Have you ever danced in the night?

When I arrived at my house in Bambili it was almost dark and as always in places close to the equator the sun sets fast and within a little while, places were dark. There was no electricity that night and my neighbours had already closed their doors for the night. All I could hear was the sound of the African night, the mixed sounds of crickets and frogs. Bambili is situated in the hills and highlands of northwestern Cameroon and the nights can become quite cold and the houses easily feel chilly and mouldy because of the high humidity. The smell is distinctive. In the room with my boxes, the few belongings I had, two suitcases from Sweden and then some kitchen utensils I had packed and kept before I left Cameroon the year before. I sat down on the cold tiled floor and fear wanted to get a hold on me. Loneliness, as if no one knew where I was and what I was going through. In that moment I remember I stood up, and instead of looking for a blanket or something warm to wrap around me I decided to find my loudspeakers and find my laptop and turn on the music. Right there I did my first dance performance in Bambili. I danced away fear and doubt and let joy and confidence along with faith fill my heart. My circumstances didn't change, the night was still dark outside and only God knew exactly what I was going through but I had learnt one of life's most important lessons, I learned to dance in the night.

Tone language, na weti?

And Change said "Let the consonants guarding the vowel to the left and the right contribute some of their phonetic features to the vowel in the name of selfless inter segmental love, even if the consonants thereby be themselves diminished and lose some of their own substance. For their decay or loss will be the sacrifice through which Tone will be brought into the world, that linguists in some future time may rejoice (Matisoff 1973a, 73)"

I'm working on a tone language. And as I am trying to write out rules how these tones work in Baa I came across this citation I thought worth sharing with you. 

Most languages of the world are actually tone languages. They use not only consonants and vowels but also tone as a contrastive feature in lexical meaning. Yes, so we all know languages like Chinese are tonal and for me whose native language is not very tonal, Swedish, it just seems like a jungle of impossibilities to understand or learn to even speak a tonal language. (Swedish has accent 1 and accent 2 as they call it. So we would have tonal melodies over words, but not assigned to syllables like in real tone languages.)

As most features in language, there are rules, and also irregularities. Tones can be a lot of fun, that is if you don't have to write a chapter about it and have a consistent analysis all through your grammar. It teaches us some interesting things about human language. And is it difficult? Well, not necessarily more difficult than other features of language. Some say that parents who speak a tonal language can easily understand their toddlers before they can even speak because the first things children learn is what? Melody. Be it intonation, or tone.

In Africa, and I am sure also in other parts of the world, there are drums, so called talking drums that can be used to communicate past far distances. In the past, used during war, announce a visitor, or maybe the birth of a prince. In other parts of the world, people whistle their sentences and the message gets through. 

I should give you a tutorial on Baa tone one day. Right now I'm pondering on how a to describe why a tone spread in one word, a prefix-verb context, and not in a compound noun.  Different rules apply and I need to get them straight. That is if I have got the labeling of melodies clear in the first place. Not to confuse you more I suggest you learn this phrase from Yoruba, another tone language of Nigeria. Want to know the meaning and many other useful phrases in Yoruba? Check the whole youtube video here.

What are you doing in life?

It's a great phrase to know in French 'Qu-est ce que tu fait dans la vie?', fits well with most  aliens you come across. But in as much as we are interested in others and try to be friendly, to be honest isn't this a reflection of how we compare one another? By putting labels and titles we can group people and ourselves easily on the scale of success.

I'm a linguist in training, I love what I get to do, work with exotic languages and learn lots of things everyday. And the people I work with who appreciate the things I do when I try to figure out how their language works, they just wonder why it takes so long to write a thesis. So to be honest, I don't think I'm the best at it, it is not well paid, I had to put up with Malaria and Typhoid last time I was working in Lagos. No, it is not the most comfortable thing I could do in life. And while there must be many others, smarter than me out there, they didn't  take the chance, maybe they never got it. Well I did get the chance and I took it.

Today my supervisor asked me what my plans are after having finished my PhD. My answer; plan 1) survive this PhD, 2) secure myself a house somewhere on the continent of Africa 3) live happily ever after. I should probably have said something but I ended up just smiling and I guess he wouldn't understand anyway if I told him my plans. I think if you really want to know someone better, don't just ask what they are doing, but rather why they are doing what they are doing.

Writing a grammar - who dares to try?

Between family visits, summer schools, work, conferences, courses and summer school again, via Sweden, Paris, Leiden, Paris, Leiden again and Rotterdam too, and London via Paris to Porquerolles I come home full of inspiration for language documentation and grammar writing. Sometimes you actually believe you can do it, writing a grammar. When you start working on a language you know so little about the task seems more than a mountain of impossible. But then you start collecting words, phrases, more words, longer phrases and maybe even a story or two. You go back to your first words, check them, realise you didn't hear that consonant the first time you listened, and you do it over and over and over again. 

As much as it is challenging it is also very rewarding. Not only do you get the joy of learning a language that you and only a few thousands of speakers have in common. But you also get to write history when documenting a language that there is no written record of. Voices have died and stories are forgotten but some are actually still alive, in people's memory. They can still tell of times before things were like they are now, before the white man had been seen on their land. And would the memories of the people in the past be fading there are surely new stories to write. 

As we advocate for equality and human rights the world remains very unequal and not every child get to learn to read and write in a language they speak with their parents. Imagine being rather discouraged to speak your mother tongue. In school they promote important languages. Maybe English and French, or maybe Hausa, Yoruba and Igbo. All very beautiful languages. In the best of worlds we would all get the chance to study and get our degree in whatever language we wished to. Still, maybe that's the problem some speakers may not even want to continue using their parents language. Why using a language without future? 

Now the grammar description linguist freak gets involved. Promoting each language's unique part and role of the world's patchwork of diversity. Maybe we could do some real fun things with this language that is really unique among the worlds' languages. And whether unique or not it will be so awesome for your grandchildren to listen to that song your grandma sang for you as a child. You may not remember it but your mom does. Let's record it! Let's get our video camera out and see what other things you want us to document about your language. 

Despite all the challenges, the tears and sweats of not hearing the sounds correctly (transcription I'm not giving up on you!) the joy of helping a group or a community to document their language in a way that future generations can listen to their history and their stories, I believe it is all going to be worth it. Today was such a hopeful grammar day. 

  

Fuel scarcity and some reflections

If you have ever woken up in the morning, or come home tired and dusty after a long day, and gone to open the tap just to realise: there went the last drops of water from the pipeline, you might understand why I always remember to thank God for running water whenever I take a hot shower. 

There are many things we take for granted in life and we seem often not to value things until we lose them. Living without running water is possible if you can carry water from a well, hopefully not too far from your house. You can bathe with a bucket of water pouring it over yourself, while trying to make sure you get all the shampoo out of your hair. You can also cook as long as you have some what clean water from that well, and as long as people don't dig any pit toilets around the well. Humans are highly flexible and adjust rather quick to new surroundings in order to survive. It doesn't make you happier if you complain, and by the way, don't forget: "blessed are the flexible, for they shall not break". 

They say that Nigerians are experts in the act to 'smile and suffer'. That means they do complain, they do say lots of things about their leaders and how they think their country should be ruled. But then, when it comes to making a change and trying to put justice and order in place the courageous critical voices often softens into an understanding smile. We are Nigerians after all so we are used to suffer. This is poverty in a nutshell! You can't make any change to your situation unless you are willing to take a risk and act differently. But then what do you expect a single mother with three kids to feed, who needs fuel to run her little hairsaloon and make ends meet, what do you expect her to do when prices of fuel run as high as 400 N/litre (about 2$)? No I can't really blame her for not leading a demonstration out on the streets of Lagos in protest.

When I stayed at University of Lagos last month there were riots and students locked the entrance and exit for all staff, students and any person who normally has access to the campus. We didn't leave the office until late evening when one of the gates had been opened. The student hostels had been out of electricity for several days, and when electricity finally comes it normally goes off after a few hours. Because the Nigerian National Electric Power Authority (abbreviated NEPA, used to jokingly stand for Never Expect Power Again) has not learnt their lesson from decades of electric supply, how to use their resources in order to provide according to its population's need. And with a government that doesn't seize the chance to learn how to build oil refineries though the opportunity to do so has been offered several times over the years, I guess the influence of well functioning, efficient organizations haven't been too persistent.

Imagine, thousands of students in a building without electricity trying to study, that also means, no electricity for the water pump, so no running water for the toilets (sha!) and no shower in the morning. AC is not to talk about because there was none in the first place, but no fan even(!) in this humidity with about 35 degree celcius. It became a health issue with risk of cholera and other diseases  spreading. And a warning should go to the students, don't come to the hospital on campus cause they don't have water either. 

I can't tell we have the right to destroy our environment or fight authorities but when our leaders have the money, or at least have the authority to make sure a sustainable solution is put in place, and still they don't do it, then I must admit we do have a right, why not call it an obligation, to say 'something is wrong here and whoever is seated on that authority should either move or use it well'. The students, no matter how right they were, had to leave the campus that week. The school authorities ordered police forces to make sure every demonstrant left the campus. Girls packed their things and left quickly, thanking God the police only hit their butts lightly with their guns rather than raped them (which not seems to be uncommon here). The campus remained silent for several weeks, just recently were the students told school will resume on the 2nd of May.

It is easy for me to condemn the police force, or more, the authority at the university, I am a foreign white student I can't join the protests any way. Well, I don't want to be a smiling suffering Nigerian. So, I too want to join those students with all my strength and help them shout 'water is a necessity stop spending our money carelessly!!!'. I might not know where to start, just like the single mother with her three kids waiting for hours in line to buy fuel to use for her small generator to run her business, but I know when I get influence myself one day and my words become louder and stronger and have more authority then they have today, then I will make sure to use my position well to let justice rule. Sounds easy when all change starts tomorrow, so I will do it today I decided, I will start my anti-corruption-no-more-fuel-scarcity movement today... Hm, I guess it is a bit ambitous but I'll figure out a way how to fight those giants, even if it might take time. And in the meantime I'll thank God for my running water.

   @thesheetng

Secret heroes - rarely heard of in the West, but not forgotten here

This week has been a bit challenging to me health-wise as I struggled a bit with a running stomach after having eaten a salad in one restaurant. I know we don't normally talk about these issues when we travel, we prefer to report on the positive sides of seeing new places. Well, I don't mind going through some smaller adjustments to the local environment here in Lagos, cause I know in the end it makes my system stronger. But when your body is weak and you wonder if it might be a virus, an infection or even malaria you get to reflect on the importance of good health services. 

Mama Dorcas took me to First Consultants Hospital, a private hospital here in Lagos. The doctor I met had studied at Karolinska in Stockholm, what a coincidence! Now as we were there waitting for the results from my blood test, which I by the way never in my life have experienced so gently that I hardly felt the needle and it didn't even  bleed afterwards, Mama Dorcas shared a story from the time when there was an Ebola case treated at that hospital. 

First Consultants Hospital treated the first Ebola patient in Nigeria, the Liberian-American financial consultant Patrick Sawyer. Sawyer came to Lagos in July 2014 for business meetings. At his first reaction he denied the symptoms and the disease, and was treated for malaria. As he was taken to First Consultants Hospital Dr Ameyo Adadevoh took action in trying to treat the patient and keep the virus from spreading. As Sawyer first denied the disease he even got the embassy to demand his release. Dr Adedevoh refused to release Sawyer and placed him in quarantine despite the pressure from the Liberian gouvernment. It is said that Sawyer in his anger tore off his catheter and pointed at the doctor and a nurse. Sawyer died five days after his arrival in Lagos. Both the nurse and doctor contracted the virus from him and died about a month later. The nurse was serving her first year as a professional, she was newly married and was expecting her first child. Without doubt, Dr Adadevoh in her act to prevent Sawyer to expose others to the virus, saved the city of Lagos and its over 20 million inhabitants and maybe the whole of Nigeria from experiencing a disastrous epidemic.

The Nigerian gouvernment also took other important decisions to prevent the spread, by mobilising their epidemiologists they traced down all individuals that Sawyer had been in contact with since his arrival in the country, and those of other Ebola cases. They visited a total of 26000 households and played a role in spreading information and preventing false rumours to cause riots and civil unrest.

Within three months the most densely populated nation of Africa had contained the Ebola virus with only eight deaths. Much thanks to those who unselfishly gave their lives to serve and protect others. Including Dr Adedevoh and the nurse treating Sawyer. The unheard stories of secret heroes that rarely reach the media in the West! 

Dr. Ameyo Adadevoh

Glädje och elkablar

Jag sitter på mitt rum i Oworonshoki, det är varmt, fuktigt och någon granne har visst fest ikväll så högtalarna dunkar på för fullt i hela kvarteret, bilar tutar och det är allmänt dammigt. Detta är Lagos, staden som många säger att man 'antingen älskar eller hatar'. 

Hemma hos oss bor vi tre barn och tre vuxna i en lägenhet med tre rum och ett vardagsrum, ett kök också. Här har vi rinnande vatten i stort sett hela tiden (det har bara hänt en gång under min vistelse här att det inte funnits rinnande vatten i kranen). Vi har en generator också som dundrar på balkongen för elen kommer och går lite som den vill. Under dagarna följer jag med Mommy till hennes kontor vid Lagos Universitet, där studerar också farbror Laye för tillfället. Jag har fått tillåtelse att sitta i biblioteket och läsa under tiden som farbror Laye har sina lektioner. När han är ledig jobbar vi tillsammans med Baa språket som är hans modersmål. Vi jobbar med ordlistor, fraser, meningar, grammatik, översätter från Baa till Engelska, vi sjunger sånger och jag får lära mig Baa.

I söndags besökte vi en grupp Baa talare som alla har vuxit upp i Kwa eller Gyakan men numera bor i Lagos. Där fick jag göra min första presentation på Baa språket. Den blev inte så lång och jag var tvungen att tänka ganska länge innan vissa meningar kom fram. Inför min presentation så bad jag Auntie Dorcas och Uncle Laye att ge mig ett namn på Baa. De tyckte det var en bra idé men vad ska man ge för ett namn som passar? Auntie Dorcas första förslag var ett namn som var lite svårt att uttala tyckte jag, men hon tyckte det passade då betydelsen av namnet var något i stil med 'Guds elkabel som förmedlar ljus'. Ja, det är inte illa att bli associerad med Guds elkabel men jag tänkte det kan vara bra undvika kortslutning så finns det inget annat, något med M som i Mirjam. Ja, varför inte Mitan, eller Dimitan. Mitt namn stavas ju med 'j' och många engelsktalande tycker det är lite märklig stavning när de uttalar mitt namn efter engelsk ortografi 'Mijam' så Mitan är inte så långt ifrån. Så från elkabeln fick det bli, Zɨ mi kaa Dimitan, vilket ordagrant betyder 'Mitt namn är Glädje'!

 

I love Nigeria

I went to the Nigerian embassy this week to apply for visa. The embassy is a place where people wait. Some wait for new passports others wait for visa, others might just keep someone company. I felt rather at home in the atmosphere. The man in the reception looked down at my papers, and then looked at me asking what brings a swedish girl to apply for a Nigerian visa in Paris. I said, Yes, I'm a swede, and I'm a student here in Paris, and I love Nigeria. The man obviously did not expect that and couldn't hide the smile coming across his face. I didn't plan to proclaim my love for a country I've never visited, so openly at the embassy, but it just came naturally: I love Nigeria!

While preparing for my first fieldtrip I've read travelguides and articles on Nigeria, and I try to read from as many different authors as possible. Some English, French and of course I want to know what Nigerians think about their own country. Unfortunately I haven't found a travel guide by a Nigerian yet but will be happy to read it if there is one. However, there are obviously many who want to share their opinion about this country, the most populated in Africa, and third in the world, estimations vary between 140-180 million inhabitants. The biggest economy in Africa and sometimes referred to as the 'Giant of Africa'. Linguistically, Nigeria has one of the highest density of languages in the world, with approximately some 500 languages. Most of them are among the least described languages in the world. Nigeria also seems to be one of the most religious nations in the world, less then 1 % considered themselves atheists in 2012. You can find all denominations of Christianity, and all branches of Islam coexisting more or less along with African traditional religions.

Now, despite all the enthusiasm and fascination people might have for Nigeria I find some dissapointment or contempt in phrases like "a giant with feet of clay", "a growing giant or a failing nation?". I read about the chaotic city of Lagos, which got the Guiness record in 1983 as "the world's most dirty city", an environmental catastrophe. I read about corruption and a malfunctioning economy where 100 000 - 400 000 barels of oil dissappear every day(!) I read about beutiful landscapes and hot springs, potential touristic cites, and national parks, that are slowly fading as they are not being well kept. I read about conflicts where about 800 000 children have been displaced in order to escape Boko Haram violence. I read about a so called brain drained state where young adults go abroad for higher education and only come back for visits. The other students left in the country, the majority by the way, drop out of school, leaving them with too little education for a qualified job, but too high education for traditional manual farming. 

Nigeria has oil, gas, fertile land, and other natural resources, not least it has lots of creative people, with one of the world's largest population of youth. With rainforests and mangroves in the south, desert in the north, mountains in the east, and two big rivers, Benue and Niger, flowing through the land, I can only imagine its great biodiversity.

Nigeria is certainly a dynamic nation with lots of potential, facing some seriously big challenges. Still when I say that I love Nigeria, I believe there must be someone who loved Nigeria long before me. Someone who honestly believes in this nation and the people inhabiting it, its languages and cultures, someone who trusts them with an aboundant supply of natural resources. I'm determined to go there and discover who those people are. I'm going to meet young men and women in this "Giant of Africa" and listen to their dreams and hopes for their future. I believe in you, I believe in your nation, I believe you can be the change, cause someone else far more greater than me, loves your country unconditionally, he invested the best he had to give you a future and a hope. So what else can I do but to love you, Nigeria!     

Ett val eller två

Sitter här på kontoret i Villejuif och borde egentligen jobba. Ibland måste man ju bara skriva av sig lite innan man kan fokusera sig på det man ska. 

Jag öppnade mitt facebookkonto igår, efter mer en ett år. Jag hade egentligen inte behövt öppna det om det inte varit för alla bilder som jag förlorade när min externa hårddisk gick sönder i våras. När jag sitter och tittar på foton av vänner från olika tider i livet så påminns jag hur lätt det är att felaktigt jämföra sig med andra. Titta vad den har hunnit med, eller oj så vacker hon har blivit, de har gift sig, en annan har fått barn, någor har rest jorden runt typ etc. Vad har jag hunnit med i livet, vad har jag inte gjort ännu? Det är lätt att hamna i att man antingen ser sig själv som bättre eller sämre än andra. Tyvärr, är inget av det en sann verklighet, det fungerar inte att vara varken bättre eller sämre. Antingen blir man överstolt eller hamnar i självmedömkan som om livet bara en kedja av händelser utan min inverkan eller påverkan.

Jag minns när en god vän påminde mig om att inte vara ett offer. Att inte vara ett offer för mitt eget liv. Det är trots allt jag som har gjort de val som lett till där jag är idag. Vad har jag som jag själv inte valt? Om jag valde att tacka 'ja' eller 'nej' till något i livet spelar kanske inte så stor roll. Vad som räknas mer är kanske 'varför'. Vad var det som motiverade mig, vad fick mig att välja som jag gjorde, var det för pengar, ära, framgång, uppmärksamhet, eller var det av ärlighet, längtan efter sanning, kärlek och rättfärdighet? Jag kan bara svara för mig själv och vet inte så mycket om någon annan. Då blir jag så översvällande tacksam att jag fått göra så många rika erfarenheter i livet, och ja, det var jag som valde att tacka 'ja' till var och en av dem. Nu fortsätter jag framåt i väntan på nya äventyr, tittar tillbaka gör jag ibland, och då ser jag att det var jag som valt den väg jag är på nu. Nu följer jag Jesus, han påminde mig igår att han bara går framåt, aldrig bakåt.

Vända andra kinden till - eller inte?

Det har nu gått två veckor sedan attackerna här i Paris. Förra veckan var jag hemma en sväng i Stockholm. Inte att förvånas över så stod det fortfarande om terrorhot på löpsedlarna och vi pratade om det hemma, i skolan och i kyrkan. Jag lyssnade och försökte tänka mig in hur vi försöker övervinna någon slags fruktan över att vi inte längre har kontroll. Om vi någonsin haft det?! 

Därute finns människor som lever under hot varje dag, de är tillfångatagna, blir sålda, för vissa är döden kanske en räddning. Vad har jag egentligen upplevt i mitt liv som kan ens vara i närheten av att behöva frukta? Ändå fruktar jag, tänk om något skulle hända någon jag älskar? Men jag fruktar även andra saker, att känna mig ensam, bli kritiserad och allmänt vara ouppskattad. Sånt kan verkligen såra och göra mig rädd för framtiden. Annat jag fruktar är min egen oförmåga att förändra dåliga vanor, själviskhet eller avundsjuka. Egentligen vill jag inte frukta någonting utan lära mig övervinna det onda med det goda. 

Min farmor sa alltid att 'det ordnar sig' och det var ett trosstarkt uttryckt att lita på i tider då kassan kanske var mindre än utgifterna, eller vintern alldeles för kall och maten lite för lite för att räcka till alla nio. Hon övervann sin fruktan och hjälpte på så vis många andra att tro och det fungerade.  Men man kan liksom inte längre säga 'det ordnar sig' när någon står med automatvapen framför en, eller kan man det? Vad skulle en mamma ha sagt till sin dotter i en av Birkenaus gaskamrar? Ord kan trösta och hjälpa men förändrar inte nödvändigtvis en situation, iallafall inte med omedelbar verkan. Hur är det då med att vända andra kinden till, fungerar det? Hade inte folk och nationer valt att med våld stå emot nazisterna så är det logiska att tänka att många fler skulle ha dött under andra världskriget. Det känns därför inte så förtroendeingivande när biskopar som, så vitt jag vet, aldrig sett döden i vitögat säger att vi ska prata med IS. Någon annan som genomgått lidande och tortyr, sett hela sin släkt nermejad eller så, kanske kan säga något om saken och om det verkligen fungerar, det där att vända andra kinden till.

Samma Gud som uppmanade Israeliterna att utrota sina fiender i Gamla testamentet uppmanar oss att be för dem som förföljer oss. Dessa är till synes två motsägelsefulla dimensioner, om det inte är så att de tillämpas på två helt olika kontexter, i likhet med lagen om gravitation och aerodynamik. I krig mot ondskan och orättvisan så måste det onda till slut tillintetgöras. Den som är mest upprörd och vred över ondskan borde ju vara Fader Gud själv, det finns ingen möjlighet att han skulle godkänna, finna behag i eller stå likgiltig inför orättvisorna i vår tid. Ändå griper han inte till synes in med våld och legioner av änglar?! 
 
Min pastor påminde oss i söndags om att det är en väsentligt stor skillnad att döda sig själv och andra för att man själv ska komma till himlen och att vara sann martyr som ger sitt liv för att andra ska få liv. En syrisk präst vittnade om att IS soldaterna som fängslat honom ofta frågade honom om hans tro, särskilt om Jesus död på korset och uppståndelsen (just de bitar som koranen säger aldrig ägde rum). Kanske IS soldater ändå söker lite hopp i sin destruktiva förintelsemaskin? (känns lite ofattbart dock då de verkar leva i en annan verklighet, men de är ju fortfarande människor eller?) Jesu död vittnar ju om att vara fröet som sås, som dör, inte för att det älskar döden utan för att det älskar att ge liv. Jag vet inte så mycket om att ge mitt liv för någon annan. Kanske jag i min vildaste fantasi kan föreställa mig att jag tar på mig bombvästen istället för att en 11-årig flicka ska sprängas i luften på en marknad av några galna terrorister i norra Nigeria. Men en psykopat till terrorist vem kan föreställa sig att ta hans plats? Jesus är vårt exempel, kanske?

Jag vet inte om vi alla kommer bli offer för terror och död och om det är bäst att bli offer med eller utan vapen i hand. Mitt enda hopp är Jesus. Han sa att han är uppståndelsen och livet och att om någon tror på det, att han ÄR uppståndelsen och livet, ska den personen leva även om han än dör. (Joh 11) Jag vill leva, så Jesus hjälp mig att dö i tro var och när än min död kommer till mig.  

Bibliothèque National de France

Nationalbiblioteket i Paris (BnF) världens sjätte största bibliotek. Att gå igenom dessa säkerhetsgångar, enorma korridorer som omger de ännu större läs-salarna, som i sin tur omges av till synes oändliga hyllor av böcker och dokument, känns som en blandning av att vara i ett enormt stort arkiv, som att befinna sig i en virtuell värld,  och som att vara i himlen. För det känns bokstavligen overkligt då jag finner det svårt att föreställa mig något vackrare (även om jag förstår att himlen säkerligen är vackrare än något som går att jämföra med här på jorden). Tänk er 40 miljoner, av manuskript, böcker, tidningar, i stort sett allt som publicerats i Frankrike sen 1300-talet. Det innebär en nitiskt detaljerad katalogisering och hantering av 1000-tals dokument som anländer varje dag. Vackrare ändå tycker jag deras vision är, att göra dokumenten tillgängliga för alla. 

Jag har mitt studentleg och mitt pass och efter att ha gått igenom en första säkerhetskontroll vid entrén, som i övrigt liknar mer entrén till en stor flygplats, fick jag en kölapp, jag registrerade mig, skrev under besöksreglerna, betalade mitt årskort (för det reducerade priset 35 €), gav sedan min väska till personalen vid garderoben, använde mitt kort för att komma igenom första spärrarna, därefter tog jag två rulltrapporna för att ytterligare finna en säkerhetsspärr och en ingång till alla läs-salar, och fick så tillgång till en läsplats i det största arkiv jag någonsin sett. Vilken ära att få tillgång till ett av världens största arkiv, att enkelt kunna få del av dokument om språk i Afrika tack vare att andra arbetat här i hundratals år med dokumentation. Det är värdet av en demokrati, Merci France!   

I love me!

Have you ever had a dream? Have you ever felt like you had to give it up? Have you ever felt like your dreams were going through fire and all that came out was burnt ashes? Have you been alone in times when it felt like everyone watched you fall and thought you would never rise again? Have you ever been in love? Have you ever had to give up someone you truly admired, or had to reject someone whom you felt loved you more than any other ever had before? I wish to share my story with you, maybe not all the details right here, but if you come to Paris for a coffee or two I will.;)

I have heared that we humans were created for intimacy. We are love starved. We seek closeness in all ways possible, some more extreme than others. The crazy thing is that despite our inherent longing for intimacy we seem to have lost the code how to get the true, long lasting love relationship that we all so desperately hunger for. As for me, I have fallen in love so many times. But I look back at my experiences in life and see where they have brought me today. 

A few years ago, I said 'yes' to a man I didn't know. I proclaimed my love for the man in a local newspaper and told a national paper in Sweden how I was going to marry a man I had hardly met. People tried to tell me that it was a bad idea. But I was in love, so convinced of what I wanted. Nothing could move me, I was so full of faith and confidence in that young man and in God. I didn't tell anyone how afraid I was, how I cried when he didn't respond to my love the way I expected or he made choices that went straight opposite to my convictions. I believed love was all about giving up myself in every sense. When the man didn't get a visa to come to our wedding (which I had planned despite all those warnings), one week before our planned wedding date, yes after having bought the dress and made the arrangements and all, I canceled the wedding. The young man on the other side of the world had been brave enough to let me know he was afraid, and he said 'let's wait'. That day felt like the worst in my life. There was no way anyone could comfort me. He didn't say he was leaving, but he basically said he wasn't sure he could stay with me, even if he wanted, he wasn't sure. Right there when talking to him on the phone I realised I had a choice. I could chose who I wanted to marry and I could also chose not to marry. I cried every day for months because of the pain in knowing that I loved him but realising I no longer wanted to marry him.  

When hurt, we still try to move on, forgive, keep the good and forget the bad. Since the heart is a muscle it needs to go through some hard time excercising, right? I too had to move on, and not too long after, I met a man on a night bus going from Bamenda to Yaounde, a man who cared for me and touched my heart in ever deeper dimensions than any other man. I was swept away, I was the center of someone's affection, someone who boaldly proclaimed that he loved me. Once again people around me warned me, out of love or out of fear that they were losing control over me, I don't know. However, I wanted to be free, I refused to listen to people who seemed to be locked up in religious rules. Inside of me it couldn't have been a more difficult chaotic storm of emotions, one moment I would be sure I could stand up for my love and let the world know their opinions mattered less to me. In the next moment I was filled with fear, I was paralysed. I got back and forth in our relationship so many times I stopped counting. With time, I realised I once again had to make a choice, a choice that I alone had to make.

Now, if I wish to keep anything from my previous 'failed' or broken relationships, lost trust and misunderstandings, it is that life remains beautiful.  A broken heart doesn't mean a dead heart. My dreams are not dead, they are more alive than ever. I am not dead, I'm still alive and I can smile. I love my life, cause it is mine and noone else's, it is my responsibility today to make choices that can lead me in the direction of my dreams. I would even state that it is first when I live the life given to me that I can genuinely appreciate other people for who they are. Last year in my turquoise home with yellow tiles in the hills of Bambili I got to know many lovely children. One girl gave me her drawing and it pictures it so well. Only here can our broken hearts mend and be engraved with what is crucial for any future relationship, with a little more understanding for others, and most of all, courage to love again.

About sisterhood - a testimony from Naomi (Tanzania)

 This time I hand over the pen to Naomi to share her story...

My name is Jacob Naomi. I was born in 1987 in Bagamoyo district, Chalinze, the coastal region of Tanzania. Growing up in a family in simple circumstances, as the oldest daughter of four children, meant I could not have the chance to get the education I wished for. As the oldest girl there are expectations to earn money for the rest of the family, and also get married early in order not to be a burden for the parents, but I dreamt of going to University. 

Already at elementary school I learnt to study hard and sometimes in difficult environments due to the low standard of living and our financial background as a family. With this it was sometimes difficult to pay my school fees at the right time. However, I learnt already as a young girl that I could only trust God and not man to help me see my dreams come true. I prayed and I believed Jesus would see me through, no matter what. 

In 2005 I completed my ordinary level of education. I wanted so much to continue my studies but there were no means. I choose to stay at home for several years so as to wait for the door to open and be able to continue with my education. I got an opportunity to work with Pioneer Bible Translators (PBT) and the WORD FOR THE WORLD as a literacy worker. I enjoyed my job a lot but I also remembered my dream as a child to one day study at a university. So, in 2012 I got a chance to join the Ruaha Catholic University at Iringa (formerly known as Ruaha University College-RUCO, A Constituent College of St. Augustine University of Tanzania). There I completed a certificate of library and information science for one year. I continued for another two years and got my diploma this year (2015). Thanks to my experience I have got to know different kinds of people from various regions and countries. My studies have brought me from my childhood environment in Dar es Salaam, where my family lives, to far distant places in Tanzania as Morogoro, Arusha and Iringa. 

My dream today is to continue with my degree at the University so that one day I can be a lecturer and teach. Moreover, I dream of helping orphans and widows, and especially help people with disability. In our society today they grew up without education and it seems like society has abandoned them.Every human is important to God and the people we sometimes refer to as disabled have something to teach us. I wish to encourage students, orphans, widows and outcasts to believe that God has a purpose for their lives no matter our background. In all circumstance God has been so good to me. He made a way for me and I will continue to believe in Him even today as I am still waiting for some dreams to come true. I believe they are going to be well as He guides me. So, I humbly give my special thanks to God who provides me with all required needs for my life.

Alla bananer kommer från Sydamerika - eller inte!

Detta bär, ja för det är ingen frukt i botanisk mening, odlades ursprungligen i Sydost Asien och på PNG så tidigt som 8000 år f.Kr. Den spreds sen till Europa och Afrika av arabiska handelsmän och senare av portugiser till Sydamerika. Det var också portugiser som spred benämningen banan till Europa. Fransmännen kallade den till och börja med figue du paradis, dvs fikon från paradiset. Portugiserna däremot lånade namnet banan från ett afrikanskt språk, Wolof (som talas i Senegal, Gambia och Mauretanien). Men det var sen en svensk, smålänningen Carl von Linné som gav bananen dess genetiska namn, Musa. Den första lasten med bananer, 150 stockar, anlände till Sverige först 1909 från just Västindien. Så det är inte undra på att man tror att alla bananer kommer från Sydamerika. I Kamerun, om man vill köpa bananer kan man få frågan, hur många händer bananer man vill ha. Vill man då bara ha en banan får man svara att det räcker med ett finger. Önskar man ha en hel stock ja då får man snällt be om ett huvud.

 (photo by RogerBlench)

Ny adress

Det är fantastiskt vilka äventyr livet tar med en på. Just nu känner jag mig särskilt privilegierad då jag genom mina studier får bo och plugga i en den fantastiska staden Paris. Så många intryck, så mycket människor, så många språk överallt. Jag slutar aldrig att fascineras över denna stad som bjuder på både små och stora överraskningar, vackra hus, små caféer i varje hörn, konst och poesi, höga torn, små kullerstensgator parallellt med stora avenyer, och så denna vackra franska. 

I parken utanför mitt hus vid Cité Universitaire är det många träningsfriska och glada som springer både tidigt och sent. Ibland blir man till och med inbjuden att hänga på. Har ännu inte tackat ja till någon sådan inbjudan dock. 

Fast att jag älskar Paris och älskar det franska livet med ost och vindruvor så kunde jag inte låta bli att åka till IKEA i lördags. Där hittade jag praktiskt allt jag behövde för att fixa till det lite här i mitt rum på 12 kvadrat. Jag var så glad att jag hittade dit och ännu gladare att kunna köpa köttbullar och lingonsylt. All god mat i Paris, men potatismos och köttbullar är inte att ringakta. 

Här är lite bilder från utsikten från Eiffeltornet. Och min nya adress också, så ni kan komma och hälsa på när ni har vägarna förbi:
Cité Universitaire de Paris, Maison Heinrich Heine, Mirjam Möller, 27c Boulevard Jourdan, 75014 Paris, France. Vous êtes les bienvenus! 

(Holy) chaos house

Normally in my house this is what happens. I start out the day eating breakfast and drinking tea with some of my kids that live in the compound. They run off to school hopefully with something either in their belly or at least something edible for lunch. After having sent some kids to school I sit down to start my work. Very soon smaller and younger kids come to greet and I say 'àbɛ̀ŋ wá'à'. As they want some games to play with or just a bit of food I politely send them back home telling them it is not yet time to play. That they should come back in the afternoon. However, it is not very easy to know what is afternoon or later when a whole day seems so long to them. Their moms are off working in the fields. Their dads are either occupied with something or gathered at the local bar. They surely just want some place to rest and have some fun together. Well, after some time they do wander off playing and find some toys that another child thrown away the day before. 

 

Not long after lunch the older kids return from school. Some hungry and some just wanting to borrow a game. They greet 'Ù dí sɛ́ɛ auntie Míyà Nwì'. I send them home first to change their clothes and help mom and dad with some chores in the house before they might play. Within short they all return with their biggest smiles and convince me that they have done enough at home to deserve some rest and time to play. I take out the box of few games and puzzles, maybe even a football that they might take to the field. I tell them they still have to be quiet since auntie is still working. 

As I sit in my room to work on my data I start hearing the excitement from the kids, that someone wins while another child is upset about the other one cheating. The younger kids are sometimes not given a chance to join the game. Very soon auntie has to get out of her room and tell them all to be very quiet. She even tries to show a bit of anger and serious threat to send them away unless they lower their voices. But it doesn't seem to be very effective. How can it be? When most of them are hushed and beaten and scoled at every day at school, a small voice telling them to be silent doesn't seem to give them reason at all to obey. Well, well since they are already here they may atleast enjoy themselves. Sometimes I join them in their games. Or at times I tell them it is time to help clean the floor and they all come together with brooms and rags. We all help not because we have to but because it is fun to do something together.

At times I wonder if I will ever get anything done in life. Making short breaks and pauses to stop for the little ones, to share a banana and a smile, maybe to wipe a tear. Well, if life was all about being effective and productive, in a working moral sense, then for sure it wouldn't be of much value if we didn't make time and room to allow these little ones to share their world and riches with us. It might seem a bit like a chaos but it surely is a holy one!