Feminism paper

International African Institute

Dollars and Lipstick: The United States through the Eyes of African Women Author(s): Yvette Djachechi Monga Reviewed work(s): Source: Africa: Journal of the International African Institute, Vol. 70, No. 2 (2000), pp. 192- 208 Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of the International African Institute Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1160815 . Accessed: 16/04/2012 17:17

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Africa 70 (2), 2000

DOLLARS AND LIPSTICK: THE UNI'I'ED STATES THROUGH THE EYES OF AFRICAN WOMEN

Yvette Djachechi Monga

In October 1990 Aminata Diop, a 22 year old Malian woman, fled Mali to escape from an arranged marriage and genital mutilation. She took refuge in France and requested political asylum under the terms of the Geneva Convention. When her request was denied, Aminata and her attorney appealed. In September 1992 the French Commission on Appeals by Refugees rejected her appeal on the grounds that she had failed to turn initially to her local authorities for protection. The commission nevertheless conceded that the Malian authorities generally turned a blind eye to excision and therefore decided, as an act of mercy, to grant her a three-month temporary visa that was later extended for a year. But Aminata's legal status in France remained precarious. According to her attorney, Ms Weil-Curiel, political considerations alone dictated the court's decision. The commission did not wish to create a legal precedent that would open the door to an influx of asylum seekers: African women (Silvestre, 1991: 16, Talton, 1992: 17).

At daybreak on 18 October 1994 Fauziya Kassindja, a 17 year old Togolese, fled from home. With the help of her sister and mother she was escaping from an arranged marriage, the forced termination of her studies, and the genital mutilation she was to undergo that very day. Once inside a taxi, she embarked on a quest for freedom and dignity whose destination point was the United States. After stopovers in Ghana and Germany, Fauziya finally landed in Newark NJ on 17 December 1994 and informed the immigration officer that she was carrying a false passport and was seeking political asylum. The officer handcuffed her and dispatched her to a prison in Elizabeth NJ.

On 25 August 1995 an immigration judge, doubtful of the truth of her story, denied her request for asylum. Fauziya and her legal counsel, law student Layli Miller Bashir, appealed. In April 1996 the New York Times published an article decrying the circumstances surrounding her detention that sparked the interest of the American public. The same month Fauziya was released. In June 1996 she won her appeal and was granted political asylum. Once the decision had been handed down, Fauziya was feted and celebrated by American feminist leaders and was invited to appear on programmes on major television networks. In August she signed a $600,000 book contract with a New York publisher for her story and was negotiating a film contract. She had taken an

YVETTE MONGA has taught history at Harvard and Tufts Universities since getting her doctorate in 1996 from the University of Aix-en-Provence. In 1998 she published Les Entrepreneurs duala, c. 1880-c. 1930.

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apartment in the Washington DC area and was pursuing her studies (Dugger, 1996: Al, B6-7).

It should be noted from the outset that the subject of the present study is neither the practice of excision nor the question of human rights abuses and social violence in Africa. If I have chosen to recount the stories of Aminata and Fauziya, it is because these two incidents or 'human interest stories' strike me as real-world reflections of the image that African women in general and Cameroonian women in particular have of the United States-and, conversely, of France.1 For many African women who live in a world where the possibilities for (economic) survival seem to diminish each day, the United States is the vessel into which they pour their dreams of a better life. Seen as the central figure in the new 'global village', the United States also provides African women with the cultural markers they need to feel a part of what I shall call the dominant cultural trend in the world, or world culture for short. In other words, it allows them to be 'hip', or 'wired', to employ the more appropriate language of popular culture. Using dollars and lipstick as symbols, in what follows I will analyse the dual economic and cultural perception that a group of women from Africa, and more precisely from Cameroon, have of the United States.

Though the perspectives of these women are in themselves of interest, what is of real import is their fundamental goal: survival in a rapidly changing world where the rhetoric of globalisation poorly conceals the reality of the increasing marginalisation of Africa and its inhabitants.2 In that sense, France and the United States are merely external instruments or supports for the realisation of a more personal project ultimately directed at Africa itself. The experiences of the Cameroonian women featured here may thus be said to be representa- tive of those of African women in other countries who likewise face the anguish of an uncertain future and endeavour to carve out a better life for themselves. And it is because of the precariousness of the present and the commonly shared anguish about the future that this study also invites one to take a look at African men, for whom the future poses the same challenges.

I have deliberately lowered the academic tone of the article so that the voices of women and a few snapshots of daily life may take centre stage.

1 Such terms as 'African women', 'women from Africa', and 'women in Africa' are employed in the present study to refer grosso modo to black women living in sub-Saharan Africa. Though I am fully aware of the racial, geographical, and cultural complexity behind these all-encompassing and imprecise expressions, they are useful as a means of designating the main geographical sphere where the interviews conducted for the article took place and the gender of the respondents.

2 As proof I would simply refer the reader to the mention later in this article of the planes chartered by the French government for the repatriation of Africans and the difficulty Africans have in obtaining visas from the United States and European countries.

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I of course recognise the subjectivity involved in my choice of material. In a sense, this article takes its inspiration from Awa Thiam's Speak out, Black Sisters. But, unlike Thiam, I was not seeking women's views on questions that others generally formulate-and debate-in their place and name. I asked them rather to express their thoughts about the West, thoughts that also revealed much about themselves-about their strategies for economic survival; about their will to survive in an environment replete with various forms of social violence; about their need for recognition in a global village that marginalises them; and about their effort, if all else fails, to realise these goals in a roundabout or symbolic fashion. The role reversal enacted here carries methodo- logical risks and involves inevitable bibliographic lacunae. But the approach could considerably enrich gender studies in Africa, and it is in this pioneer spirit, or spirit of adventure, that I have undertaken the study.3

The comments and observations that served as the basis of the analysis came from interviews and discussions that I had with an admittedly unscientific sample of Cameroonian women in January 1997. The voices and personal experiences of these women were inserted into an overarching discourse about the economic and cultural hegemony of the United States at the end of the century. Though the viewpoints expressed here paint a general picture, they in no way capture the full range and complexity of African women's-and men's-perceptions of the United States and France. It is with a full awareness of the 'ethnographic' limits of the study that I now invite the reader to follow African women in their pursuit of their own American dream.

DOLLARS, OR THE HOPE OF A BETTER LIFE

The United States appears to be the main if not the only country in which numerous African women still place their hope of a better economic future for themselves and their children. Their hope takes concrete expression in three basic strategies for economic success based on different time horizons:

1. The sale of beauty products, or the hope of financial gain in the short term.

2. The education of children, or the hope of material well-being in the intermediate term.

3. The Americanisation of children, or the hope of success over the long term. I will examine each of these strategies in turn, paying

3 In the same spirit, and to balance the viewpoint of women from Africa, I organised a discussion on the perspective and experiences of African women who live in the United States. The views expressed will serve as the basis of a forthcoming publication on space and exile as (trans)formative agents in the social identity of 'African women'.

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special attention to the specific symbolic role that the United States plays in each of them within the popular imagination.

Money in the short term 'American nail polish for sale. Straight from the USA!' This is how my cousin Catha, for whom I had brought back a few bottles of inexpensive nail polish from the United States, planned to attract her customers, mostly co-workers. But, in order to grasp the full economic import of the slogan, it must be placed within the context of Africa and, more particularly, of Cameroon.

For many African women, the hope of improving their economic situation in the short run lies in business in general, but the slogan sums up the two key elements that make the sale of American beauty products particularly attractive and profitable: the availability of certain types of products on the one hand and their American origin on the other. Electronic gadgets, fashion accessories, and increasingly certain kinds of clothing such as T-shirts, blue jeans, and sportswear are part of the panoply of American products in demand on the African market. Beauty products, however, occupy a special place, for, unlike the above- mentioned goods, they cannot easily be replaced with Asian or European (notably French) products.

The American cosmetics industry alone has developed an extensive line of products designed specifically for black consumers. Thus by extension the United States also provides African women with beauty products that are distinctly tailored to their needs and are difficult if not impossible to find on the French or European market. A lucrative niche market in American beauty products therefore exists in Africa and affords women the opportunity to make money. Their prospects are even brighter in so far as they most often work in the informal sector, thereby escaping all forms of taxation. The characteristic traits of the informal market in American beauty products are as follows:

1. In a socio-economic environment distinguished by its precariousness and tremendous fluidity, transactions take place in locations offering a maximum of permanence and stability: ministerial offices, dorm rooms, various meeting places (investment clubs, beauty shops, etc.).

2. These locations also double as socio-economic markers, for the women who frequent them are presumed to have at least a minimum concern for their appearance and enough money to treat themselves to an American beauty product but not enough to pay the retail price.

3. Customers are allowed to buy on credit; in fact, as Marcelle puts it, 'credit is indispensable', owing to the economic situation of the customers.

'Genuine products mean guaranteed customers', says Manana. What determines the success or failure of a venture into the sale of American beauty products is indeed the amount of trust that customers place in

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the salesperson and the quality of her products. Having heard about or lived through the experience of hair falling out in clumps after the application of a hair relaxant or of skin flaking off after the use of a lightening cream, numerous African women view with great suspicion beauty products that are suggested to them. Assuming that the market has been flooded with counterfeit products made in Nigeria, some customers will make a purchase only if they are somehow convinced that they are buying 'genuine' American products.4 It is within this context of suspicion and distrust of certain beauty products that Catha's slogan must be understood, especially her insistence on the fact that her merchandise comes 'straight from the USA'. The words serve a dual purpose. On the one hand, they are a putative guarantee that hers are genuine American products; on the other, they implicitly call attention to a network of social relations in America that allows her to obtain merchandise 'straight from the USA', which is apparently not the case with your average competitor.

In sum, for numerous African women like Catha, their greatest hope of improving their standard of living in the short run passes through the United States and takes concrete form in the sale of American beauty products. The United States appears at several levels as an important element in their short-term money-making strategy: as sought-after goods on the African market, as a label that their customers trust, and as the central message in an advertising slogan aimed at highlighting the existence of an American social network and thereby winning customer loyalty. The United States is here perceived as an Eldorado, as a country where the unfortunate have the chance of a better life.

Investing in the intermediate term Though some women attempt to realise the American dream in the short term in the manner described above, others place their hopes in the intermediate term and aspire to improve their standard of living by way of their children. 'If only my son could make it to the United States.' The wish, generally uttered with a sigh, like a desperate prayer, was repeated time and again by most of the mothers I encountered. Faced with the near bankruptcy of the university system, women in Cameroon place in the United States their hopes of seeing their children finish their academic and professional training. Two funda- mental considerations explain the marked preference for America: the flexibility of the American system of higher education and the quality of training received in American universities.

4 With the 'democratisation' of certain luxury goods such as oriental rugs and the mass reproduction of works of art, authenticity has come to replace exclusiveness as a sign of social distinction (Appadurai, 1986: 45-6). But in the present case the pursuit of the authentic is rooted in a more basic concern about its physical effects. A 'fake' hair relaxant or make-up remover can cause serious damage to the hair or skin, which is obviously not the case with an imitation oriental carpet or a copy of a painting.

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Though higher education is expensive in America, whereas it costs nothing in France, financial aid and even full scholarships are available to exceptionally bright students. Such assistance is unfortunately not available to all, but many African students take advantage of the flexible schedule in American universities and work part-time to pay for some or all of the cost of their education. This not only allows them to cease to be dependent on their parents, but also enables them occasionally to send money or gifts to family members in Africa. In sum, despite the high, often prohibitive, cost of tuition and fees in the United States, many African parents view the American system of higher education as having definite advantages, for once the plane ticket has been purchased and some pocket money set aside to pay for the costs of settling in during the first few months, they have few financial worries. In tuition- free France, on the other hand, African students continue to depend on their parents, at least until they have completed three years of university and earned their licence (roughly the equivalent of a B.A.).

However, this degree, which attests to general knowledge in a given area, does not really equip students with the technical expertise they will need to land a good job. And it is here that the second perceived advantage of the American system over the French comes into play-its greater emphasis on specialisation and technical training. Describing the impact of the French intellectual heritage on French-speaking African nations, David Perry remarks:

The importance of rhetoric in intellectual and political life is widely recognized in France ... In Africa, rhetoric was more than a flourish or a conceit; it was essential to the intellectual cohesion of societies where writing had little impact. [Perry, 1989: 63]

Perry thus sees a certain relationship between thought structures in African societies and the French intellectual tradition in that both accord tremendous importance to rhetorical skills, particularly in politics.

Transported into the academic realm, this remark refers to an educational system that gives priority to general, often theoretical knowledge over practical, specialised training. Imbued with a pragma- tism born of the spectacle of an ever-growing number of unemployed or underemployed college graduates, many African women do not hesitate to criticise the French-inspired system of higher education in their own countries. They affirm that they would rather send their children to the United States than to France. In the United States they will receive practical training and will learn a useful profession that will allow them quickly to enter the job market and make money,5 whereas in France they will return with diplomas that will take them nowhere and serve no purpose. In the words of the popular adage, 'You can't eat diplomas.'

5 This is also the case in Germany.

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This indictment of the French higher education system6 as no longer responding to the demands of an increasingly competitive job market that requires specific technical skills goes hand in hand with the perception of France as an extremely bureaucratic country that is barely open-if not downright hostile-to change, that lives in the past, breathes conformity, and clings to tradition. By contrast, the United States evokes the evolution of mores, the spirit of openness and adaptation to change. In Clemence's words, Americans are 'innovators in search of... perfection'. These comments by African women on the holes and weaknesses in the French educational system correspond point for point with the assessment of Dominique Moisi, a French expert in international affairs. He declared in an interview:

The French higher education system has not adapted to this revolutionary period. The French system rewards people for their capacity to follow the path laid out for them. It does not encourage people to rebel or to develop their character. The mood out there is that, if things are changing in the 1990s, it is not because of France. It's because of America. [Friedman, 1997: A29]

It is noteworthy that the reputation of the United States as a country where it is possible to acquire in a short period of time practical, profitable skills cuts across socio-professional lines. Thus Yvonne, a hairdresser trained in France in the 1980s, sees the United States as a place where she could learn new haircuts and perfect her technique so as to 'make the difference', to employ her own words-that is, to distinguish herself within her profession as a first-class hairdresser. For Mama Elise, a domestic help, more than anything else the United States means high technology, notably in the appliance sector. It conjures up the image of high-performance, sophisticated kitchen and household appliances. For Justine, a French-trained educator who is principal of a school, the United States above all represents the opportunity to reinforce bilingualism in her school through the acquisition of American educational materials. It should be noted that the attraction of the American educational system in this instance consists in the possibility of indoctrinating from childhood future generations of Africans into the American way of thinking.

The United States comes across in these stereotypical images as the land of opportunity; France, on the other hand, emerges as a country where Africans have no future-a dead end. Very critical of France's attitude toward African immigrants, these women affirm, 'We're not wanted there'. They all perceive France as a racist, exploitative country. 'It's like "a man" [husband] for Cameroon,' exclaims Julienne, a recent divorcee who apparently knows of what she speaks. According to Ernestine, who lived in France for a number of years, French

6 The French agree with these African women that their education system urgently needs to be restructured (Attali, 1998).

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xenophobia is especially targeted at Africans. In her view, proof of this may be found in the scientific sector, notably hospitals, where the French are more demanding about the qualifications of Africans, who nevertheless have received the same professional training as their white French counterparts. It is likewise difficult for Africans to have a successful academic career in France unless they are willing to teach in France's overseas territories (DOM-TOM). And there is general agreement that Africans rarely hold positions of responsibility in France whereas such is not thought to be the case in the United States.

It must be stressed that this myth of the United States as a country of virtually unlimited opportunity goes hand in hand with the idea that competence and merit are rewarded there irrespective of skin colour. In other words, the stereotype of Eldorado is so firmly rooted in the popular imagination that it obscures the debate surrounding Affirma- tive Action and Equal Opportunity. In addition, the women interviewed believe that black Africans do not suffer from racism in the United States in that they may easily be confused with African-Americans. And they are quick to point out that no one has ever heard of planes being chartered in America for the express purpose of repatriating Africans, as is often the case in France-additional proof, in their view, of the racial tolerance of Americans.

An even somewhat attentive observer of American society would moderate this assessment in the light of the 1992 Los Angeles riots and the trial for murder of O. J. Simpson, to cite only the most spectacular or dramatic events surrounding race relations in the United States. But the power and pertinence of the viewpoints held by these African women reside very precisely in the fact that stereotypical images take precedence over reality when it comes to the United States. And the same mind set prevails when they are reminded of the existence of the poor and unemployed in America, for they immediately counter that 'even the unemployed there have a little something', as Celine would say. It is therefore not surprising in this context that female heads of households-single mothers, divorced women, widows-are particu- larly drawn to the United States.

In the case of Cameroon, the attraction of the United States is a fairly recent phenomenon for women living in French-speaking cities like Douala and Yaounde. In English-speaking cities such as Bamenda, however, it dates back to the 1970s, when some female heads of households began pursuing their own version of the American dream. They sold property-their home or land-to send their children to the United States in the hope of making a return on the investment in the intermediate term. After three years, five at the outside, these women were indeed able to open a small business, generally a grocery or restaurant, or start a poultry business with the money that the children sent them. They were also in a position to build themselves a new house and rent out rooms to poor families or other female heads of household. So it may indeed be said that these 'Bamenda women', as Mami Ju calls them with a note of admiration in her voice, 'bet' on the United States-and win. The success of their intermediate-term strategy is

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borne out by the fact that relatively affluent female heads of household with one or more children living in the United States now constitute a distinct social class in Bamenda.

In sum, distance is what allows some African women to maintain an idyllic vision of America as a new frontier.7 For women such as these who hope for prosperity in the medium run, the United States is perceived as a land of adventure and open opportunities for those willing to work hard and use their imagination. Their image of America is that of the Wild West and the California gold rush depicted in westerns.

Investing in the future Some African women adopt a long-term strategy and arrange to give birth in the United States so that their children, as American citizens, will later have the option of returning there to pursue their education. Their goal is not merely to give their literally well born children a comparative advantage over other African applicants for admission to American universities and the American dream. It is also and perhaps especially to ensure that their children's prospects are not confined to the African continent.8 These women view the United States as the country of the future and of hope in a world in flux. For them it is a land of skyscrapers where, in Clemence's words, 'everything moves at the speed of light'.

But the Americanisation of children is a relatively recent phenom- enon and it remains to be seen whether these children will have been prepared for their 'return' to the United States (enrolment in bilingual or American schools, summer trips to the United States, English lessons, etc.). Only time will tell the outcome of this strategy.

So my cousin Catha hoped to earn a little money selling lipstick. But beyond lipstick-or any other American beauty product-I wanted to show how the United States is perceived by certain women in Africa as a place that provides them with the possibility of improving their standard of living, either through small business or the education or Americanisation of their children. But the symbolism of lipstick is not limited to this green(back) dream. As social scientists have found, consumption is never a neutral but rather a political, rhetorical, and signifying act (Appadurai, 1986; Baudrillard, 1968, 1975, 1981). And it is the social signs and messages contained within the consumption of lipstick, here understood as a metaphor for Western culture over which hovers the gigantic figure of the United States, that I shall now attempt to decipher.

7Marcelle speaks in horrified tones of the prohibitive cost of a ticket from Douala to New York and back ($1,300 to $2,000), whereas a round-trip ticket to Paris costs between $400 and $800.

8 These remarks refer to the increasing difficulty that Africans have in obtaining student visas to Western countries, here understood as wealthy nations.

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LIPSTICK, OR THE NEED FOR RECOGNITION

Not all African women who would like to use the United States to pull themselves or their children out of poverty can do so. For such women America remains an inaccessible dream, an almost mythical place like the 'Washington' of which Mami Ju speaks. But it nevertheless offers them a 'space'-if only an imaginary one-in which they can redefine or symbolically reinvent their lives through the appropriation and integration of certain signs of American culture.

Images of America in Africa are largely transmitted through hit television series like Dallas, Dynasty, A Different World, The Cosby Show, or The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Some depict the dream lives of multi- millionaires, others the relaxed atmosphere of American college campuses, still others invite the viewer to enter the warm and cosy world of affluent African-American families. As much as basketball and rap music, these images over the past few decades have helped turn the United States into a virtual reality for a large segment of the African population. For African women, it is especially through trendy clothing that this virtuality inserts itself into everyday life. Though France retains its image as the capital of high fashion, the symbol of finesse, refinement, and 'beautiful things', as Jojo would say, the United States represents 'hip', to employ Mamie's expression.

'Put this nail polish in a bag on which the words United States are written in bold-face type', Fifi says. Her request, uttered in a joking tone, nevertheless conveys a real desire to stand out and an undeniable truth: name-brand American goods confer status on African women. In other words, the attraction of American clothing and fashion accessories cannot be entirely explained by the usual wish to follow the latest style. More than that, American name-brand products allow their holders to exude an aura of prestige. Beyond their usefulness, they serve as visual markers that situate and single out their owners as people with connections in the United States-which automatically makes them 'hip'-and as persons of means. As a result, the beauty or quality of the items matters less than the political signification invested in them, for the 'ways of using' the products (de Certeau, 1.984) have trans- formed them from 'useful products' into 'show products' (produits- spectacles) and social signs (Appadurai, 1986) that must above all be understood as status symbols. Thus the signifiers of the 'hip' function are well known American brand names that include Ray-ban, Levi's, Nike, Reebok, Timberland, and Calvin Klein, to name but a few.

It must be noted that the current craze for American fashion articles among Africans (especially women and young people) is part of a global phenomenon. Analysing the trend in France, Rebecca Voight remarks that 'American sportswear brands, once the followers in international youth style, are the current cult labels in France' (1997: 20). But if the purchase of American name-brand products by African women may be ascribed to a worldwide trend, what to think of the current infatuation with American names?

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Sue Ellen, Sidney, Dylan, Stone, Kimberley, Steve, Anthony, Pamela, and Jeffrey are among the names being given to new generations of Africans. Even in Islamic countries like Egypt, children are named after actors and characters in American television series (Brooke, 1994: 30-1). This tendency, fairly recent in Africa, was the subject of a humorous cartoon in Messager Popoli, a Cameroonian magazine with a satirical bent, denouncing the American invasion of Africa (Popoli, 1997: 2). And these Yankee first names do at first appear ridiculous, laughably out of place under the tropical sun, but lurking beneath their odd-sounding syllables lie a project and a hope that are not so very ridiculous at all.

Drawn from American television programmes, the names are generally those of wealthy, powerful, and attractive characters. As such, they represent an attempt on the part of poor and working-class Africans to appropriate and incorporate the American myth into their everyday lives. Like the miracle narratives in Brazil, American first names offer African women a counter-reality, a 'site that is impreg- nable' in the face of a reality or 'experience deprived of illusions' (de Certeau, 1984: 17).9 In the present case, the American dream is annexed through the metaphorical adoption of a prestigious identity. The same thought process that leads African women to flaunt their brand-name American goods also governs their choice of American names for their children. In both instances, they wish to appear connected or 'wired' to world culture, which they now associate with the United States rather than France.

Referring specifically to France, an African woman who works as a promoter did not hesitate to speak of 'cultural degeneracy', deploring the co-optation of underground and alternative music and their incorporation into the dominant trend. In her view this can lead only to a numbing of the creative sense among young French people and to a 'disciplining' of their rebellious spirit. In the same vein she noted with regret a certain tendency on the part of the French cultural authorities to celebrate a type of music that she describes as 'decadent'. She was referring to hard rock and advised against attending concerts where it was played unless armed with earplugs. Having deemed France to be culturally decadent-at least in the musical realm-she might concur with John Rockwell's assessment of the United States as the 'New Colossus' of culture (1994: 1, 30). Writing in the New York Times, Rockwell attributed the success of American popular culture to cosmopolitanism10 and the ideal of a racially integrated society,

9 Virginie, for example, said that after every episode of Dynasty one of her cousins who lives

in New-Bell (a poor Douala neighbourhood), suddenly recalled to the painful reality of his existence by the sight of a child dressed in rags or half naked playing near by, never failed to slap the impudent-yet innocent-child.

O1 A recent study published in World Trade also reached the conclusion that the success of American brand-name products abroad is due not to their 'Americanism' per se but to their ability to match the demands of a diverse market throughout the world (Zhan, 1999: 32-46).

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principles that have transformed it into a global cultural model or world culture:

It may be that the world is being inexorably transformed from old to new, from narrow to broad, from kayak to jet. Maybe Western suits worn by Saudi or African businessmen, maybe even the English language itself, are not so much the emblem of American superiority as the simple acceptance by a developing world of a single international standard of discourse. [1994: 30]

It should be noted in this regard that the attitude of African women toward cultural symbols of the so-called developed world-of which the United States is the leading figure-expresses, in the final analysis, their desire to participate in the 'global village', making their presence felt despite the hazards, and sometimes the extreme precariousness, of their existence. The refugee camps that are sprinkled throughout the African continent as a result of civil wars may serve as a paradigm of this precariousness. What the international media generally show of these camps are images of women lying on the ground, dying next to their infants. But the tents in these camps do more than discreetly veil such human tragedies. Behind them also lurks a fierce will on the part of the women to survive, and especially to live. This determination led a group of women in a Sudanese camp to decide 'to learn English', the language that would allow them to 'know what was going on', and thereby regain a degree of control over their lives in the camps, where even decisions about food supplies are made by the men in their 'communities'.11 Later, knowledge of English might be of help to them in making a new start.

In sum, the consumption of lipstick, and more generally of American popular culture, allows African women to expand their horizons and participate in a direct, roundabout, or symbolic way in the great global 'discourse' that uses English-or should one say 'USA'-as its working language.

Finally, the position of African women and their struggle to exist and achieve recognition in a global village that largely ignores them bear a certain resemblance to the situation and struggle of African-Americans, who also live in a society where their chances of moving up the socio- economic ladder as a group are limited by a number of structural constraints and historical contingencies. African women and African- Americans are both victims of what I shall call the 'invisibility syndrome', by which I mean the refusal, on the part of a male power in the case of the one (Made, 1991: 21) and a white power in the case of the other (hooks and West, 1991),12 to recognise their autonomous

11 Remarks by Bervelee Bruce, Chair of the Women's Commission for Refugee Women and Children, at the 23-4 April 1999 symposium 'New Challenges to Refugee Policy', held in Washington DC and sponsored by the SAIS and the School of Hygiene and Public Health at the Johns Hopkins University.

12 It should be stressed that the notion of the 'White' or more precisely of 'White supremacy' as used by Cornell West and bell hooks refers to a socio-economic (and cultural) system insensitive to the fate of its most disadvantaged members-in which men and women of all colours participate-and not to the white race.

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social existence. Thus it may be said that their shared manner of consuming-or, better, of 'using'-products within the context of the systems that have been imposed on them constitutes a form of 'resistance to the historical law of a state of affairs and its dogmatic legitimations' (de Certeau, 1984: 18).

Indeed, Cornel West sees the problem of overconsumption of material goods and drug dependence in the African-American com- munity as above all a reflection of an imperative and unmet need for recognition:

This is at the center of the dilemma Black people find themselves in today: we have become the walking wounded, the physically assaulted. The fundamental addiction is an addiction to status, an addiction to visibility precisely because Black people have been invisible. [hooks and West, 1991: 99]

Along the same lines, bell hooks affirms:

We deal with White supremacist assault by buying something to compensate for feelings of wounded pride and self-esteem ... So if we want to talk about dealing with addiction in Black communities, we are going to have to talk about consumption at all levels, the construction of desire, and the problems of unmediated, unfulfilled desire. [hooks and West, 1991: 98]

It is interesting to note that whereas women from Africa turn to American culture, some members of the African-American community look to African or African-inspired culture as a means of expressing their need for self-affirmation and social recognition, often utilising the same cultural markers as African women: first names, apparel, and art objects (Brown, 1992: C3; Wilson, 1993: 28, 1994: 23).

Having analysed the manner in which the United States is perceived by certain African women and the role it plays in their strategies for economic and socio-cultural empowerment,13 I might easily end the discussion here. But in so far as this article is also intended to serve as a window on to African society as a whole, I will conclude with an examination of the American dream as it is envisioned and lived out in Douala, Cameroon.

CONCLUSION LIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM IN AFRICA: FROM 'BEPANDA YON-YON' TO

'DENVER'

'In the Denver neighborhood, people are well off and have air

13 This study has focused on what may be called 'extraverted' strategies in that they are employed to take advantage of available resources in the outside world. African women are also adept at utilising resources in their immediate environment to improve their economic situation. One such example is the growth of eateries run by women out of their own homes, in other words, the transformation of a private space and domestic art into a public space and form of knowledge that may be used for economic gain.

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conditioners.' So stated the taxi driver who was taking me to the other side of town. Sandwiched between two other passengers in the back seat, I listened with interest to the animated discussion between the driver and another passenger on the external signs of affluence, here symbolised by the name of a large American city: Denver, Colorado.

Denver, Douala, does not merely borrow its name from the city,14 it also borrows its lifestyle and, it would seem, its supposed philosophy. Denver, created in the mid-1980s, is the name of the latest fashionable neighbourhood in Douala, the economic capital of Cameroon. Just as the imaginary Denver, Colorado, of the television series Dynasty mainly featured rich and powerful characters, Denver, Douala, aims to be the preferred place of residence of the newly rich: young entrepreneurs, businessmen, corporate executives, and high-level administrators in the Ministry of Finance. In the popular imagination, Denver is above all identified with opulence and money in its most expressive symbolic form: the dollar.15 But it is also associated, rightly or wrongly, with easy money. Just as the fortune of the fictitious Carrington family of Denver, Colorado, came from oil and financial dealings, the wealth of the would-be Carringtons of Denver, Douala, is often assumed to be the fruit of some sort of financial fraud or linked with the racketeering operations offeymen, a new breed of gangsters.

Borrowing its symbol, the dollar, and its philosophy of easy money, Denver, Douala, also borrows its lifestyle from the Denver of Dynasty: the ostentatious display of wealth. Thus it is synonymous with satellite dishes, high-powered automobiles, designer clothes and accessories, and European and American vacations, to name but a few of the most common external signs of affluence, of 'living good'. In other words, Denver, Douala, at once symbolises dollars (economic success) and lipstick (a certain familiarity with Western culture) for a small handful of people with the means to import and live out the American dream in the tropics. But, like its television counterpart, Denver, Douala, belongs to a dream world for a number of other people, notably those who live in Bepanda Yon-yon.

Bepanda Yon-yon, the name of a squalid neighbourhood in Douala, is typical of those that exist in almost every metropolis in Africa. Badly laid out, with dilapidated housing and insufficient public services, it is where the working poor and unemployed live in a constant state of material want. It is thus easy to understand why residents of Bepanda Yon-yon would associate luxury with the mere ownership of an air

14 'Paris', or more precisely, 'Little Paris', was once the name reserved for affluent

neighbourhoods and towns in Africa. But these names seem to have fallen into disuse, having been replaced by American ones.

15 A cartoon published in the Cameroon Tribune mirrored this popular image of financial success: a brand-new car, a fat cigar, a three-piece suit, a pair of sunglasses, and an appropriate name, 'Tom Dollar' (Retin, 1997: 3). One may object to this caricature of 'success', but the simple fact that a man was 'naturally' chosen as its embodiment says a good deal about the relationship-real or imagined-between financial 'success' and gender in Cameroon, or at least about women's chances of achieving it.

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conditioner. At a basic, utilitarian level, an air conditioner represents some relief from the hot, humid air characteristic of coastal cities in equatorial Africa. It also means the possibility of keeping away the mosquitoes that can literally prevent one from sleeping. Without air conditioners, the residents of Bepanda Yon-yon are forced to resort to the burning of 'Mountaiga', a sort of cheap, Nigerian-made incense, to chase off the pesky insects, which are also responsible for the spread of malaria. So, in the eyes of the taxi driver, affluence symbolically consists in passing from Bepanda Yon-yon to Denver, Douala, or, in his own words, in breaking his long-standing 'contract' with 'Mountaiga', a contract as tight as the space between 'his finger and his nail'. In other words, in breaking out of dire poverty and gaining access to luxury, here the luxury of an air conditioner.'6

In the end, whether it takes the form of 'dollars' or 'lipstick', the perception of America as a land of opportunity and the embodiment of world culture is shared by a significant number of African men and women alike. To plug in to the culture and the dream is at once to escape from the menace of geopolitical marginalisation that hovers over Africa and the invisibility syndrome that afflicts its inhabitants.

In fairness to the women examined here, it must be stressed that, however idyllic their view of America may be, it is not wholly bereft of criticism. Clemence, for example, deplores the high crime rate. Marcelle, Celine, and numerous others underscore the poverty of African-Americans, which was unveiled most notably during the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games and the 1994 World Cup. Marilyn calls attention to the crisis of leadership in the African-American community since the days of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Jojo does not hide her disapproval of extremely lax American morals. But, when all is said and done, such reservations do not alter these women's perception of the United States as the land of hope and the country of the future. Thus, to conclude this discussion of America seen through the eyes of African women, I cede the floor to a teenager named Mamie, whose words perhaps contain the memory of the future: 'If I'm asked to go to France, I'll go. If I'm asked to go to America, I'll dash!'

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A first version of this article was presented at the Afrique/Etats-Unis/France colloquium held in Bordeaux from 22 to 24 May 1997 and sponsored by the Institut d'etudes politiques (IEP) at the University of Bordeaux and the Groupe de recherches sur l'Afrique francophone (GRAF) at Boston University. I wish to thank Daniel Bach and Edouard Bustin, who organised the colloquium, for having given me the opportunity to engage in the project. I am also grateful to Sara Berry, Leroy Vail, Ambroise Kom and the anonymous referees who read and helped me improve the article. I nevertheless assume full responsibility for the imperfections of opinions expressed. Finally, I wish to

16 The theme of the air conditioner as a symbol of wealth is also found in the sketch 'L'homme bien de la-bas' by the Cameroonian comedian Dave K. Moktoi.

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acknowledge the African women who shared with me their views on the 'other': Clemence, Celine, Manana, Melanie, Jojo, Jeannette, Fifi, Antoinette, Virginie, Mama Elise, Yvonne, Octavie, Virginie, Karine, Bemadette, Mabel, Clotilde, Charlotte, Mama Justine, Claudine, Mami Ju, Marcelle, Mme K., Maweu N'To, Catha, Mamie, Marilyn, Julienne, Ike, Emestine, and Evelyne, to whom I dedicate this article.

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EYEING THE UNITED STATES

ABSTRACT

In their quest for material well-being Cameroonian women see the United States as a country of virtually boundless opportunities. It is Eldorado, offering chances of earning money by selling cosmetics that are guaranteed not to have been tampered with. It is the new frontier, the Far West, where mothers send their children to study in the hope that a job-oriented education will make it easier for them to return home. It is the future, prefigured in the New York skyscrapers; Cameroonian mothers dream of bringing forth American children, and so giving tham a better chance of absorbing this world of the future. When the American dream is not accessible, the United States still offers an imaginary space where women reinvent the conditions of their existence by adopting some of the signs of American culture in their everyday life in the tropics. The use of lipstick thus appears as the symbol of a world-culture behind which hovers the giant image of the United States. The experiences of Cameroonian women can be extended to women in other African countries and, beyond, to the men of Africa, also suffering the precariousness of the present, faced with the same challenges of the future and engaged in the same quest for material well-being.

RESUME

Les Etats-Unis 6voquent chez les femmes camerounaises l'image d'un pays aux opportunites quasi illimitees dans leur quete d'un mieux-tre materiel. C'est l'Eldorado, offrant des chances de gagner de l'argent en vendant des cosmetiques garantis non trafiques. C'est la nouvelle fronti&re, le Far West ou les meres envoient leurs enfants etudier dans l'espoir qu'une formation adaptee a l'emploi facilitera le retour au pays. C'est l'avenir enfin, que prefigurent les gratte-ciel de New-York; alors les meres camerounaises revent d'accoucher des enfants americains, leur donnant ainsi de meilleures chances d'integrer ce monde en devenir. Quand le reve americain est inaccessible, les Etats-Unis offrent encore un espace imaginaire ou les femmes reinventent les conditions de leur existence par l'integration de certains signes de la culture populaire americaine dans leur quotidiennet6 tropicale. La consommation du rouge a levres apparait ainsi comme le symbole d'une culture-monde derriere laquelle se profile l'image geante des Etats-Unis. Les experiences des femmes du Cameroun peuvent etre etendues a des femmes d'autres pays africains et, au-dela, aux hommes de ce continent, eux aussi subissant la precarite du present, confrontes aux memes defis de l'avenir, et engages dans une meme quete d'un mieux-etre materiel.

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