The Blog

Finally a place to read all the latest news from the founders and friends of Green Eyes in Africa. Check back often to see who is blogging next.

Blog #8 Ryan's Holiday Message and Thank You!

What actually constitutes a childhood? As Overseas Director of Green Eyes in Africa, I tell people that my goal in Cameroon is to give the children of the New Hope Orphanage a "childhood," since our motto is, "Every Child Deserves a Childhood." I came up with the motto after witnessing that the vast majority of Cameroonian children are not protected by laws, police, social services, or from abuse, and are thus robbed of their innocence. I wanted our formerly abused children to feel what it is like to simply be a child in a safe, secure environment.

The New Hope Orphanage is now well into its third year of providing such an environment for these children, and in turn providing them with what we define as a childhood. But being temporarily safe in an orphanage is not our ultimate goal--our ultimate goal is to provide these children with a well-rounded view of the possibilities that are open to them in life and the consequences they will face if they make poor choices. We want them to be prepared to defend themselves in the harsh, unfair, and often brutal world of urban Cameroon, and ultimately avoid the mass misery of impoverished, desperate people.

Education is a top priority in our work. Without it, no child has a chance in Cameroon. Our kids began their education in the Cameroonian public school system, which has over 100 students per class, severe physical punishments, and discrimination based on tribal differences. This system was failing these kids, so this year they have been placed in a quality private school where the class sizes are limited and a creative learning environment is maintained. All of the children are passing their classes and learning academic responsibility. They all realize that if they fail at school, they only fail themselves in the end.

After education, exposure to a variety of activities and ideas is high on our priority list. The children have had the opportunity to interact with people from all over the world, totaling over twenty countries. I make an effort to recruit overseas volunteers, diplomats, non-profit organization workers, teachers, missionaries, and others living in Cameroon to come and visit our orphanage. Some volunteers, such as Tirill from Norway and Dana from Canada, have stayed with us for weeks at a time. Each visitor and volunteer brings something unique from their native country to give our children an understanding of different cultures. Joe Hoe taught them about the Great Wall of China. Elkine taught them about life in Haiti. Mariana taught them how to make Dutch cookies. Japanese diplomats taught them how to make origami artwork with paper. Vinny taught them that chips in England are what Americans call french fries. These things are quite significant considering that the average Cameroonian child never has the opportunity to interact with a person from another country, or even from another village, in their lifetime.

Perhaps one of the most exciting events over the past years was attending the Cameroonian National Ballet. For two years, Chinese classical and modern dance coaches trained a group of impoverished Cameroonian young people to dance with a grace and power such as I have never seen. Our children were mesmerized as they watched a spectacle of ballet, partner dances and modern and traditional African dances come together in a performance we will never forget. After the show, our kids got to meet the dancers, who agreed to pass by our orphanage. For months now, every week, the New Hope kids have been taking modern and ballet dance classes from these talented young Cameroonians, They're gaining discipline, self-confidence, and physical strength with each course.

Teaching English has been a challenge we've undertaken from the beginning of our work. Today, the children are able to carry on basic conversations in English and are doing daily interactive lessons with a listen-read-repeat program we created to accelerate their progress. They know that if they become fluent in English, their career and educational opportunities will greatly increase.

The childhood given to these children is a busy childhood. Each day is full of new adventures and at times it gets overwhelming. But we've got small traditions, such as singing around the piano at night, that maintain a sense of calm and continuity in our lives. In addition to myself, the children are cared for by a loving live-in Cameroonian staff that enriches their lives and keeps them safe.

In the early days of our work, the children under our care were viewed as "victims" by those around them. Visitors came by to see the "poor little orphans" and "help them." Today, when people visit, it is often said that our children are the best-dressed, best-mannered, and best-behaved children they've seen in Cameroon. Our kids no longer have the complex that they are poor, helpless, pitiable beings. They're empowered, even obnoxiously confident at times, and are learning that now it is their time to give back.

There is an American couple that has opened Yaounde's first center for mentally disabled children. They care for twelve severely handicapped and mentally challenged children, and it has been our goal to regularly visit these children and bring them over to our orphanage to play. Our kids are learning to accept those who are different and to serve those who are less fortunate than they. Each time we sing our orphanage "theme song," the children are reminded of their future responsibility. They sing, "Et un jour nous allons partager l'amour que l'on nous a donne" (and one day we will share the love that has been given to us).

Our original group of children has been through adjustments. We've taken in a young blind mother and her baby, who came to us sick with typhoid fever over a year ago. We were able to place Julien back with his mother, who is stabilized after living with us and nearly dying from AIDS. We took in Joel's cousin Jeanine, whose mother's epilepsy has severely crippled her. And this summer, we took in a nine-year-old orphaned girl named Adriana, who had her first swimming lesson just yesterday. We look forward not only to the near future, which will undoubtedly be bright, but to the future children that will be helped by our "alumni," such as Adriana. We have had so many wonderful accomplishments this year. We know that your donations keep this work alive.

As Overseas Director of Green Eyes in Africa, I personally ask anyone reading this to donate to what we are doing. Any amount, no matter how small, does help. Living here in Africa I see the results of your generous kindness daily. Thank you for continuing to help us. We are making a difference! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Blog #7

Hello friends, Heather here. Just thought I would answer a recurring question that I get through the email quite often about our move to the North. Ryan mentioned in a previous blog that we would be moving to the North in December. We have not yet done so. A move of that magnitude requires more planning. We are currently researching our options and I will post more information when we reach a resolution. Thank you for all your emails and your generous donations. We love our donors!

Blog #6 The Power Bill

It's a good thing that I am finally learning to "choose my battles wisely." Life in Cameroon presents battles each day; battles that should never even have to be fought. For example, paying the power bills. I grew up in Sparks, Nevada. I then rented my own apartment in Salt Lake City, Utah. In both cities, power bills arrived regularly each month. I looked over my power bills, paid them, and went along my merry little way. In Cameroon, power bills present powerful problems. We moved into our new house in December, 2006. The former resident was a Dutch man who was working in technology development in Cameroon. He left his electricity contract with the national power company of Cameroon in tact so that we would not have to go through the hassle of negotiating our way into a new contract. But our "real estate agent" who helped us find the house said that I had to re-establish a new contract in my name, and that the deposit for doing so was $300.00. He said that the Dutch man had in fact already cancelled his contract, and had taken back his $300.00 deposit. I went to the power company and found out that the Dutch man had not cancelled his contract, and that he had not taken back his $300.00 deposit. He left it there. Why did our "real estate agent" lie to me? I can't be sure, but I have a vague picture in my mind of him keeping a portion of the Dutch man's deposit after sharing it with a dishonest member of the power company, all the while making me believe that the Dutch man took back his $300.00.

So six months passed in our new house with no power bill. In June, a power bill for $720.00 arrived with a warning that they were going to shut off our power. So Sandrine, our orphanage supervisor, went to the power company to talk to the director and see if we could make payments since it was such a large amount, and they had failed to send us a single power bill. He said yes, she paid $200.00, and we assumed everything was fine. On July 19 we paid another $200.00 as promised. Four days later the power company sent agents to shut off our power. I took out our receipts, showed them to the agents, and said that we had an arrangement with the director. They said they were obligated to shut off the power. I said that was not right since we were making payments. They decided to "pretend" to shut off the power by giving us a paper to take to the power company saying that our electricity had been shut off. Apparently they felt sorry for me or they were waiting for bribe money to pay for their "kindness." They got no money.

So on July 25 Sandrine and I went to the power company headquarters in Yaounde. It is on a rough road filled with potholes. We pulled into the parking lot trying to avoid a huge open sewer drain hole filled with trash. It had mostly been covered with wood, but for some reason the power company was unable to locate some more wood to cover this particular open area. We walked up the dark, filthy hallway to the director's office. There was a small crowd of people waiting in the heat to see the big boss. He sat behind his desk with his glasses almost falling off of his nose, half-yelling at the people trying to take care of their power bill problems. He told us to explain our problem when it was finally our turn after 45 minutes of waiting. We told him that we had come to pay the rest of the money we owed. He looked into his computer, surrounded by random piles of photocopies, folders, and manuals, and said that we still owed $720.00. We showed him our receipts of the $400.00 we recently paid and waited 20 minutes while he figured out what to do about that. I hate to think what we would have done without those receipts as proof of payment.

He and his assistant decided to send us downstairs to pay the rest of our bills--which amounted to exactly $320.00. It should have been more since their agents "shut off our power" but he said that they made a mistake and we did not have to pay the extra $12.00 fee for having had our power shut off. He said that before going back to him that we must make photocopies of everything for him with our own money. We went downstairs and waited in a long line to pay our bill. The woman in the cashier window was sitting in a dingy room with dirty walls and garbage on the floor, and there were thousands of dollars (Cameroonian franks) scattered randomly all over her desk. Upon our turn, the woman insisted that the Dutch man had cancelled his contract and that we owed them an additional $300.00. We firmly said that we were authorized to continue using his contract. He never terminated it or received his deposit. She smugly said to give her the $320.00. We gave it to her in bills of 10,000 Cameroonian franks. She bluntly said to give her a bill of 1,000 franks, I suppose because she did not have change. She owed us 50 cents change but did not bother to give it to us or say, "Sorry, but I don't have change." She then told us we owed an additional $12.00 fee for our power being turned off. We said that the director said to wave the fee because of their mistake.

We went back up to the director, waited in line again, and apparently he had a change of heart. He said that we now had to pay the $12.00. Before returning to the cashier, we left to go search a copy machine to make copies. We found an internet cafe with a copy machine. We waited for the internet cafe employee to stop fighting with the two men ahead of us, and for her to fix the broken copy machine. We made copies of the bills for everything we paid, except the $12.00, which we still had to pay. We went back up to the director and gave him the photocopies. We went down to the cashier to pay the $12.00 and she said we could not pay until a woman upstairs "processed our request." We went back upstairs and walked down a dark hallway to find a secretary in a back room full of piles of papers. She took our paper and gave us a handwritten 15-digit number on the back to give to the cashier to "authorize" our ability to make the payment. We went down to the cashier and I gave Sandrine a 10,000 fcfa bill ($20).

I went out to wait in the car. Sandrine came out to the car and asked me if I had two 5,000 fcfa bills. I said no. The woman with an entire counter full of money did not have change for one 10,000 fcfa bill? Sandrine went back inside and I waited in the car for what felt like an eternity. Sandrine came back out. I assumed that the $12.00 was paid. No, it was not. Sandrine said that they insisted that we give them 75 cents more. "But I thought they said we owed twelve dollars?" I asked. Sandrine said that the woman upstairs did not authorize $12.00, she authorized $10.00. The cashier had sent Sandrine out to the car to get exactly 75 more cents from me because the woman upstairs had not authorized $10.00, she authorized $10.75. We had no way of knowing the exact amount because the woman upstairs did not write it down, she only wrote down her impressive 15-digit number. Sandrine went back into the offices to pay the 75 cents. The cashier told her to go to the back of the line. She refused, stating that she had waited long enough, and another power company agent started insulting her. Sandrine stood her ground and paid the 75 cents.

While she was going through this circus, I watched a red car fall into the sewer hole in the parking lot. Instead of getting out of the car and seeking help, the man screeched his tires until the air smelled of smoke. He then shut it off and went into the power company headquarters, leaving his car diagonally dangling in the hole. I was glad we did not drive into that hole. Sandrine came back out and said, "It's a good thing you waited in the car. If you had been in there, you would not have been happy." In the end, the cashier had changed her attitude. She asked Sandrine, "Is that my son-in-law out there in the car?" (In Cameroon older women are always the "mother" of younger women and they refer to each other as if they were related by blood). Sandrine gave a fake smile and said, "Yes, of course." "That's great," the woman replied. Sandrine said that the woman wanted to have contact with me so she started being polite to Sandrine. I wondered to myself if it might not have been better to be polite to me in the first place if she wanted me to "have contact" with her? Sandrine was frustrated with the woman's attitude. "Why is it 'great' that I am 'with you? Because you're white?"

We had been in the power company offices since 10:30 am. It was now 1:00 pm. I drove away half-angry, half laughing as Sandrine gave me a few more interesting details about the power company. The power company was not created by Cameroonians. It was created by Americans, then turned over to Cameroonian directors. Hence the huge pothole in the parking lot? The up-and-down the stairs-change-the-price game of the employees? Sandrine told me that we were lucky they did not actually shut off our power or we would have had to bribe the agents to turn it back on, even after paying our bill. And she also said that we were lucky to have only spent two and a half hours in the power company offices, since frequently when she goes there the power is out and nobody can pay their bills until the power comes back on. The POWER is out in the offices of the POWER COMPANY. Now there's a reason to be angry or to laugh. I simply must choose to laugh or I'll never maintain my sanity in this country.

Blog #5 The Embassy Fashion Show

Yesterday we participated in the 2nd annual U.S. Embassy Fashion Show against Child Labor to celebrate international anti-child labor day. They told us to be original this year, as last year's fashion show was somewhat boring since everyone made traditional African outfits that all start to look the same. That is, until our awesome ambassador Niels Marquardt came out barefoot, in shorts, a USA t-shirt, and a crazy hat and danced like a fool in front of everyone. Go Ambassador Marquardt! Sandrine was SHOCKED at his behavior, but loved his accessible personality and his fun, human essence.

So this year, we got as original as can be. Our kids STOLE THE SHOW as they walked down the runway at the U.S. Embassy, as Royal Princes and Princesses. We practiced a little scenario with them:The prince walked out, and the princess joined him, taking his hand. They walked down the runway together holding hands. The prince knelt down and the Princess gave him a caress with her magic wand.The prince kissed her hand, stood up, and escorted her off the runway. IT WAS BRILLIANT! The American Ambassador, his wife, the Minister of Social Affairs, all of the Media in Cameroon, diplomats from other embassies...they were all there.

But there was a sad overtone to the whole thing. The US Embassy specifically stated to all of the participating NGOs this year to BRING CHILDREN WHO HAVE BEEN ABUSED so that this fashion show can be about THEM. They also said to bring crafts made by victimized children for the craft fair before and after the fashion show. We were the only Western NGO that participated. The rest were Cameroonian. Not to my surprise, all the other NGOs had almost NO victimized children in the fashion show. Instead, they had 20-something girls replace the kids and try to become superstars. It was sick. Where were all the children? Sandrine and I decided not to be in the show because they asked us to keep the focus on victimized children. "Make the fashion show about the CHILDREN," we were told. Is that a difficult concept? It is sad that people used the opportunity to get into the American Embassy and advance their personal interests instead of helping the children of their country by giving them the experience of a lifetime.

And the crafts? They bought them at the market and brought them to the embassy to sell them for double price to Westerners. What kid knows how to carve a wooden giraffe and paint it? Please. Whenever I see an NGO I ask to see photos and meet actual people who are being helped by them. If all they have is shiny brochures and a lot of nice-sounding "education, advancement of children, children protection, blah blah blah," I just walk away. SHOW ME RESULTS OF YOUR EFFORTS AND SHOW ME RECEIPTS OF HOW YOU USE YOUR MONEY. So much money goes through "committees" before it is used, and about 1/4 of donated money ends up getting used legitimately.

In their defense, there were 2 or 3 NGOs from Cameroon that seemed to be legitimate. But it is really easy to fool Westerners with pictures of poor children. So many African NGOs are such a scam and it makes me and Sandrine sick to our stomachs that people are capable of exploiting ORPHANS for their own gain! Example: In front of Paris Disneyland, there are countless African men walking around with papers of an "NGO" in their home country and photos of suffering orphans. They have sign-up lists and people throw Euros at them. But where is the follow-up? How do they know where their money is going? That is exactly the kind of scam that hurt the children in our center before they lived with us, and the exact type of thing that caused me the most dangerous and scary experiences of my entire life.

We were supposed to show our documentary at the event, but due to its potentially controversial content, the Embassy opted not to show it. I understand why. You are just not free to say the truth in this country in many situations because it can backfire horribly. This would have been one of those situations, I suppose. Even writing this blog, in the back of my mind, I have thoughts of a bullet going through my head or a bomb being put under my car. People who speak out are often taken out here. Scary. It makes me think of the lady in the Constant Gardner who spoke out and was hung from a tree. And, Diane Fossey, anyone? It is widely believed that the Rwandan government had her machete-chopped to death because she was exposing too much truth about their activities. Sandrine was pretty upset about the documentary not being shown. She said, "If everyone always plays nice, and nobody says the truth, things will never change. Someone has to speak out! Why hide the truth?" I said that diplomatic circles and relations are very complicated and that the game is not easy to play. The right moves can only be made at exactly the right time or more harm than good can be done. But still, it is frustrating to have the truth on your side and not be able to proclaim it openly and freely.

So we were not only the ONLY NGO that had numerous victimized children in the show (there were other children, maybe 5 or 6, who could have been victims...but about 50 adults), but we were the only NGO that brought paper mache castles, friendship cards, etc. made by the kids to sell. I saw a few others who said that children made their crafts. I hope it was true. But unfortunately, our humble children-created art was not too popular. We made $30. Oh well. It was not about the money. It was about the networking, establishing and maintaining our reputation in the diplomatic community, and making the kids have the time of their lives, which they did.

The children were BEAMING with joy the entire time (except Dodo, who freaked out at the last minute, terrified of going out on stage! But he did it and actually smiled.) I was also beaming with pride and joy at how far we have come as an NGO. We are doing amazing things and seeing Raissa dressed up as a Princess reminded me that her life REALLY IS the African Cinderella story! The US Embassy here is phenomenally beautiful. The gardens and the building are enormous. I am so grateful that they're here. Being there feels like being in a fantasyland. The clean bathrooms, the floors, the gardens, the flag waving....ahh, it's so beautiful! With the boys in the bathroom I asked some questions: What does it smell like in here? Does it stink? Is there soiled paper? Is it clean? I said "Voila, une toilette Americaine." I get tired of going to semi-nice restaurants here and walking into a bathroom that smells like a sewer with poo everywhere, not toilet paper, no soap, no toilet seat, and many times....nothing but a hole in the ground. The boys were amazed, although our bathrooms at home are kind of nice, too. But because nobody in our house is used to modern bathrooms, they're always smelly and they break the faucets and all that stuff all the time. Wait, I take that back, our girls are immaculately clean and tidy. It's the boys who are little hooligans!

I am no longer timid about saying that the American way, overall, leads our planet in innovation, leadership, sanitation, and modernity. I love my country and I am not afraid to say it. Sure, there are a million horrible problems, but guess what? Anybody who wants to insult the USA needs to take a good look around the planet for a country that does more good in this world. Which embassy hosted this event? Which Embassy speaks out against corruption? Which embassy has befriended all of my children and made them feel special so many times I've lost track? The EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA IN CAMEROON. I love them! I also love diplomats from other embassies....Germany and Holland have wonderful people here in Yaounde, as well. As well as the British, they're sweethearts! Dreams come true....literally. With Green Eyes in Africa, DREAMS COME TRUE! Enjoy the photos! I know we did. Talk about dreams coming true for all of us!

Blog #4 Yaounde. Sad. So Sad.

It's going to be a huge change to move to the extreme north of Cameroon. Here in Yaounde we live in the country's capitol, where there's basically everything one could need--from supermarkets to U.S. Embassy friends who can help in the event of a crisis. We're surrounded by dense rain forest on all sides--rolling hills of vegetation so thick you can't even walk through it. We're moving to the north where the land is flat, wide-open, and desert trees like the Acacia dot the skyline with wisdom and simple elegance. I cannot wait to move. And after my conversation with my good friend Christina who works for the World Wildlife Fund last night, I am once again reminded of why I need to get the children and myself the HELL out of Yaounde.

Christina shared a terrifying story of something that happened to her a few days ago. We were chatting until 11 at night, tired after a fun dance class in our orphanage dance studio. Few things shock me in Africa these days. I'm used to seeing deformed beggars on the streets, hungry children, lepers, blind people, filth beyond imagination, horrible car accidents...the list could go on. You get the idea. But Christina's story takes the cake on "expats' nightmare stories" of living in Cameroon. It was 8pm and she was driving from one end of Yaounde to the other, crossing through downtown. She took the street that goes in front of Score, a modern supermarket where I go if I need "western" products you cannot find at African markets. As she drove close to Score, she noticed a mob of people smashing a corpse in the street surrounded by broken glass. "The person was clearly dead, but the mob continued to pick up the body, throw it back down, and smash it, kick it, and destroy it," Christina said. She nervously began to back her car away from the mob when it turned its attention to her. "White woman! White woman!" the crowd of angry men jeered. She was terrified and had to decide between driving dangerously fast in reverse or running over the people coming at her car. Before arriving to her car, the mob took to shaking and smashing a taxi in front of her. She had time to maneuver her car away from their fury. A man about three feet from her car was approaching, and suddenly, "His head exploded. Someone shot him in the head right next to my car."

Christina was hysterical and a man near her car said that the mob had been stopping cars and robbing everyone in them. The police came and shot the man whose body was being mutilated on the street, and the man who was shot in the head was actually killed by police trying to break up the madness. She was able to get away. But she explained that what was most disconcerting was the realization that,

1. She is not considered a human being here, she is merely "white woman." She had nothing to do with the conflict, but became an immediate target of the mob because of her skin color (not to mention blonde hair), and

2. That in the event of the breakout of widespread chaos and violence in Yaounde, "White people would be dead before we knew it. Nobody could stop angry men like them from killing us."

I have also felt the feeling of not being human, of being "the white man." Christina said that as a Canadian she has deeper fears than she would have as an American, because the American embassy is enormous in Yaounde but the Canadian high commission is merely an office in a large office building. Then her next comment sent chills down my spine. "In the event of an emergency, such as rebels overthrowing the government or widespread anger against whites like in the Ivory Coast, Yaounde would become a trap. There are merely a handful of roads that leave the city, and blocking them off would be simple. There would be nowhere to go. People would be killed with no way to escape."

Today is Christina's 8th year anniversary of living in Africa. The mob incident is the worst experience she's had. She also shared her second most troubling experience that happened 4 years ago. Note to self: Stay away from Yaounde Taxis. She was in front of the Hilton after working out in their gym, trying to get a taxi back to her apartment in Bastos (a neighborhood in Yaounde). It was only 6pm and still light outside, so she decided not to pay extra to have her own taxi that would take her directly home without picking up other passengers ($3). A taxi pulled up and she offered her price for a ride home, and three men got out of the taxi and forced her inside. They put her in a headlock and held her arms behind her and drove away. She began to physically resist and fight them, but then calmed down, realizing that resisting them was useless. She said that what followed was mental torture worse than anything she's ever experienced. "How long have you been in Cameroon?" one man asked. "Four years," she replied. "Well, you seem shocked that this is happening. You should have realized by now that Cameroonians are mean and we dream of raping white women."

She remained silent and described an "electric" feeling of terror that went from her head to her toes. She says the experience was surreal and that she was literally in disbelief of what was going on. "Where are we going? What will they do to me?" she wondered. They took all of her belongings as they drove further outside of the city into the hills surrounding Yaounde. She said that her greatest fear was arriving in an obscure house and being gang raped. They took all of her jewelry but she kept one earring in hopes that she could poke one of the bandit's eyes with it. After taking all of her belongings, including her shoes, and driving around for what Christina says felt like 2 hours, they pushed her out of the taxi. In the dark, barefoot, she ran for an hour until she arrived at the Greek Embassy. She pounded on the gate of the embassy in hysterics, desperate for help. The guard of the Greek embassy immediately took his gun and went to the site where the robbers left Christina. He did not find them. Christina was able to get a ride home and was not harmed--physically. Christina is a tough cookie and runs her own show. She didn't let the event scare her out of Cameroon, or even Yaounde.

But, these stories and my personal experiences HAVE scared me out of Yaounde. I feel in my heart that if I stay in this insane, horrible city for much longer something bad will happen. My dream is to live my life in Africa, but honestly, I could not live my life in Yaounde. It seems that I do fine for about three months at a time, then I have a breakdown from the daily grind of being treated with disrespect and constantly worrying about someone stealing from me, lying to me, or trying to harm me. Not to mention that I have already lived under death threats in this city and my would-be-killers are still at large, free to do what they want. They bribed their way out of going to jail long ago. Who is to say that they aren't just postponing their plans, waiting for the right time to attack me or kidnap one of the kids from my orphanage? (The latter would be in the goal of making it look like I sold the child). Christina agrees that the North will be calmer and safer. My experiences there have confirmed this--life is slower, people are nicer, and you don't have the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a never ending ghetto in the jungle. And in the north, whether in a car or on foot, in the event of a national war crisis or emergency one could escape to Chad, Nigeria, or another remote area of Cameroon where you could find legitimate help. The people of the north are much less concerned with tribal origins and race than the people in Yaounde. They are naturally peaceful and their simple ways of life are unaffected by constant greed, obsession with money, and power games like rich, corrupt thieves vs. poor, ignorant criminals in Yaounde. The majority of northerners are simple farmers who live in mud or grass huts/houses and they go from morning to night without thinking about much apart from what they have to do to keep food in their stomachs. And trashy western culture is much less pervasive in the north than in Yaounde. It's like in Yaounde the worst of the west and the worst of Africa clash in a chaotic campaign to make people be the worst they can be. The mob mentality of uneducated, angry, impoverished people meets 50 cent rap "bi**h, ho, mother fu**er, I got what you need if you're in to taking drugs, I'm in to having s*x I ain't in to making love " lyrics. Not a pretty picture. When I see American rap videos on television here and the power they have over young Africans wearing marijuana-leaves/rap star T-shirts, I shudder with shame of my country.

We should be exporting what makes America great, instead, we export the exact opposite. As I'm writing this I'm listening to Madonna's 80s hit, "Holiday." She sings, "Holiday. Celebrate. Just one day out of life...it would be so nice!" What ever happened to popular music that didn't talk about drug use, killing, meaningless and random sex, and showing off gluttonous wealth? Well, maybe Madonna's 80s stuff did have a little gluttonous wealth promotion...hence "If he can't give me proper credit I just walk away....cause we are living in a material world and I am a material girl." Yet I digress. Back to the blog. So there's Yaounde. Not exactly the Disney dream I wish I lived in. But as much as I feel hatred and resentment towards me as a white man living here, there are times when being white comes with advantages.

In the internet cafe where I check my emails, I usually purchase a month at a time. I'm given a number to access my internet time. But two weeks ago my number didn't work. I had 14 hours left on my account. The cafe director had no record of my purchase. I insisted that I had paid my money and that I knew I had time left. He believed me and restored my account to the time I had left. The Cameroonian man next to me found the situation very funny. He said, "You're a white American so you got your time back. If you were one of his Cameroonian brothers he never would have believed you." Sad. So sad.

Blog #3 Cleaning off my plate

I should kick myself for not getting right into blogging when I first came back to Cameroon last month. So much has happened, in fact, this has been the most magical and eventful time in my almost two years in Africa.

**Note, some people say, "You should not say Africa. That is insulting to the individual countries in Africa. It's a huge continent!" They have a point. But guess what? I like saying Africa--the word in my mind conjures up images of beauty and adventure--so I am going to say Africa. Africa. I love Africa! There are so many reasons....future blogs will amaze and inspire you and PROVE that miracles and dreams are possible! But I kind of feel the need to clean off my plate of the bitter sauce that has been on it for too long. So here we go! Let's talk about why Africa is not so loveable at times.

In past dark moments on the dark continent I found myself saying, "I hate Africa, but I love the people I work with." This is no longer the case at all. I hated "Africa" because I live in Yaounde, a terribly chaotic and dangerous city full of insane driving, aggressive people, garbage, and racism. As a white man here I do not feel welcomed. But things will change soon. Read on to see why! As my Norwegian best friend Tirill was here with me these past few weeks, we seemed to get a lot of unwanted attention on the streets. She had her butt grabbed so many times we stopped counting, a woman defecated in front of us in the street (in front of the Hilton for God's sake), she was called "slut" and "whore" and told she was not "in her country." I am used to such comments, which usually follow saying "no" to someone selling this or that. On the streets of Yaounde, I'm referred to as "Le Blanc!" "White man!" Sometimes I wonder if they think I'm human on the inside just like them and that I have feelings and problems, too. Not that everyone was rude. There are many, many lovely people in Yaounde. But Tirill summed it up nicely, "In Norway, if someone is rude, you are shocked. Here, it is the other way around. You're super surprised when someone is actually nice to you."

Customer service is non-existent here, and Tirill got frustrated with people harassing us every time we wanted to buy food or anything else. One day we got ice cream and we asked for a plastic cup to put it in, and the lady said that they were $2.00 each. Thin little plastic cups!? We had to go through TWO store managers in order to receive a free plastic cup after spending $5.00 on ice cream. That is the absolutely perfect example of why I do not appreciate Yaounde.

Yesterday I got an email from the US Embassy warning Americans that crime against whites is on the rise. Last month, within two weeks, clients in 4 restaurants and hotels were robbed at gunpoint by men with sawed-off shotguns and two American women were accosted in a taxi, one being punched repeatedly in the face, and dumped out of the taxi after the attack. In March a church overnight retreat was interrupted by armed men who forced everyone on the floor as they took all of their belongings. A CHURCH RETREAT! Puts new meaning to prayer, huh? "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take after these robbers blow my head off. Amen." I hear so much about how horribly racist Americans are, especially after hurricane Katrina, but racism against whites here can be brutal and makes me feel a little bit confused about the whole idea of racism.

Two months ago a white man was driving a car full of his neighbor's kids home from school. Someone on the street shouted out, "The white man is kidnapping our children! He's a child trafficker!" The street was blocked and the man was pulled out of his car by an angry mob and beaten. The police stopped the violence and took him away to verify that he was not a child trafficker. Street justice rules here. Fortunately, the man was okay. It makes me glad that I've outrun the people who have tried to do that to me and the kids. One night we were followed by a car on our way home from an event at the American School of Yaounde. I started to freak out a bit, wondering if it was Madame Adzaba who finally sent her gunman to shoot me a hot one in the head. But I let the car pass after slamming on my breaks, and the man inside screamed at me, "What are you doing with all those black children in your car?" I said it's none of his damn business and drove away. I floored it and rushed home as he followed me closely behind. But I knew back streets in our neighborhood so we managed to lose him. That was a day I said to myself, "Sometimes it is hard to love Africa."

Don't worry, just a few more not-so-happy stories and then we'll be on to happy stuff. But I need to rant just a little about the police. First of all, in our neighborhood, the police arrested a young Cameroonian girl for not carrying her ID papers. They took her to someone's house and all of them raped her. The other night my taxi was pulled over by police (on foot with guns, they never have cars), and they asked to see all of our papers. I only had a photocopy of my passport, and he said the copy was not good enough. He began yelling at me and saying, "Would you accept a copy like this in Europe? Is this how they do things in Europe? You have no respect for our country! You have no respect for Cameroonian authority! You think you can do whatever you want in our country!" Having learned from brutal experience that shouting back only makes things worse, I immediately began nodding and saying, "Yes Sir. Yes SIR. Yes Sir I am so sorry. I will never do this again. I will get a good copy." I maintained an innocent, respectful expression, but my taxi driver was getting mad at the officer, saying, "Just leave him be tonight." But the "officer" was not satisfied. "Give me your bag," he said. I gave it to him. He took out all of my things, which were nothing more than ordinary items you would take out to dinner, and said, "This is very suspicious. Step out of the car." I said, "Yes, sir. One moment." I called Wade from the US Embassy and told him what was happening and that I really did not want to go to jail. He said, "Hand him to me." On the phone I assume that Wade verified that I am a legitimate American and asked for his name or badge or whatnot (which the officer never would have given). The officer handed me the phone, yelled at me again, this time close enough so that I could smell the beer on his breath, and said I was free to go. I called and thanked Wade for his help and apologized for interrupting his Saturday night. He said, "No problem. He was just waiting for you to pull out your wallet and give him money. Plus, he was drunk. We see this every day."

Thank God for Wade. He's the hero of every American in Cameroon. But, as one of my favorite books, The Secret by Rhonda Byrne, says, "What you talk about you attract." So I don't want to talk anymore about these negative things. I want to focus on the magic moments I have been having at our orphanage recently. Baby Das as we call her (her name is Grace, but she calls herself Das) is rapidly learning English and it's a blast to teach her. I just say whatever I need to say in French and then say it immediately in English. Our favorite is saying I love you back and forth. Her little 2.5 year old voice is so adorable when she tries so hard to speak English. I love you becomes I yuv you. And we're learning body parts. So far we have hair, eyes, nose, and mouth. When she says mouth she sticks her tongue all the way out as she makes the "th" sound, squinting as she looks at me saying the word. These are the moments that make it all worth it! More of them will be shared soon, I promise.

I traveled to the extreme north of Cameroon with Tirill where there are giraffes, elephants, monkeys, gazelles, you name it. Epic scenery and adventures were ours for the taking, and we are moving the orphanage there in December! Until next time.

Blog # 2 America the Beautiful

The female shuttle driver from the Holiday Inn to the train station reminded me of what it means to be an American and why I love America. She and I were discussing the upcoming presidential elections and talking about the candidates. She wants our next president to unite our "terribly divided country," as she put it. As we chatted we found ourselves on the same political page. She had a thick Long Island accent, something that symbolizes a "classic American" in my mind. She was open, friendly, talkative, and kind. She walked with a limp as we unloaded my suitcases, and I was stricken with a sense of who she was. She's a hard-working, honest, patriotic American. I felt compelled to give her a hug. As I hugged her, I said, "I love you because you're an American. You said our country is divided, but good people like you and me will keep it strong. Take care." She actually said, "I love you, too." We had quickly understood one another simply because we are Americans. We represent what I consider the fabric of our nation's stability: A love of our country and a common culture of hard work, friendliness, and honesty. I had no fear that she would drive me off into the countryside and rob/kill me. I had no fear that she would try to steal my money. I felt no hostility from her because I am a white foreigner. I feel these things almost every time I'm in a taxi in Cameroon. That's why, when I'm in the states, I find myself humming America the Beautiful. And before I seem too gushy over a "perfect nation," I'll mention her last comment. "Be careful in the airport. Someone was shot there this morning."

I stood in line with my mostly-Muslim/Arab fellow passengers for my layover flight to Casablanca, Morroco thinking about the shooting, and trying to quiet my fears that someone may have a bomb or chemical weapon in their suitcase. Hearing Arabic languages is naturally a bit unsettling in an airport. Not from racism, but from the fact that most terrorists speak Arabic as their native tongue and that on the news people who kill "infidels" like me resemble the people who were standing in line with me. One woman was wearing a head-covering. She was pushing a stroller with a little girl in it. The little girl was wearing pig-tails and a pink jumpsuit. I thought to myself, 'I'd have chosen a similar outfit for that little girl if she were mine.' Then I thought of her future of covering her "man-provoking" hair and submitting herself to a religion I will never understand. I'm sure the mother of that little girl is a good Mom. I felt a connection with her because we obviously both love the children in our lives. In spite of our differences, she gave me hope in a common humanity that only wants the best for everyone. My niece Rachel Hansen said something in response to a comment I made about my fears concerning the growth of Islamic extremism around the world and my anxieties over my world-traveling responsibilities. She said "I know it's scary. But I just have a feeling that most people in this world don't want to kill anyone." The majority, yes. A frightening, growing minority, no. But I'll choose to focus on the Muslim woman and her little girl's pink jumpsuit. A pink jumpsuit is definitely a start, right?

Fears of en route terrorism aside, I have the privilege of being reminded how good people can be every day. I may not lead a life of name-brands and luxury, and I'm never going to make a lot of money doing what I do, however, I wouldn't trade the gift of being reminded how wonderful people can be by watching them reach out to Green Eyes in Africa and the New Hope Orphanage for anything. After my car robbery in Salt Lake, in which I lost all of the gifts and donations I had collected for the children, I felt betrayed and stunned. "How could this happen to me, of all people?" I asked myself. I wept as I realized that about $1,500 dollars of toys, books, educational materials, DVDs, and more were gone forever. I had spent hours bargain hunting and crossing off the wish lists of my kids in Africa. Gone. Because of one monster who smashed my car window and took what was not his (hers?). But that's when a bad thing turned into a beautiful thing. Tragedy turned to triumph. My friends Alex Thompson and her Mom took me to their house and we got into their attic. They donated tons of fun toys, lotions, and other gifts for the people in Africa. Alex's Aunt gave me about 15 DVDs with French language tracks for the kids from her personal collection. Even the Star Wars collection--something my boys should not live without! It was a nice start. The next day, I visited my spectacular friend Vicki Evans who surprised me with a proposal. "I'm taking you shopping and we're replacing all of the stolen items. On me," she offered. To add magic to an already-phenomenal offer, her friend Dave from the Episcopal Church headquarters walked into the office, heard what we were up to, and added $100.00 cash to our gift-replacement fund. So a horrible, depressing event turned into an experience of, once again, watching beautiful generosity blossom before my eyes.

I pity the people who pass their days without seeing the best of those around them. In this line of work, I see it every day, and experiences like this one are precisely why I have hope for this world and for my work. So on this note of hope and optimism, I re-enter my African existence. I'm ready to go back to my kids in Cameroon. I'm pumped up with love from my family, friends, and donors who believe in this dream. And now I'll turn my iPod back on to Hilary Duff, smile at the strangers all around me, and let my firm belief in the goodness of people fly me to Africa with no fear!

Blog #1 Honesty and the Underwear Wanderer

I've been procrastinating starting this online blog for Green Eyes in Africa. I'm afraid of it in many ways. I have this idea that blogs are meant to be blunt--and I don't want to offend anybody by writing honestly and openly about the realities of living in Africa. But honesty is the guiding principle of my life, and if there's one thing I've learned from living in a foreign land, culture, and people...it is that HONESTY is EVERYTHING. I live among people who live in a shattered world...a world of misery, of suffering, of hypocrisy, of lies, disease, and injustice. At the root of all this suffering, truly, I blame, entirely, DISHONESTY. So these blogs will be honest. They'll paint a picture of the truth--as I see it, as I live it, and as I experience it. Granted, some truths are "relative," so if I present something as truth, remember that I'm only human and I can only see things through my own "Green Eyes in Africa."

Right now I'm sitting in a Holiday Inn in Long Island, New York. I'm en route to Africa--home, I guess. Coming "home" is a weird thing for me now, since I've left my American life for a different life in Africa. I have two families--a loving, amazing American family, and a loving, amazing African family. It's a strange, confusing existence at times. I'll never stop being American. Everything about me seems to be American. And yet the American world is not where I feel most at home. It's where I feel most comfortable, that's for sure. But "at home," no. I feel like I'm meant to live in Africa where I can dedicate myself to something bigger than just creating a career and making money for myself. During the really bad times in Africa, during the death threats, the battles with the corrupt government, the replacing of my epic dreams with nightmarish realities, I've become a new person. It's as if I've passed the point of no return. I'm hooked on my mission, a mission that I have felt spiritually responsible to follow since an experience on a mountain in Ecuador. I've invested so much in Africa that turning away from it would probably (quite literally) send me to the looney bin. So I'm determined to face the nightmares that are undoubtedly ahead. But these days in Cameroon the nightmares are fewer and fewer, and the joys are becoming more frequent.

Of course, the primary joy of living in Cameroon comes from the beautiful children with whom I live at the New Hope Orphanage. We're a family. I don't consider myself their "father," it just seems to official a name or something. But I know that I'm the closest thing to a father these kids have ever had. I got an email yesterday from Sandrine and the kids. She types individual messages from them for me. While I'm in the states, those emails always remind me of why I do what I do. Julien, 11, cracked me up in his last message. He said, "We can't wait for you to come home. We all want to see if you're skinny or fat." I've left Africa a few times since I moved there in 2005, and each time I've returned about 10 pounds heaver than when I left. The kids are the first to shout out, "You got so fat!" But I can't consider it an insult. In the world of Cameroon, having extra weight on you is not a negative thing. It symbolizes having enough to eat. And, keeping up my tradition, I'm once again going home substantially heaver than I was when I left.

When I'm in Africa I tend to glamorize the American world--the grass is always greener on the other side, so to speak. I consider Cameroon a truly insane country. But during this last trip home I had some shocks that made America seem a little less glamorous and a little more insane. Three nights ago, my car window was smashed and a thief stole two suitcases full of presents for the kids out of my trunk. I always worry about being robbed in Africa (with good reason). But then I get robbed in Salt Lake City, Utah, in front of my friend Alex's house in a beautiful neighborhood. Go figure! And I just saw someone walking down the hallway of the Holiday Inn in his underwear, acting like everyone does that all the time. Maybe Cameroon isn't so crazy after all. Wait, scratch that. Underwear man in the hall was weird...but he has nothing on the naked mentally disabled people wandering the streets of Yaounde shouting at nothing and hitting parked cars. Here we go. The blog has started. And it's been fun so far, huh? We've discussed the confusion of belonging to two worlds and underwear wanderers in the Holiday Inn. I told you I'd be honest!

Sharon's Blog Page