Saturday, May 10, 2008
Neighbours and Friends
The people here are very friendly, rather like Irish people in rural areas, and I am gradually getting to know some neighbours. Apart from an existing volunteer, Ruth, who has been extremely helpful, my first contact was with a sixteen year-old boy, Kalifa, who introduced himself on my first morning. He told me that he used to act as “petit frère” to the volunteer who was in my house before me. He is very resourceful and street wise, he has fixed all sorts of things for me, sorted out all sorts of problems and has even shown me how to cook a number of local dishes. He is one of a number of youths who tend to turn up at my house around meal times. In Cameroon, no matter how little you have for a meal, if anybody turns up you share it with them. I am quite happy to share but I keep finding that my provisioning and shopping schedule are derailed and I seem to have to go shopping at least once a day. Some of my neighbours and colleagues have invited me to dine with them. In one case a man whom I had met in the town invited himself to dinner one evening, offering to bring cooked fish if I would prepare a salad to go with it. It turned out a very pleasant evening.
Ruth teaches English in a local school and I asked her if she could suggest somebody who could give me some French conversation practice. She introduced me to Halidou, a 30-year old man who teaches French in the local school. This has turned out to be a significant breakthrough. He is very intelligent and speaks not only French and English but several local languages, including Fulfulde, Mousgoum and Arabic Choa. In my first two weeks at work I visited the chiefs of around 50 villages in the area and most of them do not speak French (none speak English). Halidou, who is employed by the council but is seconded to the school, came with me (it was during the school holidays). He was able to fill me in on the background to everything, as well as translating. He is some sort of national volunteer and is paid very little and treated badly. Cameroon’s graduates, of whom he is one, find it extremely difficult to get work and one option for them is to work as a volunteer and at least get experience. Last week-end he got engaged. For years his parents have been pressing him to marry but he resisted up to this. He finally gave in and consented to meet a 17 year old girl at their request. He met her for the first time on Saturday, got on well with her and agreed to marry her.
I have scripted a play for a workshop which I need to run with all the councillors and with the local dignatories. A local group of actors have agreed to do it for me and they come to my house to rehearse. They are young, energetic and talented. Their main strength is improvisation, which is not good news for me since I am trying to communicate particular messages and I never know when they are going to take off at a tangent and abandon the script. One of them is referred to as “Princess Diana”, being a princess herself (this distinction is not what it seems since the chiefs tend to have so many children). There are some original names here: one very assidous student at the local school is referred to as “A-B-C-D”.
The mayor has introduced me to all the important people in the area. These are a mixture of elected representatives, such as the mayor and his executive, state-appointed representatives, of whom the Sous-Prefet is the most important, and traditional chiefs, of whom the Sultan of Pouss is the most senior. The latter has an impressive palace in Pouss as well as a house in Maga. The mayor brought me to the palace in Pouss on the first day and after we had taken our shoes off we were brought into a very large room with sofas around it and carpets on the floor. When the Sultan entered with his retinue we bowed respectfully and all conversation was restrained and at his bidding. He is extremely tall, as are most of the Mousgoum tribe of which he is part. The mayor sat under him and talked up to him, and on subsequent visits to the palace the only person who sat at his level was the Sous-Prefet. On one occasion there were around 50 men in the room and a select few, including myself, were invited to lunch with him (lovely beef, lamb, chicken and fish, plus vegetables and sauces). He turned out to be quite genial. He took pity on my efforts to eat with my hands sitting on the floor (the Cameroonian way of eating), without staining the carpet and my clothes, and he produced two chairs – one for me to sit on and the other to use as a table. I was quite embarrassed but it seemed to amuse him, and of course all the others. Ruth lives in his Maga house and shares a lovely big living room. He has frequently asked her to become his sixth wife, which she has declined. His fifth wife, who was 14 and was an “esclave” since his religion only permits four wives, ran away, causing a scandal. He has also offered to marry Ruth to one of his sons.
Ruth teaches English in a local school and I asked her if she could suggest somebody who could give me some French conversation practice. She introduced me to Halidou, a 30-year old man who teaches French in the local school. This has turned out to be a significant breakthrough. He is very intelligent and speaks not only French and English but several local languages, including Fulfulde, Mousgoum and Arabic Choa. In my first two weeks at work I visited the chiefs of around 50 villages in the area and most of them do not speak French (none speak English). Halidou, who is employed by the council but is seconded to the school, came with me (it was during the school holidays). He was able to fill me in on the background to everything, as well as translating. He is some sort of national volunteer and is paid very little and treated badly. Cameroon’s graduates, of whom he is one, find it extremely difficult to get work and one option for them is to work as a volunteer and at least get experience. Last week-end he got engaged. For years his parents have been pressing him to marry but he resisted up to this. He finally gave in and consented to meet a 17 year old girl at their request. He met her for the first time on Saturday, got on well with her and agreed to marry her.
I have scripted a play for a workshop which I need to run with all the councillors and with the local dignatories. A local group of actors have agreed to do it for me and they come to my house to rehearse. They are young, energetic and talented. Their main strength is improvisation, which is not good news for me since I am trying to communicate particular messages and I never know when they are going to take off at a tangent and abandon the script. One of them is referred to as “Princess Diana”, being a princess herself (this distinction is not what it seems since the chiefs tend to have so many children). There are some original names here: one very assidous student at the local school is referred to as “A-B-C-D”.
The mayor has introduced me to all the important people in the area. These are a mixture of elected representatives, such as the mayor and his executive, state-appointed representatives, of whom the Sous-Prefet is the most important, and traditional chiefs, of whom the Sultan of Pouss is the most senior. The latter has an impressive palace in Pouss as well as a house in Maga. The mayor brought me to the palace in Pouss on the first day and after we had taken our shoes off we were brought into a very large room with sofas around it and carpets on the floor. When the Sultan entered with his retinue we bowed respectfully and all conversation was restrained and at his bidding. He is extremely tall, as are most of the Mousgoum tribe of which he is part. The mayor sat under him and talked up to him, and on subsequent visits to the palace the only person who sat at his level was the Sous-Prefet. On one occasion there were around 50 men in the room and a select few, including myself, were invited to lunch with him (lovely beef, lamb, chicken and fish, plus vegetables and sauces). He turned out to be quite genial. He took pity on my efforts to eat with my hands sitting on the floor (the Cameroonian way of eating), without staining the carpet and my clothes, and he produced two chairs – one for me to sit on and the other to use as a table. I was quite embarrassed but it seemed to amuse him, and of course all the others. Ruth lives in his Maga house and shares a lovely big living room. He has frequently asked her to become his sixth wife, which she has declined. His fifth wife, who was 14 and was an “esclave” since his religion only permits four wives, ran away, causing a scandal. He has also offered to marry Ruth to one of his sons.
Friday, May 9, 2008
No smoking, spitting, fighting, stealing or vomiting on the bus
This was the notice above the windows of a minibus which I took from Maga to Guirvidig on the latter’s market day. The bus only leaves when it is full, which means that an incredible number of people are packed in, and there are others on the top and also hanging out of the back (on the way back from the market there is all this plus all sorts of bulky objects bought at the market piled high on top). People sit facing each other in rows along the length of the bus and their knees are carefully interleaved with no room left to move in. A boy near me had a cock in his lap which tried frantically to escape every now and then. As we sat sweltering in the heat waiting for the bus to leave (this can take hours) somebody’s mobile played “Jingle Bells”.
I was at the front of the bus and could see into the cab (which contained three people in addition to the driver). The seat of the cab opened up to reveal the engine. Before starting, the driver connected some wires, put water in the radiator and sucked some liquid through a tube into his mouth, spat it out and syphoned the liquid into something else. After all that the battery barely turned the engine, which would not start, and then the guys hanging out of the back of the bus pushed it (fully loaded) until it started. The gear changes were incredibly jarring. I soon came to realise that the bus had absolutely no brakes and on one occasion a car blocked the way and for what seemed like an eternity the bus free-wheeled up to it and bumped into it. The driver didn’t even get out to see if there was any damage. We passed some police sitting under a tree and free-wheeled to a stop down the road from them. The driver gave some money to one of the guys hanging out of the back who ran back and gave it to them, presumably to avoid having his vehicle checked for road-worthiness. Most buses that I have been in since then have been equally bad and have had theirs radiators topped up every 15 kilometers or so. Broken down buses are regular sights, their passengers sitting patiently under a tree. I was on a bus recently which broke down over ten times between Maroua and Maga. Each time repairs were done with the help of bits of tubing, plastic bags, etc. To my relief the bus eventually made it to its destination, albeit many hours late.
The state of everything here is precarious. To-day I was in the local chief’s house and a young boy took out a bicycle. The chief asked him if it was road-worthy. The boy said “yes” but immediately the front wheel fell off and then the handlebars also fell off.
I was at the front of the bus and could see into the cab (which contained three people in addition to the driver). The seat of the cab opened up to reveal the engine. Before starting, the driver connected some wires, put water in the radiator and sucked some liquid through a tube into his mouth, spat it out and syphoned the liquid into something else. After all that the battery barely turned the engine, which would not start, and then the guys hanging out of the back of the bus pushed it (fully loaded) until it started. The gear changes were incredibly jarring. I soon came to realise that the bus had absolutely no brakes and on one occasion a car blocked the way and for what seemed like an eternity the bus free-wheeled up to it and bumped into it. The driver didn’t even get out to see if there was any damage. We passed some police sitting under a tree and free-wheeled to a stop down the road from them. The driver gave some money to one of the guys hanging out of the back who ran back and gave it to them, presumably to avoid having his vehicle checked for road-worthiness. Most buses that I have been in since then have been equally bad and have had theirs radiators topped up every 15 kilometers or so. Broken down buses are regular sights, their passengers sitting patiently under a tree. I was on a bus recently which broke down over ten times between Maroua and Maga. Each time repairs were done with the help of bits of tubing, plastic bags, etc. To my relief the bus eventually made it to its destination, albeit many hours late.
The state of everything here is precarious. To-day I was in the local chief’s house and a young boy took out a bicycle. The chief asked him if it was road-worthy. The boy said “yes” but immediately the front wheel fell off and then the handlebars also fell off.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Pictures from Maga
Since I wrote my blog on Maga I have been out on the lake and have seen the hippos. It was a lovely still day and it has left a lasting impression on me. I felt privileged.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Maga
After dinner I was brought to my house. It turned out that the electricity was not switched on so a person whom I later learned was the mayor’s third deputy helped me put up my mosquito net by torch-light and I went to bed, leaving it to the morning to get my bearings. To my surprise I was told that there was a guard on duty every night and that he sleeps in an adjoining shed.
By Maga standards my house is good. It has a living room, a bedroom, a shower and a flush toilet. The electricity was switched on the next day but then the water failed for a few days. When the water came back I found that there was a blockage in the drain from the shower (this has still not been fixed but I take my showers standing in a big basin). There are bats in the roof and they fly around the living room and bedroom at dusk before going out and at dawn after they return. Sometimes they get trapped between the curtain and the window and make an awful racket until I release them in the morning. They sometimes fly around during the day also. I don’t mind them but their droppings accumulate and I have heard of a person who died from rabies after being bitten by a bat so I should get something done about them. Lots of lizards, some multicoloured, come in and run around the place. Mosquitos are not much of a problem at this time of the year but I am told that they are a serious problem in the rainy season, which could start any time from late April and continue until late September.
Maga is a very quiet town with mainly Muslim people. They are very courteous and have strict protocols which they go through when they meet. They congregate in groups sitting on the ground under trees. The children are extraordinarily well behaved and are expected to do things for adults without payment, such as running to the market to buy things. The one thing that I would hold against the people is that when a white person goes shopping they multiply their prices and if you are not prepared to expend a considerable amount of time haggling you are constantly ripped off (or “bouffé”, as they somewhat impolitely call it). Happily there is a bar, “Chez Rose”, hidden away in a back street. Even some Muslims slip in there for a drink.
The range of things which one can buy here is very restricted. There is very good fish, coming from the lake which supplies the region. Given that we are approaching the end of the dry season I was surprised to find so much water in the lake. The Logone river fills the lake in the rainy season and the lake supplies water to the river in the dry season. I have watched fishermen cast small nets in canals off the lake and pull them in, usually with two or three fish per throw. Over-fishing and poaching are problems. Also the lake is man-made and has led to the drying up of many small lakes where fish used to be caught and to the elimination of some of the swamps, with a consequent loss of wildlife. I have yet to go out in the lake to see the hippos but heard that one attacked a man near Maga a few days ago and was killed by the local people. The Maga football team are referred to as the “hippos”.
A lot of beef is also available locally. The plain in which the Commune de Maga is situated and which extends north to Lake Chad is used to graze cattle. Nomadic cattle herders come here from Niger, Nigeria and Chad, covering enormous distances in search of grazing for their herds. The creation of the artificial lake has adversely affected the grazing and the availbility of watering holes for the livestock. Also some local people have established farms and have fenced off areas through which the nomads used to pass. This has given rise to conflicts with significant loss of life. In theory the state owns all the lands and levies taxes for grazing. In practice the traditional chiefs continue to allocate ownership rights in their areas.
By Maga standards my house is good. It has a living room, a bedroom, a shower and a flush toilet. The electricity was switched on the next day but then the water failed for a few days. When the water came back I found that there was a blockage in the drain from the shower (this has still not been fixed but I take my showers standing in a big basin). There are bats in the roof and they fly around the living room and bedroom at dusk before going out and at dawn after they return. Sometimes they get trapped between the curtain and the window and make an awful racket until I release them in the morning. They sometimes fly around during the day also. I don’t mind them but their droppings accumulate and I have heard of a person who died from rabies after being bitten by a bat so I should get something done about them. Lots of lizards, some multicoloured, come in and run around the place. Mosquitos are not much of a problem at this time of the year but I am told that they are a serious problem in the rainy season, which could start any time from late April and continue until late September.
Maga is a very quiet town with mainly Muslim people. They are very courteous and have strict protocols which they go through when they meet. They congregate in groups sitting on the ground under trees. The children are extraordinarily well behaved and are expected to do things for adults without payment, such as running to the market to buy things. The one thing that I would hold against the people is that when a white person goes shopping they multiply their prices and if you are not prepared to expend a considerable amount of time haggling you are constantly ripped off (or “bouffé”, as they somewhat impolitely call it). Happily there is a bar, “Chez Rose”, hidden away in a back street. Even some Muslims slip in there for a drink.
The range of things which one can buy here is very restricted. There is very good fish, coming from the lake which supplies the region. Given that we are approaching the end of the dry season I was surprised to find so much water in the lake. The Logone river fills the lake in the rainy season and the lake supplies water to the river in the dry season. I have watched fishermen cast small nets in canals off the lake and pull them in, usually with two or three fish per throw. Over-fishing and poaching are problems. Also the lake is man-made and has led to the drying up of many small lakes where fish used to be caught and to the elimination of some of the swamps, with a consequent loss of wildlife. I have yet to go out in the lake to see the hippos but heard that one attacked a man near Maga a few days ago and was killed by the local people. The Maga football team are referred to as the “hippos”.
A lot of beef is also available locally. The plain in which the Commune de Maga is situated and which extends north to Lake Chad is used to graze cattle. Nomadic cattle herders come here from Niger, Nigeria and Chad, covering enormous distances in search of grazing for their herds. The creation of the artificial lake has adversely affected the grazing and the availbility of watering holes for the livestock. Also some local people have established farms and have fenced off areas through which the nomads used to pass. This has given rise to conflicts with significant loss of life. In theory the state owns all the lands and levies taxes for grazing. In practice the traditional chiefs continue to allocate ownership rights in their areas.
M. le Maire de la Commune de Maga
I was collected in Maroua by the mayor of the Maga local council and my future boss. He is a very imposing person and the girls fall for him in a big way. He is turning out to be very personable, popular, enlightened and progressive and I expect that he will make me work very hard since he has great ambitions for his locality. It consists of three small towns and their environs with a total population of 100,000. They are on the shores of Lake Maga which stretches for 25 kilometers from Guirvidig in the west through Maga to Pouss in the east. Pouss is on the Cameroon side of the Logone river and Chad is on the other side. Happily the nearest bridge is 200 kilometers away but bandits still cross by boat and have caused some deaths in towns north and south of Pouss, but not in Pouss as yet.
The journey to Maga was difficult. I met the mayor in the morning and he said that he would return shortly to collect me when he had met his wife. He has three wives and three houses, one of which is in Maga. Unfortunately he could not track down his Maroua wife until late and it was getting dark as we left. He has the rare luxury in these parts of a 4X4 jeep and a driver who always goes around in it with him and hangs around wherever he is. On a subsequent trip the mayor carried a rifle which he explained was because he was visiting some areas in the bush where bandits kidnap, rob and murder rich merchants. He comes from a warrior tribe, the Mousgoum, he has a short fuse and I certainly would not take issue with him when he has his rifle at hand! On my first trip from Maroua to Maga, after I was installed together with my luggage, and feeling squashed since there was already a lot of clutter in the jeep, three women, two children and all their clutter were somehow piled into the area behind the back seat. I think they were neighbours for whom he was doing a favour but I am not sure since although men are introduced meticulously, women are generally ignored.
The first 30 kilometers of the road were incredibly bad and the trip from Ngaoundere to Maroua paled into insignificance when compared to this (I was to find on a return trip to Maroua that they had “resurfaced” the road with earth, which is fine now since we are still in the dry season…). Happily there was extremely little traffic on the road since the area is extremely poor. After 30 kilometers the road suddenly assumed a very good surface (like an Irish road, but I am told that the rainy season will wash parts of it away). This lasted for another 30 kilometers. When I asked why this part of the road, and not the 30 kilometers nearer Maroua, was properly surfaced I was told that prior to resurfacing it was by far the worst part of the road. At this stage we stopped for Muslim prayers. We then continued on a bad road for about 15 kilometers to Guirvidig. Here we called into the mayor’s second house. After removing my shoes I sat in a very big room with sofas on every side and a big carpet on the floor. The mayor had told me that he had 13 children and I counted seating space for himself, the three wives and all the children (but this may be spurious since they usually sit on the floor). He opened a bottle of whiskey (which I expect was a huge honour, and probably rather risqué on his part) and poured me a large tumbler full. I had eaten nothing in 10 hours and politely took a few sips and explained as best I could that it couldn’t be taken in such quantities. We then continued the further 12 kilometers to Maga where he invited me to dine with him at his Maga house. This was on a carpet in the open-air and consisted of fish deliciously cooked. He also had the thoughtfulness to send his jeep around for me the next morning and bring me for breakfast (again fish) since there were no provisions in my house.
The journey to Maga was difficult. I met the mayor in the morning and he said that he would return shortly to collect me when he had met his wife. He has three wives and three houses, one of which is in Maga. Unfortunately he could not track down his Maroua wife until late and it was getting dark as we left. He has the rare luxury in these parts of a 4X4 jeep and a driver who always goes around in it with him and hangs around wherever he is. On a subsequent trip the mayor carried a rifle which he explained was because he was visiting some areas in the bush where bandits kidnap, rob and murder rich merchants. He comes from a warrior tribe, the Mousgoum, he has a short fuse and I certainly would not take issue with him when he has his rifle at hand! On my first trip from Maroua to Maga, after I was installed together with my luggage, and feeling squashed since there was already a lot of clutter in the jeep, three women, two children and all their clutter were somehow piled into the area behind the back seat. I think they were neighbours for whom he was doing a favour but I am not sure since although men are introduced meticulously, women are generally ignored.
The first 30 kilometers of the road were incredibly bad and the trip from Ngaoundere to Maroua paled into insignificance when compared to this (I was to find on a return trip to Maroua that they had “resurfaced” the road with earth, which is fine now since we are still in the dry season…). Happily there was extremely little traffic on the road since the area is extremely poor. After 30 kilometers the road suddenly assumed a very good surface (like an Irish road, but I am told that the rainy season will wash parts of it away). This lasted for another 30 kilometers. When I asked why this part of the road, and not the 30 kilometers nearer Maroua, was properly surfaced I was told that prior to resurfacing it was by far the worst part of the road. At this stage we stopped for Muslim prayers. We then continued on a bad road for about 15 kilometers to Guirvidig. Here we called into the mayor’s second house. After removing my shoes I sat in a very big room with sofas on every side and a big carpet on the floor. The mayor had told me that he had 13 children and I counted seating space for himself, the three wives and all the children (but this may be spurious since they usually sit on the floor). He opened a bottle of whiskey (which I expect was a huge honour, and probably rather risqué on his part) and poured me a large tumbler full. I had eaten nothing in 10 hours and politely took a few sips and explained as best I could that it couldn’t be taken in such quantities. We then continued the further 12 kilometers to Maga where he invited me to dine with him at his Maga house. This was on a carpet in the open-air and consisted of fish deliciously cooked. He also had the thoughtfulness to send his jeep around for me the next morning and bring me for breakfast (again fish) since there were no provisions in my house.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
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