Yaoundé, September 24, 2008

Greetings!

I can’t believe that over three months have passed since my last posting! Dear me, how time files, especially as one gets older…

Some of you will have heard some of the news contained in this particular posting, since you have had the good (?) luck of seeing me in August! However, you can skip the parts you know about as you read this…

I left you in mid-June, having finally moved in to the house, having fired my three wayward guards, and deep in preparations for a long workshop that I was to offer at the end of July. I have to say that the planning for the workshop took longer than I had anticipated. The difficulty, from my point of view, was to tailor the various activities that I was planning, as well as the pedagogical content therein, so that a diverse group of teachers would benefit. As you all know, my background is language teaching, and while pedagogical principles are basically the same, the application has to vary. And as I’ve never had to deal with teachers who impart skills in sewing, carpentry and furniture making, metal-work and information technology, this represented, for me, at any rate, quite a challenge. In addition to the teachers at the Centre, a number of consultants from the Ministry of Labour and Professional Training attended, as well as some teachers from another establishment which offers training in IT (yes, one of the competitors!). Forty-two people were supposed to show up, but some didn’t come at all for various reasons, some only came sporadically, and the average daily grouping was 32. The session lasted for four days, quite intensive, I must say, but seems to have gone well in spite of my worries. The last day of the session was July 31, and I left for Canada that evening (more on that later).

The remainder of June was quiet – the household running smoothly under Judith’s capable management and André’s sunny disposition. Frédéric, whom I’d hired on trial for a month, was a fairly decent worker, although being a security guard was quite a come-down for him, as he’d been some kind of manager at a bus depot previously. On making discrete enquiries about him, it turned out that he’d lost his job because he was suspected of having taken money from the till. This was not good news, of course, and coupled with the fact that I felt uncomfortable around him (a bit too smarmy for my liking), I decided not to retain his services, and laid him off at the end of the month, explaining that I just couldn’t afford, at the moment, to hire a fourth person. This “excuse” was quite true, since the move had cost quite a lot (not unexpected) and I was also waiting for infusions of cash from Canada subsequent to my loss of cards, waiting for me in Canada. He was a bit surprised and disappointed, but made no fuss. So, now, I have only Judith, André and Oumarou (the week-end guard) as staff, and it’s working out quite well. André, at his suggestion, works 24 hours a day (well, he does sleep, but that’s ok, Judith is there!) from Monday to Friday, when Oumarou takes over for the weekend. I’m not sure what we’ll do if anyone falls ill, but we’ll see! The atmosphere is happy, and that’s the major consideration, as far as I’m concerned!

Not much happened really during the rest of that month, but I feel I must tell you about a little trip I made out of town (well, into the forested surburbs, really). Roger, whom you’ll remember from previous postings on the blog, called me one day and asked if I’d like to go out for a ride with him, as he had to make a delivery for the director. Of course, I said yes, since it meant seeing a bit more of the place. Roger duly showed up and off we went, leaving the tarmac and following dirt roads for a while, back onto tarmac and then more dirt roads. He duly made his delivery, and, turning to me, said “While we’re here, I’d like to pay a call on some people”. That wasn’t a problem, as far as I was concerned. The crafty so-and-so took me along another dirt road to a fairly dilapidated building, and introduced me to a lady who was running an orphanage for forty-two children, aged 6 months to 17 years. She and her husband had started this a while back, and, of course, were in need of funds. I was taken around the premises, shown what was lacking. Obviously, this was a great attempt (successful, I might add) at pulling at my heart strings and also an attempt (not successful yet) at pulling at my purse strings. Oh, dear! What does one do when everyone thinks that you’re the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund rolled into one? The greatest need is for a septic tank with toilets – at the moment, the children use the river at the bottom of the garden, in which they also wash themselves and from which they use water for cooking. They also use the garden in which they plant various foods. Yuck! The hole for the septic tank has been dug by the children and some volunteer help, and what is needed now are funds to build the thing. By “chance”, there was an estimate available for me to consult. Dear, dear… A mere $900. I said to Roger that I would see what I could do, but that it wasn’t going to happen soon, and, furthermore, that I didn’t have that kind of money to throw around, in spite of what people might think. However, you guessed it, I’m mentally committed to helping the orphanage out for this one thing, but no more after that. If, perchance, any of you would like to contribute, Marion will be delighted to collect funds and send them out to me. No pressure, my friends, just a plea! (marion.macfarlane@gmail.com)

Now, for July…

Poor Njikam! He called me at the beginning of the month, to say that his taxi had been stolen! It seems that he had lent his taxi to a friend who wanted to make some money, and, on this particular Sunday evening, the friend had been held up and the car taken away. One doesn’t argue with a gun! This happened at 7 p.m., which is very early in the night for such an event to happen. Njikam, as you can imagine, was quite distressed, as the taxi, which he had finally paid off (he was his own owner, as it were), was the means by which he was making a fairly decent living. Unfortunately, it was in good condition, which is probably what attracted the thieves in the first place. Of course, police were contacted, etc., but no luck in finding the vehicle. Njikam hoped for two weeks that it would be found, but no such luck. When cars are stolen here (and no doubt in most places), it is taken to bits and sold off, or simply rebranded, as it’s very easy here to get new papers and a new serial number. Anyway, the poor man was in despair, especially as he was to get married at the end of July. After a couple of weeks of hoping, he finally went to work for an owner-operator and now works for someone as opposed to being independent. I think he’s finding it tough, but accepts his destiny. And yes, the car was insured, but… no way are they going to fork over any money. He was told it was his fault for driving a taxi at night and/or lending it to someone else… Poor man!

Njikam’s wedding, at the end of July, went off well. I was invited for the whole shindig, but at the end, only went up for a day, because finances were tight. Njikam comes from Foumban, a town of about 150 000 situated 300 km from Yaoundé, a bit north of Douala. I went by bus, which was quite the experience. The wedding festivities started on the Friday (which I missed), but the official marriage ceremonies (civil and religious) were to take place Saturday afternoon. I’d enquired about the length of time to get to Foumban by bus (5 hours) and decided to take the 7 a.m. bus, first of the day, which would get me to my destination by about noon. Héhé… Njikam, of course, had gone up to Foumban a few days before, and Simplice drove me to the bus station early on the Saturday morning, since it had been recommended that I show up by 6 a.m. to buy my ticket (not possible to buy reserve ahead of time). Ticket bought, I waited for the hour to board the bus, which was waiting there – quite the handsome carriage, very modern. And I waited, and I waited… Simplice, bless his heart, had decided to wait until the bus actually left, and when I commented at 7:15 that they hadn’t started taking on passengers, he explained that this was normal. The bus wouldn’t leave until it had its full complement of passengers, which was 70. I had bought ticket number 11… So we waited and the bus finally left at 8:30! First, we stopped to fill the tank, which took quite a while, and to take on a policeman who got to get a free ride. His presence made life easier on the way, since we were waved through the various checkpoints along the way. I’m told the checkpoints are officially to check for contraband, but in fact are a way for the various policemen to make extra money, since passengers will club together to bribe their way through the checkpoints, rather than lose time while the whole bus is searched, and suitcases opened, etc. Dearie me… Of course, like with all bus trips, there were various stops along the way: toilet stop, stop for a drink, and towards the end of the trip, stops to let passengers off along the way. It was a pleasant run, marred by some rain as we approached destination, since it rains a lot in West. I finally reached Foumban at 2:30, having missed the civil ceremony, alas! I’d called Njikam to warn him that I was late (he was arranging to have me met), and I called as we arrived. To my surprise and embarrassment, Njikam showed up in his rental wedding car, together with new wife and two bridesmaids, and I was hustled into the wedding car and rushed off to the bride’s village for the remainder of the ceremony. No time to change into my wedding togs, an outfit that I’d had made out of the material chosen by the couple as the wedding stuff. I did find time to change at the village, fortunately, since it would have been a change not to wear the rather natty African outfit I’d had made, trousers and shirt down to mid-calves. One must blend in, in spite of being a pale-face!

The village where Alima comes from is about 20 km from Foumban, deep in the forest. Most of the village had turned out for the ceremony, of course. For the first part of the ceremony, the new couple sat in the village hall meeting room, on a leather settee, and greeted everyone who came to wish them well. About thirty minutes later, Alima was escorted to her home, where she changed out of her white finery and got dressed in traditional garb. This is when I had time to change into my own wedding finery (elsewhere, of course!), since it took about an hour for the next part of the ceremony to take place. After I’d changed, Njikam escorting me everywhere, we went back to the village hall, where all the men involved with the wedding were seated in rows along the wall. There was also a row of chairs facing one of the walls. I was shown to my seat, which turned out to be a spot from which I could seen everything, and Njikam sat down in his appointed seat, and we proceeded to wait for the local Imam (Njikam and his wife are Muslim) to arrive. The man, of venerable age, showed up eventually, and the ceremony got going. Basically, it involved the
uncle of the bride saying that her family had found Njikam to be a suitable husband and the family was willing to let Alima marry him (the couple had actually decided this on their own, contrary to the tradition where the parents, in fact, would have chosen a husband for Alima, without her necessarily knowing him beforehand). All this was taking place in the local language, with a few explanations thrown in for my benefit. The bride’s father also spoke, and all of a sudden, Njikam got up and came to me, explaining that his father-in-law wanted to thank me for the honour I was granting them by being present at this ceremony (it helped to enhance Njikam’s reputation). This meant I had to make a little thank you speech, saying that the honour was mine and how delighted I was at the reception that had been given me. A bit embarrassing, actually… Anyway, the ceremony carried on, and we were finally told that Alima was ready.
We went then to the bride’s home, a few paces away, and Njikam, who normally wears open-toed flip-flops, hobbled along in his fine pair of very narrow and very pointed shoes. Some of you may remember the fashion for such shoes in the 60’s? Most uncomfortable, as I remember, but a style very popular here. Alima was sitting on the floor of the living room of the house, totally covered by a superb cloth. Originally, there would have been a number of young ladies hidden under the cloth, and Njikam would have had to find his bride by touching the various hidden heads. Each mistake would have cost him a “fine” to be paid to his bride. None of this in this instance, just Alima coyly hidden away. Her father made a speech, explaining that Njikam had asked for her hand and had provided an acceptable dowry. Njikam then went over to Alima and handed over a symbolic sum of money, which Alima accepted, thus signifying that she accepted the marriage offer, at which point the cloth was lifted, Alima revealed in all her glory, and the ladies of the house bursting into shrill ululations of joy, with the exception of the bride’s mother who, by tradition, has to bewail the loss of her daughter. She did this very effectively! The father duly escorted his daughter out of the house during all this, giving her over to Njikam. This part of the ceremony is important, as it means that Alima now belongs to Njikam and cannot return to the paternal home unless given permission to do so by her new husband.

The party was now to return to Foumban, where Njikam comes from, for the official entry of the bride into her new family. There weren’t enough cars to take everyone back, so people hung around while the two available cars went back and forth. I contributed to the gas fund (fortunately, I’d brought some cash with me, expecting this kind of thing), and Njikam and I were among the last to go. We spent the time in the living room of one of the relatives, and it was about 8 p.m. when the car finally showed up to take us back to town. Njikam was starting to get quite edgy at this point, since it shouldn’t have taken that long (we waited for a good ninety minutes). It turned out that one of the cars had had a minor mechanical problem, quickly fixed, and that the driver didn’t have the money to charge his phone to call in… Ah, well!

We finally made it into Foumban at about 8:45, and Njikam took me to the hotel he’d found for me, not far from where his family lives (they all have plots of land, with or without a house, in the same neighbourhood). The hotel, Hôtel du prunier rouge (The Red Plum-tree Hotel), was quite decent by African standards – a huge room, paint coming off the wall, very clean, clean bedclothes and an ensuite bathroom, with running water (!) and a toilet that worked. There was even a hot-water heater, but that wasn’t operational. Not a surprise! Having deposited my suitcase, we went off to Njikam’s relatives’ houses, making the rounds, greeting everyone, including a 92-year-old uncle, and having a soft drink in one of them. A bit of food was brought out which I can’t describe, other than it was a blob of dark something or other, eaten with a bit of sauce and rice. Alima, meanwhile, was being greeted by the women of her new family (poor thing, what an ordeal), and at one point, we went over the house where the women had repaired. There, Alima was waiting to offer Njikam a drink, symbolically saying that she would look after him properly, and then we went off to the room where the dancing was to take place. There was canned music, which I’d expected. As a bit of an aside, Njikam had planned to hire a band for the occasion and had left money for this with one of his brothers, who spent the money on his own needs! Poor Njikam… not a good month for him, from the financial point of view, especially as the sum involved was high, about $250. Ah, well! All the women were dancing, and I wasn’t sure if men were allowed to do so, since Njikam and I were the only men present, other than the photographer. However, I saw that the photographer was dancing, so I joined in for a little while (it was quite a sedate dance), until Njikam motioned that it was time to leave.

By this time, it was 1 a.m., and I was quite tired, and I asked permission to return to the hotel and sleep, especially since I had to leave early the next day for Yaoundé. Permission was graciously given, and I collapsed into bed quite exhausted and slept very well!

The next day dawned cloudy with sunny periods, and I had a chance to see what surrounded the hotel, which dominates that part of town. Very beautiful scenery, and I plan to return to Foumban for a proper visit at some point. It is a town of historical significance and an artistic centre, so I’m looking forward to that. The 8 o’clock bus left at 10, and I was back in Yaoundé by 6 p.m., having enjoyed myself immensely.

My return was on Sunday, July 27, and I had just enough time to look over my presentation notes for the workshop that was starting the next day. As I said above, I left for Canada on July 31st, and undertook the long trip home – it takes about 30 hours, when one takes into account the various airport stops along the way, waiting for connections.

I got home at midnight on the Friday, August 1, and the next three weeks were a flurry of activity, to put it mildly. There was the arrival of a new grandchild to celebrate (Loïk Baden Alexander, born on July 19), Sonja visiting for a week from Vancouver, and Stella, Marion’s mother, embarking on her last week of a month’s stay in Canada. We were hosting a garden party on the Sunday, so Saturday was spent in preparations for that. The day itself went well, but, alas, the weather didn’t cooperate, and the garden party was held indoors. It was great fun to see friends who had come in for the occasion from all over the province, and a good time was had by all (I hope, anyway!). The rest of that first week sped by, with me undertaking various check-ups, participating in day trips with Stella, etc.

On the Saturday a week after my arrival, Sonja left for Vancouver, and Marion, Stella and I set off for Halifax, from where Stella was leaving for Scotland on the Sunday. We spent the day on Sunday wandering round – we went to Peggy’s Cove, not too far from Halifax, and then back into town to visit the Gardens, where a concert was taking place in brilliant sunshine. It was a good way to spend the last day, not too exhausting before the venerable relative (sorry, Stella!) took flight. As Stella’s flight was due to leave at about 9 p.m., if I remember correctly, Marion had decided to take a room at the Airport Hotel rather than start the drive back, a fortunate decision as it turned out. Check-in opened four hours before the flight, and having done that, the three of us returned to the hotel for the evening meal and a bit of a rest for Stella. We went back to the airport for 8, to find that the flight had been delayed until 10 p.m. (Zoom Airlines, now defunct, alas!). A bit later, we found out that the flight had been delayed until 11 p.m. So, at about 10:15, Stella went through security controls, together with Marion, who had been granted a pass to escort her mother to the plane (Stella having agreed to sit in a wheelchair to facilitate all this!). The ladies went through, and at 11:15, the airline announced that the flight had been delayed until 11 a.m. the next day!! It was just as well that Marion was with her mother, since, normally, we’d have taken off and not found out about this! The airline was busy trying to find rooms for all these displaced passengers, but as we had a room already, we were able to take Stella (and her luggage) back to the Airport hotel, the airline refusing to offer compensation since Stella had “local” accommodation. Just as well that we didn’t have to hang around, as some passengers ended up spending the night in the airport!

The next morning, things went well, and Stella duly took off and, we heard, arrived safely, all meeting arrangements having taken into account the late arrival of the flight. Marion and I then set off for Fredericton, but alas missing a luncheon date that we’d had with friends in Fredericton.

On the Tuesday, Marion and I set off on our peregrinations. Our final destination was Guelph, where my father lives, and we visited a number of people along the way. We spent the first night in Lévis, opposite Québec City, at my cousin’s abode, then drove on to Montreal, visiting aunts and uncles nearby. That evening, Wednesday, we had our evening meal at the Ethiopian restaurant with a number of friends, and on the Thursday, we set off for Toronto, arriving in the early evening. A couple of days spent seeing people, including my brother Ronald (who was leaving for Sierra Leone the next day, to offer a workshop there for three weeks). We ended up in Guelph on the Saturday, and left again on the Monday, taking our time getting home (well, from my point of view!), again visiting friends along the way.

We were back in Fredericton on the Wednesday to be greeted by superb news: Jonathon is off to pursue his Master’s in Shakespearian studies in Stratford-upon-Avon, yes, yes, the original place. The course is a 12-month intensive affair, offered by the University of Birmingham. Jonathon had been accepted into the program a year previously, but didn’t have the funds to finance the enterprise. However, after his hard work at the Superstore (awful hours for not much pay) stocking shelves at night, a few financial transactions here and there, he was able to pursue his dream. To say that we are delighted would be putting it mildly! He leaves on September 22…

The last few days of my trip home went by very quickly being with family and grandchildren, and on the Sunday, I left to return here, getting back late on the Monday evening, and straight to work the next day, as I had another workshop to offer on that Thursday! I do have other things to do, it just happened that way… And so, it goes on! The house was still standing, nothing untoward had happened, and I quickly got back into my sedate style of life here!

On the home front, as I said earlier, things are going well. Judith found a room nearby which she has rented and no longer lives with her niece on the other side of town. She continues to go to Ebolowa and Douala fairly regularly to visit her children and nieces and nephews for whom she is responsible. One of the bedrooms of the house has been turned over to her possessions, which consist, as far as I can see, of seven suitcases full of clothing (she doesn’t have space in the room she’s renting). She suggested at one point that she could just move into the room, but I wasn’t having any of that! Lordy…

André continues to sing and smile; his wife and three children live next door, so they spend a lot of the day with him here, which does add life to the place. The kids are no trouble at all, remarkably well-behaved. Cyrille, the oldest one, will be starting school (a couple of weeks late, but at last), while the other two will remain at home. An amusing thing, though, is that the youngest child, born in May, as you remember, was finally named by his father. Poor child, he’s to be known as Macfarlane David, and nothing else. I feel sorry for the child later on (in André’s tribe, children are given whatever name the father wishes to hand out, without necessarily appending the family name). It’s quite an honour and no doubt a life-long obligation on my part, but what can I say… it happened while I was away! Crafty people..

Work continues to go well – a number of Canadian consultants have been and out, all part of the project, and one of them will be here for another two weeks. This keeps me busy, as well as offering some social life on the occasional evenings, which is all to the good!

We are in the midst of the rainy season, so there is not much sunshine, but the rain tends to fall at night, which is an excellent arrangement, as the roads have time to dry out by morning!

This pretty well brings you up to date – I’m not sure when the next posting will take place, but I’ll try to be more regular (as it were) in that area!

Cheers!

David