By Etond’a Ndembe
Growing up in Cameroon, at the foothills of Mount Fako in Buea, some of my happiest memories were outside. Playing in the rain, playing Tabala, aka hopscotch until dusk, and attending the village wrestling matches, my grandma would urge us to behold. When the big drums rang out an invitation to the whole village to come out and support the boys as they took on other villages, we’d get excited. We could hear the sounds clear across town to our home and the sound would make our bones quiver with excitement. Mama would yell out to us to go and witness traditional wrestling. It was one of a handful of events we were allowed to attend without close adult supervision. Besides, we really didn’t need additional supervision, as the African proverb of “it takes a village to raise a child”, was ever present, and my uncle Ben, a champion wrestler, was competing. We dared not misbehave, for we knew, mama and papa would hear of it even before we made it home. We had our “defense minister” present and in awe of, so there was no one to fear. We, and the entire village, were his cheering squad.
The centerpiece of the drum set was made of the largest tree trunks and were passed down from generation to generation. So the best of them were often shiny from long and repeated use, much like a pew. They were always mounted on an elevated platform for all to see and appreciate the drummers’ expertise and showmanship, often bare-chested to display their muscles. It was and still is part of the show and the means by which to psych out the opponent. Those were fun times, filled with laughter and unadulterated joy. Smells in the air were of green Bahamas grass, bare ground that had been stomped on so often it glistened like polished cement floors. There was something about the sounds of the drum-beat which quickened one’s steps and made you hurry and run to the wrestling field to behold the spectacle – the traditional dances and showmanship of the events.
Typically, the events would wrap up around dusk and my uncle, and at times grandfather, would walk us home as he critiqued my uncle’s technique or shower him with praise and admiration if he’d been victorious. You could hear the pride in his voice and he’d walk ever so slightly taller –although he was over six feet tall. The stroll back home would be peppered with sounds of crickets and fireflies and street food. The villagers at large mulling about as others made their way back to their respective homes as they exchanged pleasantries. The moon shined vividly and the stars brightly as if in competition with one another. It always felt like you could reach up and grab one. It seemed like the moon was just a little closer for some reason. The breeze was gentle and we’d get treats and bring home to share with mama and whoever was home at the time.
Buea is close to Debuncha with one of the heaviest rainfall totals in the world. So during raining season, you know you are on the Equator. The raindrops are big, strong and relentless. The skies would open up without warning and there’d be a downpour like Noah saw except it doesn’t last for forty days, just an hour at a time. It would pass quickly, then the sun would come out. If you had an umbrella, lucky you! If not, you’d squeeze under one with a friend as you walked home from school and then scamper along to your home between raindrops when you got to your compound, screaming your goodbyes as you ran along to dinner and to dry off by the cracking fireside. If dinner was not ready, you might have taken a hot shower from a bucket that mama had prepared. You’d lather yourself with soap and rinse off in the outdoor bathroom as you looked up at the sky and stars and hear the familiar sounds of the evening as dusk turned to night.
Ann Lamontt said, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes – including you” –
What is it that makes us feel alive and well when we spend time outside in the sun on a day full of gentle breezes, at night under a star filled sky? It gives us a chance to remember who we are. It helps us reset. It is healing. We often cannot articulate it but we know it when we have experienced it, because we feel like us again. So let’s uplug, more often than not. Perhaps on the other side we may just find us.
Our bones always know when we’ve come home.
