An African Afternoon

This delightful post is reblogged from "Ainsworths In Africa".  George works in communications and Pete works with the vehicles.  Enjoy!  If you don't have time to read it all, at least scroll down to the car photo.  It's totally worth it!

Each year Mercy Ships hires local workers to serve in various departments on the ship. This year we have over 260 Cameroonians joining our 400+ crew, who we call ‘day crew’. In Pete’s line of work with the trucks, he works quite closely with a lot of these day crew and we have become quite close to them over the past 6 months. With my Dad visiting the ship, they were really keen for him to meet their families and see their homes – so this Sunday we thought it would be nice to visit, just briefly. Except here in Cameroon, I don’t think they have the word ‘briefly’. We left the ship at 1:30pm thinking we’d be gone for a few hours. Eight hours later we hobbled up the gangway exhausted, filled to the brim and wonderfully happy.

Let me tell you about our African afternoon…

We began with Dennis – Pete’s right hand man – and drove to his Mother-in-Law’s where his wife and kids had been spending the morning. We parked at the side of the main road, adjacent to a train track that we had to hop over. I assumed the track was no longer in use, given parts of it were under two feet of water and there were improvised ‘bridges’ scattered up and down the tracks that locals used to cross. All of a sudden I hear a horn, and lo and behold a train was approaching – stopping at every bit of wood and plank being used as a ‘bridge’ while people moved them. How they get anywhere on time is beyond me.

 

Inside we met Dennis’ mother-in-law and wife, Immaculate. We brought some sweets for his adorably wild kids, Caleb (4), Faith (6) and Rejoice (9). Of course that’s what they needed, more sugar. Joining us was also Immaculate’s older sister, Claire, their other sister’s baby Drockey and their pregnant neighbour, Tatiana and her baby, Brian. Already it was getting busy… There was also a chap asleep in a chair in the middle of our growing circle, but he literally slept the entire time so I never actually learned his name or who he was. Joining us finally was another Day Crew, Regin who works in the maintenance department on the ship.

As is custom of any African home that we visit here, you will be fed. And fed well. Forget the cup of tea and a biscuit nonsense of England – we’re talking a full on meal. Out came a traditional African dish of Achu – pounded cocoyams which make up a bowl that houses a luminous soup containing some random bits of beef – all of which you eat with your right index finger, in a sweeping motion.

The yams had the texture of the thickest hummus known to man. Dad compared it to polyfiller. And the bright orange soup that sat inside it was very runny. When asked what was in the soup, I was told it contained Limestone. After a bit of clarification, I determined it was indeed the Limestone my mind first thought of… as in, actual rock. My bits of beef were unidentifiable, about 2cm thick, dark and extremely tough. I was later told it was the skin, so basically leather. I tried my absolute hardest, but it was like eating a hot shoe. I snuck my piece onto Pete’s plate when no-one was looking. To accompany our meal, the television buzzed loudly in the background playing an exorcism show where people were vomiting blood. My mind didn’t know what to focus on.

Another thing to note when here in Africa, is the importance of eating everything you are given, lest you be considered rude. However there’s a fine art to finishing your plate – finish too early and they’ll top you up with more. After finishing our meal I washed it down with a litre of Fanta, while the boys drank warm beer – all of us feeling ridiculously full.

Onto the next destination! Our car, which left the port with 3 people, now contained 11 bodies as we took Dennis’ family, Regin and their pregnant neighbour with us to a bar to eat some street meat. That’s right, more food. Dennis very kindly treated us all to an animal of some kind that had been roasted to perfection. I ordered a coke and was brought another litre (apparently there’s no such thing as a small portion in this part of town). There to greet us was Joshua, another day crew, with his beautiful baby daughter, Heavenly-Joy.

Next up, all thirteen of us drove to Joshua’s house to meet his wife. Of course, upon arrival we were greeted with a chicken stew and fried plantains. Eat up. By this point, we can no longer tell where our sweat patches end on our clothes, as our entire outfits are sodden. I’m unsure if it was from the heat or the meat sweats. An hour or so there (and another litre of coke and beer), Regin reminded us that he still wanted to show us his house, but that he was about 40 minutes away. By now it’s already 8pm and we’d written the day off so decided we should at least see it. He ensured us it would just be to see the house he had built and not to stop and rest. Off we went, this time with Joshua’s wife too – fourteen in the car. I was stuck in the back of the truck with three grown men and three children (two of whom had begun to fall asleep on me).

We arrived at Regin’s house in the pitch black and piled into his half built house of bare bricks. Still under construction, we gathered in the central room surrounded by rubble and dust: “While you’re all here” began Regin “you might as well have a drink”. He started opening packets of biscuits and cakes and handing them around the circle. We looked like a group of dodgy characters that had congregated in an abandoned building after dark. By this point I’m nearly collapsing from heat exhaustion into a food coma. I tried to explain to the pregnant neighbour who’d joined us all afternoon that while she was pregnant with a real child, I was carrying a food baby. I don’t think she understood, especially when I told her I would be naming my unborn child ‘plantain frit’.

Back into the car we piled, ready to make a tour of the city dropping everyone back to their houses. The group officially named Pete ‘Asongo Pete’, meaning Man from Douala (the port city of Cameroon) – making me Madame Asongo.

Before we parted ways, one of them told me something I’ll never forget:

“You know the key to mastering the African way is to resist”

“Resist what?” I asked.

“Stress. And then once you have learned to resist the stress… voila! You have become the stress!”

I guess I must be becoming part of the stress, because as the day went on we learned to let go of our ‘ways’ and what we considered the ‘norms’. We went with the flow and laughed at the awkward social situations and lack of personal space and in exchange we were given a wonderfully unexpected adventure of laughter, fun and let’s not forget the food. SO. MUCH. FOOD.

Looking forward to the next African Adventure…