Got the message

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

There are other aspects of Cameroonian life that make me think I’m really getting the message of the Message – sometimes in ways I’d rather not. Marriage is one. My post mates and I go out for bifteck every Thursday night, and one evening, Yahyah, the restaurant owner, invited us to his family compound for dinner. He’s Fulbe (the Muslim ethnic group here) and isn’t married yet himself, so his sisters and cousins were the ones who prepared our meal.

We visited their compound again yesterday so my post mates could get henna designs on their hands and feet. That’s when we discovered Maimouna, who has a 2-year-old son, is only 17. She’s preparing for her second marriage. We didn’t ask why the first one hadn’t worked out, but we learned that she had been 13 and a half when she had married before. I read once that Rebekah was probably only about 12 when her family agreed Isaac could have her to wife. Neither men nor women went to high school or university in biblical days, and the situation hasn’t changed all that much in Cameroon since that time – at least for women, and especially Muslim women.

Yes, many Cameroonian women today, including Fulbe ones, begin high school, and many probably finish, too. But even if their families can afford school fees and uniforms, many girls opt out of high school before graduating because they get pregnant or they or their families find someone for them to marry. In talking with adults and students, I’ve gathered that it’s the God-ordained purpose of every Cameroonian woman to bear and rear offspring. One girl even told me that God created her (and all women) for the single purpose of producing progeny. If she failed to fulfill this role, then, she would be sinning against God.

So what is a girl with a diploma going to do with her degree? She’s going to marry (or not) and have children. So why bother finishing said degree? This is one reason many girls don’t. Poverty and a poor economy is another. Why finish high school if you probably won’t be able to get a job afterward? Boys are more employable, and parents are more willing to invest in boys, anyway, so if Dad and Mom have the money to send only a few kids to school, they will send the boys. Often the best investment parents can make in and for a girl is to find her a husband who can feed her.

I should note here that men and boys also believe it their God-given mission to sire children. But they can do this without quitting school or compromising career opportunities. In fact, it is not necessarily believed to be part of men’s purpose to support their offspring; their mission is accomplished just in passing along that X or Y (preferably Y) chromosome.

This is not to say that all fathers here are deadbeats. Far from it. Family is of primary importance in Cameroon, and many, perhaps most fathers would never dream of leaving their children without support, if they could help it. Still, if a man dies with no children, he will be buried with a stem of plantains so he won’t go to the grave alone. Nothing, I suspect, would be said or done if he died with a dozen malnourished offspring who lived with their pauper mother(s) three regions away. He would be a man who had lived well because he was rich in family. This belief reminds me of some of the less progressive parts of biblical life. So does polygamy. It is a cultural construct here, not a religious one. Any man – Muslim, Christian, or animist – can have more than one wife. I’ve met a few “progressive” male thinkers who believe polygamy to be a social ill. But usually, they feel this way only because they believe women are difficult, demanding creatures who will fight with each other and be always pulling at their husband in a polygamous household. Thus, they want only one wife because she will be enough trouble all by herself.

The culture surrounding marriage here may not be as enlightened as what we’re used to in the US, but I can also see a softer side to the way things are done here. In the Bible, it was a great blessing for a woman to find a good husband, as Ruth did when she happened upon Boaz’s field. A kindly, prosperous man was the best way for a woman to care for herself, since she was mostly forbidden to earn her own living. It was her (or her family’s) objective to seek the best man for the job. And she had to “prepare him room,” to be ready for that man when he came along. When she found him, there was cause for much rejoicing. Cameroonian weddings are huge celebrations, and I think this is one reason why. A woman’s future is more secure when she finds a husband, and he can help her fulfill what most believe to be her destiny of becoming a mother. I can appreciate that.

When our friend Maimouna gets married again, my post mates and I are invited to the ceremony. We can’t wait. Muslim weddings are some of the most fun celebrations of all. When the time comes, we and the women in Maimouna’s family will draw henna designs on our hands, feet, and chest. We may also be invited to buy matching wedding cloth to make a full Muslim get-up: a top, wrap skirt, salabi (head wrap), and shoulder covering. Women may not have as many professional options here, but I like how they make up for that in some way by creating community. Women are always working – cooking, washing, planting, sewing – but they are always working together. They commune with one another. They support each other. They deliver – and care for – one another’s children.

When I was part of the “hosting group” for the teachers’ social club at school, the male teachers sat inside the house, while the female ones and I inhabited a whole other (and I like to think nicer) world out back in the kitchen outside. When Maimouna’s big day arrives, we will be among the female family members preparing her for her bridal rites. I’m definitely looking forward to that.

The parable of the brides with their oil lamps makes more sense to me now, too. Of, I think, 10 of them, five had their lamps trimmed and burning, while the rest were unprepared for the bridegroom’s arrival and begged to borrow oil from their wiser sisters. No, said the women at the ready; the others would have to go to market and buy oil for themselves. In the meantime, the bridegroom came, and only the first five where taken in to the marriage ceremony. I am fortunate to have electricity at my post, but it cuts out almost every day and, often, for several days at a time. If I’ve run out of petrol or haven’t bothered to pour any into my lamps, I’m in a pitiful way come nightfall. I’ve now experienced the peace of mind of knowing my wicks are trimmed and my lamps are full, as well as the anxiety of realizing my reservoirs are running low. The latter times have taught me to be ever ready for the darkest of moonless nights.

Electricity cuts have also taught me never to let my water reserves dwindle. I also have running water in my house, but when the power goes out, the water goes with it, and there is no well or pump nearby. Water will always be a precious commodity, but it was especially so in the regions where Joseph and David and Jesus lived. The characters of the Bible fought over wells and the right to dig them, and lives were on the line if they ever went brackish or became polluted. I would fight, too. I’ve been harried the few times a water outage caught me off guard. And I’ve been amazed when my buckets are full at how long I can make the water in them last. I’m extra conservative in rinsing soapy dishes after a meal; I cut back on bathing, too, when the water goes out. Cameroonians, I think, are always extra conservative when it comes to bath water. So I get it on a whole new level how important perfumed oils and resins were during biblical days. Some folks here could definitely profit from a little frankincense and myrrh.

Subsistence farming is something else that reminds me of the manners and customs of the Bible. I think the opening scene in the movie “Nativity Story,” with Keisha Castle-Hughes, shows a teenaged Mary in long, loose robes seeding a small plot with other neighborhood kids. This is a familiar scene in Cameroon, too. People don’t grow all the food they need on personal plots here, but almost all of them have small fields that produce a few staples. Most in my class of 60 boys don’t show up to our Tuesday afternoon sessions. I learned yesterday from the 20 who did come that one reason is because they have to go home to work their families’ farms. Of those present, all had a “champ.” Many Francophone Cameroonians, I’ve learned, don’t actually know the French word for “farm.” They say, instead, “field,” which is much more apt, since there aren’t many operations around that comprise much more than a single field.

Mary’s robes make more sense to me now, too. I used to ask my Muslim students in Kentucky weren’t they hot in their long-sleeved, ankle-length garments? No! They’d have me feel the lightness of the fabric and show me how roomy the dress was inside. Here, I’ve found that the more fitted the clothing, the hotter I feel – even if said clothing is a tank top. I rarely go out anymore without a scarf over my head and shoulders. Even with the extra layer of fabric, my neck and arms stay so much less sweaty (and less crispy) than they do when subjected to direct sun. My new favorite garment is a kabba, known better in the US as a muumuu. They are ubiquitous in West Africa, and I now know why: because the looser the clothes, the cooler the body. Thank goodness that walking out in public wearing a housedress is perfectly acceptable where I live now. These days, when it comes to style, well, I just don’t sweat it.