Yesterday I was walking home down a dusty road around 5:30. I was hot and tired from a long day of research, reading and writing. I was hoping that my host mom had made that yummy yogurht drink, and that tonight, we would be able to catch up on our favorite soap opera and finally find out if Miranda would take back Leonardo.
I turned a corner and noticed a girl about my age running towards me. She was wearing beautiful purple and green fabric, and was moving as fast as she could with her long and narrow skirt. Then I noticed what she was running after: a large black goat, who seemed to be gallopping just slightly faster than she was. She called out loudly to the delinquent goat in Fulfulde but he ignored her.
My first instinct: I want to help this girl. The goat was running about four feet to my left. I stepped a little in that direction, thinking I would block it or convince it to turn around. The goat immediately understood my action and veered off even more to the left. Crap.
It was then that I realized that I had no idea how to catch a goat. Even if I could get it to run into me, what would I do? Grab it by the tail? In its middle? By its stubby horns? It wasn't my dog, it didn't have a collar. I'd seen those goats wadding around in trash piles, and I believe that they will eat pretty much anything. Would it try to eat my arm?
I decided that the best thing I could do in this situation was step aside and let this girl solve her own problems. She had infinately more experience in the goat world than me. As she ran by me, and smiled and wished her "bonne chance" and she nodded back at me. The entire exchange took about seven seconds, but it kind of sums up the way I feel about "helping" Cameroonians. They know a lot more about what they need than I ever will. My attempts to "help" could cause more problems than they would solve. If the girl had stopped and asked me for help, and explained to me just what to do, I would have been happy to support her in her efforts.
On another note: In contrary to a blog entry a few weeks back, there are a remarkable variety of words that people shout at me as I walk down the street, not just "Nassara". I decided to keep track this morning as I walked into town:
Madame Le Blanc
Ma Blanche
Ma soeur (my sister)
Ma chérie
White man
White woman
Ma fiancée
It can get a little exhausting, but overall, it seems to just be a way of being friendly and saying hello.
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7 comments:
Excellent story! I love it!
You're brave to step into the path of a running goat ... I would have been running my own ass out of the way!
Also, is it okay if I call you "white man" from now on?!
Heh, nice metaphor. And it involved running, so I may have to add a link.
Ha! Loved it. Sarah, only you can turn a fleeing goat into a metaphor about global feminism.
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