The proudest moment of my Cameroonian life

Conventionally and especially at national level, citizens of a country are often expected to have  a defining moment in their citizenship when they are most proud of their country; when they are most ready to identify with their country even if it cost them a beating or their lives. With the ongoing recession of our darling Indomitable Lions, hardship, pervasive corruption and a barrage of other negatives in my country, I must confess I can’t sincerely identify a moment I have most recently been proud of as a Cameroonian. But thanks to some bias and reporting (I initially wrote bias reporting) from French 24 hour news channel France 24, I can proudly day that I am healed, I am a new Cameroonian. I finally had the proudest moment of my Cameroonian life yesterday night.

Yesterday night as I sat in front of my TV reeling from an- out –of- the- blue nose-clogging catarrh and toe channel-surfing, I stumbled on France 24. The story was about the sentencing of two alleged Cameroonian homosexuals to jail terms of 2 years and 1 and the half year suspended. Not very refreshing news, right? But given that Cameroonian has recently received bad press on the world stage for government interference in football and, way back, the kidnapping of a French family; I decided to tarry here a while.

The report prologued with declarations from a face-hidden homosexual identified only as ‘Simplice’. He said quite a few things but I was struck by two statements he made; 1- Why all the fuss about homosexuality anyway? 2- Why is Cameroon always lagging behind? The report then went on to a Caucasian lady working with the LGBT Unit of Human Rights Watch. It is worth stating that LGBT defends gay and lesbian rights. I have forgotten the lady’s name but I can vividly remember her say they ‘have had reports’ (just reports) where men have been accused of homosexuality because they were drinking Baileys which is considered a drink for women. I also vividly remember her saying that although most African countries have homosexuality-criminalising laws Cameroon stands out because it actually enforces these laws. If this far you’ve been wondering where is the proudest moment of my life in all this, this is it; CAMEROON STANDS OUT BECAUSE IT ACTUALLY ENFORCES THESE LAWS.

France 24 is a French language news channel so all these statements culled therefrom which I present in English are translations. But trust me, there are appropriate translations of the source message. So why did the capitalised statement provide me with the proudest moment of my Cameroonian life? There are mainly two reasons for this:

1-      It means, even just subjectively, that Cameroon respects the rule of law. When enforcing the law is concerned, most Cameroonians will argue and rightly so that laws are hardly or never enforced. The law on the declaration of wealth by government officials is still waiting to be enforced. The Senate finally saw the light of day post over 16 years of asking. So imagine my relief at the declaration from an impartial international quarter that Cameroon actually enforces some of its laws. Thank God for the vindication albeit belated and subjective. ‘Mouiller c’est mouiller. Il n y pas de mouiller sec.’

2-    Cameroon is defending its values. Just as America is anti-polygamy so too are we Africans anti-something like homosexuality. The defense of these values is most eloquent and affirmed through laws. So by prosecuting, most especially, Cameroonian courts are rising up in defense of our values that are under attack from various international quarters. Contrary to what can be said in other instances, our values are not only siege without a response on our part. They are being defended, in court.

P.S: I am sorry to have disappointed anybody who thought my pride came from the morbid joy seeing others’ liberty deprivation. No, far from that. I am no legal guru so forgive my not mentioning the merits and demerits of the case. I am just a citizen finally proud to see his country enforcing some of its laws.

There's something about Douala

I have always been surprised and sometimes offended by the deep attachment of my Douala – based friends and acquaintances to their city - big old Douala. Being a loyal resident of calm and comparatively SMALL Buea, I have always wandered as to what accounts for this attachment. Is it a no-place-like-home thing or does this spring from a less subjective well-spring of facts and data? But in shuffling through the mental residue from conversions with my Douala-based friends and acquaintances, I discover that their love for their city comes from a somewhat sentimental place. It is the outcome of their comparing the economic capital of the central African giant with the darling of ousted German colonial masters. This is not a fair game.( It is almost like pitting Lebron James against Michael Jordon; Jordan is a legend but in a 7 game series he won’t be able to keep up with fiery young King James.) Dissatisfied with this discovery and inexplicably convinced that there was something more objective, quantifiable and poetic about this metropolis, I have been on the lookout each time I am in Douala (like now), looking for meaning in every foible or eccentricity encountered. But before I proceed I must unapologetically say this: when compared with Buea, Douala is a hell hole; that sweltering dry season, the stench spewing from the various factories and the insalubrious conditions in inner city neighbourhoods. Now that I’ve gotten that load off my chest, let’s get back to business.

Eureka, eureka, I found it. I think I found a cogent, air and water-tide explanation for Douala’s magnetic hold on its residents. It is neither the skyscrapers nor the economic opportunities. It is neither the supposedly-faster internet nor the savvy and courageous day-light operating pick-pockets. It’s the more acute awareness of the need to survive that pushes the common man and woman to think out of the box and retail spaghetti in plastic bags for 100 CFAF, to slice a large bulb of onion into four halves to sell it faster, to bottle yellowish water, fridge it and sell, not forgetting filling empty cement bags with sand for sale during the rainy season in marshland-set neighbourhoods. It is true that these realities aren’t the sole preserve of Douala but from where I stand it is more prevalent in Douala to the point where you can perceive it with all your senses. With this, if you have drive and motivation like most of my Douala-based friends and acquaintances you'll surely be attached to Douala. This reality is inspiring, overwhelming and above all comforting since it reveals the uncelebrated ingenuity of the real Africans, hardly ever or never portrayed on TV. This is the something, I think, that should enlist the undying loyalty and trigger the most pride from Doualans. This is one thing about Douala that should be copied by all other Cameroonian and African cities.

Disclaimer: During the season in Douala, this writer hereby rejects any ownership of the ideas expressed above. Lol.

How to know you don't have taxi manners

I have kept this particular post in my vaults for long and if not for this one  passenger I travelled with from Buea to Douala, it would have continued its quiet slumber. Unfortunately for my nostrils and comfort and fortunately for your reading pleasure, this passenger accomplished a fit that has exacted this post from me. ( In fact he/she farted in the bus. Despite my discreet visual sweep of the entire bus I could not quite put a face to that toxic fart. Frustrated I am writing this post. So here we go.

Just like any other shared space, taxis have rules that bind ( or are supposed to bind) all those who share it at any point in time. But it feels like some people don't know this fact or have brazenly decided to ignore it. So let me refresh some memories and enlighten others. If you can't say check on anyone of the points below then know you lack taxi manners.

 1- Upon arriving at your destination, you step out of taxi before you start drilling, rummaging and exploring  your pockets, wallet, purse or bag for your taxi fare. 

2- It is only upon arriving your destination that you tell the driver you'll need change.

3- On boarding you don't tell the driver the fare you are ready to pay.

4- You don't tell the driver you don't have any money on you and will only pay upon arriving.

5- You fart in the car or board a car after just farting. This is the ultimate No No and supremeest proof you have no taxi manners. 
           
         There are many more but these are the most obvious my frustrated mind and assaulted nostrils could conjure off the cuff. So from the above, I hope you can tell whether or not you have taxi manners.

I want to be a farmer, when I grow down

My childhood memorires tell me that one of the most popular end of year presentations during my primary schools days (I never made it to nursery school as my dad thought it was a waste of time) was the  'I am a something...' speech. If my memory serves me right, it always went like this: pupils walk unto the stage successively and bow. The crowd responds with claps and each pupil belches his or her lines that were always the same except for the profession part:

         ' I am a lawyer. I defend people in court..... Am I not not important?' and the crowd would respond 'Yes you are' and clap as the kid bows out. Another kid would come in and extoll the virtues of another profession and this spectacle would go on until all the most prestigious professions the school hierarchy could think of had been exhausted. In  retrospect and with the current talk of the superimportance of farming, and by extension farmers, I know discover in this parade of professionals there was one outsider. At that time it was hard for our juvenile minds to know this since we were at the height of the imitation and cramming phase of our learning. Understanding, interrogation and circumspection were delights for our latter days. So I have now discovered that the outsider, the odd number in this series was the good FARMER who was important because he (it was always paradoxically a he farmer not a her farmess) grew the food our bodies needed.            

            After a mental parade of some of the most celebrated professions during these end of year celebrations, I can now safely say the farmer was the outsider. In the company of engineers, lawyers, doctors, scientist, teachers, the farmer was the odd element not because he wasn't important but because his importance was only declared and affirmed once a year and that was it.  When we his strongest proponents pored over books or swallowed the gospel according to the teacher, we either dreamnt of becoming a lawyer, engineer or doctor, never the farmer although some of our school fees and needs were only paid for after maize and beans were harvested, shelled and thrashed by our farmer parents. So what's the big deal?

                  At a time when African governments have suddenly discovered the importance of agriculture and are trying to lure their youths into considering agriculture( or farmership), it is important to ask how this is going to be done. How is farming going to free us from the clutches of unemployment, poverty and dependency? Is it going to be through the distribution of cutlasses and watering cans during elections? Is it going to be the continuation of the generalist and manual approach to farming or is it going to be through specialisation and high-tech? Believe it or not, although climate change is only going to further the relevance of agriculture and farmers, it isn't going to leave much room for an outdated definition of agriculture and farmers. Those with such definitions will be those who want to be farmers when they grow down, not up.
               Sure there is no shame (and not there is pride, I hope you see the nuance) in being a farmer but if our politrickcians want youths to seriously consider farming, no matter how hi-tech-ified it is, then the discourse must change right from nursery school. Teachers need to start telling those young ones that even after learning BIG BOOK they can still turn to the mother earth for socio-economic salvation. And furthermore farming should be made to look glamorous. Just saying.

No comment!

P/S: Wearers of saggy trousers/shorts and miniskirts visiting the Buea Regional Hospital are warned.

Clin d’œil sur Dakar

« Le papa de Malia », comme j’ai pris l’habitude de l’appeler est arrivé à Dakar hier soir. Cette visite fait grand bruit depuis des semaines, elle est à la une à la radio, à la télé et dans les journaux. Même les journaux « people » locaux lui accordent des articles, reléguant ainsi au second plan les histoires croustillantes animant l’intérêt des lecteurs. Je ne parlerai pas ici de politique parce que premièrement je n’en sais absolument rien, et deuxièmement parce que cette activité telle que pratiquée par les politiques (ou politiciens ?) ne m’intéresse pas le moins du monde. Je ne suis qu’une habitante de Dakar qui partage son point de vue de simple résidente de la ville.

Donc le papa de Malia est là. La ville brille de mille feux par son extrême propreté, celle des voies que l’hôte de marque est supposé emprunter (uniquement, cela va sans dire). Tous les déchets ont en effet été déguerpi, absolument tous : ordures, petits commerçants du coin, talibés demandant l’aumône…  Les programmes télévisés ont été modifiés et, à l’heure de son arrivée, toutes les caméras étaient braquées sur la piste d’atterrissage de l’aéroport Léopold Sédar Senghor, déserte à cause de l’évènement (en effet, tous les vols avaient été reportés, YES THEY HAD !!!). Le président sénégalais et ses ministres formaient une haie d’honneur, attendant la descente du papa de Malia… qui est effectivement descendu, accompagné de sa « famille » (femme, enfants et gouvernantes qui ont elles aussi été présentées à l’homme le plus puisant du Sénégal). Il a pris le temps, si on peut le dire ainsi, d’adresser quelques mots au gouvernement sénégalais, en particulier à Yousous N’dour (dont il est très certainement un fan, étant donné que tous les autres ont quasiment été ignorés), puis est monté dans « son » véhicule : direction le Radisson Blu, laissant les membres dudit gouvernement plantés là, son homologue ne faisant pas exception, affichant un sourire gêné. À se demander qui est président au sénégal !! Le programme télé diffusant cette arrivée supposé durer près d’une heure s’est vu réduit à une dizaine de minutes.

Les mesures de sécurité qui accompagnent cette visite constituent la partie la plus intéressante de l’histoire : le quartier dans lequel se trouve le Radisson Blu est quadrillé, toutes les ondes sont brouillées donc pas de téléphone, pas d’internet (pauvres traducteurs qui ont des délais à respecter !), les voitures n’ont pas le droit de circuler… et les piétons n’ont pas le droit de se mettre les mains dans les poches !!! Le personnel de l’hôtel n’a pas le droit d’en sortir et les membres du personnel n’ont pas le droit de se serrer la main.

La famille de touristes prévoit de se rendre sur l’île de Gorée, patrimoine historique mondial ou se trouve la Maison des esclaves, édifice historique compromis car lamentablement repeint et totalement dénaturé. Les habitants de cette île gardent un souvenir amer du passage de George Bush en 2003. En effet, d’après le site internet monsenegal.org, « Parfois, ces visiteurs célèbres mettent l'île sans dessus dessous, c'est ainsi que la visite de Georges Bush en 2003 a laissé un goût amer dans la bouche des Goréens qui avaient été parqués dans un enclos de barbelés installé sur la place du gouvernement dès 5 heures du matin, gardés par l'armée, leur maison fouillée afin de permettre au président des Etats-Unis de visiter une île déserte en toute sécurité. L’humiliation est encore dans toutes les têtes ». Cette fois ci une partie de la population a déjà été « chassée », les « visiteurs » sont supposés s’y rendre aujourd’hui, 27 juin. Qu’adviendra-t-il de l’autre partie de la population ? L’enclos de 2003 sera mis à disposition une nouvelle fois ! Heureusement que Dakar ne connaît pas les pluies de Douala.

La famille de touriste poursuivra donc sa tournée : elle se rendra en Afrique du Sud, puis en Tanzanie pour un safari… D’après ce qui se dit, les animaux auront le droit d’être tués s’ils s’approchent trop du touriste de marque, alors gare à eux !!!

Par Befoune, 
Correspondante internationale IdlePark à Dakar