Afrique

Nothing But Good Intentions

2009-12-06T10:19:00.023+01:00

It is time for this blogger to come to terms with the concept of charity, that thing that is so good and innocent. Time, for a reality check and to take away its air of unassuming benevolence. And by tricky charity this blogger mostly means money donations, especially those going to places beyond one's control and understanding.

Yes, on bad days, the cynic in me will play down just about any big story of an apparently good deed, by identifying some underlying personal issues -whether real or imagined- that would explain such a willingness to part with one's own money or otherwise removing the halo around that doer of said apparent good. But no, this is not about the man who became rich from dubious business activities and wants to clear his conscience, or the celebrity who does it for the PR - it's not about that. It's not entirely about that.

It should be said that the dodgy rich man and well-advised celebrity are the least of our worries. When selfless actions are actually the result of selfish motives, the world wins. In fact, their behavior is arguably the most rational of all donors'.

This is because they know what they're getting from charity: It's money well spent on publicity and, more importantly, the acquisition of respect and of self-respect. We average fools, however, don't readily admit any of that even to ourselves, because we imagine ourselves to be true to our cause. Those of us who are indeed guided by ideals alone and genuinely want nothing but the best for others are truly the most honorable of all. But that's also where we find some of the biggest fools.

The truth is, unless our donations go directly to a certain recipient or a very concrete project, we don't know a thing about where our money ends up. If we were half the rational actors that the rich man and well-advised celebrity are and cared about others in need, we would care about the effectiveness of our donation in helping them. Then we'd get smart and, instead of thinking about just the amount of money that's donated, we would all focus on the results relative to it. And learn that much of it goes to waste, if it isn't being outright manipulated and counterproductive.

There are the simple scenarios, with the homeless person who is hungry not only for food, in which case buying him a sandwich is probably a better idea then letting him prioritize and spend your money on drugs; or with the kids who follow you around, begging for money, only to return it to those women who exploit them and who are just idling about nearby, eating snacks. And there are the not-so-simple scenarios, where our donation is intended to feed that particular malnourished and crying African child on the well-placed poster designed for that aid agency with the catchy logo and slogan found on every dancing beneficiary's T-shirt, which aid agency's activity in a disaster zone, however, like all such agencies', is coordinated by the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, which is where more politicking, more hypocrisy, and more conflicting interests enter the mix, before the majority of our money is spent on negotiating with corrupt officials, paying armed fighters for protection money to reach only some of the displaced persons, whose very movement may be subject to manipulation by certain actors just to influence market forces and maximize profits, some of which parties clearly wouldn't mind if things simply stayed this way.

That is to say, we must be wary that sometimes it's very difficult for anyone to understand what's going on, not to mention figure out what can be done about it, and that includes aid workers as much as politicians and news reporters. Unless the connection to the beneficiary is more straightforward, as is the case with funding an individual's education or concrete projects such as providing mosquito nets or installing solar powered lights and water pumps, a good alternative would be to focus on more tangible situations that are closer to home. Venture philanthropy is the new art of giving, and transparently operated private foundations such as the Gates foundation with a budget of many billions of dollars offer an interesting approach. But how prudent and impartial and effective they are at tackling extreme poverty remains to be seen.

Still, that air of unassuming benevolence didn't just come out of nowhere. My colleague's cousin once found 10,000 Euro in the pocket of some second-hand clothes at a time when he was still making a very modest living trading in them. Needless to say, that money allowed him to move on to bigger things and he now lives more comfortably. It's quite likely the benefactor left the money in the pocket on purpose. Because rarely, but surely, they would hear stories of Euro bills being found randomly in these second-hand clothes coming in from Europe - usually in the 10s and up to around a 100 Euro, and many times not at all appearing like loose change that had been forgotten.

These second-hand clothes are thrown together and traded in such large quantities that they are rarely given a second glance until they're with the retailers - tiny shops and night stands, or boys who walk around carrying about 5 pieces, trying to find customers on the streets. It may be this blogger's romanticized version of events, but his current humble opinion is that the former owners of these clothes made an informed guess on the logistics of transferring used clothing to Africans, and specifically gave their money left in the pockets a fair chance of reaching a random individual who would make good use of it. A creative, anonymous approach that's informed and aware of its limitations and in this case helps a random someone in need a great deal when that someone least expects it - that's the most romantic way of giving that this blogger can think of right now.

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WOZA 2010

2009-12-06T02:19:00.025+01:00

If you’re not a constant dreamer and your focus is on something like human rights, global health, or complex emergencies, then from time to time, you’ll need something that cheers you up or at least keeps you sane. After months of trying to make sense of complex emergencies but really only seeing seemingly insolvable problems of the world and the evil in the human heart winning over the good in the crucial cases, world cup fever did it for me.

WOZA 2010 (WHOA-zah; Zulu imperative:= 'come on/here')

What are the odds that the Netherlands are joined by Cameroon, Japan, and Denmark to form Group E? Really, Cameroon! Sadly, I left my orange girly wig in Europe. I can picture people here laughing their asses off as I put that on and join them to watch Netherlands versus Cameroon, the two teams’ last and maybe decisive match in the group stages. Japan’s Nakamura and Morimoto will be interesting to watch, but unfortunately, that’ll be early June, so I won’t arrive in Asia in time to comfort our Japanese friends, should the other teams shatter them completely. And last but not least, Denmark, with former Ajax coach Morten Olsen knowing my Netherlands inside out, the memory of the Laudrup brothers, and my anxiously following the news on the climate conference in Copenhagen these couple of days all somehow lending it some extra relevance.

Well, for the sake of being nerdy, the odds were 1:(8x8x8-1) = 1 : 255
Or.. 1:(256x7-1) = 1 : 1791, if you include 'Group E', with Group A having been reserved for hosts South Africa.

Trivia:
- South Africans also eat chicken feet.* What Wikipedia says we spectacularly call 'phoenix talons', they call “walkie talkie” or “chicken dust”. Explains how funny image search engines can be, if you find a picture of chicken feet when searching for walkie talkies.
- Fan favourite Matthew Booth, defender of the Bafana Bafana (nickname of the South Africa national football team), is cheered by the entire stadium of fans with a booing voice whenever he makes a clearance or touches the ball. They go, 'Boooooooooooooth...'

More football and World Cup related posts these upcoming months, one of which will be decisively anti-American but ends in a conciliation. Hopefully.

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* West 3 - 4 East

Mbororo For Life

2009-07-29T21:31:00.053+01:00

The Wodaabe of Western and Central Africa are nomadic cattle-herders and traders who, with their Zebu ("cows"), cover hundreds of kilometers in and around the harsh environment of the Sahel Belt every year on their way to wherever grass grows next. Wodaabe literally means "people of the taboo". Taboo, perhaps, because the Wodaabe are wildly polygamous and permit sex before marriage, even if Islam was introduced to them some 500 years ago.¹ Wodaabe religion is considered Islamic in essence, but it be would wrong not to call it unorthodox, too.

It appears that stigmatisation of sexual liberalism has not occured in this part of the world. In this sense, the Wodaabe way of life has, in the various countries that they cross, largely avoided the influence of colonial powers for almost a hundred years, and that of Islam for even longer. And they have done so, perhaps, by simply wandering off every time.

The Wodaabe are known for their colorful dresses and eccentric dances, and they are famous for what is sometimes described as an unparalleled appreciation for beauty. Michael Palin, one of the Monthy Python guys, had an encounter with the Wodaabe in his BBC travel documentary Sahara. In what is essentially an annual beauty contest, Wodaabe men put on their elaborate outfits and very heavy make-up to dance for hours if not days and, by doing so, prove their worth and vie for the attention of the women who come over one by one to take a close look and, after careful consideration, give their verdict.

In any case, it would be rather strange if they seriously thought of themselves as "people of the taboo"; and they probably don't, because the Wodaabe people refer to themselves as Mbororo. When they say "Hello", they say djam bandu-naa. So next time, on your way to the supermarket, if you bump into one of these nomadic tribesmen from West/Central Africa, you will know how to greet him in his native tongue. He will be delighted.

Then again, it need not be a nomadic tribesman. Fulfulde is the language spoken by the Fulbe, of whom the Wodaabe are technically a small subgroup but who mostly don't live as nomads anymore. Fulfulde is, in fact, the lingua franca in Northern Cameroon, a region that the Fulbe have long dominated, first militarily, then commercially. The former president of Cameroon, for instance, was a Fulbe. Their cellphones and chase after prosperity are in stark contrast to the Wodaabe's centuries-old, unchanging way of life.²

The Wodaabe don't manipulate land but live off their cattle, their activity and cyclic movement presumably forming an equilibrium with their environment. Isn't that living in perfect harmony with nature? Surely, if our ancestors hadn't settled down at some point in history to give farming a try, humanity wouldn't have come quite this far and could by no means support such a large population. However, imagine, for just a second, the upsides of living the life of a Wodaabe. They are completely comfortable in their own skin and they adhere to a code of behavior³ that leaves little room for such things as cynicism or sarcasm. Also, their diet consists of 100% organic foods.

Everywhere they go, they are different from the strangers they meet. However, that is not something they gnaw at. It is simply so. But when the Fulbe in Cameroon refer to them as Mbororo, it is in a derogatory manner.⁴ This I have learnt from my Cameroon pocket guide and was confirmed by an acquaintance, a Fulbe who, upon hearing what I had just read, laughed out loud and joked about himself being a Mbororo. Basically, they are made fun of for being constantly on the move and not having a permanent home. And so it would have been insensitive from me to choose this title or URL if it wasn't actually out of self-irony.. :)

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¹ According to Amanda, unmarried Wodaabe girls may have sex whenever and with whomever they wish. And although everyone has to suffer through an arranged (first) marriage at a young age, a married woman can leave her husband for a new "love marriage" with another man, if she manages to leave him [the husband] without getting caught in the process.
² Ideas worth sharing: It was a first time to hear that our modern, equal-opportunity, success-driven society had such a side effect. Well worth a look, this video. Good insight into the nature of modern men's envy towards one another, and what Greek tragedies can do for us.
³ (with emphasis on reserve and modesty (semteende); patience and fortitude (munyal); care and forethought (hakkilo); and loyalty (amana))
⁴ It is comparable, for example, with the British use of the term "pikey"; watch the movie Snatch again, if necessary.

It Is The Source Of Life

2009-05-07T11:26:00.025+01:00

Day 3 without running water.

It turns out that not only do those folks at UNICEF drive very new, luxurious cars. They also enjoy special privileges. An ancient but big, red Renault fire engine was parking outside UNICEF, pumping what is obviously a load of water into what can only be a water tank, causing me to gasp in envy as I passed by their Yaounde headquarters on my way back from the British Council.

I had just sat an examination in the British Council. British Council staff are very friendly, and they look professional enough to reject and be offended by bribes. Yes, you never know about the latter but they can be given the benefit of the doubt, and as it is the only nearby place I can retreat to, I refuse to believe it is tainted; however, that doesn't mean I haven't wondered how useful it would be to bring in all the textbooks and notes, and to be given 5 instead of just 3 hours. Never trust a Chinese guy.*

That aside, a serious question that comes to mind is: What if there was a blackout as happens so often recently, and it became pitch-dark? Or: I haven't showered in 3 days, will I be able to shower some time in the next 3 days? These are the kind of questions I asked myself as I was preparing to get a zero in an exam in a subject for which the textbooks I was unable to get hold of until much too late.

There may be no more fitting a time to bring up the issue of colonial legacy than while I'm in a ranting mood. Even if it doesn't make perfect sense, given its context. In a way, I'm just putting blame on others for my current situation. See, the first colonists to arrive in Cameroon were the Germans, whose enthusiasm for beer and beer brewing must have been contagious; then came the French, with their unique love for (their own) wine -- and by so doing, they have turned Cameroonians into serious alcoholics and French wine importers.* One would be grateful if the variety in snacks and bread spread was half of what is available in alcoholic beverages. To be honest, a number of good traits could have rubbed off on them, too: On the one hand, punctuality and discipline from the Germans, but no; and from the French, things like..... well, I don't know. One thing they do appear to have from the French, though, is an ability to go on strikes. Good things no learn, learn bad things ah. Now, labour law may not be quite the same as in France and you can get arrested for many absurd reasons, so I don't know how often workers actually dare to go on strikes; yet I can't help it, I keep seeing the French connection as I'm eagerly awaiting the return of running water. It is an employees' strike at the water company that is making me stink. Water outage has been occuring in irregular intervals in all parts of the city without notice but, if it's any consolation, never for longer than a day. This time it's been rumoured in our neighborhood that it could last an entire week. Not having running water sucks. You prepare yourself for it when you go camping or travel to a beautiful island that is very isolated, but at home it's a no-no. I can live with a lot of things but take away the daily shower from me, and I'm out of my comfort zone.

Grumpiness has reached high levels. Someone has to lose points.. okay, UNICEF and the French it is. Needless to say, Cameroonian leadership, too, and they're top of the list -- because water outages are fatal: We are lucky enough to be able to buy sufficient quantities of bottled water and get a supply of medium-sized plastic containers worth of tap water from outer districts where it hasn't yet failed; but to meet their needs, a lot of people resort to rather dirty, potentially hazardous river water.

Practicalities of living under such circumstances: You prepare foods that require less water than others, find the most efficient way of using it when washing dishes, save as much water of reasonable cleanness as possible for toilet flushing, and you change into clean clothes while leaving worn clothes unwashed in hopes that direct supply of water would be restored before you run out of clean clothes to change into. Apropos toilets, wow, those new, fancy toilets that use little more than one liter of water for a flushing? That's quite a feat, actually.

(Update:) On Day 4, water was running again like a miracle, but the return of water was accompanied by the parting of electricity. On Day 5, realizing with a sigh of relief that 3 days of water outage would not be followed by 3 days of power outage or longer, I was able to finish writing this post.

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* West 3 - 3 East.

His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI,

2009-03-20T11:34:00.052+01:00

a.k.a. (or formerly k.a.) Joseph Alois Ratzinger

It would be a party so big that it brought together every high-level official of the country: the President and all the ministers -- party people who spend the better part of a year living the African dream in Europe and the Middle East. By attending this one, they surely thought they would be doing something more meaningful and constructive than going to the ones they host for themselves.

J.A.R., the party.. and its by-product
It's been 14 years since the last time a Pope came to Cameroon. Pope John Paul II was here in 1985 and 1995, and can be found on wall paintings at schools that he visited. Now it was time for the new airport and again for the country and its people to be blessed, and to hold a Mass for tens of thousands, and many more who would follow it on national television. Kamerun im Papstfieber! People here had waited an unusually long time for a spiritual experience of this calibre, hence the extra high level of excitement given the latest Benedict's visit. Hundreds of thousands dressed up festively and waited for hours at the airport, in the city and along the street that connects the two so they could welcome the Pope. This was to be a joy for non-Catholics, too: 3 more days off work for everyone and a big clean-up campaign prior to his arrival resulting in cleaner roads, the installation of a few more traffic lights and road signs, repainted walls and buildings, and generally, the removal of unsightly things. What's there not to like?

For starters, some of my colleague's Muslim friends, who live near the stadium where the big Mass would be held, were forced out of their homes for 4 days.. because of their faith? No one knows. No compensation, apology, or explanation necessary, of course. As part of the clean-up campaign, countless stands have had to make way permanently. Unsightly things. These are ubiquitous little stands on the streets and in markets that sell snacks, clothing, DVD players, tableware, medicine, the lot; if anything, they are what makes Yaounde a bustling city. (There aren't all that many shops here.) Policemen and anti-riot vehicles came unannounced to drive them away in some areas, most of which the Pope didn't plan to visit, I'm sure. It's very nice to have more space for pedestrians and to be able to see these shops that were previously hidden from sight, but the ill-advised handling of the situation has suddenly left a pretty large group of young people pretty angry, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. I, as a foreigner and being new and all, think that's alarming. Also, the majority of them are Muslims from the North, and 'tribal tensions' as a phrase alone already sounds scary.

But who would have thought that, of all things, the visit of a Pope would be detrimental to business? For two weeks, government departments had put aside daily work, pointing towards the imminent arrival of the Pope, as if these officials' time was dedicated to the preparation for it. Payments by the Ministry of Finance were also suspended/delayed by several weeks. Contractual obligation? Sure, yes. Then, if you must and if you are crazy enough, go ahead and find a lawyer -- and know that doing so is asking for trouble. Blocked roads, lazier-than-usual government workers, payment issues, no fun.

Rumor had it that the ministry was out of money, spending all that was available on the clean-up campaign and other preparations. It's also rumored that an undisclosed amount would be -what's the right word here- donated(?) to the Vatican. One day, two trucks were seen leaving the ministry filled with notes. What they were for, insider gossip provided no clues. Meanwhile, I personally see this event as a good opportunity for some of the big players to 'enhance their income'. Now, blaming everything on the Pope would clearly be irrational, but there's a correlation there -- one which reveals an inconvenient truth: that money is always an issue.

J.A.R. and Africa
The Pope was expected to press the President to curb corruption. He didn't do this very openly, because, apart from being the right thing to do, that would have been too ridiculous. The Vatican demanding more transparency? Behind closed doors, that is mere hypocrisy; in public, a confrontation would be an outright joke. Of course, the people in question wouldn't get the joke. They couldn't imagine life without corruption, either. Besides, they're not compelled to listen. How many politicians who are very public about their faith do not just take the elements that they like (votes; 'moral' high ground) and leave the ones that they don't like (inconsistency with their agendas)?

The HIV/AIDS issue was addressed by condemning condom use. Not helpful at all. But it's a relief to read that, even within the Roman Catholic Church, many do not agree with him on this one. The glory days are over, persuasion is more difficult than force. Maybe it needs repackaging. Maybe it can learn something from American Evangelicals! Oh God, what am I saying.

In vying for new members and their sanity, the Catholic Church faces tough competition from other churches and religions, and that something which many Chinese will jokingly say they worship: Money. However, membership is growing rapidly here in Africa, faster than anywhere else. To be fair, it is hard to compete with that, given Africa's population explosion; but above all, the Pope came to embrace his fellow Catholics and Africa as a whole, and possibly help to make it more popular. I remember how unspectacular it was to me even when he first returned to Germany as the new Pope in 2005. Tropical Papstfieber, in contrast: much more intense and widespread, and more interesting to observe. It looked like very effective PR, PR that came at a price and I had to pay for, as well.

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If you are offended in any way by my writing, for example, because religion is a sensitive subject.. or because you are the President of Cameroon, I apologize. Let me know, so that we can reconcile.

Me & The Nun

2009-03-10T18:52:00.024+01:00

Evil Customs, Part 2.

In light (hint) of an upcoming event that has already been affecting everyone but won't be honored with an entry until next week, an episode that bears with it a dose of mixed emotions, which has made it difficult to write about. Earlier, I deemed Customs here in Cameroon evil; but perhaps that wasn't entirely correct. Perhaps they are more pitiful than anything else because their shortcomings, too, may just be the reflection of the state that this country is in.

One time, we drove 4 hours to the port city of Douala in order to pay import duties for some goods. In cash, which translates into many thousands of notes that were counted by hand. Not Chinese, lightning-speed hands but keep-cool, African hands. All 4 of them. Yes, 2 cashiers at a major African port to deal with the consistently long line of people bringing them bags and bags of notes to count - so, standing in line and counting took another 3 hours.

In countries like these, for every thing that you want to do, the paperwork that's required is little short of madness. Annoyingly, as a tourist, you may need to get a permit to take photos of government buildings, but it is at Customs where they, most systematically and shamelessly, squeeze money out of you.

Naturally, the Customs official sitting at her own little desk in Yaounde's main post office would not let a golden opportunity slip away when one presented itself in the form of two foreigners -me and a French, elderly nun- who came to pick up packages that had been mailed to them. I myself was endlessly happy about receiving a birthday gift (food) from the modern world, and the nun was delighted to see the box of donated second-hand glasses that were for the needy (followers of The Church). The Customs official found it only appropriate to kill some of the joy by demanding a 100% import duty on these goods, the value of which -since there were no receipts- she would determine by her own estimation plus the mailing fees(!?). She would suspiciously write the sum on a small piece of paper and slide it over the table, looking away and repulsive and arrogant and unconcerned. What followed was some arguing and negotiating, in combination with acting.

Having to pay anything was outrageous but because I saw it coming, I wasn't half as shocked as the nun was furious (understandably) about this shameless woman unjustifiably demanding money for these old glasses that were for a charitable cause. Workers of the post office, too, felt that this was a disgrace and helped us complain to the director of the post office who had for some time been unhappy with the Customs official's presence and continuing exploitation of the power that comes with her position. The nun was the first to be invited into the director's office to make her complaint and coming out, she still had her don't-mess-with-me face on and formed a fist to signal to me that it's necessary to show them some fury and let it be known that such injustice is not okay!

In the end, it was all fruitless drama because we did not hear back from the director, which was to be expected; but I found comfort in a pack of Dutch liquorice and the fact that I am more susceptible to pleasant surprises than I am to nasty ones, which is proving to be invaluable here in Africa! A rogue like this Customs official is a sorry individual who already has enough to eat but nonetheless tries to steal a fish -- as opposed to the poor person who needs to be given a fish, or the diligent person who learns to fish. TIA. This is Africa. That said, the nun will get over it. She may already have given away the glasses to people in need. Besides, she must be happy now, considering the imminent arrival of someone very special: Her 大大老板*!

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*Big big boss (word-by-word translation)

Ruse Is Not A Tropical Disease

2009-03-02T17:17:00.073+01:00

London. I figured after last time that I would never like this city much; but I would give it a second chance this time around. That was until I stepped out of the plane and entered Heathrow Airport. I do honestly hate that place, although as of this moment, I more passionately hate the Italian guy sitting next to me in this hip Brussels hostel's internet corner, for typing on his keyboard like it is an ancient typewriter, causing the whole table to vibrate strongly but irregularly, and overall turning his typing activity into a very noisy and annoying affair for others nearby. Anyhow.

I arrived at Holborn Station during rush hour, which I now know is a Don't Do, especially for beginners. In search of my hostel and road signs that would help me find it, all I saw were cranky, very serious people in a hurry -- people who were entirely focused on getting to their destination, probably their homes, as quickly as they could. In that sea of fast-moving bodies, I noticed the occasional still-standing tourist holding a map but who was equally disoriented, which I found was a funny sight, as I told myself that I was the guy from rural African who had never been to the Western big city, overwhelmed and lost and without a map even. There must be some good explanation for this in the study of psychology, the fact that the cranky-looking people running around made me feel I needed to start moving -and fast, too- even though I had no idea which direction to take. I walked back and forth in the surrounding area and did not get any smarter, so then I asked the first normal, idly-standing person for help and, of course, she had an iPhone and in no time, she pinpointed for me our location and my hostel on Google Maps. There are nice people in this city, after all. Then came a woman who asked help; she looked desperate but not so desperate as to look suspicious. She had asked 10 people already, was pregnant, [......], needed £4 for a ride home, and if I didn't believe her, I could even have her cellular phone [...] -- to which I said I was merely a backpacker, unsure of whether or not that was cold-blooded but recalling that the very first person I exchanged words with that day, in London, was a lady at a desk in Heathrow Airport trying to trick me into buying overpriced train tickets to get to the city.

But to sum it all up, the long weekend in London was pretty fantastic and with some surprises, as the positives, e.g.:

+ catching U2 perform, in a surprise gig, on the rooftop of the BBC
+ nostalgic bus rides
+ Picasso Illuminations at Trafalgar Square
+ great restaurants
+ meeting strangers
far outweighed the usual negatives, i.e.,:

- the sight of too many older women wearing skirts too short (not charming)

- too much binge drinking, too early in the day

- Heathrow Airport

- stupid, American tourists everywhere I went ("My brother is the biggest U2 fan! Really, he used to, like, travel to other cities to go to their concerts.")

I'd like to think that I have become more open-minded; that living in Africa has had that effect. During the coffee breaks between lectures, I ended up socializing with more blacks than people of any other race. Most white people didn't want my love, and it's the front-row, glasses-wearing Cantonese who suddenly looked the least approachable and interesting. Let me point out here that I am more sarcastic than I am an ass, as not only do I have a bit of Cantonese in me, but I wear glasses, occasionally, and choose the front row, too.. sometimes. It's weird this passage turned out like this because the overall message is supposed to be that race does not matter.

The evening before I left London, the woman was there again, approaching me with an "Excuuse me!" from afar; but in the relative darkness, she recognized me only after she was within about 5m distance and greeted with a big smile -- at which point, with a look of frustration and disappointment on her face, she let out an "Ahh Sh...!" I thought this little incident was wildly amusing, not least because I had been wondering if she was for real or not, if there I had declined to help someone in need or if she was a failed con artist. If only I had a picture of that face!

- - - - -

Epilogue: About meeting random strangers.

There's something very different about traveling alone: You take in more of your surroundings and it becomes more of a sensory experience simply because, for better or for worse, you need only to entertain yourself. Somehow, it also makes it a hundred times easier for me to get into a conversation with a perfect stranger -- if he or she is of any interest, or is at least friendly. Among the people I had the chance to get acquainted with were Remy, the Portuguese-French, soon-to-be fighter pilot; Jorge from Venezuela who insisted that Chavez is loco, and who worked for a year to save up money for his first-time trip to Europe; Holly, the hippie vegan from New York; Florin, the Romanian truck driver who was returning home, scared after being attacked and robbed of his possessions, including the truck he was driving, by another Romanian.. but who was excited to be in an airport for his first time, and to tell a stranger all about his country and people.

For the flight from London to Brussels, one had to check in using one of those machines, and so I reluctantly did and while at it, chose the seat 22C. They're my number and letter, and it proved to be the best seat on the plane. What I found when I got to it was a black little bag. In it were £185 and $145, a considerable amount (especially in Africa, I kept thinking). I knew not what to do with it, but reckoned that without a name on it, it was near-impossible to return it to the owner who must have long left. And anyone I would hand it to would just keep it for him- or herself. The clean-up team probably hadn't noticed it; Mr. 22A had, but left it untouched. I decided to split it with this Mr. 22A, a Bangkok-based, self-employed Belgian who thought I was being generous, when really it was just so I needn't feel weird about the whole thing. In Brussels, I would, among other things, pay more attention to street performers and musicians; spend €30 on a pay-as-you-wish ashtray, made by a homeless person using scissors to work the bottom of lemonade cans; and in an act of cultural exchange, buy Jorge his first Guinness and Belgian beer. Altogether Brussels was a quite a success, it appeared.

Then I missed my flight to Cameroon the next morning -- and to punish myself for such retardedness, I stayed and waited in the airport until the next flight (45 hours later).

Duty Not Free!

2008-12-01T21:35:00.023+01:00

Evil Customs, Part 1.

You're moving to a Third World country where there is nothing. So, in addition to clothes, you have stuffed a number of new unread books, your best cooking pan, a big bottle of oyster sauce, a lot of bread spread and other goodies into your luggage. Actually, it's completely unimportant what is in your luggage. What matters is your white skin color. It is what instantly makes you a big, fat piece of pork meat, which everybody wants to get a slice of. Especially Customs.

After the plane landed in Yaounde Nsimalen, I was surprised to see so many people in what must be a restricted area around the airport luggage carousel (one that turned counterclockwise, I believe). There were much less passengers from the flight than these non-passengers who had no business being there but apparently were given the privilege to go in. Some of the airport staff also had no business being there but they were there, too, to earn some extra income. One promised me a safe passage through Customs for 25$. Without the help of someone like him, Customs would make me pay no less than 50$, he told me. I had nothing to declare, but he insisted they would find a way, regardless of what was in my luggage. I believed him, yet gave him an irritated "Don't you see I'm Asian? Try Western tourists..." look and with my luggage, I headed towards the exit where Customs officials were eagerly awaiting the people they could chop at. In Chinese, you don't rip people off - you chop at them. Of course, I had to open my suitcase and when my old, worn down and cheapest of HP laser printers appeared, they must have secretly thought, "There we go!" before they pointed to a direction in which I was meant to go in order to pay duty. Outside the Customs office were most of the foreigners I remembered from the flight, all with their suitcases open for a closer inspection. Then, the 25$ guy came out of nowhere, whispered something in my ear and pushed my cart towards the exit again, where the Customs officials were occupied this time and didn't spot me. Either the 25$ guy intended to compete with and be cheaper than Customs or they actually collaborated, it's just impossible to say. I never actually asked for any help and with nothing to declare, being told to pay anything was absurd, not to mention 25$. After some playful arguing, my soon-to-be coworker handed him 5$, which may well be about 50% of extra income for the day for him. Neither was this stunt of his allowed, nor was he happy with the 5$, which as a tip is respectable even in the West. He belongs to the group of people a friend of mine labels "the miserable poor".

But it’s true - Customs are evil. Yes, not everywhere in the world are they very corrupt, and their purpose may be to protect a country’s economy; but in the case of Cameroon, it is corrupt to the power of ten, there is little about the economy that it protects and since the country produces so little and relies on virtually all sorts of imports to even live, artificially high import tariffs only have a crippling effect on the economy. Correct me if I’m wrong, you economists out there. Namely you, Danial, start commenting here, show me some love. In a country that produces no green tea (it could and it should), we’re importing Chinese green tea to supply the people in the North who traditionally drink nothing but green tea. This is low-end stuff for extremely low-income people, and of what they pay, only about 30% is for the tea and for us. The rest is for transport, which includes fees paid to the leeches, oh I mean policemen, who demand money at every one of the countless roadblocks that mark the 1000+ km cross-country path from port to polygamist; and for taxes, lots and lots of it, which is primarily spent on excess office supplies and fancy cars for the president and his ministers, but also on parties and the soft, luxe, European-made toilet paper that they use at home.

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About Terrorists and Machetes

2008-11-27T21:35:00.016+01:00

All in one day.
To find out the Bangkok Airport has been occupied by demonstrators and be relieved that a sister, and also an aunt, had left Thailand already and avoided an inconvenient if not volatile situation. To hear from my coworker that he has just lost a brother, an American-educated veterinarian who died as a result of having diabetes. (Would that have happened if he stayed in the U.S. instead of coming back at their father's request, I wonder.) To go online and find out a friend is in Mumbai and fine, but that one friend of hers got injured and several of them were among the kidnapped and later let go. And earlier in the day, you could see from our balcony a couple of construction workers chasing their boss with machetes. All made me think: Life is precious, and pretty fragile, after all.

Good timing is helpful and luck never hurts, but the boss escaped death because he ran fast enough and because of two nearby policemen. In this neighborhood, there are, almost always, policemen within running + shouting range. So, the chase ended there, faster than in movies. The handling of the situation then was rather.. different: No arrests were made.

This was practically in our backyard, which, with all the vegetation around and undeveloped area, resembles the mountainous countryside more than the heart of a capital city. Apart from the other construction workers (the ones who didn't pick up their machetes), we on our balcony were the only spectators. The policemen told the boss to leave after a brief conversation with him. Then the policemen stood there, calm and relaxed, to let one furious man after another describe at full length the injustice they are subjected to, working for this boss.

Capitalism in its purest, fucked-up form. It's not unusual here for a construction site manager or boss to hire workers to do a job and not pay them for it. Unable to sue or do anything, most just stop working and leave when they've had enough. Because the unemployment rate is sky-high, maybe the boss continues this practice for some time, and maybe the workers who'd barely be making enough to feed their families go on to be exploited by another such boss or two. Or more. That's why policemen who stop them before any physical harm has been done show sympathy, tell them not to lose their cool, and then act like nobody just tried to commit murder. Fortunes are made developing real estate, so a boss who even denies his construction workers the 3$ a day probably deserves to see some machetes, but what do I know. This is why in the West, they have labour law und labour unions with leverage* - so there's no need for blood to be spilt.

On a personal level, there was nothing for me to be overly dramatic about. It only feels like things were matters of life and death today, more literally so than they normally are.

_____________________
* West 2 - 2 East

5 Minutes, African Time

2008-11-15T22:44:00.013+01:00

Almost nowhere in Africa are 5 minutes actually 5 minutes. That is not to say that I have spent too many years in Germany - I'm still not the sort of guy who's always punctual. But here, if someone promises he'll "meet you in 5 minutes", it can easily turn out to be 2 hours without so much as an sms. Punctuality really is nothing more than an abstract idea.

Because really, what is the rush?
They would say, baffling you.

One African proverb (I can't seem to retrieve) makes the point that time is endless and therefore infinite, suggesting that there is no need to hurry and you should take it easy because there will always be time. In stark contrast: The Chinese remind themselves every day that "time = gold, money". Especially when it comes to business.

Another phrase you get rather tired of hearing is, "J'arrive, j'arrive." It could mean anything from "I'm almost there" to "I'm coming" to "I'll be on my way" to "I'll probably try to come later". Hell, sometimes my colleague even says those words as he's leaving(!), to get the message across that he will be back, which of course you can't be sure of until he actually shows.

It's normal to have to wait for everything, for a longer time than you planned, even if you took into account that it could take much longer than you've been promised. And this is true especially when you have to deal with government departments, which you will inevitably. That is where nonexistent punctuality meets infuriating bureaucracy meets heartbreaking corruption ratings to make your life very, very miserable.

That is, if you're a foreigner and new to this place because you will learn a little from the locals who always stay so cool, no matter what happens or how long they have to wait for something. Their level of coolness is just phenomenal and it helps explain their easy manner and why they rarely lose their composure. We once brought along Nicole, our funny, proud and constantly well-dressed maid, along with us to a fancy restaurant for a meal and.. well, it was a very enjoyable dinner and there was nothing more to it, no awkwardness. I mean, you guys go take your ayi with you to Grand Hyatt for dinner and see how that goes.

It is with similar coolness that they wait in traffic for roadblocks to be cleared when The President Himself(!!) comes out of his fortified palace that is on top of a mountain and surrounded by barracks and wishes to go somewhere, as a result of which all good roads are blocked for half a day and people arrive late for work, hours after the time at which they normally arrive late for work.

Obamamania in Africa

2008-11-05T09:36:00.017+01:00

Today's a good day.

Finally, a smart and apparently sensible person is voted into the White House to replace the putz. In 2000 and 2004, I was close to vomiting blood. This time around, I followed CNN not in disgust but happily and with approval. John McCain deserves respect for being a good loser and honestly wanting the best for everyone. Barack Obama has to stay cool and resolute to bring about the change that he has promised. It's not gonna be easy and he needs to make a lot, a lot of people happy, given such enthusiasm and high hopes in not only the U.S., but in much of the world.

All the news channels keep telling you what a big deal this is in Kenya but he is celebrated not only in Kenya. At 7am this morning, our maid Nicole came in cheering and jumping - and this is Cameroon. Cameroon has little to do with Kenya and, in fact, Nicole does not know much about Obama at all, except that he is black ("biracial = still black").

I get the impression that throughout Africa, people take much pride in the simple fact that mighty America will be led by a black President. And that is really alright and understandable, especially considering the oppression and hardships they have endured as a result of their skin color.

Business-Savvy That Borders Suicidal

2008-10-26T10:19:00.007+01:00

For references to Liberia, you can watch “Lord of War” and “Blood Diamond” again :)

- - - - -
There is a Chinese restaurant in Monrovia, Liberia, that is way overpriced but wildly popular, not least because there is little competition. The UN Peacekeeping Force was a regular guest, and Hu Jin Tao dined there during his state visit. The owner of this restaurant is very kind and most helpful to all his compatriots who come to Monrovia, but he is also as lebensmüde as he is business-savvy. His is the incredible story of a Chinese man who made his home in Liberia, a country so conflict-ridden that Cameroon, relatively speaking, is more like a Canada; only in Canada's case, it is the Francophones who dream of independence from the Anglophones.

As a foreigner, running your restaurant where a UN Peacekeeping Force is stationed probably means you should have evacuated long before they even decided to come. But some people don't mind danger. Liberia isn't the safest place today; however, violence there was especially bloody and psycho until the last civil war ended in 2003. Soldiers had worn Mickey Mouse masks playing 'guess the sex' of unborn babies before cutting their mothers open to see, and road blocks came with stretched human intestines to indicate that robbing would take place and that it was advisable to put up no resistance.

Yet even under such horrifying circumstances was the restaurant's owner able to set up shop. In fact, his entrepreneurial skills extend beyond the restaurant business. Originally, he came to Liberia as a medical aid worker on a mission that was part of a government program. When the situation got out of hand and rebels closed in on Monrovia, the capital city, even the embassies evacuated. But he decided to stay. From that point onward, he as a businessman would rely on his sneakiness and luck to survive.

He managed to hide and stay away from the constant fighting. And to avoid being robbed, he claimed to be guarding embassy property on behalf of the Chinese government. As luck would have it, heavily armed rebels understood the political implications, and chose to move on. Construction machinery left behind by the embassy no longer had a rightful owner and were now his. These he cleverly hid in a barn in the countryside, only to make full use of them when fighting stopped and peacekeeping troops provided a minimum level of security and stability again.

Civil war resulted in the destruction or disappearance of virtually everything that was valuable. By this time, much of the country needed to be rebuilt and the Chinese Man was 'the guy' with the equipment required for big construction jobs. On one occasion, a ship had sunk just off the coast, and only with his rentable crane and some improvising were people able to retrieve the ship.

So he prospered and began selling rice and other commodities, as well, to Liberians and foreign peacekeeping troops alike, making fortunes in a country where for decades, the people lived a nightmare and did little but fight or fear for their lives. TIA!
- - - - -

Some details excerpted from Robert Guest's "The Shackled Continent", a provocative and disturbingly wonderful book on Africa.
Charles Taylor, the ruthless warlord who last controlled and raped Liberia, is now on trial in the Hague.
AC Milan footballing legend George Weah lost the 2005 general election to a Harvard-graduated former Citibank and World Bank economist who has since governed the country with more dignity.

Liberia is one of only two countries that began as a colony with the sole purpose of accommodating (unwelcome) former slaves. They would rule over the 95% majority of local inhabitants after Liberia was abandoned and quickly declared independent when it became a financial burden to the U.S. The only other such country is neighboring Sierra Leone, formerly Freetown, a British Crown Colony.

Brother, Come Let Me Introduce You to My (Extended) Family

2008-10-11T21:02:00.029+01:00

Of course, he did not actually make that suggestion.. It would take longer than a week.

Bo. works and lives here in Yaounde. But back in his hometown, his neighbors are the 500+ members of his father's side of the family. A couple of streets further lives his mother's side of the family, a community of some 700+ relatives. So apart from being my friend, I have a good reason not to get into a fight with him.

Typical of non-Western societies, distant relatives here remain very close. Truly, family comes first. Man first took care of his family and his family of him, long before modern society created a system he could rely on and thrive in. It only makes sense that family ties are especially strong in an underdeveloped country where the unemployment rate is astronomical (40-50% now, maybe) and countless people live in poverty. A social welfare system seems more like a fantasy than a realistic goal.

Cameroon's population has doubled in the past 20 years and overpopulation will continue to make life difficult for the average citizen. Personally, I find it harder now to bluntly say they only have themselves to blame. It would be implying to neighbors, colleagues and other people I have grown to like that the very existence of their many, dearly loved siblings and kids are for the greater bad, that this is a disaster in the making. Sometimes, when looking at the big picture, you think you know what's right and wrong - but once you take a closer look or things get personal, you and your rationale are easily overwhelmed. The consequences are ruinous but gradual and broad so that the individual hardly sees them until it's late. And until that tipping point is reached and the individual recognizes that choosing to have 5 to 10 kids contributes to a vast and growing problem, it will be the most wonderful thing in the world to be part of a big family and have as many little ones as he/she can raise comfortably. Maybe it's one of those things that can't be left to the individual, and requires governments or other organizations to take action. But at most, population control is enforced at country level. Will population growth ever be addressed as a global issue before it's too late? Though fundamental, it is too wide-ranging and divisive an issue for the world to reach a consensus and start a cooperative effort to limit fertility rates, isn't it? But must the human race not try to control world population growth for its own good? It touches on economic, environmental, religious, ethical and political issues. Should certain countries not be allowed to catch up a little? China and India dominate the world in numbers.. 37% is enough to win a general election in some places. Is it even a big deal, will wars and diseases not serve as a counterbalance? Will our carrying capacity increase indefinitely? Are we not refraining from effectively preventing more tragic deaths that are the result of famines and a shortage of clean water, especially in Africa? Am I being ridiculous, drifting off to asking such questions?

This is weird, but give it up for the West, where they stopped having legions of babies first.*

I don't know if the size of Bo.'s extended family is the norm or if it is unusually big. Hearing about it not only got me thinking about how very busy everyone must be, but also reflecting on how family members grow estranged more easily in a modern, globalized world. Cultural traditions, regular reunions and the tireless diplomats within families can hardly negate the effects that increased mobility and financial independence for individuals has on family ties. Friends begin to play a bigger role in everyday life, family a smaller one. In Eastern societies, this trend isn't as apparent as it is in the West yet. But even if the central role of the family is rooted in mainstreamed Chinese philosophy, it may just be a matter of time. Then again, I might be overly pessimistic on this one; bitter, from witnessing firsthand how family members drift apart.

Meanwhile, it is worth noting how popular the term "brother" really is among blacks. In Bo.'s case, it makes things much more convenient. There are so many brothers, half-brothers, and cousins around all the time that it's easier to just call everyone brother. They take it to the next level by calling all their friends and acquaintances brothers as well, along with every one of their 同乡, people from the same town or region, who are likely third or fourth or fifth cousins. It becomes entirely impossible to tell what is their relation when someone says he "has a brother who could help out". At the same time, this indicates how many connections a person typically has, which are crucial here to survival and getting anything done.

Actually introducing someone to my family wouldn't take quite as long, it only involves an awful lot of traveling. But there's fun in that, too.

_____________________
* West 1 - 2 East

Barka Da Sallah !

2008-09-30T21:09:00.023+01:00

Fasting is meant to teach a person patience, sacrifice and humility. I didn't fast and I haven't learnt any of those things, but I sure joined in on the feast afterward!

The Islamic holiday of Eid ul-Fitr marks the end of the fasting period that is Ramadan. This was celebrated around the world today by Muslims and non-Muslims alike, as I have learnt. There is a city further north, Ngaoundere, that holds an especially colorful festival to mark the occasion. But mostly, family and friends visit one another after the morning communal prayers, sit and lie on the big carpet to chat and enjoy the feast and company. My very hospitable Muslim colleagues invited agnostic me along with our Catholic maid Nicole, her little one and her boyfriend, and we paid visit to the two households. What a thoroughly enjoyable day with plenty of food, cultural exchange and laughter. They were surprised and delighted that I ate every type of food that was prepared. I love food too much to not give everything a try.

Also, it is only the right thing to do as a guest unless you're honestly allergic to something. Nicole later told me she once invited to her home a friend who brought along a French guy, and she had made a lot of food. Consider the fact that people have little money, then spend most of it buying food and preparing something special to welcome guests for a nice evening. Not like they even eat very funny things in this part of Cameroon; don't the French eat all kinds of stuff, anyway? In any case, he had an arrogant attitude and stuck to a bottle of water. On someone who has little contact with foreigners, he has thereby effectively left a bad, lasting impression. On behalf of THE WEST! For the lose!
West 0 - 2 East. Let's keep score.

Africa, not paradoxically, is where West meets East. I'm not referring to the Cold War, nor am I talking about economic influence; and by 'East', I actually mean the Middle East. Christianity and Islam have long taken over Africa. For the most part, missionaries triumphed over existing beliefs. Whether or not that's so wonderful is open to debate. But before anyone shouts, "It's not very hard! The poor convert more easily" and starts listing the drawbacks, there is one (dis)advantage I'd like to point out: more holidays.

It's good to be diplomatic, so it's good to be agnostic. An atheist, on the other hand, is sure that all religions are wrong. An atheist may also think the world would be much better off if there were no religions at all. And that's just too.. provocative. Because an agnostic can say, "I’m not sure, I don't know. Maybe I need some time and convincing." That way, you can make no enemies, religion-wise. Only friends. Indigenous beliefs continue to exist in Cameroon, but the Christian community is very big. The Muslim one: not small, either. Today being Eid ul-Fitr was a major holiday and no one went to work or school. The country was similarly unproductive on Assumption Day. Nicole is already looking forward to hosting Christmas Dinner. Living here, I will be celebrating Jesus as much as Muhammad. Now, if that isn't diplomatic!

Liang, I have a question: Do you hug trees? I'm asking for a friend, a girl, who is neopagan, likes environmental science, and hugs trees

Ahh, a White Man

2008-09-28T19:43:00.028+01:00

There is an African proverb that goes, "On his first day, the stranger should open only his eyes and ears, but not his mouth." Because when you find yourself in unknown territory, it is wise to first "look and listen", something our ninth grade history teacher told us to do whenever some imbecile was too loud again and interrupted class. Back then I thought always repeating that simple but annoying phrase should effectively make kids shut up but no, not really. People will always act smart because they think they are. And that, I assume, is something about many foreigners that Africans don't like very much.

My Cameroon pocket guide begins with citing that proverb. I thought it was not too bad, and I therefore tried to put away any preconceptions I had and absorb everything like a sponge. One is bound to be labeled as ignorant if he starts out thinking of all the people here as being the same -they clearly distinguish between people of different tribes-, but with the right attitude, he will enjoy the personable people that most Cameroonians are. Of course it isn't until you travel the remote countryside and ask a local chief for permission to spend the night in their village that it becomes really special. But getting settled in the political capital where so few foreigners come (as opposed to coastal Douala, the country's financial and industrial center) has also been interesting so far. As the country's second largest city it attracts Cameroonians from all provinces and it is the first time I see so many churches and mosques together in one place. I may have my opinion on religion but it is good to see that over here, Christians and Muslims peacefully live side by side and have better things to worry about than looking at each other with suspicion. Better things like food, Samuel Eto'o (football player), taking their kids to school, killing mosquitoes.

Or more reliable electricity and faster internet, in my case. What's new to me but typical of poor countries is that bad infrastructure severely limits your mobility and productivity. I used to think that Italy and, to a lesser extent, England have bad roads but coming here really puts things into perspective. For businesses that can be devastating of course, but foreigners don't all come here to do business. Diplomats don't suffer much from bad infrastructure; some NGOs okay, especially during crises; but tourists no, since the ones who come here probably all have too much time, and the reason why tourists go anywhere is to be away from home. Because at home, things are (too) familiar.

A few days ago, my colleague invited me to his place, to meet his wife and little kids. He told me it would be exciting since they had never seen a white guy before. It must have been the equivalent of the average family man in China returning home with a black man to show to his 5-Year-Old. Their first reaction was priceless: "Ahh! What's wrong with that.. person?!" There are business meetings that my colleague goes to without me so as not to draw too much attention with my white skin. Man..

But in South Africa, the Chinese living there have just recently been officially added to the category of "Blacks". In an attempt to compensate for the harm done to the black community during Apartheid, the government now favors blacks over whites in many things that it controls (messed up). I THINK it was decided it would be wrong to disfavor Chinese along with "Whites" in this context; anyhow, as a result, in South Africa we are now regarded by law as "Blacks". That must be good news for the Chinese entrepreneurs there.*

So, Africans apparently don't recognize yellow as a skin color and I have thus found myself an identity crisis I never knew existed: an ethnic Chinese wondering if he's black or white!

On a side note, that English version of the proverb is at least the translation of a translation and representative of the contents of this blog which aren't double-checked for accuracy, mostly because I'm not a reliable investigative journalist (I'm not a journalist) but also because internet here in Cameroon is just depressingly slow.
_____________________
* West 0 - 1 East

Guestbook

2008-09-26T20:02:00.014+01:00

L'Afrique en miniature - 'Little Africa'

2008-09-26T20:01:00.020+01:00

That is the nickname of Cameroon, my new home in the heart of Africa.

miniature because in many aspects, this country can serve as a portrayal of the African continent. From the Pygmy hunter-gatherers of the rain forests in the south, to the nomadic tribesmen of the dry savannas in the north; from the city dwellers in coastal regions with normal and volcanic (black) sand beaches, to the herders in the mountainous regions where, given the mild climate, you may just forget you're still in Africa. More than 280 ethnic and linguistic groups.. There is so much cultural and natural diversity. I look forward to the days the more adventurous of you come here, so we can explore this un-touristy land together. Just recently, I have started to drink palm wine. It takes a lot of getting used to, but you really don't know a place until you have eaten local food and tried their beverages, do you?

Onto more serious subjects after this introductory post. Because this being Africa, there will also be a lot of sad/shocking/dramatic things to write about and discuss. I will try my best not to be a hypocrite or overly cynical. That should be doable because in a place so underdeveloped and poor, I am greeted with warmth and treated with kindness everywhere I go, while rarely spotting any jealousy or bitterness. People do enjoy life a lot and people do find happiness since it does not require a Starbucks around every corner and it does not only derive from the GDP. It seemed remarkable at first. On second thought, I'm just glad that is the case. Making this observation will prompt you to look at many things differently.

P.S. This blog is in response to one person demanding it, and another person accusing me of being secretive and other awful things.

Please leave comments, anonymous or not. They will motivate me to continue. (Else it would seem this is only a place devoted to self-absorption, and that's not the plan:)