Peanut Butter Profession

I love peanut butter.  It has been a staple in my diet since junior high.  High school friends fondly remember me taking peanut butter on road trips and roommates attest to me carrying peanut butter to our college cafeteria for evening meals.   To this day my food choices are largely based on whether it pairs well with peanut butter.

When I was in college I had the opportunity to travel to Nicaragua and Eastern Europe and saw how food availability directly effected children's growth and performance in school.  After college I decided to pursue international nutrition and headed to Colorado State University for a Masters Degree in Human Nutrition.  While there, a friend told me about plumpy'nut, a fortified peanut butter paste proven  effective in treating children with severe acute malnutrition.  As a peanut butter lover concerned for the plight of malnourished children I was intrigued and excited by plumpy'nut.  I started telling everyone that my life goal was to solve world hunger with peanut butter.  In 2009, Cooper Anderson did a interview about plumpy'nut in Niger and can be found on the following link: Plumpy'nut in Niger

A mother receives plumpy'nut in Gambia for her malnourished child.  Plumpy'nut comes in a packet that can easily be stored with out refrigeration or reconstitution.

I went to Cameroon as a Peace Volunteer thinking I would work with malnourished children, maybe provide them with a plumpy'nut.  Instead, I provided nutrition education for people with obesity and type II diabetes.  After Peace Corps, I went to Loma Linda University for doctoral degree in public health nutrition.  As one of the leading universities studying nuts and vegetarian diets, I thought I would research plumpy'nut for my doctoral degree.  Instead, I researched effective ways of providing breastfeeding education in Cameroon.  After I graduated from Loma Linda I thought I would take a job in academia teaching and doing research in Cameroon.  Instead, I accepted a job in Niger with Samaritan's Purse as Health and Nutrition Program Manager with my foremost responsibility to oversee the distribution of plumpy'nut.

Niger is considered to be part of West Africa.  Geographically, 80% of the country is in the Sahara Desert with the the remaining 20% in the Sahel (desert-savannah).  Due to the topography and climate in Niger, there is ongoing concern of malnutrition and food security. In 2006 The United Nations ranked Niger as the world's poorest country in the world and consistently ranks among the poorest countries in the world.   

Mother and child in Niger

In the last 30 years, Niger has endured six severe food crises, four of which occurred in the last eight years.    A few weeks ago the United Nation and the Food and Agriculture Organization estimated that more then 5 million people in Niger don't have enough food.  The "hungry season" came early this year  because of sparse rains and a poor harvest.  In addition, there has been an influx of 200,000 refugees from Libya and 25,000 people who have fled Mali because of political instability.  Furthermore, many who travel to Northern Nigeria for work have been unable to do so because of Nigeria's current  unstable religious climate.  

As I reflect on all that has happened in the last two years and ponder what will happen in the next two years, I'm filled with joy, uncertainty, fear, gratitude, concern, and awe.  This isn't exactly how I thought my life would go.  A year and half ago when I was preparing to go back to Cameroon for my research, I told myself that this would be the LAST time that I would move back to Africa for a lengthy period of time.  However, when I came back to America last February, I quickly realized the I'm not ready to live in America for a lengthy period of time.  There is still so much more I want to learn and experience, particularly related to child malnutrition.  The statistics in Niger are overwhelming and intimidating.  The task seems huge and relentless.  Its so different from Cameroon, a country I have become quite familiar with these last four years. I wonder if I will have the opportunities to develop the same connections with the people.  But  I'm going forth, excited to have the opportunity to finally work with plumpy'nut and child malnutrition and trusting once more that God will provide for body and soul in the foreign land.  

     

Vocation at the deepest level is this, "This is something I can not do, for reasons I am unable to explain to anyone else and don't fully understand myself, but that are nonetheless compelling.

Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

Lessons from Statistics

For the past few weeks I've been statistically analyzing participants' answers to the pre and post test to evaluate if the audio program resulted in changes in knowledge, beliefs, benefits, barriers, and intention to exclusively breastfeed.  One of my options in analyzing the data was to collapse all of the participants answers into dichotomous data (yes, no answers).  Initially this seemed like a simple, straightforward way to determine if the intervention worked--either participants improved their knowledge as a result of listening to the program or they didn't.  Thinking about analyzing the data this way made me think about how often in life I like to look at things as yes or no, black or white, living in America or living in Cameroon.  It seems neater to divide life into two distinct categories, but as Oriah says in her book The Dance, "Neatness is really only preferable in bathrooms and in written reports" (or in my case, a dissertation).

Life isn't neat and black or white. Its lived in the midst of changes and gradients.  So instead of analyzing the data as yes or no, I sought to analyze how participants changed within a gradient.  Some drastically improved, some stayed the same, some actually decreased and overall the audio program was effective in improving knowledge and benefits, but not beliefs, barriers, or intention to exclusively breastfeed.  As I've been analyzing changes amongst the participants, I've been thinking about change in general.  Not just how to best analyze it, but the rate at which it can happen.  Today is Palm Sunday, the day in which Jesus comes triumphantly riding on a donkey amongst people shouting "Hosanna!"  Yet, a few days later, things have drastically changed as Jesus is spit upon and mocked.  Change in life is inevitable (and I think really analyzing the change is inevitable also), but I believe it also brings new insight and significance.  I know that going through the statistical analysis brought new insight to me and hopefully the changes in the participants were not just statistically signficant, but life significant.

White Man Country

I arrived in America, or White Man Country as it is known in Cameroonian Pidgin, two weeks ago.  Before I left Cameroon I stayed with a Canadian Baptist Missionary for a few days.  She's been in Cameroon for over sixteen years and told me that each time she goes back to Canada she experiences it differently.  I would say that is also true for me as I've experienced this re-entry to America very differently then the first time.  Generally I feel a huge sense of relief to not constantly be thinking of alternatives if the electricity goes off, the internet stops working, if money isn't transferred, if the participants don't show up, if I lose the data or is stolen, if the car breaks down.

Since being away from America for over a year I anticipated having a hard time readjusting, but besides some initial shocks of how much more technology is integrated in the American way of life, I feel the adjustment has gone pretty smoothly. I'm not speaking Pidgin to everyone and the words "ashia" and "you are welcome" aren't coming out of my mouth at the beginning or end of every sentence, as I feared.  I almost started a conversation with man on the plane by stating the obvious, "You are studying?" but stopped myself and after spending the next 10 minutes reassessing I successfully started it the American way.  For the first couple of days back I greeted everyone on the running trail with holding up two hands, which is appropriate in Cameroon, but looks like I'm declaring surrender in America.  However, I will say that the lack of greetings in America is a bit of a culture-shock.  I'm not saying we have to go through all of the questions of how you slept the night before, how is your health, how is your family, and make an obvious statement about their presence or their work that is typical of Cameroonian greetings, but a simple, "Hello" or "Good morning"would be nice.  The last night I spent with Peter, Lord, Babila, and Lord I told Peter that in America we don't say "ashia."  He asked me what we do when we pass someone who is working and I explained that we just pass on by without saying anything. He was flabbergasted.

As I've reflected on why this re-entry has been less of a shock then the first time, I've come up with a couple of thoughts.  The predominant thought is that life is just different in Cameroon then it is in America.  I speak differently, dress differently, eat differently, travel differently, and interact with friends differently.  Its not bad, its just different.  I can't make America more like Cameroon and I can't make Cameroon like America.  When I first had that realization I worried that it would result in feeling like I was two different people, Cameroon Kate and America Kate, but it actually hasn't and instead has brought reassurance.  God is still the same and His call to serve Him is still the same.  Here and everywhere else in the world.      

Grateful for the advances in science and technology, we make careful use of their products, on guard against idolatry and harmful research,

and careful to use them in ways that answer God's demands to love our neighbor and to care for the earth and its creatures.

As followers of Jesus Christ, living in this world--which some seek to control, but which others view with despair--we declare with joy and trust:

Our world belongs to God!

Our World Belongs to God Contemporary Testimony 52, 1 

Race of Hope 2012

Ever since I knew I was coming back to Cameroon I planned to do the Race of Hope up Mt. Cameroon, the highest peak in West Africa.  I found some people in Kumbo and began training with them last November.   One of the people I was training with, Kasimo, helped me register for the race in December.  At first he said I could register as a Cameroonian because I have a Cameroon identification card.  He sent the money to Bamenda and a few days later he came back and said that I had to register as a foreigner and pay even more for the registration.  I obliged and sent a copy of my passport and the 50,000 CFA (~$100) registration fee.  About two weeks ago Kasimo came to my house and said that I couldn't do the race at all because I was supposed to do a qualifying race to prove that I was strong enough to compete.  The person in Yaounde refused to put my name on the registered list even though Kasimo tried to convince him that I didn't need to do the qualifying race because I registered as a foreigner and had been training with him.  But it was to no avail.  The only option seemed to be to go to Buea and demand my 50,000 CFA refund since they would not let me race.  I arrived in Buea late Wednesday evening, two days before the race.  On Thursday the people from Yaounde never came.  On Friday I went to the starting area and still couldn't find anyone who could give me any information. Friday night I decided that I would use an old race number and still try to participate.  After all, I had paid the registration fee and it didn't look like I was going to get a refund.  Early this morning I, and two other girls working at the Seventh Day Adventist Hospital in Buea, went to the starting line to see if there was still a possible way I could participate.  We arrived at 5:30, well before any other of the participants, even though the race was supposed to start at 6:15.  We sat down on the bleachers of the stadium and waited.  A few minutes after we sat down the guy in the picture below sat down in front of us.

He turned to me and asked if I was running.  I tried to explain the confusion and that I came to Cameroon just for this race (ok, not exactly true, but it was certainly on my Cameroon agenda).  It turned out that he was one of the race officials and inside his backpack was the list of runners and the race numbers!  He looked at me and said, "Don't worry, you will run today.  Wait here."  A few minutes later he introduced himself as Roger, gave me his email address and in turn asked for mine.  Normally I would refuse, but he had the race numbers!  I decided a few annoying emails would be a small price to pay in return for the opportunity to race.  With my place in the race almost guaranteed, I walked around the starting line because it was obvious it would be awhile before the race would start.  I had my picture taken with Ringo the Internet Super hero, except he's not much of a superhero because Ringo Internet doesn't work so well.

This was the 17th edition of the Race.  It is THE race of the country and one of the most exciting events in Cameroon.  Its nationally televised and talked about on the radio for days.

An hour after meeting Roger, I had my race number and t-shirt.  I wanted to wear my dri-fit t-shirt, but another race official refused.  They said I had to wear the white cotton t-shirt so they would know I was in the marathon race, not the relay or junior race.

Around 7 am we all lined up behind the starting line.  Only an hour after it was supposed to have started.  

And they're off!  Except not me.  As we were getting ready to run about 10 different unknown Cameroonians came to take their picture with me.  I was right in the middle of doing an interview with CRTV (Cameroon Televison Radio and TV) when everyone started running and off I went.

The girls from the Adventist Hopstial took this picture of me as I ran past the hospital.  It was the last that I looked this strong or felt this good.

That is because as I started climbing the mountain it started raining.  Not too bad at first, but it was a constant drizzle.  Running in a cotton t-shirt does not help to wick away sweat an moisture.  I was about halfway up the mountain when I came to a shelter.  Inside there were many Cameroonians keeping warm and dry by sitting close to a fire.  I decided to stop for a little while just to get warm.  But then I started shivering and couldn't stop.  I had very little for breakfast that morning and my energy level was low.  I asked the Cameroonians if someone had a shirt a could borrow.  Within seconds, Johnson, pictured below, took off his coat and gave it to me.  Not long after that someone offered me a banana, then some crackers.  Although the jacket was helpful, I still didn't stop the shivering.  The only option I had was to remove my wet cotton t-shirt and sports bra.  Shortly after that someone else from CRTV wanted to interview and find out why I stopped racing.  In the middle of teeth chattering I told him it was because it was too cold!  After a few more minutes in the shelter, Johnson accompanied me back down the mountain and I returned to Buea safe and sound.

The whole experience was so typical of Cameroon--being told different answers to one question, charged more money because I'm a foreigner, last minute decision-making that limits adequate planning, meeting the right people and just the right time, singled out for pictures and questions because I'm white, and the solidarity and kindness of Cameroonians that ultimately triumphs over the difficulties.  

My Own Pikins

Cameroonians often say, "that is my own" instead of "mine" or "my".  I first noticed this when I returned to Cameroon in June 2010 shortly after Eunice died.  After visiting Eunice's grave I was holding Baby Kate  in a taxi and asked if she would share her groundnuts (peanuts) with me.  She promptly said, "No, they are my own."  Since meeting Eunice in 2005 her children have become a special part of my life and I now affectionately call them my own pikins.  This past year has included many special memories with them beginning by celebrating Youth Day last February and concluding by celebrating Youth Day again and an afternoon of swimming.

Every major holiday in Cameroon is celebrated with children marching in an open field.  Below is a picture of a child holding the sign board for the Sacred Heart Primary School, where Lord, Babila, and Kate attend.        

I arrived at the field just in time to see Babila and Lord march pass wearing their brightly colored uniforms.

After the marching all of the children gather to eat rice, a special treat.  I arrived to find Kate with her friends eagerly awaiting their heaped plate of rice.

After all of the marching the children do relay races.  One of the relay races includes small children wearing nothing but their underwear and running across the field to see who can dress the fastest.  All of the other people stand around and eat food and buy special treats for the children.  One of the things I bought for my pikins was alaska, which is really nothing more then frozen colored water.  I bought it shortly after Peter and I shared a memory of Eunice making alaska and ice cream and selling it for Youth Day years ago.

Baby Kate is not such a baby any more, even though she corrects people if they just call her Kate.  The days of her falling asleep in my arms are fleeting as she is getting older, but the days of making her laugh by tickling her I think will still be around for awhile.

The day after Youth Day, I took Peter and the kids to a pool that recently opened in Bamenda.  Considering that they have never been in a bathtub, much less of a swimming pool, they had no idea what to expect.  I spent an afternoon searching through heaps of European cast-off clothes lying on the ground in the market to find swimsuits for everyone and was fairly successful.  Kate's swimsuit took some innovation, but we made it work.

Thankfully I was able to borrow some water wings from a Baptist missionary to prevent everyone, including, Peter, from drowning.

Babila was scared by the water and the first time he went in he only lasted about 5 seconds before scrambling out.  He preferred to spend the time sitting in a raft in the kids pool.

And after the two days of intense stimulation and fun, there was nothing left to do, but sleep.

My Heart Done Grow

Since graduating from college I have lived in Cameroon longer then anywhere else.  Living and working cross-culturally for an extended period of time inevitably brings change in a person's perspective and values.  Some of the changes are easy to quantify such as a deeper appreciation for reliable electricity, indoor plumbing, safe modes of transportation, paved roads, cold milk and cereal, and people who regularly use deodorant.  Some of the other changes are much more harder to explain or quantify.  When I returned to the States from Cameroon in 2007 I tried in various ways to explain why and how I miss Cameroon and Cameroonians.  This is my last week in Kumbo and as the process of saying good bye and transitioning to life in America has begun I am faced with this challenge once more.  A couple of months ago I was talking with a friend who was processing a return to the States from Liberia and I think she said it well--your heart expands or as said in Pidgin, "My heart done grow."  

The relationships I have with Cameroonians is much different then the ones I have with Americans and perhaps this is why it causes heart growth.  Cameroonian have a unique way of opening themselves up to strangers and incorporating them into their family.   They expect to see you almost everyday.   If they don't, they quickly say, "Why you lost so?" or "You have been missing!"  and will stop by unannounced to make sure you're still alive.  I am often humbled by their hospitality and their concern for me, a complete foreigner who looks and talks different from them.  Last June, when my mother was visiting we were walking around Ndop.  As we were standing and watching a man tap the palm tree for palm wine, a woman came up to us and introduced herself and then quickly invited us to her house for popcorn and a chat about our families and work.  Shortly after we left her house we both commented that if we saw two people who clearly did not belong in our neighborhood we would just walk past and wouldn't even occur to us to invite them into our home. As I reflect on the time I have spent in Cameroon this past year I am reminded of the beautiful people that have caused my heart to expand once more.     

Peter, Emmanuella, and Sidonae are my Cameroonian siblings.  My first full day in Kumbo Emmanuella went to the market with me and has been by my side every since.  The other day Emmanuella told me, "When I don't see you for four days I feel sick, now that I won't see you for four months I will just be lying dead in the mortuary."    

There are many gracious, kind, compassionate Cameroonians, but I've never encountered one like Doris.  Her husband drowned in a boating accident five years ago, leaving her with six children to raise on her own.  She comes once a week to help me clean my house and killed and prepared a whole chicken for my parents.    

Emmanuella's Mother, or "Ma" as I call her often tells me that she thinks of me as her own pikin and when she doesn't see me for sometime "her skin no feel fine."  When I do see her she gives me a warm embrace as really only a mother can.  She told me today that when I come back in June she wants to build a house for me close to hers so that "I will always be by corner so."

In addition to older women and younger girls I do have a few friends close to my own age.  Elise and Milton work in the IT department at Banso Baptist Hospital.  In the process of keeping me connected to the internet I have begun to know them and their families well.  When Sharyn Moss, an MPH student from Loma Linda visited, Elise and Milton were our Lake Oku tour guides.

In addition to the personal relationships, my heart has expanded through the beauty and serenity in Cameroon.  I often call Cameroon my "thin place" as a description of how I experience little separation between the physical and spiritual realms.  With little control over transportation and safety there is nothing else to do but pray that God will work all things out. Cameroon will forever be the place where I recalibrate, find wholeness, and expand my heart.    

Community can make us think of a safe togetherness, shared meals, common goals, and joyful celebrations…. community is first of all a quality of the heart. It grows from the spiritual knowledge that we are alive not for ourselves but for one another. Community is the fruit of our capacity to make the interests of others more important than our own. The question, therefore, is not "How can we make community?" but "How can we develop and nurture giving hearts?"

Henri Nouwen, Bread for the Journey

We Don Finish Quick Quick

Exactly one year after leaving America for Cameroon to develop and test an audio program to promote exclusive breastfeeding we done finish, as it is said in Pidgin.  Yesterday we had the fourth and last listening session for our intervention group.  After a year of seeking funding, planning, and preparing in the United States and another year in Cameroon of determining existing exclusive breastfeeding knowledge, beliefs, and practices, developing the audio program, recruiting 284 pregnant women and their partners, finding voice actors, recording and editing the audio program, writing an accompanying discussion guide, arranging for food and transportation for 350 participants, hiring local assistants, and collecting data for all of the participants I feel a huge sense of relief and thanksgiving to reach this point.    Although the project isn't completely finished yet, the bulk of the project is certainly done and what is remaining does not rely on many external factors such as electricity, political stability, reliable assistants, language translation, finances, and 350 people willing to travel far distances to arrive on time and listen and discuss pertinent health matters.  

As I look back on the past two years there certainly have been obstacles, but it has always worked out, just not the way I think it will.  One of our recurrent obstacles was electricity failure on the days that the participants came to listen to an audio program segment.  I was able to record the audio program on my iPod and then played the segment on speakers operated by batteries.  Below is a picture of Gilbert holding the speakers while the participants listened to the program.  Gilbert really should be called Jack because he is a Jack-of-all-Trades at the District Medical Office.  He's a driver, logistician, photocopier, translator, and food procurer.  Each week he would arrange with "Mama Chin-Chin" and "Mama Fish-Roll" to provide food for all of the participants.  Although I only met Gilbert a few months ago, I could not have orchestrated all of the listening sessions without him.  He is an example of how God has provided in many unexpected ways this past year.

I included this picture because of the man wearing a baseball cap.  He and his wife live in Oku, about an hour away from Kumbo.  His wife came to the first listening session, but on the way back she had an accident on the motorbike and hurt her leg. Because of this and the late stages of her pregnancy she couldn't attend the remaining listening sessions, so she sent her husband.  He feverishly took notes during each listening session so he could report back to his wife.  This and his congenial attitude certainly won my respect for him.  

Since we began recruiting the women in July many of them had given birth by the time we started the listening sessions.  Having about 10-15 babies in attendance sometimes made for a noisy environment, but I was relieved and grateful with the mothers' attempts to keep them quiet (usually by breastfeeding them!) so that the others could hear.  Sometimes the babies were just as interested in what was happening as their mothers as shown below:

Nurse Margaret was another Godsend in the project.  After listening to the segment she would engage the participants in a post-listening discussion.  I also only met her a few months ago, but was very instrumental in recruiting the women and translating the pre and posttest.

Although we didn't have as many men as we anticipated, some of the ones were quite dynamic.  Seeing them there and caring for their "pikins" certainly warmed my heart.

Two times a week I attend morning devotions with the LAP staff on the compound where I live.  Each time I am always struck by how Cameroonians pray.  Since many of the workers have to travel far distances to visit rural health centers they often pray for safe travel and health and strength to carry on the work.  They inevitably end their prayers by saying, "So we can give God the glory and reason to thank Him for all that he is done."  Although the reasons for my prayers have been slightly different these past two years, the outcome certainly has been the same.

May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you wherever He may send you.  May He guide you through the wilderness, protect you through the storm.  May He bring you home rejoicing at the wonders He has shown you.  May He bring you home rejoicing once again into our door.

Celtic Prayer