August 15, 2010

You know those random seconds in life when you can close your eyes and just at that moment you are taken back to a specific memory? You actually feel that you are in that time and place because your eyes see every little detail; your nose can smell everything and your skin remembers every texture it has touched. These moments usually leave me smiling or with a tear slipping out of my eye; sometimes even both.

The other night the power was being especially finicky. I finally just gave up trying to accomplish anything. I decided to lie on my couch, accept the moment and enjoy the quiet. It was then that I had one of these moments. I have to admit that it is only because I forget to pick up candles or I would have been reading. I closed my eyes and all I could hear were the crickets, beetles and other assortment of African insects that give the night its music. All of the sudden I was laying on a bunk at the camp, I could feel the well worn sheets beneath me all the way down to the little bit of sand at my feet. I could feel the rust from the top bunk lightly falling on me as whoever was above me shifted in their sleep; it fell on my exposed limbs and stuck readily to my damp skin which was invariably expected from the humidity of a lowcountry summer night. There is something about the right mixture of sounds that were sure to put me to sleep and they were always faithful at the camp. It was a symphony of my father’s snoring (which could be heard all the way from the front porch); the different insect’s buzzing, chirping and gentle hums; the distant waves breaking on the nearby beach or the gentle lapping of water on the floating dock; the wind through the water oaks and palmetto trees; and occasionally there would be rain, which I adored on the tin roof. The smells would change depending on what had been cooked for dinner, but for this memory it was fried fish and shrimp. The mouth watering aroma of dinner mixed with the regular smell of kerosene, old wood and the salt that lingers in the air when you are close to the water.

I opened my eyes with a smile on my face and a tear in my eye, the smile was for all of the happiness that came from my time on that little island and the tear because there is no more camp. It is not something that can be replaced and it will forever remain in my recollection or at least on this page. So although I am across the ocean from my beloved lowcountry, I am never more than a memory away.

August 12, 2010

Before coming to Africa I rarely thought much about the color of my skin. If I did, it was to an extent of thoughts such as follows: “Crap, there’s another freckle”; “I really need to work on my tan this summer”; or most recently, “I should really start wearing sunscreen regularly – I’ve got to keep this skin for a long time”. I hardly ever thought about my skin in the context of race. I think that this says something of how I was raised. I was taught to decide a person’s character based on how they treat others, who they are on the inside, is what is important not what is on the outside.
Living in Africa these past 15 months has taught me to be grateful of living in the United States of America, where a person will be judged on who they are not by the color of their skin. I realize that it wasn’t always like this. Our nation was formed by men who wanted equal rights for everyone and over the years “everyone” has evolved to include people of any color and women through the struggles, trials and triumphs of many people. Our country has seen a lot of racial issues from slavery to internment camps for Japanese Americans during World War II. We are still dealing with it to this day in the form of immigration issues for Mexicans all the way to people from the Middle East. Since the end of slavery, integration in the school system and so on we have come far but the process is not yet finished. I know that to keep our nation strong we must continue to be an accepting people and that we should always remember our country was formed because those who came before us wanted to practice religious freedom. Everyone that came to the United States to help settle was once foreign, it is what makes our nation such a unique one, we are the proverbially ‘melting pot’.
In Africa my skin tells everything there is to know about me, at least that is what Cameroonian’s seem to think. Because I have white skin I am automatically smart, well educated and wealthy. What they don’t realize is that I am an average American (at least that is how I see myself). I went to a state supported college that I struggled to graduate from because of my lack of direction. I do realize that I am extremely lucky, even in comparison to other American’s but I am no more special than the person next to me. One of my goals since coming to Cameroon is trying to educate Cameroonians that American’s are all different. In America we have a very diverse population, we range in education levels from high school diplomas to PhDs; in religious beliefs from being Atheists to Muslims to Christians to Jews; our family trees show that some are first generation, some are Daughters of the American Revolution and some are descendants of slaves from the Ivory Coast; people are free to choose who they want to love and it does not matter their skin color, sex or where they came from.
It is hard being a white face amongst many blacks but to me it seems that it is even harder to be an African American volunteer in Cameroon and I am very proud to know those who are serving with me. They struggle with this ten times more than I do but by them being here it helps sensitize other’s to understanding that American’s come in every color, shape and size. What was that bible school song we sang as children?
“Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white they are precious in his sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world.”