La Coopérative Scolaire

Last Friday saw the annual launch of « La Coopérative Scolaire » at ENIEG (the Teacher Training College where I work in case you were wondering) which comprised of an afternoon of sporting and cultural activities. The Cooperative is essentially the umbrella group for the clubs and societies that exist within the college and Friday was, literally, their day in the sunshine.

An event such as the Coopérative has absolutely no credence in Cameroon unless there is plenty of pomp, ceremony and no shortage of protocol attached to it. Friday was no different. I never cease to raise a smile when, while waiting for the dignitaries to arrive at such events and in order to pass the time, the MC for the day reads the programme of activities.

Friday’s programme went something like this:
13.00 – arrival of the teachers from the primary schools
13.05 – arrival of the primary school principals
13.10 – arrival of the ENIEG teachers and administration staff
13.15 – arrival of the Directeur of ENIEG of Yagoua
13.20 – arrival of the Délégué for primary education
13.25 – arrival of the Mayor of Yagoua
13.30 – arrival of the Sous-Préfet for the Yagoua arrondissement
13.35 – Singing of the national anthem by the ENIEG student teachers
13.40 – Parade of the clubs and societies
…and so on!

The funny thing about it was that the MC was reading this at 14.20 and nobody, except a few teachers and principals, was in place; nor did anyone seem to care. When the Sous-Préfet finally did arrive, accompanied by three gendarmes driving what looked like a Toyota Hilux, the activities proper kicked off.

A parade around the new football pitch by each club followed the obligatory speeches in which everyone thanked everyone else for coming. The members of the sports club marched in football jerseys and carried a football; the ICT club carried several of the laptops Lizzie brought over from the UK around the extremely sandy field under an extremely hot sun; the health club carried a roll of cotton wool and the bilingual club just marched and carried nothing. It was however the culture club that was the most impressive.

Boy George himself would have been impressed by the eclectic turnout of some of the club’s members for the tribal dancing. Everyone carried a stick while they danced and some of them were decorated in grass and leaves. It was the guy with the drum that stood out however. He carried this huge drum around while wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, shades and a motorbike helmet. I still cannot work out why on Allah’s earth he was wearing a motorbike helmet but he was. I did ask some of my colleagues and they hadn’t even noticed let alone knew why. I’m sure members of the health club were happy though.

The traditional dancing was divided on tribal lines between two of the biggest tribes in Yagoua – the Toupouri and the Masa. The idea of the tribe and tribal activities are really important to everyone here and people enjoy it. They danced because they wanted to; not because they had to. There was no group of student teachers standing apart trying to look cool, saying to themselves “Puh, look at those saddo’s over there doing their stupid dancing”.

Even when the parade finished they kept dancing; at half time in the football match they were dancing; when it got dark and everyone was going home they were still dancing. There was no cynicism, nobody was scornful, everyone just danced because it represents who they are and they were enjoying themselves.

After the parade, the Sous-Préfet duly left, but not before he undoubtedly collected his per diem, and the sporting and cultural activities started. There were football and handball matches, relay races, traditional wrestling and yet more dancing.

After the prize giving ceremony – in which the dancer of the day award was given to a reserved, gentlemanly colleague who, I discovered afterwards, was off his face on bil-bil (local home brew) rendering him completely nuts – we were invited for some food and beer. I was quick enough for the food (which included some delicious roast spuds) but lost out on the beer front.

Just as well as on the way home, buoyed by the sporting activities I’d witnessed all afternoon, I challenged a local to a sprint to a distant lamppost. We had kept passing each other on the road for about half a mile or so and when I said I was going « jusqu'à la réverbère » he didn’t need a second invitation.

So off we sped past the prison in the pitch dark hurtling our bikes towards the light in the distance. We were like Sean Kelly and Eric Vanderarden back in the day and there wasn’t the width of the tyre between us as we crossed the imaginary line.

And the winner? The VSO mantra is all about “Sharing Skills, Changing Lives”, the act of facilitation, of partnership, of capacity building, of volunteering – it doesn’t include anything about been beaten in a sprint; does it?

GC