape that comes with every sound system, because no matter what region, whether large city or small village, it is always the same: a mix of repetitive Nigerian dance music, hip-hop songs with inappropriate lyrics (“I want to make love right now now now...”), Celine Dion, and Tracy Chapman.
3) Something large blowing over in the wind. Flags are common, as are banners and chairs. At our fete, it was a large portable chalkboard with the themes written on it in French and (incorrectly) in English. At this point, inevitably, the microphone begins squealing, the filler music is cranked up, and while someone raps about doing shots of patron, wires are frantically plugged and unplugged, furniture is righted, and then the fete continues.
As is usually the case with fetes, once I was there and it had begun, it was a lot more fun than I expected. Students performed sketches, poems, and speeches in English, I made a speech in French in front of a couple hundred people (turns out it doesn't matter if your grammar is correct when the microphone is distorting everything you say anyway), there was a trivia contest, a lot of laughter and excitement about English. All in all, it was a pretty good party, and really did seem to get some students excited about learning English. I had several students seek me out (some who I knew, some who I didn't) throughout the week, saying they wanted to study more, asking for resources or help with English. This was very exciting, because I really feel like the best work I can do here is helping interested students. There is no way that I can teach all 250 of my students to learn English or even to pass their exams...that simply cannot be my primary goal as a volunteer with the small amount of time and resources available. But what I can do is create opportunities for learning to take place, and make myself available as a resource to students who really want to learn. Students don't seem to expect their teachers to go the extra mile for them personally, but during bilingualism week all of a sudden they seemed more comfortable approaching me, and I was able to do simple things like give out photocopies of readings and grammar sheets and emphasize that any time they have questions or want to talk about English, they are more than welcome to come talk to me. This is really exciting.
So I survived Bilingualism Week, but it is only the beginning of a series of fetes we will have in the next few weeks. After Bilingualism Week is “Fete de la Jeunesse” – “Youth Week” – which culminates in a parade in Mora. Classes are canceled all week so kids can practice marching. Seriously. The Friday after that is “Mother Language Day”, which I'm excited about, and a week and a half after that is Women's Day. As much as I complain about them now, I am beginning to think that in a year and a half, when I am back in America, I will miss the opportunity to skip work, wear matching outfits, drink Fanta, speak French, and listen to Tracy Chapman with several hundred new friends.
Thanks, as always, for all the love and support. I am thinking of you all in your winter coats as I lie on the floor in front of my fan in the afternoons wondering if it's 120 or only 110 degrees out...Much love!
In Francophone regions, then, Bilingualism Week is an opportunity to encourage English...or, rather, to make everyone feel guilty for not speaking English as well as they should. My principal made this clear Monday morning at our school assembly, where he made a speech in English (he speaks *beautiful* English, by the way) to the students and staff telling them that if they don't speak English, they are pretty much illiterate, and that this week anyone that spoke French to him in his office would be punished. After dismissing the students, he told all the teachers that he wanted to hear all of them speaking English this week, and that I was the only truly bilingual member of the staff, and I'm not even Cameroonian, and they should all be ashamed if they don't speak English.
The English levels of my colleagues are pretty mixed – they have all necessarily spent years studying the language, but few have actually used it. I speak primarily in English with the other English teacher, and there are a couple others (my closer friends on staff) who usually greet me in English. Greetings are a big part of Cameroonian culture, and even people who only speak French and a mother tongue will be able to say things like “Hello, how are you, how's the heat” etc. etc. in several languages. To greet someone in their mother tongue (especially if it's not your mother tongue) is a sign of friendship. Similarly, when people greet me in Mandara (although I am clearly not Mandara), I take it as a sign of their acceptance of me into the community. Even people who ONLY speak Mandara know how to say “Bonjour, ca va?” but their choice to instead ask me “Kar balaye?” is an invitation to speak their mother tongue – an invitation to be part of their community.
Anyways, greetings aside, the prospect of speaking English was clearly terrifying for many of my Francophone colleagues. As a native English-speaker, I was expected to speak French...which I do all the time anyway. I was kind of dreading Bilingualism Week (see my post on Teacher's Day for my feelings on celebrations...), but I think it did earn me some major respect from my co-workers...having to face their own discomfort with English – an official language of their country – while watching me speak comfortably (although often goofily) in French – a language not even spoken in my country – made them realize that while I don't always (or ever...) speak perfect French, I do always speak it, and am (almost) always understood, and that is a pretty big deal.
As an English teacher in a Francophone region, I was supposed to have a prominent role in the festivities, although no one seemed able to tell me what this role was supposed to be, or what would happen at the fete. I was told by the other English teacher that I would be making a speech in English, then that I wouldn't be making a speech, then an hour before the celebration began that I would be making a speech, but in French...but more on that later. Anyways, Sunday night, scrambling to think of bilingual activities we could do, I decided we would begin this week in my older classes (Sophomores, Juniors, Seniors) by discussing bilingualism in Cameroon, then writing essays on the importance of English to read on Friday. Discussions can go either way, and often when I think I have an amazingly creative and wonderful idea for a class, it ends up being a total flop. But students got *way* excited about bilingualism. We began by talking about what makes Cameroon a bilingual country, why English and French are the official languages, what other languages are spoken and in what situations. Soon we were having a truly bilingual discussion – with everyone speaking both English and French and thinking critically about what languages we speak, where, and why. It's a huge part of daily life here, but not something that most of my students seemed to have thought very much about before.
Their essays were wonderful, insightful, and often hilarious, with many students talking about the importance of English for travel, for science and technology, for shopping in Nigeria (really important here – the Nigerian border is only about 20 miles away, and its a lot cheaper to buy things there than here in Cameroon). I had a couple students talk about how they need English to get an American girlfriend, one student who told me that you need it to be successful at the market so you don't think your lack of success is due to someone putting voodoo on you, and one who said simply, “English will help you to fight the bandits.” Very important, indeed.
Friday rolled around and I still had very little idea of what would happen, except that I should get dressed up and go to the high school at 10:30 and hope that a couple of my students would be willing to read their essays. At 9:30 the other English teacher showed up at my house in a suit (usually he wears boubous – traditional Cameroonian clothing; clearly he was way dressed up) to give me a copy of the schedule for the day with the theme for this years' celebration in French (“Celebrer un bilinguisme de qualite: une ouverture sur le professionalisme”) and English (“Celebrating a quality of bilingualism: a window to the professionalism” Sigh.). He then announced that I would be making a speech in French, and also introducing all of the events. This led me to demonstrate a wonderful quality of Cameroonian culture that I have picked up with relish – the temper tantrum. You throw them when you don't get your way, whether you are right or wrong, whether it's a matter of life or death or petty details. I throw them when the man at the bus station demands $2 instead of $1 to put my refrigerator on top of his car, when the lady at the post office "loses" the key to the room with my package in it, when the DJ at the nightclub won't play Rihanna...and when people show up at my door, an hour before a party I don't want to go to, and tell me (even though we've discussed it several times before, and I had been explicitly told I wouldn't be speaking) that I have to make a speech in French. The key to the Cameroonian temper tantrum, however, is not actually getting upset. At the end, win or lose, you always smile, joke, and shake hands. I've gotten really good at the tantrum part...but am less skilled at the rest of it. We ended in a compromise – he would MC, and I would introduce (in French) my kids reading their essays.
An hour later, dressed up and somewhat less angry, I walked over to the lycee. Classes had gone on that morning, and to ensure that none of the kids left before the fete was over, my principal cleverly ordered them out of their classrooms at 10:15 and locked all of their belongings inside. Our high school is in the process of getting electricity, but as it is not yet working, someone had rented a generator so we could have the obligatory obnoxious sound equipment. Truly, a Cameroonian fete is not a real fete unless it involves the following:
1) A microphone that makes everything anyone says (in any language) completely unintelligible. There is great excitement over these microphones, despite the fact that most of what they produce is static, with the occasional prolonged high-pitched shriek. Half the time they don't work at all, leading to an exciting relay race of microphones and wires being passed around and plugged into different holes.
2) Filler music, to be cranked up to a ludicrous volume every time something goes wrong with the microphone. I think this must be a set mix-tape that comes with every sound system, because no matter what region, whether large city or small village, it is always the same: a mix of repetitive Nigerian dance music, hip-hop songs with inappropriate lyrics (“I want to make love right now now now...”), Celine Dion, and Tracy Chapman.
3) Something large blowing over in the wind. Flags are common, as are banners and chairs. At our fete, it was a large portable chalkboard with the themes written on it in French and (incorrectly) in English. At this point, inevitably, the microphone begins squealing, the filler music is cranked up, and while someone raps about doing shots of patron, wires are frantically plugged and unplugged, furniture is righted, and then the fete continues.
As is usually the case with fetes, once I was there and it had begun, it was a lot more fun than I expected. Students performed sketches, poems, and speeches in English, I made a speech in French in front of a couple hundred people (turns out it doesn't matter if your grammar is correct when the microphone is distorting everything you say anyway), there was a trivia contest, a lot of laughter and excitement about English. All in all, it was a pretty good party, and really did seem to get some students excited about learning English. I had several students seek me out (some who I knew, some who I didn't) throughout the week, saying they wanted to study more, asking for resources or help with English. This was very exciting, because I really feel like the best work I can do here is helping interested students. There is no way that I can teach all 250 of my students to learn English or even to pass their exams...that simply cannot be my primary goal as a volunteer with the small amount of time and resources available. But what I can do is create opportunities for learning to take place, and make myself available as a resource to students who really want to learn. Students don't seem to expect their teachers to go the extra mile for them personally, but during bilingualism week all of a sudden they seemed more comfortable approaching me, and I was able to do simple things like give out photocopies of readings and grammar sheets and emphasize that any time they have questions or want to talk about English, they are more than welcome to come talk to me. This is really exciting.
So I survived Bilingualism Week, but it is only the beginning of a series of fetes we will have in the next few weeks. After Bilingualism Week is “Fete de la Jeunesse” – “Youth Week” – which culminates in a parade in Mora. Classes are canceled all week so kids can practice marching. Seriously. The Friday after that is “Mother Language Day”, which I'm excited about, and a week and a half after that is Women's Day. As much as I complain about them now, I am beginning to think that in a year and a half, when I am back in America, I will miss the opportunity to skip work, wear matching outfits, drink Fanta, speak French, and listen to Tracy Chapman with several hundred new friends.
Thanks, as always, for all the love and support. I am thinking of you all in your winter coats as I lie on the floor in front of my fan in the afternoons wondering if it's 120 or only 110 degrees out...Much love!
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