oh blogger...

Today I was called "white woman" for the first time. Usually it is just "white man" or "white". I stopped in my tracks. I think that was what he wanted me to do anyway. He had a very lovely collection of yellow-cube soaps and non-antiperspirant deodorant, none of which I purchased.

We have been collecting data by interviewing the mothers of Cameroon and feel like slowly we are grasping one straw at a time what kind of culture we are living in. One of my favourite responses to the question "Is there anything you should know when you become pregnant?" is: "Do not stand in front of a door, a baby may come and change it's mind and then go back inside." Another one in the running is "A woman who is pregnant should not rest her head on her fist for too long (see Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite during the photo shoot with Deb.) for the baby will be born that way if she does."

Jean, the base leader has given us a wealth of information as we speak with him about the experiences at the hospital. He shared yesterday about the inferiority complex that exists because of slavery. When Cameroonians see white people they feel inclined to respect and greet us but within our superiority lies their inability to trust us. This made me examine all the women we have been spending time with and how they feel towards us "truly". I have to believe that there is the possibility for us to alter this complex in at least a few women while I am here. Melisa shared "Maybe initially they feel inferior, but when the pain comes, and we are rubbing their waist and catching their projectile puke, they have to at least have a glimpse of who we truly are."

And so I have reached the conclusion that this city, this country, this continent, this world, we need the love of Je*sus. Without it we have a record of rights and wrongs and we will miss the beauty of whole groups of people.