Its getting hotter/Football camerounais/The children have fire

It has been a few weeks since my last entry and plenty has transpired in that time. To begin on a slightly sad note the cold season, aka 70 degree weather, is coming to a close. I never thought it was all that cold of a season, but don’t tell that to the moto drivers in ski jackets and woolen caps or the little kids huddled around piles of burning leaves at 7AM. And true to my experiences with weather here thus far there really is no middle ground, as the coldest months of the year are now giving way to a heat that I’ve been dreading for some time now. I’m told that temperatures reach into the 120s w/ regularity in March and April up until the rains begin in mid to late May. I think I lucked out a bit this year since I am traveling back to the cooler climate of the U.S. during early March, which is immediately followed by a week of training in the provincial capital here in the Extreme North. They have hotels in Maroua and hotels have pools. Pools are filled with cold water, and by this point in the narrative I think you know where I can be found during training.

And with this recent “cold” weather that is soon to depart I’ve taken the opportunity to acclimatize myself on the soccer field. Bogo has a number of ‘stades’ or ‘terraines’ throughout the city, a fact I was very excited about when first arriving. Anyone familiar with soccer will most likely be aware of Cameroon’s national team, the Indomitable Lions, and their reputation as an incredibly talented squad. To classify the country as football crazy would be an understatement. Even in the tiniest village one can find an open, flat, dirt/sand ‘terraine’ with wooden goals at both ends. From my brief time here I’ve come to learn that if you fancy a game with the local lads you better be ready for some serious physical activity. And while most players have the latest Cameroon or Barcelona jersey, any other equipment is pretty much optional. So everyday at about 4:30PM until the 6PM evening prayers, anywhere from 15-20 guys gather at the nearest field to take part in what could best be described as a mix between soccer and hand to hand combat. Once everyone appears ready to do battle the participants split into shirts and skins and play commences. Within about 5 minutes visibility on the dusty pitch is reduced to about zero and the match has reached a frenetic pace in which the ball is moved from end to end in a matter of seconds. Now prior to my soccer experience here I considered myself to be a fairly fast individual. As it turns out, that is false. When a Cameroonian wearing jelly sandals blows by you like you weren’t even there it makes you reassess your athletic ability. Needless to say I’ve had to adjust my game a bit. Whereas in the U.S. I was typically an offensive player, I’ve been pushed back to defensive midfielder here. Perhaps their reasoning is this gives the other team less room to run past me, which they do with great regularity. But unrelenting speed is only one attribute of Cameroonian soccer. Physical play bordering on outright hostility would be another. Holding onto the ball for more than a few seconds is asking for trouble. High kicking (technically illegal) seems to be encouraged, out of bounds is often vague at best, and cleat marks, bruised toenails and head gashes are commonplace. But amongst the mayhem of the evening match you’ll see some of the most entertaining soccer around, played with a great deal of passion. And when the all important goal is scored just forget the fact that this is a game amongst regular guys in a village. They will celebrate that goal as if it just won Cameroon the World Cup. And half the fun (maybe more) of scoring a goal is their celebration afterwards. The standard celebrations such as the shirt over the head and also running to and dancing with corner flag are used frequently. However, there are two other celebrations here that I think are way cooler. The first involves the whole team; they form a circle around the goal scorer, who then leads them in some wild song and dance for about 30 seconds. The second is by far my favorite but I don’t think I’ll attempt it anytime soon. Besides, you have to score a goal first anyways. The goal scorer wheels away from the goal in celebration and then breaks into a string of 4 to 5 back flips. I think it takes more exertion than scoring the actual goal, and is impressive to say the least. At the end of training in November one of the Cameroonian staff members with whom we’d played soccer stressed to me how important the sport could be with integrating into the community. I think he was on point, as Cameroonians love the sport as much if not more (probably more) than I do. The guys I play with were some of the first people to replace my initial title of ‘Nasarra’ (foreigner in fufulde) with my actual name. And at least with some of those who still prefer to use Nasarra, many have upgraded me to ‘Nasarra qui joue le ballon,’ (foreigner who plays ball).

Finally this week, I’d like to tell a little about the recent Fete de Jeunesse that took place all across Cameroon. This is a week long holiday/event for all the youth of Cameroon and was celebrated with parades, soccer games, a cross country race and talent competitions in Bogo. I’ve heard from a few other volunteers how the weekly events went in their respective communities and while the activities were all a bit different, I think the general thought of “holy crap, there are a lot of children in this country” was a common conclusion. So how does one celebrate Youth Week? Well, some of the younger guys I play soccer with were involved in the parade and after every evening game that week they would practice their upcoming march past the authorities. They asked me to join them in their ranks and frankly I was honored and happy to do it at first. But I gradually realized that we would be marching in front of government officials, police, gendarmes and most of the community (and saluting the Sous-prefet). I then tried to explain that it was probably in the best interest of my work and the Peace Corps if I didn’t join them. They weren’t having any of it, so I then had to make sure I had some type of work that morning that conflicted with the parade. So unfortunately I missed the parade, but on the bright side I won’t be implicated in any inappropriate political activities on foreign soil.

Aside from the formal parade there was another procession that I was a witness to, and it was one of those things I don’t think I’ll ever forget. At about 7PM one evening as dusk was settling on Bogo my friend and I were at my house when we began to hear an approaching crowd. We came out of my concession door which opens up to the main road through town and in the distance I could see what initially I thought looked like an angry mob with flaming objects in hand. I looked to my friend for reassurance, and he coolly informed me that this was just the children’s march. To briefly describe this children’s march, hundreds upon hundreds of ‘petits,’ ranging in age from about five to fifteen, are given old metal cans attached to long sticks which are then filled with flammable liquids, trash, wood and pretty much anything else with the ability to burn out of control. Then, flaming sticks in hand the children proceed to run down the street for a few kilometers en route to the local government complex, spilling flammable liquid on the asphalt road and leaving the neighborhood looking like a small rebel force just swept through. Initially I probably had a look of horror on my face as hundreds of children ran down my street with incendiaries but then I began to question my friend about this spectacle, and his calm began to rub off on me. Who organized this? “The teachers.” And is anyone supervising? “The parents.” Sure enough, the parents were right there with them along the way. A few cars of adults escorted the parade of adolescent pyromaniacs as if it were the Tour de France. Well who on earth gave them petrol and kerosene? “The police.” At this point my questioning stopped. This was obviously an officially sanctioned event. Who was I to disagree with a seemingly highly dangerous activity if the community organized it? What could possibly go wrong? Anyone familiar with my juvenile record concerning flammable objects will beg to differ, but I honestly cannot think of a better way to celebrate future generations each year by giving them the capability to burn down the entire community. I never thought such a spectacle would leave me feeling serene and relaxed. Maybe it was all the burning chemicals, but more likely I think seeing young children joyfully playing with fire warmed my heart.

Ok, I got a little carried away there. Playing with fire is bad; especially during the dry season in Africa. Remember kids, only you can prevent forest fires!