kar0ling

The sight of traffic in the street. Car horns honking. Youths playing soccer over on the school yard playing field. Vehicles driving past. Loud music and the occasional shout from an off-licence (bar). Such welcome sounds! Normal seems to have returned.

Life continues. An uneasy calm prevails. People go on as normal as much as possible. We will perform our three plays/musicals today. We have adapted three children's stories into productions for the children to activate their creative juices. They have adorable costumes, sing cute songs, and are doing quite well at delivering their lines expressively. Rhinos for Lunch , Travelling to Tondo , and Rabbit Makes a Monkey of Lion are the titles of our three pieces. We've got rabbits, civet cats, turtles, and even a monster! Performances will happen in the afternoon to ensure good lighting for the video.

The president made a less than conciliatory speech last night, basically blaming the unrest on the opposition parties, accusing them of inciting dissent. Today, February 28, 2008, the army was sent in to Bamenda, which ups the ante somewhat. The local police are less excited about actually shooting at or harming their neighbours, but soldiers from other parts of the country will likely be less sympathetic. The morning was more active; the army trucks drove right past the compound entrance (which is on a major road), tear gas/concussion bombs were going off in fairly close succession for a while (though there was little gunfire), and right around noon there were some confrontations down the hill--young men being chased by the police ran down the road just over the hedge by the lower edge of the compound. Yesterday, one person was snapping pictures of some of the events with a zoom lens when the gendarmes passed by. They confiscated his camera and examined the cell phones of other looker...

On the third day of unrest (Wednesday, February 27, 2008 ), it remains unclear whether things will let up, stay the same, or get worse. Most of the day today was quiet—no vehicles on the road except for police and/or military, but no tires burning and no tear gas and/or concussion bombs—that is, none of the above until mid-afternoon. Up at the conference hall, we heard the unmistakable sound of an automatic rifle going off and shortly after that there were some tear gas/concussion bombs and another tire fire was lit just down the hill close to what used to be Nkwen market (the crowd burned it the first day). From moment to moment things can change. I'm posting this now because I don't take for granted that power and internet will continue to be available. As I write this, I can hear crowds yelling and there were some cracks that may have been pistol shots on the road outside the compound. But so far, the trouble seems to only threaten those choosing to be involved, though of c...

Yesterday, February 25, the taxi strike meant an inconvenience here in Bamenda, but nothing more. Down in Douala, we heard there was rioting, looting, and there were reports of anywhere from 2 to 6 people killed. A short-term team in Douala intending to come up to Bamenda left yesterday at 5 in the morning, hoping to avoid trouble, but were detained before exiting the city, had rocks thrown at the vehicle, and were forced to turn back. In Bamenda, no taxis were running, but private vehicles were still on the roads, so the only evidence of trouble was less-busy streets. Today is a different story. Not a single vehicle is on the street and the air is eerily quiet without them; only the muted sound of voices drifts up the hill to the compound, the uneasy peace disturbed periodically by shouting and the boom of tear gas being shot off by the army. Thick black smoke rises from burning tires (or streetside vendors’ stalls, depends who you talk to). The road, which is usually crawling with ve...

Driving through Bamenda, Dan pauses to allow an on-coming vehicle to make a left-hand turn in front of him. That vehicle didn’t technically have the right of way, but you don’t argue with someone determined to have their way, particularly with a rifle-toting soldier non-chalantly hanging out the rear window.

Once again, we have seen evidence that Cameroonians entertain themselves with real life. The FES children take swimming lessons at a local hotel pool every year during their Dry Season session, so of course I have been enlisted to help the little guys learn to splash around and feel comfortable in the water. The first day or two we had the pool as well as the poolside area to ourselves. The pool is nothing much to write home about. Walter checked it out on Sunday before lessons started, returning with a disturbing description, not so much for what he said, but for what he didn’t say: “If you stand in the shallow end, you can see your feet.” In fairness, the shallow end is deep enough that only one of our two 5-year-olds can touch the bottom and keep his head about water at the same time, but the water is decidedly murky and full of floating leaves etc because the pool is not cleaned properly nor does the filter system work. Unlike some other years, this year they are keeping the chemic...

The book of Ruth –or, Duti*, as she’s called in Oroko—has officially been launched. This is the first complete book of the Bible to be published in the Oroko language. The “launching” was held as part of an Mbonge cultural association meeting. Sales of alphabet charts, primers and sundry Oroko materials were slow, but the big-wigs donated generously for their copies of the new publication, setting an excellent precedent for the masses to hopefully follow as the day wore on and the program moved to other matters. * substituted for similar IPA symbol (We’ll know more later. Dan & Lisa, who were at the meeting, had to leave as soon as their part in the day was done, so as to get to Bamenda on time for FES. They nearly didn’t make it at all after some important part related to the transmission started dumping all their oil on the road just before they started the winding climb up a steep escarpment, but after a quick fix, the truck is functioning and they’re here safe and sound.)

It’s amazing what a couple of months in the rainforest can do to your perspective. Suddenly static in my hair and chapped lips are kind-of exciting. Cool mornings and evenings, and a house that is noticeably cooler than the outside all day long—these are things for which I have great appreciation. What I have less appreciation for is my simultaneously dry and dripping nasal passages.

Enjoying breaktime from school.

The kids of Bekondo, marching on Youth Day. Write up to follow. The first photo is of the majorettes followed by primary school kids coming down Pres Hill. The second is of the secondary school students wending their way to the soccer pitch at the entrance to the village.

The aforementioned "progres" typo.

The curious thing about seasons here is that they have them. I keep expecting the hours of daylight to change one of these days, which of course, doesn’t happen, though there is a slight shift—during winter, oddly enough—towards later sunsets, but it’s merely a matter of half an hour’s difference. That supports the “no seasons” hypothesis. Part of me every so often thinks there will be a drastic change of temperature to mark another season, but fond as I am of the 4 distinct seasons in Manitoba with all their extremes, I am, for the most part, quite content with the unremitting warm weather, though I don’t know how many years of it I could take before I had a strong hankering for some good old winter. Those four seasons, however, have skewed my expectations. Looking for more subtle nuances instead, I observe seasons indeed, subtle though they may be. The hot, humid, rain-less days of dry season are quite distinct from the grey monotony of rainy season and both differ from the mix...

Just when we thought the “palaver” about the chief was dying down, Mr Mosongo gets dragged in. A few months ago, half the village decided to rise up against the chief, accusing him of I-don’t-know-what, dragging it into the courts where it was eventually tossed out because one of the judges had connections with Big Bekondo and didn’t want the village name brought down over such an inconsequential matter. Now one of the instigators has accused Mr. Mosongo of embezzling funds. This is ridiculous—and fool-hardy. They chose one of the few people in the village who is above reproach, one of the few men with a spotless record, one man respected by all (well, apparently not by those making the accusations) to drag into the mud. Mr Mosongo obediently went to the police station to follow up on the accusations made against him. His accusers failed to show. Now that a formal report has been made, it cannot be dropped, so the end result is likely to be that every Bokwe, Eyakwe and Bea who’s been s...

For some reason, though I was connected to the internet, my hotmail inbox, my blog, and my facebook refused to open: one of the “joys” of technology. I decided to log into Skype to see if that worked, and out of idle curiosity as to whether I could get video from my sister through there. Not only did Skype work, but I was able to see my sister and my nieces and to hear their voices for the first time in months! Oh, the Joys of Technology! There was a bit of a blip in the process because though she has a webcam, I don’t, nor do I have a microphone. Luddite that I am, it took me a few moments to figure out how to make this work. First I could see and hear them but not respond, then I found the dialogue box so I could type, but I couldn’t find their picture. Finally I got all the pieces together so I could see and hear the girls and type madly to them at the same time. I spent a blissful more than half hour gazing at my nieces, interspersing comments of “oh! So cute! You’re so big! I can’...

What are they thinking, these men? I really don't understand why they would ask such a thing! You can't lose, they might say; all the girl can say is "no." But you can lose. You make yourself repugnant to those around you and you sully the reputation of your countrymen. You invite rudeness, the cold shoulder, what-have-you, because it's the only way to ward off your persistent and irrational advances. At the market in Bamenda today, I just slipped into a shop to look at soccer jerseys as a possible gift for someone at home. First of all the man wouldn't let me leave without buying the shirt—even gave it to me for my price not his because I really wasn't interested in buying it today anyway. Then, he proposes to me! Why would I marry you, strange man holding my arm, trapping me in your little sportswear shop?! Why! Yes, there was a lot less guilt in me for this my (thankfully only) second proposal from a stranger.

I love the skylights here. At the waning of the day, though the windows grow dim, a certain luminosity emanates from the skylights. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone back into a room, thinking to turn off the light only to realize the glow in the centre of the room came from the sun, not a fluorescent bulb. Friesens replaced their dining room and kitchen skylights recently because they were leaking. What a difference! The old “zinc”, besides the leak, was also dirty, and was discoloured from hours of facing a brilliant sun. The edges which had lain flat on the roof were still entirely transparent, but the square patch through which light shone down to the room below was discoloured to a rather opaque-looking yellow. The new zinc, of a slightly different quality, though of a more translucent bent, lets in so much more light that at first glance I thought Dan had taken off the old stuff without yet having replaced it with the new. The sun baked down on us with such warmth that fi...

One day I heard Mike start up the truck, drive it to the other side of the house, and stop. This was a very uncommon occurrence and I wondered what it was about but didn’t think much further on it. Pretty much the only time the truck is started up is to make the twice monthly trips to Kumba for groceries, or to head out to Bamenda or Douala for meetings. Otherwise it just sits. There is no such thing as a “Sunday drive” here—every trip has a purpose. As for washing the vehicle, it’s not a likely explanation for Mike’s actions because Simon the yardwork man usually does that right in the carport without moving the vehicle. The mystery was explained as I left the house to go to Friesens’ for supper and I caught sight of Mike coming around the house with a piece of cloth attached to a long bamboo pole. The truck was parked under the solar panels. In a land of short, rickety ladders, and curious people without an individualistic sense of ownership and the personal responsibility it entails...

Tragic events last Sunday were nevertheless used for good. The pastor and some of the church leadership were out of the village for conferences; the man left in charge of the service in their absence had a family crisis (wife gave birth to stillborn child); so the sermon was dumped on Dan’s lap with one hour’s notice Sunday morning. Undaunted, he got creative and the church reaped the benefit. He read the first part of Joseph’s story, slightly paraphrased, in Oroko and had Mr. Mosongo (his neighbour, a retired headmaster, member of the translation team, and respected village elder) translate into Pidgin for non-Oroko speakers in church. The message then was an interactive series of questions given in Oroko by Dan, and in Pidgin by Mr. Mosongo. Church was pretty empty that morning, but the response to the new style was remarkable. People were more awake than I’ve ever seen, and though they usually gave answers in Pidgin, there was a level of enthusiasm for the discussion and of engageme...

"Ashia." The word is ubiquitous in English-speaking Cameroon; probably because it is so versatile. Where it comes from, who can say? What it means -- a lot: "hello" "goodbye" "alas/sorry/that's too bad" and, best of all: "too bad, pal; see if I care!" It's amazing what inflection can do.

Because for half the year the roads are abominable and the other half they're just bad, Becky and Lisa prefer not to drive. As a result, and coupled with their greater childcare obligations, they don't get out much. So it is, in fact, the men who do the bi-weekly shopping trips, and the cook/househelp (incidentally, also a man for both households) who goes to market in the neighbouring village once a week. I suppose this isn't so very remarkable in this egalitarian day and age of stay-at-home dads and shared responsibilities, but I can't help but find it interesting when the husbands are the ones to know the prices and availability of foodstuffs because the wives only get to the grocery store/produce market once or twice a year while their husbands go twice a month.

What's so big about Bekondo? People have asked, "What makes Big Bekondo big?" I think I have an answer. Big Bekondo, Becky tells me, is actually made of up two villages: "up" village and "down" village (both of which are viewed somewhat as "the other side of the tracks" by the opposite side). This may serve to explain why it is 3 kms long with a rough population estimate of 3000 people (some 50% of them children). The other part of the puzzle is the name of the other villages on the road leading to Kumba: Three Corners Bekondo. Kongo Bekondo. Mofako Bekondo. Metoko Bekondo. But, no, sorry to disappoint you, there is no Small Bekondo.

On more than one occasion during the week while Mike and Becky were gone, I found reason to walk into the kitchen and turn on the light after dark -- something I have never done previously. Each time, I was greeted by half a dozen cockroaches scurrying across the dining room table. (Ugh. Sometimes I'd just prefer not to know. Oh well.) The problem is not slovenliness in the cleaning department, but the shoddy craftsmanship of the table (sadly typical in carpentry here) so that the ravages of a family of 6 on a table already suffering from pocks, holes and cracks creates happy hunting ground for creepy crawlies. Surviving in Cameroon requires a phlegmatic approach to insects.

Maybe it's just me, but I realized the other day while conversing with Joshua (aged 2) that my speech consisted almost entirely of interrogatives with the occasional imperative thrown in -- usually an injunction to NOT do something. It was a pretty one-sided conversation with power heavily vested on my side of things. But how else are you going to talk to the kid? He was by no means cowed; he made some imperatives of his own. On the more interactive side of things, a game Joshua and I like to play is "name that thing." He's got a little case full of vehicles which he holds up one by one and declares "truck!" I, in turn, offer a more specific, or accurate, name for the object. It goes like this: J: "truck!" K: [nodding] "car" J: "truck!" K: "fire engine" J: "truck!" K: "Caterpillar" J: "truck!" K: "tractor" J: "truck!" K: "yup, that one's a truck, alright" ...

One -- e yoko two -- be be three -- be dado four -- be ne five -- be ta No problem there. Five less one -- be ta diyoko Five less two -- be ta na bebe Less two -- be be be se Less one -- e se(e)yoko Ten -- dondado Communication linguist [wannabe] that I am, after groaning, "not MORE math in counting!" (think French word for 70, 80 & 90) my first question is "What on earth do they do that makes this kind of distinction useful to them!?" Some things in language happen for no particular reason; however, I do not believe cumbersome methods of counting are one of them. Whatever it was may be long lost, but I'm sure at some point it made sense for these people to use this system of counting and I'm very curious to know why that was. * first syllable changes with noun class ** <e> <o> <d> substituted for nearest relatives in Oroko alphabet where applicable