of men and kids

Today I decided two things: (1) Cameroonian men are bullshitters, and (2) I adore Cameroonian children.
Some days the level of Cameroonian bullshitting just drives me nuts; the intensely aggressive “give me your phone number,” or the unwillingness to play fair when it comes to selling me things (trying to find Ralph some ebony wood for a cane he wants to get made, for example); the insistence on their ill-informed preconceptions about America, and thus, about me (chez vous, tout le monde est riche!). As I was coming back from my run this morning, some guy approached me. The conversation went a little something like this:
Him: Rebecca, I have a problem concerning you.
Me: (internally: how does he know my name, who is this guy?) Okay. What is it?
Him: Well, it’s a problem and it’s about you.
Me: Okay. I don’t understand. What is the problem?
Him: Well, it’s a problem. You see?
Me: No. I don’t see. You haven’t told me the problem.
Him: Right. Well, I will tell you the problem. You understand?
Me: A little. You’re going to tell me the problem?
Him: Yes. But not now. I’ll write it on a piece of paper and give it to you. But it must be a secret. After you have read the paper, you have to tear it up.
Me: (totally confused) Okay.
This in itself wasn’t terrible but I have a hunch it’s going to just turn out to be another proposal. They just never stop. It’s so freaking annoying. I wonder if this is somehow supposed to be a customary way of welcoming someone? Or is when a moderately attractive woman appears, men feel the need to justify their virility by obnoxiously complimenting her overmuch – just to reassure himself that he can still spot an attractive women? Or maybe it’s just the proverbial shaking of the banana tree – maybe you won’t get anything from it, but who knows? Maybe you will. Never hurts to try.
Argh. I honestly just wish it would quit. It’s annoying as all get out.
Thank god for kids. Sweet, innocent, energetic kids. Jean-Paul’s (my language tutor) kids are the greatest. He has one who has, I swear, an award-winning smile. If there was an international competition for best ever smile, he would take first, second and third place. The best part is that he’s one of the happiest kids I’ve ever met – CONSTANTLY giggling and smiling. And I can’t get enough. During my lessons, while Jean-Paul is writing on the board, back turned to me, I love to make faces at this guy. He ALWAYS laughs. He’s great.
And then, I was sitting on my porch reading this evening when who should show up but a gaggle of kids, dancing and drumming on an overturned bucket. They were pretending to be the “masque,” or masked traditional dancer who performs at various traditional Tikar ceremonies. I take it these “masques” exist in the West, Northwest, and Southwest provinces, too. Anyhow, they’d tied a bunch of small branches of leaves together and then, successively, each in his own turn, put it on his head and did a remarkably good imitation of the actual traditional dances. While the others danced and drummed, the rest of them were laughing, giggling, and generally spazzing out (as kids should). At one point, they went around the corner of my house where I couldn’t see them anymore, certainly plotting something. Tickled, I decided to counter-plot. I heard them coming around the opposite side from which they had left, so I jumped out at them. They ran, screaming and laughing away from me as I chased them. Ahhh, kids.
Afterwards, they actually came and bullshitted with me on my porch, each twisted into his own impatient contortion of “sitting” or lying down or rolling around that belies boundless energy. I like bullshitting with kids. It sure beats bullshitting with adults. At least there’s still hope with kids. I asked them what their favourite colors were and why. “My favorite color is red.” Why red? “Because my favorite color is red.” Ah the logic of kids. I love it.