I would love to share with you the amazing people that came on this trip, and their stories. It is inspiring when 13 different people gather together for 2 weeks in a very remote country with one common goal: to experience; to learn; to help. Every single person brought something unique to the trip, and getting to know each other was part of the adventure.
First up is Candace: an incredibly creative and inspiring woman – our photographer and
director on this trip. What I enjoyed most about Candace was her unbelievable lightheartedness – she seriously seemed to enjoy and embrace all aspects of the trip. She laughed at every turn, even the hard ones, and is such an amazing traveler, with an open and accepting mind for everything she saw.
Candace captured the beauty of Africa, as I knew she would, through photos and video and it was so inspiring to see her work. She was in her element – jumping in to capture moments that were only there for a second. Our trip has been documented, and many lives have and will be touched as a result of her work. The upcoming Obakki Foundation campaigns will be a success because of her and I am very grateful for her involvement.
xo
T
Candace:
Before leaving for Cameroon, I heard many times, “This is going to be life changing!” I’m not sure I really believed it would be … and I was wrong.
While this may sound obvious, and I had always “known” it before, there are places in the world where life, just day-to-day life, barely resembles what we know here in Canada. Witnessing first hand someone walking 5 hours on a dirt road to fetch bananas (5 hours – seriously, think of it), seeing a 12-year-old girl start her own family with her new husband, and watching women simultaneously scrubbing laundry and plucking chickens in the river was truly a “reality check”. It never made me think, “Man, I am so lucky to be in Canada” it just made me think about different realities. And that’s what’s life changing – is our reality the definitive one?
And then photographing the people of Lewoh and the Valley. I was met with some skepticism, some trepidation. But once you turn the camera around and show your subjects their own image, you’ve got them! In almost every case, the women would snort with laughter and punch me in the arm, and the kids would shriek and laugh their heads off. There were a few times on the schoolyard where I was swarmed by so many kids wanting their photo taken that I had to hide the camera in my shirt and try in vain to just blend into the crowd for a moment for a breather.
It’s hard to take a bad shot. The people are so expressive and open. They are unguarded and direct – the challenge is to get anything candid. The second the kids saw their portraits, they would line up and stare at the lens. I would encourage them, “No, it’s cool, go play football!” They were having none of that. It seems they believe in one kind of successful “snap” and it involves a lot of direct eye contact and shoulders square to the camera. Thankfully, I like that too.
This was one of the absolute greatest experiences of my life.
In many ways, I’m relieved to be going back to my life back home, especially my family (and my local pharmacy – I’m on my second round of antibiotics for my foot, which is less swollen but still not back to normal). Part of me feels guilty for feeling such relief, because there’s still so much more work to be done here.
It always takes time to re-adjust to ‘regular’ life – soon I’ll be going to grocery stores in my air conditioned car with my well-fed kids, and that’s a hard thing to reconcile with what I’ve experienced recently.
This trip has been so much harder for me than previous years. I know the main reason is because my children have no reservations in telling me exactly what they think of me leaving them. But as a group, we’ve had a lot of weird stuff happen – driving off bridges, getting thrown from the back of the Helix and being charged by a bull (that was all the same person) and the physical as well as emotional demands were grueling and unrelenting.
I’m leaving Africa asking myself the same questions that often plague me: Why are we here, in Africa? Are we making a real difference?
On our ride to the airport, I sat quietly in the back of the vehicle. Actually, all of the volunteers were pretty subdued. My friend, Patricia, and I were both listening to my iPod and staring out the window. A song came on and before the it was over, tears were streaming down both of our faces. The song, called “Heaven”, by Brett Dennen, perfectly expresses why we’re here and why we keep coming back.
It’s the soundtrack for the montage we’ve put together in the video below. The main message, for me, is this: the concept of Heaven is fairly universal – it is a place of love, where nobody is hurting, hungry or alone. If we all can agree that this is the perfect place, then why can’t we strive for it here on Earth? If we all do our little part, we can be one step closer to creating it for each other. Here. Today.
Thank you for following the blog during this trip. I loved sharing it with you.
I’m traveling today, so it’s a good time to share some random pictures that I thought you’d enjoy:
Remember the Juju ceremony that I unintentionally joined? Here are some pictures of the man in his elaborate costume (along with his gun-toting partner):
These were our sleeping quarters for a few nights:
This trip has been emotionally draining on all of us. We’ve spent two weeks in the valley listening to the hardships of the villagers and gathering information in order to compile a medical plan. These assessment trips are necessary and we can’t do our work without them, yet they are very taxing on our souls.
Normally on our trips to Africa, we’re advancing or announcing projects, but this trip is all about listening and studying. Some amazing progress will come out of the information we’ve gathered, but it will take years to see results. We need some good news…
All of us are sitting quietly in the van, low on sleep and morale. Our last stop is the Buea School for the Deaf. I haven’t been here before, but have heard so much about it. It was opened years ago when a Cameroonian man and an American woman (both deaf) got married and took five deaf children into their home showing them that they could communicate, learn and find their place in society.
For the kids, it opened up their world and they felt like they belonged again. The Bibums started an outreach program – going to the streets, villages and communities to find other deaf children (who were often shunned because of their deafness). The compassion, determination and unbelievable generosity of these two people has paid off and the school now has 110 students.
Within minutes of meeting Mr. Bibum, I know that we’ve been brought together for a reason. There is a kindness in his eyes that allows me to immediately believe and trust in him, which I’m sure translates to the children when they arrive at the school, so far from home, to start their new journey.
He gives me a tour of the school, which as worn down and dirty as the orphanages we’ve seen on our trip. The children study in the grungy dark classrooms during the day, then push aside the desks to sleep on the cold floor at night. Mr. Bibum introduces me to the children and they are vibrant, bright and curious. All of these children and the school is silent; everyone communicates through expression and sign.
When I ask about funding sources, Mr. Bibum explains that they’ve been trying for years to raise money for a new facility, a place with more space for the children that will be a better environment for learning. They have a sponsor in the USA who is willing to donate $25,000 if another donor will match it. At this point, they aren’t sure if that other donor will ever be found.
The attached video shows Mr. Bibum’s reaction when I told him that the Obakki Foundation will be donating the $25,000 required to make his dream a reality.
This is where we say goodbye and make promises to return. We stop at the Hotpec orphanage in Buea or our way to the airport in Douala. The kids run up to the van and we all scramble out trying to gain an extra minute or two with them.
Ed and I have a meeting with the director to inform her of the projects we’ll be starting immediately at the orphanage. We will be focusing on education, nutrition, safety and basic needs of the children. It’s a great meeting and the director is very happy to hear the news. We walk out of her office and I am told it’s time to go.
I haven’t even seen her yet. I beg for ten extra minutes and start walking the grounds of the complex. A few kids run up to me and grab my hand, holding it as they talk about their day. I would love to spend hours here with each one of them. They’re starving for attention and I wish I could give it to them. I stop to play a clapping game with some younger children and they giggle when I don’t know the words.
I hear the horn honking…really?…time to go already? I ask an older child if she has seen Docas, I’m hoping to give her one last squeeze before I go. The child knows where she is and we run to find her. Honking, honking! I start to worry that I won’t see her before I go.
Docas comes running out of her dormitory dressed in a beautiful gray dress, her eyes beaming. This time she remembers. This time she is as happy to see me as I am to see her. I want this time to last so much longer than it possibly can.
I pick Docas up and give her a big hug, making promises to visit again soon. We all walk back to the van together where everyone is waiting for me. I so hate this part. I’m not good at leaving, at saying goodbye. I kneel down and hug a few of the kids. Docas starts to sing: “Love is something that you give away…..give away….give away….”. For whatever reason, this little girl has the key to a very special place in my heart.
I don’t want to leave – I haven’t had enough time. “Treana,” someone says gently, “we have to go.” I give a final hug and kiss to as many kids as I can and walk quickly to the van. I jump in, head to the back and start fumbling around in my bag looking for something, anything to stop from crying. I think I’m fooling everyone with my attempts at distraction, but my great friend Patricia, without even turning around, reaches over the seat and puts her hand on mine.
This is the part of this job that I hate. I really, really do.
I’m so excited to see the boys of St. Valentine’s orphanage – they played a huge part in our “What Makes You…?” campaign and my visit with them last year has stayed with me.
The original orphanage of these fourteen boys and the headmaster was a chicken coop, where they slept on the floor. They have a new shelter, but there are other struggles that proceeds from our campaign will help to alleviate. They’re still sharing only five bowls of rice between them for some meals and all of them are desperate to go to school, because receiving an education means having a future.
I’m happy to hear that a good number of the boys are at school when we arrive. I’ve brought Foundation hoodies for everyone and pass them around to the boys who are here greet me.
I’ve written before of the similarities I see between children in Cameroon and kids in my life back home – it’s the central theme of our book – and I experience another example today with these young men: I can tell they’re excited to see us, but they’re trying so hard to act nonchalant and cool…typical teenage boys!
Regarding the Tragedy post, we’ve heard the baby is out of the coma, but don’t know what shape her foot is in. The good news is, Dr. Rod will still be able to help her. The bad news is, we have to wait until our next visit.
Regarding the potato peelers, they were delivered in all the villages along the valley where the ladies cooked for us (Lewoh, Menji-Fonjumetaw, Besali and Bechati) and the women loved them. I’ve promised to bring some on every visit – it’s amazing how big the impact can be from such a simple gadget!
Our focus groups are now complete. We’ve held a number of participatory assessment meetings with village representatives throughout the valley to identify the top medical conditions of the region.
This data, paired with information and statistics from government officials and regional health care workers, will be built into a five year implementation plan to encompass the global health needs of this area.
We also met with government delegates to get their support and everyone is on board. Village representatives will present our plan to the people for approval and, fingers crossed, we’ll be implementing within the next year.
We’re in Bechati and Jeff, a medic who has an interest in traditional healing methods, decides to visit the local healer. He was originally supposed to live with the healer for a week, but his plans were (literally) derailed by the motorcycle accident, so a short visit will have to suffice.
I decide to join him and another volunteer because we’ve been learning in our focus groups and through encounters that healers are usually the first choice of people when they are hurt or ill, regardless of the cause. We need to integrate traditional approaches with our programs if we want them to be successful, and interviewing the healers is an important step in this process.
A young boy leads us to the healer’s hut, on the perimeter of the village. We’ve learned that many healers are modernizing their approach, almost like naturopaths, and will refer patients to hospitals if necessary. He arrives and is happy to speak with us.
He tells us at the start that he believes in witchcraft and curses, and that he receives visions in his sleep that tell him which potions will best treat conditions such as Malaria and hernias (two of the most common ailments). He owns a book by Oxfam, When There Are No Doctors, but appears to have skipped the chapters that were written to help deter the widespread belief in witchcraft.
Jeff asks if the healer will prepare us a potion for the top two ailments – Malaria and hernias. He quickly agrees and begins to prepare the concoction: boiling some bark; cutting it up in a glass of water; and adding a few other things.
I gladly take a sip – it tastes like wheat grass and isn’t all that bad. Jeff drinks an entire glass in one gulp, sits for a few minutes thinking about what he’s just done, then asks if there are any potential side effects. The healer’s response? “Yes, there are.”
I decide against showing him my swollen foot since we’ll soon be on our way home. At least now I don’t have to worry about a hernia…?!
Seeing how much the women loved taking photos for our latest project, we decide to let the kids have some fun, too.
Equipped with two Polaroid cameras and some very expensive, very heat sensitive film, we set out to find our little talents. We don’t have to go far and Candace dives right in, showing the kids how to use the camera to take photos of things they love. The results are amazing – and the reactions of the children, who watch their photos develop in front of their eyes, makes this project a success before we even start!
Cooling the film down on ice and then immersing the photos immediately into cold water creates an unbelievable aesthetic that we love. Photographic arts at the moment have gone the way of real, raw, gritty pictures with exposure marks and imperfections. It’s remarkable that we’ve been able to capture this look in the middle of a jungle village. All developing credits go to the intense heat!
The results are perfect, but regardless of how they turn out, what really matters is the consideration and excitement that went into every photo. That’s what makes these pictures one-of-a-kind, special and important – just like the children who created them.
Each photo will be sold in an art gallery setting with 100% of the proceeds going to the Bechati children’s school.
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