Integration

With derivatives completed it was now time for integration, (Wooo, math humor!). My house was settled and I had established some basic daily routines. I finally felt like I could exhale, relax, and begin preparing for the next task at hand, gaining the acceptance and support of my community. I have talked with many former and current volunteers and have heard that integration is not something that comes easy. I saw this to be true as I arrived in my village, where I was initially only known as "white man." A few of my neighbors and my landlord were able to learn my name, but for many people in the village the name David was as foreign to them as Mbah, Teku, and Ashu are to me. I quickly discovered that many people in the village speak very little or no english. The local dialect is Mughamo, and after that pidgin is the next most common language. Pidgin is quite interesting, it is made up of many English words, however they often have different meanings. With Cameroon having been settled by the Portuguese, Germans, and French, as well as the English, words from all these languages can be found in pidgin. This language is very important in the Northwest and Southwest regions of Cameroon. Although these regions are classified as anglophone many people in the rural areas speak no english at all. And with there being so many different dialects, (for example, Bali is only a 15 minute drive from Batibo, but when you get there you will find the people speaking a new dialect), pidgin is used as the unifying and most commonly understood language for the Northwest and Southwest regions. So here I am, the only white man for miles, (side note, Cameroonians also refer to American women and African Americans as "white man") and I had spent most of training learning french, a language spoken by a select few in the village. How was I even supposed to begin integrating into this community? Well to start, I decided why not simply put one foot in front of the other. For the first month before school began I walked all over the village greeting everyone I passed, doing my best to communicate coherently. I quickly learned how friendly and welcoming everyone was. As more and more people learned who I was my title began to change from "white man" to "prof" or "sir" to show respect for my position as a teacher. I found that another great place to meet people was at the local catholic church. Those in attendance were very happy to see me join them for mass, although somewhat to the dismay of the parishioners of the local presbyterian church which is just a few steps from my house. Sunday is also the village market day which has proven to be another great venue to meet people while getting a few fresh vegetables and other necessities. All of these interactions have helped to improve my pidgin, although it still has a long way to go. Currently my sights are set on learning the local dialect. The villagers assure me that I will be able to pick it up quickly, but with it being a tonal language I think it might be a bit more difficult than they anticipate. With every word it's not just what you say, but it's how you say it. But after living here for two years I think I should at least be able to construct some basic phrases.

So just as I was beginning to get settled in and accustomed to the village, my name changed once again. One night as I was sharing a few drinks with some locals they explained that they were surprised to see me drinking the "white stuff", (palm wine). I enjoy it for a variety of reasons. It has a very unique, and I think good taste. It is much much cheaper than beer. And it's also much less alcoholic, so it prevents people from getting overly rowdy or drunk. However, it does somewhat "trouble the stomach" for those who are not used to drinking it. But I think my body has been adapting to it well. One other good reason to drink it which I did not think of until they mentioned it was that they said it " brought us together." Many whites they had met before would never drink it, likely because of the stomach troubling issue, or maybe simply because they preferred beer. But by choosing the mimbo over 33 I had let them know that I wanted to do everything I could to adapt to their culture and way of life. That night they informed me that my new title would be "Werabaneck", that I was now the head of the local quarter (subset of the village), and that I would soon be named a sub chief. Now I'm not entirely sure if they were kidding or actually being serious, but we'll see where this leads. However, if I receive a country hat with a red feather in it, well, I guess that means I'm integrating faster than I ever imagined possible.