4 more ways to leave your neighbour
on Notes from Quite Far (Cameroon), 15/May/2010 08:57, 34 days ago
Slip out the back, JackMake a new plan, StanDrop off the key, LeeClaim to be a fishIt may come as a surprise to some of you to hear that I’ve changed jobs and moved to Maroua. The school year is nearly over, so rather than hang around like a fifth wheel in Yagoua, I’ve transferred over to Maroua to work with a Cameroonian volunteering organisation. So far I’ve been, erm, hanging around like a fifth wheel, but slowly things havebeen picking up and there should be enough work to keep me off the streets for a few months before I go back home.It was sad leaving Yagoua. More so for me than for my neighbours I think. Not that I’m a neighbour from hell or anything, but let’s face it, I’m not the first nassara they’ve seen come and go, and I won’t be the last. I went to say a final farewell to the huge family in the concession opposite my house. I took with me a few gifts in a plastic bag for the children – empty bottles, which they are forever asking me for, and a few little toys and balloons. About 15 of the local kids were there, and when they saw me they all came running towards me with arms outstretched. This was what I’d been hoping for – a really inexcusably soppy goodbye, hugs all round, perhaps a few tears. “Goodbye Saudel, goodbye Djenabou, goodnight John Boy, goodnight Mary-Ellen” Fond memories…Of course, the open arms were intended not for me but for my bag of presents, which they prized out of my hand, all piled on and started fighting over without giving me a second glance. I stood watching them for a while, gave up all hope that they would pay me any attention and so turned to Adi (sister to some of the big kids and mum to some of the small ones). In my best Fulfulde I said“I’m going now then Adi”, which I mispronounced and so in fact said “I’m a fish now then Adi”, and then she gave me a puzzled expression and shook my outstretched hand. Then I went.Fond memories indeed…There were some genuinely difficult goodbyes, but I won’t go into those because they’re not especially interesting unless you’re me. And you’re not, so they aren’t.And now I live in Maroua on a small dirt street called“Judando”, in the same concession as my landlord Bwakari. He’s a very houseproud man, constantly nipping in for a look around to make sure I haven’t broken anything or left the taps dripping. His son Oumarou is similarly domesticated, and when I’m washing and cleaning he’s always there,ready to offer helpful advice if I’ve missed a bit or I’m doing it wrong. Bwakari has even offered to do the place up – paint it, replace all the broken light bulbs, wire up a couple of broken plug sockets, nail in some ceiling panels that have come loose, etc. All I have to do is pay for materials and labour. It’s such a kind offer, but I’m holding back at the moment because I can’t help feeling there must be some sort of a catch.