kar0ling

Linguistic issues "Of course, you should use the highest and best language! Let's encourage not only fluency but perspicuity and appositeness in language use," cries the linguistic purist--the prescriptivist--in me. Realistically, of course, comprehensibility is a higher priority than eloquence. Are the two dichotomous, you ask? Indeed, they can be; as regards the Fulfulde Bible, for example. This translation, completed in the 1970s, is now facing review and updating. Surprised to hear a people group still considered unreached has had a Bible in their language for so long, I learned the translation's primary target is not necessarily the Fulbe themselves, but the many smaller people groups occupying the same area who speak Fulfulde as a trade language. The issue then, is what version of Fulfulde to use. "High Fulfulde," as spoken by educated Fulbe is not the same language spoken in the market by the many vendors from differing cultural backgrounds. Though th...

The girls had been to 3 Corners market at Christmas time and wanted to go again. I also wished to see the local area market which convenes Mondays and Thursdays, so I'd promised to take them sometime, but had yet to feel in control enough of their schoolwork to allow a day off for such an excursion. They finally left off asking me, appealed to a higher authority, and got their wish granted. I weighed in, however, on transportation, insisting we WALK. On a Thursday morning, Becky, Elsie, Christy, Rachel, Kenneth, and I hoisted empty backpacks & full waterbottles, and set out for the bazaar. Given the way the girls had talked about the journey I was expecting a long arduous trek, so I was surprised to discover the opposite end of Big Bekondo marks nearly halfway there. Of course, I'd travelled the way many times by truck, but it's funny how riding in a vehicle skews your perspective on manageable distances. The ramshackle shelters housing the market were not as chock-a-bl...

It occurred to me -- as I unblinkingly accepted as normal the fact that 4 ladies and an infant climbed into the middle bench of Mike's Toyota LandCruiser (joining the man already seated there) and another 3 piled into the back to wedge themselves in amongst 2 trunks and a computer bag -- that perhaps I might experience a bit of reverse culture shock after all.

In the North of Cameroon, a predominately Muslim area, for a lady to reveal her upper arms, shoulders, and hair is to be shamefully exposed -- yet women's slips and underwear are displayed prominently by vendors in the market stalls. That the latter should be a non-issue when the former is anathema seems a contradiction to me. But I'll take it as proof that ideals of propriety are culturally defined, not derived from an absolute standard. Even more ironic was an old lady selling tomatoes by the side of the street in Maroua: her head and arms were properly veiled by her pagne, but reaching forward to display her wares displayed a bare chest underneath the cloth.

Joshua loves to talk. He loves to tell stories. One word stories. Fortunately, Joshua's vocabulary is rapidly expanding to include more words--or perhaps I should say more discreet words. Joshua has long said, for example, "spoon," "shoe," and "juice," but until recently they all sounded like "SHU!" He also has names for the personages (including furry ones) in his life. "Da-da" (Dad), and "Day-da" (Radar, the dog) are distinguishable only to the discerning ear. "Ma" has evolved to "Mam" or "Mam-mam," which seems adorably anachronistic coming from such a little one. Sister Rachel is "Day-cho." Cat Dongwa is "Da-wa" while growing kitten Eowyn is usually just "ki-yi." Joshua's best friend from the village, young CeCe, presents no difficulty for him. I, as yet, am "Ga."

Have you ever tasted hot pop? I do mean hot, not simply luke-warm. If the parched state of affairs had not yet convinced me of the scorching, arid conditions near Maroua, the fact that the Djino (Cameroonian fruit-flavoured soft drink) between my feet was burning after a few hours travel on the bus, did. Boiling hot carbonated drinks produce a curiously piquant sensation in the throat.

I'm not even in cities very often to use this exciting conveyance; nevertheless, it struck me as I buzzed down the streets of Maroua on the back of a moto-taxi that there is no such thing in Winnipeg. More's the pity, I say. I'll miss the convenience of simply hailing a passing motorcycle to expedite a journey when I weary of walking.

The Fulani, or Fulbe, or Fula, or Pullo, or Pel, or Peulh, or Futafula people are a lighter-skinned (non-Bantu), traditionally cattle-herding (thus semi-nomadic), culturally Muslim people group spread across West Africa from Senegal to Cameroon. Their language is called Fulfulde. That's how they're usually described--with such a list of names. Curiousity piqued, during World Team conference I asked the man who works with said people to explain what the names are all about. Simple, he said. Fulani is the Hausa (majority ethnic group and trade language of Nigeria) word for the people who call themselves the Fulbe. One person is a Fula. What does "Fulbe" mean? "The people." Reminds me of North American Aboriginal groups who are often known popularly by other tribes' name for them. Example: "Eskimo" scornfully named "eaters of raw meat" by a neighbouring Alonquian (I believe) tribe . Their name for themselves, of course, is "The peop...

Ah, air conditioning in the car. What a treat. After my trip north, what a blissfully comfortable ride home from Kumba I had with the Scotts, crammed in the backseat with the kids yammering my ear off. It's humid as all get out here, but that's home to me now. The place is crawling with ants and I'm back to being bug bait, but that's home to me now. The village is noisy with children crying and shouting all day, adults partying all evening, and early birds swishing machetes through the foliage in the wee hours of the morning, but that's home to me now. My travels were truly wonderful, and I don't regret a moment of them, but it's good to be home. **Editorial comment: I apologize for the tardiness and out-of-sequenceness of the entries on my trip north and return home.

The good thing about mango season...well, the good, or rather, GREAT thing about mango season is, of course, that you get to eat tons of mangos (at 5 for 100 CFA, or about 25¢),... but the fringe benefit is that it provides practical motivation to do what your dentist is always telling you to do (which you guiltily pretend to do more often than is true) -- floss regularly.

Transition-season-moving-toward-rainy-season seems to be a fruitful time for the yield of the field (or rather, forest). At one time, we had bananas & pineapple (both all-season fruit), mangoes, guavas, bushapples, lemons & oranges (in their minor season), avocadoes in the house here in Bekondo. Yum! The village kids just kept on coming bringing their excess fruits. I was particularly impressed by the young man from whom I purchased some guavas; on Sunday he was in church (a rare occurrence in itself) and went up during offering to put money in the basket. That was one of the first times I've remarked a child going up for offering.

When purchasing our train tickets, it seemed a good idea to Kara and I to save a few thousand francs by going with the 4-bed couchette rather than the higher priced 2-bed couchette for the 16-hr trip from Yaoundé to N'Gaoundéré. A few hours before boarding, we realized this may not have been the brightest idea, and as we sweated in the humid, crowded, second-story, first-class waiting room, it occurred this may have been a very unwise choice. To our relief, however, once the train was boarded and began to pull out of the station at 6:10 pm (on time!--to my utter amazement, after warning announcements ["the train's departure is imminent!"]--to my very great surprise), we found ourselves with two Cameroonian ladies as companions for the trip. The one lady lay down to sleep without further ado and did not interact with us at all for the whole trip. We expected the other lady, attired in the Northern fashion, to do the same, but she entertained men half the night! For hou...

It has: traffic signals crosswalks a city busline (with brand new shiny blue buses) sidewalks businesses with flat screen computers at their checkout counter