Rammadan

Rammadan 2012 - the last rammadan ever

As some of you may have heard, the end of the world is coming on December 21, 2012. There are many theories about who and what is bringing the end of the world. I personally don't believe it is the END of the world, but just the coming of a new era. Maybe the first female prophet will arise. Or maybe aliens will come and take only the good ones away (me included of course). Whatever you think about 12-21-2012, be it a conspiracy theory or the truth, I hope you are all living it up this year and making each day - and each fete (holiday) -count. We here in Gangassaou, Cameroon are doing just that on this Rammadan August 19, 2012.

After 31 days of fasting (usually it's only 30 days but Allah pushed the fete back an extra day, I fasted a measly 11 days total in the past 31, I wanted to fast the whole time but I felt that I was wasting away), Allah and the lunar calendar have granted the Muslim people of the world a 2-day holiday.
The first event for the day in Gangassaou was, of course, a town-wide prayer. Last year I had wanted to go to this, but my friends peaced out and went without me (thanks friends....not). This year, my postmate Abigail and I showed up at my friends house so they couldn't leave without us (suckers, they couldn't get away from us this year). We all walked together to the highest point in Gangassaou, being a mini-hill. Everyone was shuffling in and laying out their mats and prayer rugs in neat rows on the ground. Men were in front, women in their own section in back and children scattered throughout. Shortly after we arrived, the Chief of the village showed up with his entourage. His entourage was made up of bad-ass looking guys holding swords and metal sticks and - what appeared to be pom-poms on the sticks (Give me a C....C. Give me an H.....H....GO CHIEF???). The chief and party sat in front and then the marabou (town religious leader) arrived. He had been hiding by a tree and when he saw that everyone was there, he came out of hiding to lead the prayer. I didn't actually see this guy's face because it was hidden behind his marf (man scarf). He's the most respected religious leader in the village. He lead the prayer two times - everyone bowing at the same exact time is CRAZY to watch, mesmerizing almost. Then he said a few words - followed by the chief - and an entourage member - and then the prayer time was over. But, of course, not without a CPS (cameroonian photo shoot). Abigail and I flashed our pearly-whites for many cameras and with many people of the village.

Then we all made our way to the front of the chief's house. All men around, I'm assuming all the women took this opportunity to start making the huge meals for the day. The point of visiting the chief's house was "to praise him"; I was told. Again more photo shoots from Abigail and I and then we slowly tip-toed away from the event. People seemed to be leaving anyway, and we didn't want to get stuck in a two-hour Dii prayer or discussion.

Then Abigail and I plus a host of other neighborhood kiddos did sipa. Sipa is henna that comes in a box from China/Nigeria (not sure which). It is actually black hair dye, but dies skin, too. We mixed up the solution and drew on our feet and hands and just made a complete mess of our clothes we were wearing and my veranda floor. It was fun though. Cameroonians up here in the north have a certain way they think that sipa should be done. That sipa should be symmetrical on both hands and feet and that certain designs should be used more than others. Needless to say, we got a lot of people laughing at us and telling us how they think we should do the sipa. Oh well, as the saying goes "I do what I want" and we did what we wanted. Flowers, dots, random fingernails. It was great. Then we let it dry and washed off the excess. I think the girls mixed it wrong though because it's only been a few hours and it's already beginning to come off.....or maybe it's just bad quality. Thanks China/Nigeria.
We received an invitation yesterday from our mom, Fadi, to come over around 2pm. When someone gives you an "invitation", it is no joking matter. A written invitation means nothing; people can't read. But a spoken invitation: hey now, something big is going down. She said come over around 2. So Abigail and I made some folerie juice to bring to the .....party?...we weren't sure what was going down, and showed up at 2. But forgot this is Cameroon. If someone says 2, they really mean 3 or 4. So we gave her the juice, went to visit some other friends, made some more juice, and then went back around 3. Fadi had invited over nearly half the women in the village. She had made "irish potatoes" (which are just regular potatoes to us, but for here they have a different name so as to not confuse them with another root vegetable called patates), rice and sauce, couscous and sauce, coffee and juice. People liked our folerie juice, too. I ended up being the designated server which was fine. The other women got a kick out of it - haha, white woman nasara is giving us food - whatever I didn't care, it's their fete, right? Abigail and I were among the last to leave.

Then I went for a run. Puppy (who got sipa-ed earlier in the day as well and now has three awkward dots on her face) went with me. She was so excited to go. I don't know how I'm going to leave her in just a few months. I know that she will be happier here and that she is truly an African dog....but still, it is going to be so difficult to leave her. The run went well and then it started sprinkling.
Then barka-da-salla or trick-or-treating, as I like to call it, began. On fetes here in Cameroon (or maybe it's all of the Muslim world for holidays?), children go around from house to house and say:

Barka da Salla.

And I say: Salla da goro.

And give them a candy. In theory, you're supposed to give a kola nut...but honestly the kids here have so much darn energy, they don't need anymore straight caffeine. When I was down in Yaounde recently, I purchased a bag or Oreos from the embassy for a whole one dollar. Holler. The oreos only cost a dollar, however, because they expired...two years ago. It's fine; just a little stale. But ideal for snacking on in Gangassaou, and giving out as barka-da-salla treats. So the trick-or-treating began in the afternoon post-run, and I gave out many many oreos to cute kids who came to my house. Instead of dressing up as their country president Biya, a cow, or a fairy, the children here just put on their BEST clothes and go around trick-or-treating. Most of the clothes are new from their parents for the fete, but some are old but newly washed. The kids were so cute. I took manyyyy-a-photo.
Tomorrow is part 2 of the fete. I've heard it involves more food and a night-time dance party. We shall see.