Today I woke up sucking on lemon.

As I walked down the street this morning, I realized that I was scowling so hard that my face hurt.

I couldn't walk a single block without hearing "Eh! La blanche!" (Hey white girl!) or "Ma chérie! Que tu es belle!" (Baby, you're so fine!).

Here in Yaoundé, I have to be on edge every time I leave the house. I am (necessarily) very defensive, which is tiring for someone who is generally good-natured (I hope...) and who attempts to be non-judgmental.

I couldn't help but look forward to going home, where I can walk down the street without being harassed.

Whence commenced the following internal dialogue:

Macalester lobe: You mean, you can't wait to go the United States where white privilege is just that? Where you don't have to be aware of your race every minute of every day? That's fucked up, Emily, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

Cameroon lobe: Well, yeah! Yeah! Shut up, Macalester! You've never been a white woman in Africa. You have no idea what I'm going through.

Macalester lobe: That shows a fucking lot of character, Emily. For the first time in your life, you're a minority, and it's rough, so you're just going to hide in the comfort of American white privilege.

Cameroon lobe: No. No. You don't get it. I'm not even a minority here--I'm an anomaly! I still don't know what it's like to be a minority--I know what it's like to be a celebrity! You can't alk about race in the African context in the same terms of the American context. But while we're on the topic, let's talk about the comfort of a country where feminism has accomplished something! In the U.S. I can walk a few blocks without being sexually harassed. That's what I miss! Not being in the privileged majority, but living in a country whose LAWS prohibit people from talking to me the way they talk to me every single day in Cameroon.

So anyway, I had a big think stink this morning and no satisfyingly unproblematic conclusion. Am I wretched?

On a completely different note, I'm planning to exploit the brother who said that he's falling in love with me. He's going to wash my clothes soon, and on Saturday he's taking me to a bougie restaurant frequented by the few white people in this town. I don't feel bad about exploiting him; he's a jerk.

Oh, and the orphans cornrowed my hair this morning. It's good that I was wearing Western clothes and not a kabbah, or I would have looked like a total tool. As it was, I just looked ridiculous. I'll post a picture sometime if the 'net will cooperate.