Kids these days.

 

After 5 years of being a camp counselor and 12 years of babysitting, I thought that I had this whole “kid” thing down by now.  Cameroon has proven me to be oh-so-very incorrect. 

Today after spending all morning cleaning the house and preparing a meal for a friend who would visit later in the day, I sat down at my dining room table to relax with a cup of tea and a book (I’m on book number 15 now! Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake).  Only when I stood up to open the window did I realize that there was a boy sitting silently on my front steps.

Oh!  Okay!  I very rarely have visitors like this, so it took me a bit by surprise.  When children come to visit (aside from Christmas and New Years when they all came trick-or-treating), they usually wait at my gate or peer over my fence waiting to catch a glimpse of me, and as soon as I spot them, they duck down and giggle.  Not this kid though.  He bravely, quietly, and contently waited on my front steps until I finally noticed him.  I have absolutely no idea how long he had been there, or how long he would have continued to wait there if I hadn’t noticed him.

Sitting next to him, I asked his name, what he did this morning, and if he was visiting me for a reason or just for fun, but all I could get out of him was that his name is Amadou Mumblegrumble.  The rest of my questions were answered with a shy smile.

I was stumped.  What am I supposed to do with this unknown child on my front steps who won’t even talk to me?  We sat in silence, avoiding eye contact, and giggling whenever we did happen to catch each other’s glances.  I’m surprisingly getting quite used to sitting in silence, but I can only sit silently on my own veranda before getting antsy.  That’s when Amadou Mumblegrumble began drawing in the dust with his fingers.  Perfect!  Let’s make art!

I ran inside to get my crayons and a piece of paper for each of us, and told him to pick a color.  I chose red, and drew a flower.  He chose white, and was baffled when it didn’t show up against the white paper.  After re-selecting, he carefully created his masterpiece in blue:

“1 2 3 4 8 5 6 9 7”

Yes.  Yes indeed.

Then he stopped, so I drew a blue cat with a speech-bubble that said, “meow” (I wish I had photographic evidence of this brilliant work of art.  You would be moved to tears).  He took one look at my cat, and decided that it was time for all of the crayons to go back in the box.  We returned to sitting in silence.

Eventually, I decided enough was enough.  After saying “au revoir” and telling Amadou he could keep my beautiful work of art, I returned to my book.  Amadou sneakily (or so he thought) slipped my drawing under my doormat, and he proceeded to sit on my steps in silence, this time staring at me through the doorway, until I finally shut the door.

(I checked later and he did actually take the cat drawing with him… so at least my self-confidence isn’t completely shattered.)

This is only one example of the many strange interactions I’ve had so far with Cameroonian children. 

 

Most of the children I encounter are incredibly sweet.  No matter where I go, children will continuously shout “bonjour” at me.  By continuously, I mean the same child will actually keep yelling “bonjour! Bonjour!” until I am out of sight, no matter if or how many times I respond.  Many times they will even walk beside me or behind me.  However, very rarely will a child engage in conversation with me.  I tell them my name and ask for theirs; I ask favorite colors, favorite animals, I try to make small talk… The response is rarely more than a smile. 

Some children, however, have never seen someone with white skin before.  To these children, I am a terribly frightening beast.  When I’m in a playful mood (or rather, when I’m in a mood to traumatize babies…potatoes, tomatoes), I will make scary faces and roar until the littlest children run away crying while the other children stand back and laugh.  (Okay, I’ve only done this two or three times).

Then there are the children who run for the hills before I even get a chance to growl at them!  Yesterday as I was riding my bike home from Ndiam-Baba, there was a child (I’m guessing 5 years old) standing in the middle of the sandy road.  He took one look at my smiling face and bolted into the bushes, running as fast as he could while screaming at the top of his lungs.  I “ding”ed my bicycle bell at him and continued on my merry way. 

There once was a time when I got along with children.  We understood each other so well.  Just two summers ago, I spent so much time babysitting that I nearly forgot how to act socially appropriate among my own peers, often reverting to baby-talk and animal sounds.  All it takes is a silly face to make a baby smile, and everyone knows that I take my silliness seriously!  I’m sure that over time, the children here will get used to me and we will all eventually be able coexist without tears or screams for Mommy, but until that time comes, I will enjoy my peace and quiet and try my best to restrain from roaring at babies.