The beauty that is Cameroon

It’s been 69 days since I first arrived at Douala airport. Almost 1668 hours since I boarded a bus that night, that would take me to Yaoundé (or so I hoped). And its been approximately 100,000 minutes since I first began a journey that would not only open my eyes, but also my heart.

Not a day has past since I left Cameroon, that I have not closed my eyes and wished to be back in the “armpit of Africa”. As I sit here and repeat this ritual to which I have been accustomed, I am overwhelmingly engrossed in my memory – the moist heat, the orderly chaos of people and taxis’, the sound of palpably genuine prayer, the weight of a sleeping child in my arms, the loving touch of a grandparent, and the welcoming smile of a stranger. As my body is overpowered by my memory, I am forced to open my eyes and confront the emptiness in my chest. My mother’s hope and fear was actualized - I left a piece of my heart in Cameroon.

It hasn’t been until now, that I can effectively look back on my trip to Cameroon and begin to really understand how much I have been impacted by the immersion and each of the people I met over the two week period in June. I haven’t been able to really discuss the trip in detail for two reasons: firstly, out of fear that words would be a completely inadequate means of conveying my experience or capturing the beauty of Cameroon and my family there, and secondly, because I learned very quickly that I have little patience for ignorance and blind judgment.

My second night back from Cameroon, a friend of the family made the statement, “I imagine it would be hard not to feel superior in Africa”. While I knew he didn’t realize the weight of his words, it took the strength of every bone in my body to swallow back the scream that was rising in my diaphragm. I mustered up enough patience to explain to him, that for the past two weeks I had never once felt superior but instead I felt completely inadequate. I had witnessed the kind of strength, resilience, determination, and spirit, that I never imagined could be possessed by a single human being: A young man on the bus who was willing to give anything to complete his education in order to be a successful doctor and “save lives”, an orphan who is confident that she will one day be the president of Cameroon, and a former street child who has suffered more pain than a heart should ever have to hold, yet is not only helping to educate and raise his sisters, but is fulfilling a dream to inspire others through his own passion.

Did I feel superior? No. I felt guilty and ashamed. Ashamed of the wealth and luxury that I, as an American and a European citizen, have been granted, due in part to the history of exploitation of African people and resources. As the fire inside me began to finally extinguish itself, I realized that I wasn’t ready to try to address people’s ignorance or their prejudices. I also wasn’t ready to begin to sort through my own. After two months however, I have finally had time to let the experience soak in and I would like to dedicate the first entries of this blog to try and share some of my memories of the beauty that is Cameroon.

While we all have first impressions and often times make quick and uneducated judgments, I would like to challenge myself and anyone else who reads this, to take just an extra minute to look for and be open to the beauty. Especially of a place or a people unseen.