Dining out in Maga: leaves, bats, Prefets, and whisky
on Mischa in Cameroon (Cameroon), 10/Apr/2011 16:54, 34 days ago
One of the joys (and complications) of being a European woman in Maga is that I don’t quite fit anywhere in the normally rigid social, cultural, tribal, administrative, and religious hierarchies. This means I can spend time with almost anyone I want. As a women I can socialise with women (which a foreign man wouldn’t really be able to do), but because I’m foreign and sometimes behave in a masculine sort of way it’s okay for me to socialise and eat with men as well.Similarly my place in the power hierarchy is flexible. I’m European and well-educated, so I’m clearly important and therefore deserving of respect from the village elites. On the other hand I’m clearly not all that important: I’m young, female, not that rich, and (most damningly) do not drive a four-wheel drive, but instead have a bicycle that keeps breaking down.Last week I went to two dinners at the social extremes of Maga society. The first was an elite affair at the Sous-Prefet’s residence to mark the official visit of the Prefet to Maga. There had been a longer ceremony earlier in the day with lots of musicians and speeches, where everyone was (in true Cameroonian fashion) incredibly late. The Prefet gave a long speech where he told wives to respect their husbands andhusbands to buy jewellery for their wives, told sorcerers to cast only good spells in the run up to the rainy season and the Presidential elections, and told the people of Maga to have more children (somehow ignoring the fact that most people here haven’t got the means to feed/educated their dozens of children). I was officially at the dinner to represent foreign NGO workers in Maga, but actually was there because the Sous-Prefet has a bit of a soft spot for me because he admires the English colonial style of rule (my attempts to explain that things have changed a bit in England since the colonial period fell on deaf ears). I was the only white person and the only woman (although the Sous-Prefet’s wife occasionally emerged from the kitchen) and got to sit with the heads of the public services in Maga.The meal was excellent and the conversation was great- the delegate for rice-growing wanted to know why people in the UK want to kill God, and the headmaster of the lycee wanted to know why I thought my culture had anything to learn from Cameroon. After the Prefet had left we all watched the latest updates from Libya and Cote d’Ivoire on the satellite television, while the Christian members of the group drank lots of whisky. Despite the fact we were sitting on sofas and eating fruit salad the dinner still had a strong Cameroonian vibe- the Sous-Prefet had to get up several times to chase bats out of the house.At the dining table- you can just see the stovein the backgroundA couple of days later I went round to a completely different dinner withbaby Mischa’smother, six sisters, and youngest brother (older boys go and eat outside with the men). We’re eating foufou, or couscous (not to be confused with the North African variety), which is essentially ground millet powder mixed with water in a pot over the fire and stirred with a giant paddle until it reaches a near solid consistency. With it we have my favourite Cameroonian dish: foulere sauce, made out of green leaves, onions and peanut butter. Cooking starts about six in the evening, with water being fetched from the well and logs being chopped for the fire. There is no electricity in the concession, so once the sun had goes down at six thirty the girls takes turns to hold the torch for each other, or the cook just holds it in her mouth.Stirring couscous demands a great amount of physical strength- I’ve tried a few times and I really don’t have the muscles. Its then served up on a communal plate and placed on the floor, and everyone sits rounds it to eat. It’s eaten with the right hand- you roll a bit up with your fingers and use it to scoop up the sauce, which you then try to get to yourmouth without spilling too much (even harder at night-time when you can’t actually see the plate). Delicious.Also, as a follow up to mylast post, this is a story that one of the girls in our schools wrote about why girls’ education is important. This is exactly the same argument for going to school that another group of girls came up with in a focus group.I want to go to school so I can entertain my husband’s friends.A man is married to a woman who has never been to school. When his friends come to the house to visit him they find that their friend is out. When they start to greet his wife in French they find that his wife doesn’t speak French.One day one of them meets her husband and tells him that his wife doesn’t speak French. He replies that it’s true that my wife doesn’t speak French, and today I want to get married to another wife who was at school. She will be proud to welcome my friends. If she hasn’t been to school she won’t be bothered to welcome my friends because she doesn’t speak French.