Berkley Center

I've been in Yaounde for two months. In my Contemporary Cameroon class one of our professors asked us to briefly summarize our “thoughts, feelings, and responses” of our first weeks here. Many of us found ourselves talking about our encounters with self—how being here is causing us to see who we are and where we come from in a different light.

These encounters with self have manifested most strongly for me in the constant presence I feel my country exerting within Cameroonian society. I can't walk down the street without hearing Lady Gaga or Beyonce. "Empire State" by Jay Z is played at least once every Friday and Saturday night at the bar outside my bedroom window. A sign hanging outside the local pharmacy encourages passers-by to "Become an American citizen! Enter the lottery today!" Downtown, there is an Avenue Kennedy complete with a bust of JFK.

But above all, there is Obama. Taxi drivers write "Yes, we can" on their bumpers (an encouraging thought when confronted with one of Yaounde's seven hills, an overloaded car, and less than stellar brakes). I've lost track of the amount of “fan club Obama” bars and restaurants I've seen. In a market in the conservative northern region of the country, I found Obama boxer briefs. When I walk down the street, people will shout "Obama!" to get my attention. I've started to invoke the name of my president when vendors try to jack up their prices, stating, "Obama would not be happy with you."

I told my host brother how it felt to be in Washington, D.C. when the election results came in, the euphoric run down to the White House, how carried away in the moment everyone was, the hugs I shared with strangers, spontaneous renderings of the Star-Spangled Banner. Although my host brother was interested in this story he was more eager to hear about the transition of power. "And Bush gave it up, just like that?" He paused. "In Africa that wouldn't happen." Although he laughed, I felt the weight of those words. One of the most under-stated parts of Cameroon is the fact that it is, in effect, a dictatorship. The same man has been in power for over two decades and doesn't show much sign of relinquishing his control. His bureaucracy is one of the most corrupt in the world. When I speak with my peers about the future, the conversation is often weighted with a sense of futility, a "what's the point”?" in the face of the oppressive apparatus of the state. This attitude changes when we talk about Obama.

Here, I am starting to realize just how much the November 2008 election was felt around the world. I am starting to realize that "Yes, we can" holds a lot of meaning for people geographically far removed from America. I've been having a hard time reconciling the symbolic power my president holds for a lot of people with other perceptions of America and Americans. In a shared taxi today, a man told me that “Americans like force. They like being the most powerful. They want everyone else to be beneath them.” People here frequently assume that, as an American, I am incredibly wealthy and that I and my country should use this wealth to make the world a more equitable place. On more than one occasion, I have been asked why the American embassy here doesn't do more to hold President Biya accountable for his actions. “Why doesn't your ambassador speak out more against Biya?”

I don't know quite how to respond to these statements and questions. I do know that being here has made me infinitely more aware of the political and civil rights I enjoy as an American citizen and the freedom of mobility which comes with an American passport. My time here has also made me feel, more than ever, that perceptions of America are at a turning point. The figure of Obama is associated with a lot of good will, but there is a lot of skepticism about which direction U.S. foreign policy will turn. As a young person attending an internationally focused university, I am grateful for the time I have here to explore these questions. It is a conversation I hope to continue when I arrive back on campus.