We’d been invited to a three day celebration in a nearby village, Njirong, who were celebrating the loss of their late Fon, although he was “lost” years ago. We had to buy 20 litres of palm wine and 2 crates of beer for the party, of which, again, we unfortunately got to drink very little of. With our drinks filling every spare space in the car, we trundled off to Njirong. We were going to travel in convoy, and the other car was a pickup truck, with a few blokes surfing the road in the back. I couldn’t resist, so hopped out the car to join them. Tom joined me part way through after my rave reviews. It was incredible, standing up in the back of the truck (holding on tightly mind you), surfing the road and taking in the wonderful views of the tea plantations. The fresh tea leaves on the top of the plants cast a wonderful shade of lime green on the valley sides, should make an incredible photo.
On the road to the celebrations, the so-called “Ju-jus” (pronounced jew-jews”), were dancing and frolicking around on the road. They were men, dressed up in incredibly daunting, evil-looking costumes. They were faceless, with bags over their faces, who would whip the ground aggressively at random intervals, and between whippings, wold hold the whipping sticks over their shoulders like Dick Whittington’s lunch. They also shouted and screamed and jumped up and down. Difficult beings to describe. Anyway, later on, Tom and I were watching a dancing/singing/whipping performance by them, and one of them approached me (no face, so a little unnerving), dancing in front of me. For quite a while, I didn’t notice (but Tom saw, from afar) that he was violently shaking his fake phallus in my direction. All on video, absolutely hilarious.
That day, much time was spent chilling inside, sheltering from the rain that was absolutely pouring. The noise it makes on the tin roof is absolutely brain shattering. The sound really gets inside your head, and you can’t hear anything else, or talk to anyone. So everyone sits, not talking, dumb from the rain.
As we sat there, heart racing from the ju-ju performance, rain beating against my brain, a little wet, the next thing to happen came as quite a surprise. Tom and I sat, back to the window, while a ju-ju performance occurred outside. Next thing we know, one of their bloody whipping sticks breaks the glass behind me, sending shattered panes of glass in collision with the back of my next. The noise of the breaking glass, and the feeling of it on my next sent me flying, clasping my neck, fearing the worst. Fortunately, it was all good, and I moved to a different seat. The seat had a huge hole in it, so I complained and some other poor soul had to sit there. Well, after my morning I felt I deserved it.
Next thing we know, we’re outside watching (cowering away from) celebratory gun shot firing. They were randomly firing into the air, a little too far from the vertical for my liking. Tinnitus set in.
We were fed the most wonderful beef, with Fuh-fuh (like savoury flour jelly stuff) and huckleberry (like cabbage), and afterwards we were led outside. To our surprise, we were to be given a second title, an honoury title of a red feather, which was traditionally given to warriors for their courage. I was named as vice-prime minister, so I can rule in the absence of a leader. Tom was head administrator of land allocation, or something like that. It was all a little confusing. But what it meant was that we had to go back to the village at a later date, which was 1 hour away, bearing unbearably ubiquitous palm wine. Happy days.
After driving back to Ndu, Tom was fined a bottle of wine for removing his cap. To be honest, I don’t blame him, they’re terribly uncomfortable. They sit, very tight against the scalp, squeezing your hair against your head, and resulting in poor eyebrow manoeuvrability. Bad times.
The next day, we finished our research in Jirt, and then on Saturday we started in Ntundip. Nothing too interesting to report there, only that we’ve hit nearly 700 data points. That afternoon, we returned to Njirong to thank them for our red feathers. Also, Claris received a rare title as part of our research team. It is not ofen women receive such titles. While I was there, I took this photo of crazy-star-trek-forehead-man. Quite a good shot.
Photo later, sorry.
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1 comment:
Hello George, as usual, a very interesting read. You seem to capture the spirit of that which you are all experiencing and expressing it in an amusing but factual way. I like this style so, keep it coming. I trust that by the time you have received these few comments, you will have met up with Mark, welcomed each others company and benefitted from his knowledge and support.Again, as usual, to everyone out there, Good luck, good health and enjoy yourselves.
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