Fatass

"Do you think anyone in Rwanda has a %$#^#$% lactose intolerance?"

     - Chris Rock, Bring the Pain

 

I've been called fat to my face several times in the last few months.  Here's it's a compliment.  In one Chris Rock bit, he talks about how in everywhere but America, being fat is a feat ("Damn, how'd you do that?"), and that's true in Cameroon.  Being a Cameroonian and fat is a status symbol, like wearing a really nice boubou or driving your own car.  If I see a bigger gentleman, I automatically try to guess what his job his (it ain't herding cows), and if I see a bigger woman, I automatically try to guess who her husband is.  So it's a good thing being called fat, it means you have the means to manger bien and have a desk job.  It's also an example of how politically correct (uptight, you could also say) America is, where talking about someone gaining weight is a taboo subject. (Unless it's about K-Fed. Thanks for the In Touch Weekly, Barkers!)

 

For some PCVs, being called fat is more common than for others, and it can be used as small talk or even a pick-up line.  One male PCV, who came to Cameroon 6'4" and pushing 300 pounds and has since lost nearly 100, made a mutual Cameroonian acquaintance (okay, a really random acquaintance: the pool guy at a hotel in Garoua who always asks about le gros) sad when he saw Matt skinnier than the last time he saw him.  Cameroonian men will hit on une blanche and sweet talk her by telling her how fat she is, the Don Juans.  God forbid you be too skinny, how can you survive?

 

After dropping 15 pounds during the first few months here, I pretty much leveled off after the rainy season started and I stopped sweating 24/7.  I've also became more stationary at post because I wasn't going back-and-forth between the CARE office and my house, so I guess j'ai pris du poids un peu the last couple months.  That's when the compliments started.  First, a nurse I've worked with a couple times said he couldn't recognize me from afar because I'd gained so much weight. Umm, thanks, and I know how hard I am to spot around here.  My cleaning lady said I'd gained some weight (her and a neighbor also pointed out that a close-by PCV had gotten gros), as well as a bean lady in Garoua I go to maybe once every couple months.  I visited my homestay family in Pitoa for an hour or two to say hi, and one of my host uncle's said that Lagdo must be good because I've been eating well.  Oui, je mange bien a Lagdo. (My homestay dad also loved Matt, the big guy from my stage, and told me evertime he saw him walking around town because he was such a big dude.)

 

It's hard not to be offended, but I guess you have to take the comments in stride given the non-existence of political correctness (But, James, you are le blanc, that's why people call le blanc.) and the importance of being able to eat a lot.  Cameroonians just don't think twice about that kind of thing.  It's refreshing in a way that they aren't self-conscious about weight, but it is a little disconcerting when coming from a mixed-up place like America with gyms and health-related stores standing next to fast food restaurants and Pizza Huts. 

Men Holding Hands

Northern Cameroon is a very macho society, your run-of-the-mill male-dominated kinda place.  Men sitting under trees while women are in the fields, men searching for those elusive four wives (Mohammed had four, so you can have four), that kinda thing.  Women are expected to do all the cooking, cleaning, and raising of the kids.  Peace Corps also told us during training that Cameroon is a very homophobic country.  The old country director, who liked to only tell us trainees PC horror stories like Aesop's fables that end in violence and tricky domestic situations, told us one incident where a gay volunteer had to switch posts and leave his province because he came out to the wrong person.  He didn't tell us, however, how much men love each other here and aren't afraid to show it.

 

Men walk around holding each other hands.  Like all the time.  It's to show how much they like each other, I guess.  Two men will get up from sitting under a tree and then walk hand-in-hand to their next destination (possibly another tree).  One time on a bush taxi, the "porter" (guy that opens the door and collects money from people) was sitting next to a good buddy of his, and they were laughing, holding hands, touching each others' legs, like they were on a date for a good 45 minutes straight.  It's the strangest thing seeing a group three high school dudes going back home after class draped all over each other.

 

Here's something I'd never thought I'd say a year ago: Guys have tried to hold my hand, and I have to shake them off.  It all starts with a handshake and then if you start walking in the same direction, the guy goes for the hold, and then I have try to politely get my hand away from his as fast as possible.  Sometimes it's tricky because they hold my hand and I'm only walking maybe 10 or 15 feet somewhere, so do I recoil in horror or just go with it? (I recoil in action-adventure.)

 

You never see a man and a woman holding hands or show any sort of PDA walking around town.  It's like guys got so macho here, and maybe homophobic, that they can hold hands and be all lovey-dovey, almost like athletes and rappers wearing jewelry or grown men watching professional wrestling, except you'd probably get beat up if you touched 50 Cent.

 

 

One Year

I've been in Cameroon for around 370 days now, and despite having between 13-14 months left depending on which COS date I get/choose, Peace Corps is basically over.  Hear me out:

 

We're already in October. The dry season is here, school's back in, and people are starting to harvest and will be returning to town; it's when I'm busiest.  My work schedule is pretty much set until I go on vacation this Christmas, and that's only two months away, holy crap.  After I prendre my vacation and I get back to Lagdo, I have to hightail it back to Yaounde for mid-service, an obligatory one-year medical check-up, for another week or so.  After mid-service, I head back to village for Year 2.  At some point in February or March, the very dry/hot season, I'll probably take more vacation time to see the touristy places in the Extreme North province and visit other PCVs' posts.  Then after that is over, rainy season starts, and work slows down, then August is COS Conference, then I might help out with training the new PCVs in September/October, then I can't start any new projects my last three months, then next thing I know, I'll be on a plane to Atlanta wondering what in the world I did these last 27 months. Phew.

 

Well, I don't really have much else to say right now.  I'll write about men holding hands in my next post.