Break time!

Sitting on the porch of the principal’s office last week during the break I couldn’t help but notice the aspects of school life that have, over time, become the ordinary, the everyday, dare I say, the mundane.

Three girls were playing with a rolled up rag ball. One of them was attempting to place a pile of their sandals and flips flops in order while the other two, at either end of the “court”, were throwing the ball to knock out the girl in the middle. The agility of the girl in the middle was amazing: she was dodging the ball while at the same time placing the sandals in a neat row. As soon as they hit her she was out and the whole thing started all over again.

At the same time 3 younger kids were licking home-made Mr. Freeze’s and the principal was giving out that they shouldn’t be eating them during the cold weather (35°+C) as they would be complaining of a headache later on.

Yet another group of kids we patiently crowded around the single tap that’s located in the yard. This single tap serves 725 students and 10 teachers and it is locked more often than not. When it is locked there is a slight drip and between breaks you’ll often see students licking the drops. Why does the tap need a lock? Well everybody in Cameroon pays for water from the mains and if the tap was left unlocked it would cost the school a fortune as all the locals would come to fill their buckets for free every evening.

The teachers were sitting beside me on the porch watching the kids – no cup of coffee, no biscuits, no lunch of any sort. Tell that to the ASTI or the TUI. The capacity of these people to go hours without food never ceases to stagger me.

At the end of the break one of the teachers called the nearest student within earshot and told him to go and ring the bell. The bell? When you think of a bell you might picture a red button, or a hand held “Hear ye! Hear ye!” bell a town crier would use or maybe even a Swiss cowbell they use in, well, Switzerland. The answer is none of the above; the bell consisted of an upturned lorry rim which the student hit with a stone.

Not ordinary, not mundane…just everyday!

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22 quick reminders that I'm back...

Almost a month back in Cameroon and it’s easy to recognise you’re back when:

1. As you’re leaving for work one morning and the temperature is already over 32°, one of your neighbours kids who is about 4 years old comes up to you and starts licking the cold condensation on the outside of your water bottle which you’ve just been taken out of the fridge and put on your bicycle carrier.
2. All your fresh guavas must be washed in bleach before eating them.
3. The Muslim call to prayer wakes you at half four in the morning; and again at half five.
4. You go to the local print shop and starting chatting to the guy there who says he hasn’t seen you in a while and the rest of it. Then you explain that you’ve been back in Ireland for the past few months and ask him how he’s been. He replies that he’s good and he’s just had two children. You congratulate him and ask how the twins are keeping. He replies that they’re not twins as he has two wives.
5. The students at primary school are still sitting on the floor.
6. There’s no mention of An Bord SNIP Nua or NAMA…it ceases to matter!
7. You have to filter 8 litres of water a day just to avoid your body shrivelling up like a prune in 43° heat.
8. There are no Christmas ads on TV.
9. Beans and beignets from the street are one of your 5 a day.
10. After spending one hour trying to get your front door lock open, you go looking for some oil from the local shopkeeper, Bashyru. He gives you some petrol in a vegetable oil bottle with which to dose the lock, but to no avail. You return to the shop where Bashyru then takes a needle and syringe from behind the fresh bread and hands it another guy sitting outside who comes back to help you. On the way back to the house he says that with the change in weather (the nights have started to be a lot cooler) everybody is getting sick; even the locks are sick. He then proceeds to inject the lock with petrol and 5 minutes later you’re back inside your house.
11. You pass a Sunday morning at the Chadian border happily watching the car ferry.
12. People aren’t talking about X-factor or The Apprentice and the only time the words “reality” and “TV” are found in the same sentence is when you say “The reality is I don’t have a TV!”
13. The Larium dreams return.
14. « On est ensemble » means “Yes that’s a great idea provided you do all the work!”
15. You pay 200f entry into a night club at 4 o’clock in the afternoon to watch the Cameroon v. Morocco World Cup qualifier on a big screen with 200 other locals and lose 2kgs in sweat alone just waiting for the match to come on. In the end, due to technical difficulties, the match is not shown at all and you leave a shrivelled prune.
16. You get back to find that one of your colleagues has died.
17. Helping a school to buy second-hand school books on the black-market for their teachers makes them extraordinarily happy.
18. Your scheduled Mothers’ Association meeting at 8am on a Saturday starts at 10.20am.
20. You shake, on average, at least 60 hands a day.
21. « J’arrive » means I’ll get there when it suits me and no sooner!
22. You have time to write stupid blog entries!

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Dopplegangers in Yagoua

« Lloris !, bonne arrivée, c’est comment ? » came the shout on my first day back in Yagoua from a gang of young lads who hang out on the same corner all day every day.

“Why are they still calling me Lloris? I have to get a look at this guy” I resolved as I wandered back from the market after stocking up on onions, tomatoes and le vache qui rit – how I missed that processed, tin foiled, triangulated cheese while I was back in cheddar country.

I had been hearing “Lloris” for months from these lads before I copped they were talking to me. Now you have to appreciate that being the only male “Nassara” in town I wasn’t used to being called anything other than Nassara or le Blanc. Anyhow, these guys are football mad and I’ll stop the odd time to catch up on European results while they use the chat as an opportunity to remind me of Liverpool’s woes. When I finally copped it was me they were talking to and quizzed them as to why they were calling me Lloris, I was told it was because I resembled the Lyon goalkeeper. Fair enough I thought, and didn’t think much more of it. Not, at least, until last Saturday night when I was watching the Ireland v France World Cup playoff match.

What’s this about the internet and live football in Yagoua?’ I suppose you’re wondering. Had I not led you to believe that life was tough out here? Well it is in no small measure that thanks to France’s imperialistic tendencies in the late 19th century the match was broadcast live throughout Cameroon on TV5 Monde. I wouldn’t have had a chance of seeing it if we’d drawn, say, Russia in the playoffs or if, indeed, the French stayed away from the “Scramble for Africa”.

The match was shown in a local’s backyard under the stars and there was a pretty sizeable crowd in to gloat at the hoped-for misfortune of the French. Cameroon had, earlier that day, secured their place in South Africa so the locals were waiting for a French slip-up. The 100f admission secured a seat on a bench not far from the bed sheet that hung on a wall at one end of the yard and, apart from the odd cricket landing on the screen, the reception was perfect. All that was missing was a bit of Bill, Johnny and Eamon but despite the lack of analysis I felt right at home.

In fact I must have thought I was at home judging by the amount of expletives I was hurling towards the screen throughout the first half. Though, in hindsight, it mustn’t have been too bad as it didn’t seem to disturb the guys that were sleeping on the mats in front of me. After the first 20 minutes of the game I suddenly began to notice Hugo Lloris’ name mentioned in the commentary and realised that this guy not only kept nets for Lyon but for France too. I had to get a good look at my döppelganger and see if there were any similarities.

It wasn’t until near the end of the first half that he appeared (shows the number of chances that we created) and, alas and alack, he’s white, has dark hair aaaaaand that’s about it! In fact there are more differences than similarities: he’s a lot better in goal than I am, judging by the save he pulled off to deny Glen Whelan a late equaliser; he probably speaks better French than I do and he’s more confident of seeing (and even playing with) his country in next year’s World Cup than I am right now – though I’d settle for seeing, after 100+ caps I think Shay Given’s place is unassailable.

So I’ve my 100 francs set aside for tomorrow night’s second leg and am hoping that the electricity won’t cut out so I can watch the match in hope of a miracle. At John F. Kennedy’s inauguration in 1961 (it’s great having google here in Yags!!!) he famously spoke the immortal words “ask not what you’re country can do for you but what you can do for your country”. Now if Hugo Lloris decides to flap a couple of balls tomorrow night which will gift Kevin Doyle a goal or two then I will quite happily take all the ridicule that will undoubtedly come my way from the lads on the street on Thursday.

Allez les verts!

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