Boobies, Booties, and the Mayor.

This horn sounded remarkably like bagpipes.

Last Wednesday I attended what was the absolute weirdest government-related event I’ve ever been too.  (Yes, it was more bizarre than that time we got tipsy on Canadian tax dollars at the high commission in Nairobi… but I guess that was not so weird, just a good time.)

I received the invitation the day before, as I was walking to the carrefour to buy peanut butter.  Some man I had never met stood up from his seat on the side of the road, shouting for my attention.  “Madame! Madame!  I have something for you!”  I glanced over the invitation, which was asking me to attend a “cocktail ceremony” in celebration of the installation of the new mayor of my subdivision (though he’s really the same old mayor, just re-elected).  Thrilled about the prospect of margaritas and mojitos, I thought to myself, “heck yes!  Of course I’ll skip French class for a morning cocktail!"

When I arrived at the ceremony, hundreds of guests were already in place, and I was led to my seat next to health volunteer Hannah Purkey, who lives 5km away in Djalingo.  We then spent a solid two hours people-watching before the ceremony began, and boy oh boy, was there a lot to watch! 

  

Throw ALL THE MONEY!

Starting very early on, men surrounded the seated crowd yelling in various languages until people gave them money.  These men didn’t seem angry, but were shouting in a very aggressive manner.  They were nicely dressed and appeared relatively well off, yet still people were passing out the bills.  Confused as to whether we should contribute or not, we asked the lady next to us what they were collecting money for, to which she responded “just for fun!” but told us that we shouldn’t feel obligated to give anything.

Then the musical numbers started.  These same men who were begging for money happened to be the entertainment as well.  They stood in front of the crowd and began singing.  Then, about a minute into the first song they began working the crowd again, encircling certain individuals, who would then literally throw money in the air or stick bills to the performers’ sweaty foreheads.  This went on for each performer.  Each singer would wander into the crowd, and audience members would shell out cash as if it were nothing.  

We’re not talking nickels and dimes, we’re talking the equivalent of hundreds of dollars being thrown into the air or stuck to people’s foreheads.  The most I counted for one single performer was 90,000 CFA, or $180.  90,000 CFA!  Do you know how many beans and beignets that could buy?!

Apparently this is a method of showing appreciation for the talent, though I find this debatable.  In a moment where the money tossing became too physically intensive, the singer returned the microphone to the MC.  But guess what?  The song kept going!  He had been lip-syncing the whole time!  I watched more closely from this point on, and realized that nearly every performer would lip-sync, and somehow this act would still be rewarded with bundles of forehead money!

Two traditional dancers.

Not all the acts were lip-syncing though.  There were a few traditional dance groups from various ethnic groups in the region.  These dancers could shake their bumbums in ways that fill my American booty with envy.  Some of them shook their booties right up into (and onto) the crowd, yielding the same monetary results as the lip-syncers.

In the middle of one of the traditional dance routines, Hannah and I had been chatting about something trivial, glancing away from the scene for a barely a moment.  When we looked back up, we were being stared right back at by five pairs of Cameroonian boobies (but not the type of Cameroonian boobies that have nursed 7 babies).  The women had apparently all dropped their strapless pagne dresses, and were now shakin’ their stuff right in front of the new-old mayor.

This guy certainly had a good time.
(Cropped out the topless ladies.  Sorry!)

Money was still being flung around and being stuck to foreheads, and they mayor remained calm in the front row as if having topless women dance around him was just like any other day.  (Later I learned that this topless “traditional” dance is actually not so common.  My sixteen-year-old neighbor had left the ceremony during this act because he felt it was a waste of his time.)

When it was all over, we headed to Mont-des-Oliviers for the “cocktail” portion of the event.  While all the other invitees had motos to get there, Hannah and I made most of the trek by foot, hitchhiking the remainder of the distance with her neighbor.  By the time we arrived, there was hardly any food left, and definitely no cocktails.  It didn’t matter much though, because my community host, Madame Tizi, and her husband were there.  Who needs food when you’ve got good company?  We spent the afternoon laughing and chitchatting – in French, English, and Fulfulde – until we were the last people remaining. 

To use wording my father would scoff at, it was definitely the most unique government event I have ever attended.  That being said, it was definitely interesting, and opened my eyes to a little bit more of Cameroonian culture. 

But I’m still waiting for that margarita!

Madame Tizi, moi, and Monsieur Tizi after the ceremony.