December 18, 2006

Rebecca started a small herb garden on our balcony last week, just a few small pots of coriander, basil and parsley with a few more varieties to come as we get more pots. She has decided that the lack of reliable coriander supplies in Cameroon is a matter that must be dealt with.

Fine. So last weekend we didn’t feel like driving out to the roadside plant sellers to buy the topsoil and fertilizer we needed. Instead, we decided to walk to the construction site behind the house – the one where I frequently, yet inadvertently, invade the privacy of the workers when they go to the bathroom – and take some of the deep red earth that was there for the taking.

I am not a gardener. I like getting dirty, but not by digging into the ground with my bare hands. There are worms and other little beasties there. Eeeeewwwwwww……

But I went down with Bec anyway and, well, watched her dig. As I said, ewwww…

After about 20 minutes or so, we had two small window boxes filled with the squishy red dirt (I’m not that squeamish). We assumed that everyone grew their food in the red dirt, and there is a lot of both dirt and food. This is a country where everyone eats, after all.

So Odelia came by on Tuesday and saw the barren pots. “Are you going to use that soil,” she asked.

“That’s what Rebecca said.”

“Oh, I’ll bring you some fertilizer next time I come.”

I told Rebecca this and she was concerned. We had a few sprouts coming up, but were they the treasured coriander or simply grass or weeds?

Fast forward to Friday. Bec has more sprouts, but we’re still not sure. Odelia shows up with a full plastic bag.

“This is manure. You know what manure is?”

Do I know what manure is? Much of my life centers on the very idea. So a few responses flew through my head. I thought about the Seinfeld where George discusses what an underrated word manure is. MAN-ure. I decided against that.

Then I thought, “Thanks for the steaming bag of poo” would be inappropriate. After all, this was a sweet gesture on Odelia’s part, and she doesn’t always get my sense of humor. I’m sure there are many people nodding in agreement while they read this.

So instead, I just said thanks and that Rebecca appreciated it. I realized that for Odelia, and for many Cameroonians, Ugandans, Rwandans, etc., the United States isn’t a place, it’s an abstract concept. It’s a place where everyone’s rich and no one goes hungry. It’s a place where no one has to farm because all the food is brought in. In fact, to many people, it’s a country of entirely clean streets with no crime and no corruption where everyone is happy. If only she knew.

I think most Americans, Brits, Germans and Japanese assume just the opposite about most of Africa. In some places the stereotypes are truer than others. In Cameroon they are less. In the Central African Republic, unfortunately, they’re more. People are starving and they have no health care. There are violent rebel groups and an abusive military and police attacking civilians. All in all, it’s a tragic place.

Cameroon, on the other hand, has large parts of the country where people can’t get health care and smaller parts where AIDS is on the rise. It has areas of lawlessness and police and government officials who rob from the people. But everyone eats, and, overall, people are content. They see where improvements can be made, and want them made, but know they’re not nearly as bad off as some of the neighbors.

So back to Odelia, asking me if I knew what manure is has nothing to do with saying I don’t know how the world works. She just didn’t think that I’d have any reason to know what manure is and how it helps plants grow. The sprouts have since started in earnest, and they appear to be herbs.

All of these deep thoughts did not stop me from calling Bec and saying, “Odelia brought you a big bag of crap.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Yaoundé is a city that knows how to fete. The week running into Christmas is officially called “Yaoundé en Fete” (Yaoundé in Celebration). One of the city’s main traffic circles is strung with white lights, including a bunch in the center that is in the shape of a Christmas tree. They flash joyously at night. By the way, the traffic circle is called Nlongkak, but not pronounced like you’d think.

A Christmas bazaar of striped tents on the parade route in downtown Yaoundé will break up the monotony of signs exhorting the population to support President Biya starting Wednesday. The street hawkers are walking around with inflatable Santas, plastic trees and other Christmas decorations. (Where’s the Hanukkah stuff?)

Sure, a lot of this stuff comes from the give-the-people-bread-and-circuses school of government. But if people can have enough food and a little joy in their lives, I see no problem with bread and circuses every once in a while. Why can’t people just sit back and have a good time rather than constantly being serious?

-----------------------------------------------------

Speaking of fetes, Bec and I are spending Christmas at Kribi, Cameroon’s beach resort area. It’s supposed to be spectacular. We’re going with our friends Charles and Ruth and their son and daughter-in-law. It’ll be good to see Cameroon outside of Yaoundé finally. And even if I have intestinal distress, I’m going.

Say what you will about living in Africa, but I'm spending Christmas at the beach. That might compare favorably to Jew day at the movies.