Quand la nouvelle coupe de Rihanna fait la Une !!!!

Le matin au réveil, mon premier réflexe est d’attraper ma paire de lunettes car sans elle je n’y vois ABSOLUEMENT  rien, puis d’attraper mon téléphone et… tweeter !

Il y a quelques semaines, la nouvelle coupe de cheveux de Rihanna a provoqué un tollé sur la toile (sont-ce ses véritables cheveux ? Est-elle passée au naturel ? S’assagit-elle enfin ?). PARTOUT. Il n’y a pratiquement que CNN qui nous a épargné cette histoire (pour le grand malheur du grand nombre de personnes que ça intéresse). 

Lorsque j’arrive au boulot, premier réflexe (ça en fait beaucoup, mais je suis une femme, que voulez-vous ?) : me connecter sur facebook. Même scénario, RIHANNA ET SA COUPE DE CHEVEUX.

L’histoire se tasse enfin, c’est un peu plus calme, et là, coup de théâtre : BEYONCE se coupe les cheveux ! Non mais vous imaginez un peu ? Elle, reconnue pour sa longue chevelure qu’elle fait bouger et danser en même temps que son corps… La nouvelle ! Elle est partout sur la toile, elle fait sensation !

Je continue donc de flâner sur le net, et là par le plus grand des hasards, je tombe sur un petit article sur un petit site de rien du tout, qui n’a pas tant de lecteurs que ça. À la une ? Les camps de concentration en Grèce, des camps qui « accueillent » les pauvres, les citoyens insolvables. Cette information date d’avril 2013. Je suis sur les réseaux sociaux tous les jours que Dieu fait, et je n’en ai JAMAIS entendu parler ! Pour ceux qui me diront que je ne m’informe pas assez, je répondrai que suivre sur tweeter et sur facebook des têtes de proue de l’info telles que CNN, BBC, RFI, Le Monde, Jeune Afrique, France 24 (et bien d’autres encore) c’est quand même essayer de s’informer dans cet univers ou les « hard copies » (clin d’œil aux ASTIciens et à Alain Mukuralinda en particulier) de journaux et de magazines ne sont plus du tout « in » !

J’ai l’impression que le mot « information » a perdu tout son sens. On ne s’informe plus de ce qui se passe dans le monde (épidémie de choléra en Haiti où la population vit toujours dans des abris de fortune, bourses de l’excellence que le recteur de l’université de Douala nie avoir reçues, attaques antisémites à l’acide à travers le monde, Charles Atéba Eyéné qui dénonce tout et partout,  pousse de légumes bizarroïdes après l’explosion de la centrale nucléaire à Fukushima…), on s’informe plutôt des choses du monde (Marylin Monroe avait écrit à Jacky Kennedy pour lui avouer sa liaison avec son mari, le prénom de « baby Kimye », les kilos en trop de tel ou tel mannequin….). J’essaie de comprendre ce phénomène : l’information, la vraie, est-elle mal diffusée ? Est-ce l’Homme qui a poussé les médias à cause de son manque d’intérêt à se tourner vers des futilités pour conserver son lectorat ? Nos esprits sont-ils détournés justement par ces médias sous la pression des « hommes de pouvoir » qui préfèrent qu’on ne s’intéresse pas à ce qui se passe REELEMENT dans le monde afin qu’ils puissent agir à leur guise ? 

Quel que soit le degré de pertinence de ces questions et quelles que soient les réponses, il est clair que si l’état des cheveux de telle ou telle personne est bien plus important que l’avènement de camps de concentration pour insolvables, nous allons tous droit dans le mur.

Par Befoune

International Editor, 

Dakar , Senegal

One great lesson learnt at a ‘restaurant’

For a while now I have been going through a phase: eating outdoors or straight to the pointly not cooking. As such I have been eating in restaurants, all kinds of restaurants, from the upscale restaurant where your presence is acknowledged upon entry to the ones where your order is drawn from you by a multitasking woman. So unable to muster the courage or find the desire to cook, I have found myself exploring the Buea culinary world, both its front and underground.

On August 24^th 2013, I once again found myself at one of the second-tier restaurants where an old dirty white blind is all that stands between you and the rest of the world; no privacy. But that was the only place my mood dictated. So you must be asking: what great lesson did I learn at the restaurant? Quite a few if you must know.

                 One - Being a good Muslim in a non-Muslim community must be really hard. As I sat hungrily waiting to be acknowledged by the C.E.0/cook/waitress, a “hungree” like me walked in, did I forget to mention he was a Muslim, yeah he was Muslim. I don’t why but my mind immediately went into forecast and procrastination mode: what was he going to order? Will he order something that contains beef? If yes,  is he sure it is halal (that is meat from an animal slaughtered according to Muslim Law)? If in doubt, was he going to inquire about the beef’s “halility”? Finally the guy asked for good old rice and stew……and…. Meat, no question asked or inquiry made about the beef’s compliance with Muslim precepts? So in retrospect I imagine it must be hard to be a Muslim, a practising one in a non-Muslim country. If I as a non-Muslim could mentally strain myself so much just trying to ascertain the next move of a Muslim trying to satisfy a need as primal as feeding, imagine the severity of the mental exertions Muslims in non-Muslim communities experience on a daily basis. Notwithstanding idiosyncratic interpretations from Islamists, Islam seems to demand quite a lot from its faithfuls when it is looked at through the prism of contemporary society framed around Judeo-Christian values. Good Muslims must give to the poor, during economic crisis that becomes an exploit. Good Muslims must pray at least five times daily, well when you must work from 8 a.m. to at least 3:30 p.m. then that’s extra weight on any working shoulders. The list can be longer but it is evident being a practising Muslim seems to be a hard.

               Two - Irrespective of your passion and intellectual mettle, writing in a language with no established written code is a tall other. When I decided to start blogging, I contemplated various ways of making my blog stand out and be outstanding in the evergrowing blogosphere. One way that immediately came to mine was blogging in pidgin; a West African creole with roots in English. The idea was especially appealing and early feedback was encouraging but four months after I penned my first post and 2 pidgin posts later, I must admit writing in pidgin is no seamless task. It is not impossible. It is just hard. It takes passion, patience, time and protracted debates with oneself to write in pidgin. I actually thought of writing this post in pidgin but I didn’t have the passion, patience, time and mood for it. So I reluctantly wrote it in the Queen’s language.

                    Three – Most importantly I learnt that you better cook your own meals if you don’t want to be the victim of mistaken identity in a restaurant. This is impression I had after the C.E.0/cook/waitress finally took my order. This is a transcript of our exchange,

C.E.0/cook/waitress: A gee you whetee?     - English translation:  What will you have?

Me:                            Gee me garri and eru  - English Translation: I’ll have garri and eru?

C.E.0/cook/waitress: Garri and eru na 450.  - English translation:  A plate costs 450 CFAF.

Me: Gee me.                                                  - English translation:  No problem.

I went to this restaurant not because I was in dire financial straits but because it was convenient. The classy restaurant was a taxi ride away but I didn’t feel like going for a ride when a restaurant was just a walk away. As such, I was irked by the C.E.0/cook/waitress’ suggestion that only the rich eat garri and eru. Was it her default response to anybody who ordered that meal or was it a pre-emptive reminder to forestall broke folk who loved eating expensive food? If yes, did I ooze poverty and hardship so strongly? If yes, then humanity is condemned if good food has become a privilege only the rich can afford. All this aside, this incident thought me one great lesson: I better find the desire to start cooking my own food lest I be mistaken for a broke folk. You’re immune from restaurant misconceptions and bias when you cook your own food.

Houses everywhere but “no house to rent”

Current house hunting trials and tribulations have forestalled a glowing tribute this writer has been concocting for his beloved adopted city  Buea. However he is not necessarily going to lampoon Buea because of his woes. He is merely going to warn that Buea is unfortunately losing its soul to the chimera affectionately called development.

                         After close to five years of uninterrupted residency and quiet enjoyment in a relatively quiet suburb of Buea - to be preciseMuea-, this writer has been compelled to move (something he has dreaded and hated since childhood since it entails re-starting the emotionally expensive process of making new friends and getting accustomed to new places). He has contracted aching legs and stress combing through most of the nooks and crannies of up and coming neighbourhoods. He has journeyed to the frontiers of the city. He has seen Beverly Hills mansions. He has seen houses but hasn’t seen any house to rent. 

                         It will be a lie to say Buea is not witnessing a housing crisis. But it would be an even bigger lie not to admit that this crisis is virtual as Buea is littered with rain-beaten and sun-baked room apartment and house –to- let signs. In his house searching outings, this writer saw many of these signs, took numbers and called, knocked and inquired only to be asked big sums and obese upfront payments. Upon setting out, this writer planned to upgrade his housing status and move into a bed room and parlour apartment - a step up from his one-room castle. After reading one of those apartments to let signs, this writer called the number next to the sign and was informed that the two rooms and parlour apartment would be his at 65,000 CFAF monthly and if he could pay a ten month advance – this is outside his financial reach. Next he was informed of a room and parlour apartment - 35,000 CFAF monthly and 10 months upfront payment. This writer found other houses well within his financial reach and within thieves’, diseases and cleanliness’ as well. He would have gladly taken it as suggested by the urgency of his need and the depth of his pocket but he thought of the toilet and all the prayers and fasting taking a dump in them necessitated; he thought of the guys lurking in the shadows of the long stretch from the road to the house. He know some will scoff at this post, saying it is just what a poor man would say  and they are entitled to their opinion. But this begs the question of whether the poor like this writer are not entitled to decent, clean and secure housing? If only the rich have the right to aspire to such housing, what becomes of social justice?

                  Buea like most cities in Cameroon, and Africa I imagine, are witnessing a real estate boom. Buea’s most specifically is spurred by the University of Buea and the consequent ever-growing need for housing for students. This has triggered not only a building frenzy but also something of a rent and advance inflation frenzy that has rippled across the entire city, far from the epicentre where this is understandable and even justified. To avoid the stress of rent-collecting from many tenants and relieve students from the stress of thinking about meeting the monthly rent-payment deadline, one understands that owners of student hostels can demand a year’s upfront payment for access to their hostels. Unfortunately even owners of non-hostel houses now exact such rents and upfront payments usually reserved for hostels and houses in upscale areas. Building a house is no mean fit but getting tenants who can pay huge rents and advances isn’t either. I know somebody will still see this as a poor man’s outcry but once again why must development always be synonymous with the systemic exclusion of the poor. In Buea’s case, the issue of rising housing costs and the hard affordability of decent, secure and clean housing is crucial because housing has even been undercurrent in University of Buea students' reasons for striking: remember the attempted 2007 standardisation of Buea hostels into A,B,C,D. This issue deserves urgent attention because if unchecked it will destroy the city's legendary hospitality reputation.

In loving memory of the SDF (now SPDM)

 This appellation - SPDM - is not my invention. I am merely borrowing from one interviewee on STV's 'Journal du Bien'. At face value, it is just a layman’s take on political happenings in Cameroon but to those who have always placed their hope for change in the SDF, it is an indication that hope might be a luxury they can no longer afford.

After inheriting a one-party nation from Late President Amadou Ahidjo, President Paul Biya set about consolidating his hold on power. However proponents of multiparty politics thought the time had come for their long-suppressed yearnings to be heard and indulged by the rookie president. Their defiance despite oppression and repression culminated in the birth of the Social Democratic Front in Bamenda on May 26, 1990.

The party immediately appealed to and got the support of all Cameroonians, irrespective of their variegated religious, tribal or regional persuasions. Its death-defying charismatic leader Ni John Fru Ndi added additional appeal to the party and it suddenly crystallised the hopes and aspirations of Cameroonians seeking to discover the joys of change after decades of monotony. But after failing to wrest power from the clutches of the ruling CPDM party during the highly-contested 1992 presidential, the party has seen its sphere of influence and following dwindle progressively with each electoral contest. In fact each election be it legislative, municipal and presidential seems to have provided the party with an opportunity to lose political weight to the point where it has almost become anorexic. The new political dispensation triggered by the bi-cameral cravings of the 1996 constitution has provided the party with another golden opportunity to lose additional weight. In the wake of this new reality, some observers have even wondered loud whether after the next twin legislative/municipal slated for September 2013, the green and weight party will weigh anything on the Cameroonian political scale. The situation begs the question: what happened on the way to the Unity Palace for Ni’s party? From where I stand it is a matter of perception and credibility.

At birth the party was branded, and rightly so, as the party of the common man. It was the party that was willing and did shake things up. All they did back then labelled them as the antithesis of the ruling party; striking when prohibited, boycotting elections after saying they would and the list goes on and on.  But over time the party has lost that reputation and now has a striking resemblance with their sworn opposite; their chairman has been in power since the party’s creation just like the guy he is trying to unseat from the country’s presidency. This striking resemblance is nothing more than perception but somebody said perception is everything. Also this striking resemblance recently morphed into a conspiracy after the recent and first ever senate elections during which it is widely believed that the CPDM asked its councillors in the West region to vote for SDF senators. Viewed against the backdrop of the CPDM’s overwhelming victory in the SDF’s backyard, this perception of conspiracy became even stronger in people’s minds.

For a while now, the SDF has been dogged by facts and allegations of backdoor camaraderie, rapprochement and collusion with the CPDM it has been challenging so vigorously since its birth. All this has left the SDF with a credibility crisis which has long been in the making. The crisis has been brewing in a slurry of petite yet politically significant potpourri of rumours, perception and events:  Ni John Fru receiving money from Biya for his wife’s burial , the chairman’s continued stay at the helm of the party (23 years after its creation), the resounding hallowness of Ni John’s criticism of Biya’s grip to power, the dreaded article 8.2 of the party and its ostracising of prominent party members and their eventual creation of their parties as well as the smiles and handshakes between the Chairman and Paul Biya in Bamenda during the 50^th anniversary of the armed forces. Sure there is nothing wrong with courtesy between two politicians but it conjures images of back alley dealings. There is nothing fundamentally wrong with financially expressing your condolences with a friend but there is  something perceptually unsettling about this when both are political rivals and one has spent his life trying to deny any association whatsoever with the other. Simply put all these rumours, facts and events have unfortunately laid the groundwork for veracity in perceived or rumoured twinning between the SDF and the CPDM.

These rumours and allegations have made the SDF to look like an assembly of selfish quarreling power-mongers, light years away from the people’s party image of its formative years. The SDF today and the SDF of the 90s are two radically different parties; the latter reminiscent of hope and promise, the former conjuring regret and disappointment.

The diagnosis isn’t very comforting. Further scrutiny even makes one think while the CPDM has tried to become the SDF (with piecemeal borrowing of some concepts like primaries), the latter has let itself unconsciously become like the CPDM with natural candidates and defections. So what can the SDF do to remedy the situation? Simply put, return to basics with new faces and much more.