Merry New Year!

At first, all I knew of Cameroon what what Eddie Murphy told me.

Before Eddie took himself too seriously as a romantic leading man, then lost all self-respect as a Disney cartoon (ok, props for Shrek), he was very, very funny. The Saturday Night Live days may Tracy Morgan’s spin on 30 Rock all the more genius -- channeling Little Rascals without ever saying the B-word. My family has a special place for Eddie Murphy’s first feature lead role, in “Trading Places.” 

The Spanish-language title translates “From Beggar to Millionaire,” and that tells half the story of the movie. Eddie Murphy is your all-too-typical for the time slick, black hustler (TM), who catches the eye of idle rich white men who propose an experiment: can they turn Murphy’s reprobate into a genteel society man while reducing one of their own to poverty and crime. The stakes: one American dollar. The result? A very funny movie.

When Eddie Murphy’s Billy Ray Valentine (that’s even a slick name) and Dan Akroyd’s  dilettante fallen from grace, Louis Winthorpe III, learn they been had, they decide to get even. And this leads to my first brush ever with Cameroon. In the course of an improbable plot twist, they take a train on New Year’s Eve from Washington to Philly to steal corporate intel and turn the tables on their puppet masters. Donning an equally improbable disguise, Winthorpe, in the last permissible use of blackface ever, poses as Jamaican Lionel Joseph. And coincidence of coincidence, he is reunited on that very train with Murphy’s Nanga Eboko, “Exchange Student from Cameroon! Ha, ha, ha, ha!”

As my kin can attest from several dozen watches, it all turns out well in the end. Looking  good, feeling good. And for years, that was what came to mind when I thought of Cameroon. Some mornings it still does. 

But... there’s more. Friday I was looking through our World Atlas (what? you don’t?) and noticed a small town about 120 km from Yaoundé. The village of ... Nanga Eboko. I kid you not. The surprise ending, 27 years in the making. Now, I’ve gotta find my copy of “Trading Places.” And expect photos from our road trip to Nanga Eboko in this very space. 

The Cultural Misunderstanding about Nothing

Seinfeld is arguably the greatest American situation comedy ever. Here in Cameroon, we must keep in mind that it's American. (And our life here is often more like this episode of Lucy, anyway.)

Steve was winding up affairs at the office today, and one of those amusing little bureaucratic Catch-22 contradictions appeared out of nowhere. In mock exasperation, he stood in the middle of the office and said overemphatically, "Serenity now!"

Now, of course, any Seinfeld fan worth his weight in muffin tops knows of Frank Costanza's relaxation program, which uses the words "Serenity now" to soothe away tension and anxiety. Frank's unique reading - shouting SERENITY NOW at the top of his lungs - has the opposite effect.

But there aren't many Seinfeld fans in Cameroon. The library silence after his clever invocation immediately tipped Steve off that he had startled my staff, thrusting them somewhere between concern and fear. One had dropped into a defensive, feline crouch after the outburst. Steve tried to jot off an email assuring everyone that he was iconic, not crazy, but the damage has been done.

An American colleague offered to bring her Seinfeld DVD to work tomorrow to share with the section and prove he's not crazy. But, as another Costanza learned, sometimes it's best to know when to go out on a high note.

U2dyssey

Now that she's back, let's share that Fatimah's been gone for the past two weeks. She left the wonders of Cameroon to return to America, but for something Irish: the band, the social movement known as U2.

 

She has a long history with U2, having seen them first in the early 80s. Even then, she knew they had something to distinguish them from the mass of new-wave or rock bands, such as Duran Duran, Oingo Boingo, and the Cars. Sure, that's good music, too, but U2 has lived up to the potential that Bono has proclaimed for himself. And all I have to show for it is a T-shirt, albeit it pretty cool.

 

Steve stayed home with the Girls, relying heavily on the supporting cast, when Fatimah flew back to the States. She landed with her in-laws, then hopped across the country to her parents, then returned east to arrange the final leg of the jouney, with the realization of her U2dyssey drawing close. Meanwhile, the girls and I had our share of fun, with tons of play dates with other kids, games before bathtime nightly, new clothes (handmade dresses and superhero T-shirts), but with a longing for a mother who was very far away, even if she was always in our hearts.

 

Fatimah said the show rocked. It's been getting great reviews, and she said the show in Charlottesville, Virginia, was no exception. She went with my brother and his wife, who live nearby, and they made the most of their day. Scott Stadium, with barely 50,000 seats, was more intimate than other venues, such as Atlanta's stadium or Washington's FedEx field. Steve gve explicit instructions to return with a T-shirt, but only if it was cool. (As it was, he gave her a Batgirl T to wear to the concert, which has its own cool factor). And, 36 hours later, when she pulled up to Chez Royster back in Yaounde, she had not only the experience of a lifetime, but Steve had a U2-360 T-shirt.

 

That someone is devoted enough to a journey of pleasure to take two 18-hour plane trips is dedication. It also demonstrates adventure and pursuit. It is amazing that someone is that free of spirit at this age and in this age, and that's how Steve knows he's into something good - that he's found what he's looking for.

 

 

Cheese & Gorillas: Watch Your Back

As part of its effort to scare us in reducing the risks we take, the Embassy’s security office shares a monthly blotter of crimes in the Republic of Cameroon. Among our welcome materials were cautionary tales of: a Burkinabe man slain by his Cameroonian girlfriend, a Rwandan student found several days after her semester had ended... permanently, and a Cameroonian who killed her boyfriend after she found him messin’ around. The Cameroonian Navy killed a handful of pirates (ever notice how pirates are not quite as much fun when they are not "from the Caribbean"?) And a band of highway robbers shook down a group of Spanish tourists on a bus up north. But, aside from gruesome car accidents, there were at least five cases of old-style street justice: crowd runs down robbers, beats them to death. My lesson: as long as I don't mess around, these people have my back.

It’s Friday night, and all’s quiet chez Royster. The Embassy closes early on Friday afternoon: Working a little longer the rest of the week gives us a slightly longer weekend. I used my extra time to play with the girls, Fatimah enjoyed hers at Mahima, one of the larger supermarkets here. Make no mistake: it’s expensive to live in the big city. I think it’s the combination of the difficulty of getting things here and the risk sellers take of finding anyone who will buy their wares. But, whatever, Fatimah came home with a $10 block of cheese. We’ll work though it, but we definitely will be using the Cost of Living Allowance available to those of us serving in Cameroon. 

The city seems like just that: a large, poorly planned city that lurches forward on its inertia. And bad driving. But it never seems like we’re in Africa! There are some sights at time: impossibly green hills disappearing into angry gray clouds, lizards lazily resting on perpendicular walls, multicolored prints sewn into dresses, shirts, and ill-advised Bermuda shorts. 

We walked to a pizza joint. Pizza Roma is wedged into a building propped up over the Bastos Crossroads, where three busy streets meet without benefit of sign or light. I’m amazed that everyone seems to negotiate the intersection by luck, patience or strength of will. I’ve only seen one accident there, and people were more annoyed by the fact of the collision than the actual damage. And we saw our second Hummer tonight. Someone’s saving what they make from that $10 cheese. 

Saturday turned out to be a great day, though our days in Cameroon have generally been pleasant. I slipped out of the house early for a run. Back home, I showered, at with the Girls, and then we were out the door to visit the Mefou Gorilla Preserve, south of Yaoundé. The preserve’s mission is to rescue animals from the bushmeat industry -- bushmeat being the flesh of gorillas and other primates. The preserve has rescued a few dozen animals, and has even bred a few babies. We were safe, on the other side of sturdy fences, and I can’t say we’ll ever be that close to baboons, gorilla or chimpanzees again. We heard the apes’ calls and whoops as rain pattered on green bananas splayed into a canopy overhead. For a moment, we thought, we had a glimpse of our romantic vision of Africa.

Then a band of gorillas beat the crap out of an ape who'd stolen some bananas.