Under the Bridge

I was on the bus, driving into Maroua (the capital city) the other day, when I looked out the window and saw an “Africa moment”. You know what I mean; a moment when you are most certainly in Africa and couldn’t possibly be anywhere else in the world. A moment when you’re witnessing things that people at home can barely imagine. So I’m going to paint you this picture. Give you a chance to share in this “Africa moment” with me.

I’m in a bus manufactured to fit 25 people at most. We’re crammed in, at least 35 of us. In front of me is a little girl, perhaps a year old. She’s been staring at me the whole hour and half long bus ride. For the first leg, she was crying out of fear; but about halfway through the ride, she looked at me calmly, put out her little hand with her pointer finger pointed up, as if to say “wait”. Then she starts wagging it at me. “One of these things is not like the others.” My white skin sticks out more than if I was riding naked. Which, by the way, would have made the ride more enjoyable. Cameroonians think that the dust kicked up by the road gives people Malaria. Needless to say, every window was closed and locked while the sun beat down, causing a green house effect inside the bus. Next to me is a young man, looking me up and down (granted, as far as Cameroonians go, he was really nice about it. He didn’t propose at all, just asked for my number before I left the bus station).

As we reach Maroua, we drive over a bridge. During the rainy season, there’s a river underneath the bridge. But now, below us is just a huge sandy trench. The sun is setting, a giant red orb obscured by the dust. No clouds anywhere. In the riverbed, there’s so much activity. Little children are digging holes in the center of the bed, trying to find water. Mothers and wives are all on one side of the river, with the holes they’ve already dug visible next to the sheets and laundry laid out on the sand to dry in the sun. The women are busy beating the last of their laundry against the rocks that mark the bank of the river. On the other side of the river, a huge group of boys in ripped clothes, no shoes, and shaved heads are dustily playing a game of soccer. They’ve grabbed huge branches and set up goals that stick up where in a few months time they’ll be swimming. A small cloud of dust surrounds the makeshift field as the boys run furiously after a ball. Weaving in and out of everyone are young shepherds, steering their huge herds of goats in between women and children. A few stray goats run onto the soccer field, where the littlest boys wave their hands and yell to scare them out of the way.

I wish I had had my camera ready for that. This little slice of life felt very declarative to me. “This is what we are. This is what we live.” Just wanted to share this moment with you. Hope you feel like you were there with me.