On Giving

There is an awesome amount of reasoning I am where I am right now—in Cameroon, Africa that is. I pressed quite adamantly to my current employer (I use this term loosely), Peace Corps, to send me somewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa. Well, here I am in the heart of a great mélange of culture, worlds and Central Africa’s Cameroon. And I could not be much happier.

One of the chief reasons I wanted to come to this continent was to learn. From what I have gathered before I left, there are many lessons to be learned here—and not lessons that I would learn by trial and error in my public health work but lessons Africans have to teach us Westerner’s by simply living in the manor  that they have been living for thousands of years.

Giving

The culture surrounding giving—not simply gifts but just giving in general—is astonishing. It becomes even more amazing when you put these exchanges into context, take into account people’s positionality and begin to compare giving here to giving in the Western world. Giving is also curiously troubling at times too here in Cameroon too.

Sharing is caring. Sharing, here, seemingly is the act of giving something of yours, no matter how little quantity of it you may have or how valuable it is to you, to your brother, sister, cousin, family, neighbor and/or simply an acquaintance that is coincidently passing by.

Here, sharing seems to be much more of a practice as opposed to a concept. I say this because, unlike many of our cultural identities in the USA, sharing is not substantiated by words, stories, or a shared understanding of an out-of-touch idealized paradigm that fakes itself to be cultural norm. Sharing here is substantiated by practice.

Let’s get right into examples—and while you read simply reflect if you envision this happening in your day-to-day routine.

It should be known that I first experienced such gracious giving when I met my host family. I cannot even begin to try to inventory all that they have given to me—even if I tried.

The idea of sharing

I had recently asked a woman who sells peanuts in front of Simon and Rose’s (my counterpart) store if she would knit me a few hats—she knits these traditional hats that Kom people while selling the peanuts. I know her decently well--I have already bought one from her and therefore know she is a hat making guru. I also know that her sister just died which means she most likely put some more financial stress on herself by helping pay for the burial.  After a tiny amount of bargaining she was on her way to knitting me three hats to be given as gifts.

As I have discussed in other blog posts I am a fierce bargainer—sometimes this crafty knack I have leaves me walking away feeling like a scoundrel. In the case of my hat knitting friend, it took me all of ten minutes to walk away realizing that 3 USDs for these hand knitted hats is far too cheap; especially taking into account that she knits them very well and, while Peace Corps doesn’t give me an overwhelming plush amount of money, I am living quite comfortable here in comparison to my neighbors so I, therefore, can afford a bit more. This was all confirmed when Simon learned that I’d be paying only 1500 CFA to her. He was astonishingly impressed I had talked her down to 1500CFA. We agreed it’d be a just gesture of me to ‘dash’ (gift) her something at some point. Problem solved.

As a dash I was thinking of first surprising her with some black beans and puff-puff—it’s some of the best street food in all of Fundong (actually all of the Northwest Region for that matter). As I was passing her toward the beans and puff-puff lady she had hollered at me and asked for a ‘sweet’ which means a  soda. Perfect—why not give her something she really wants. This works out best too because of the concept of the ‘proud beggar’—that will be for another blog post. So I got a Fanta.

Upon arriving to her jobsite—a chair outside the bar where she sells peanuts and knits these wonderful hats—she gets up and walks inside the bar. Where is she going, I think? She is going to get another glass for me so that I too may enjoy this Fanta with her. Wonderful.  As she genuinely and graciously thanks me somebody walks by us and asks her to drink some Fanta. She is up out of her chair again, back into the bar to borrow another glass so that this passer-by may enjoy Fanta too. There was no hesitation, no sighing, no groaning or moaning—just action. Time to share.

You can even see this type of selfless behavior in children. I cannot recall a time here where I have given one of the children in/around my compound something—especially food—that wasn’t then further shared with any and everybody in remote visible sight. Even the smallest piece of chocolate is shared. I gave a young girl a piece of my peppermint Ghirardelli chocolate that my mother had sent me. Now this was a tiny piece, a piece of a piece. I, like usual, chomped my half down without even let air touch the chocolate and she nibbled at it so slowly I was confused. When Borris, one of the boys who lives close by, came by we discovered he had actually never tasted this particular chocolate I have. Not to worry! The young girl simply grabs the chocolate lingering in her mouth and passes it on to Borris to try. Mind you, Borris at this time has his own sweet treat; he was eating ‘Alaska’ (flavored ice).

Now, when I was a child and somebody gave me a chocolate it became mine. It is for my enjoyment and there is no obligation for me to necessarily share it with anybody. We seem to apply serious boundaries to gifts and things that we receive. I am certain that few children, under any circumstances, would cease enjoy the chocolate in their very mouth in order to give it to a fellow friend—especially somebody who is already enjoying a special treat for themselves. It is wonderful, simply something to learn from.

Insert the Politics of Being White into Giving

While we, as Westerners, have much to learn on the practice of giving here in Cameroon it could easily be overlooked when you put my (or our) personal context of being a Westerner into the practice of giving and receiving here.

We, materially, have so much more than nearly every Cameroonian. I have so many more things than many of my neighbors.

There is a culture here surrounding giving that makes it entirely permissible to walk up to a potential stranger or loose acquaintance and press that she/he buys you something—usually a sweet, a beer, a candy, small food etc. This is how it goes. Lots of the time people buy things for each other.

There is an incredibly rich set of circumstances/instances where demands like this are permissible. For brief example—if somebody compliments you about your clothing it could be permissible to ask that they buy you a small something as a token of appreciation. Also, when it is your birthday you buy other people drinks. If somebody asks you for something point blanche it is difficult flipping the question back and ask them why they don’t buy you something—answer being they asked first. And if you are hosting a party or invite somebody to something you are expected to provide for that person—no questions asked. The list goes on, but this is to simply put some of the big ones out there.

Now, even with this knowledge, as a person who resembles a White man here in Cameroon, treading becomes difficult. There are plenty of people seemingly looking for others (especially Western folks) to give them something. It is difficult to adhere to these cultural norms of giving; especially when in relation to near strangers simply asking you for a bottle of soda for no apparent reason. But then we remember the culture and context of giving and sharing here in Cameroon—and I feel like a punk for refusing to surrender 12 cents for some puff-puffs for a stranger. Did I miss an honest moment to share in an ancient and awesome cultural exchange of sharing or am I simply satisfying this clowns selfish desire to eat some free puff-puffs while further propagating a colonial legacy that pale folks are good for free hand-outs. How can I chance it?

What I am trying to convey is that navigating the beautifully selfless cultural practice of giving while sifting out the selfish attempts of exploiting that same very culture, as an outsider, is difficult. Very difficult. We, as long term visitors/quasi citizens who don’t bare physical resemblance to our neighbors, can easily (very easily) become jaded by all those individuals who will approach us and simply ask for something for no reason. It’s all too easy to become bitter and resentful at somebody asking for a simple soda.

What do I try to do to keep all of this clear and in order in my head—just think of those kids.