“Thirst to learn, thirst for freedom”
– [Entre l’ici et l’ailleurs]-
Tract – My name is Maxence. My family belongs to the Christian bourgeoisie of Douala. This means, for example, that my parents love champagne, that we go to church on Sundays dressed like never before and that we have to have servants, at least a guard to protect us from thieves and a cleaning lady. So.
The cleaning ladies, we had plenty of them. Sooner or later, they end up leaving. Because sooner or later, my mother ends up forgetting to pay them. So.
My mother is a pharmacist and owner of her pharmacy. When the unfortunates chase her up for their salaries, she always repeats the same thing: “my pharmacy isn’t doing well, with all these street vendors of fake medicines that you are supporting, I can’t make it…”
My mother then pretends not to see the evil look that then lands on her. Some housekeepers slam the door, taking what they can, like my mother’s gold jewelry or her handbags. But that never makes up for what my mother owes them. So.
And my father does not feel responsible for any of this. A senior official of the national electricity company like him does not take care of domestic affairs. Quite simply. A dot, a line.
Our last housekeeper, Fam, fourteen years old, came to us five months ago as an au pair cleaner. My mother called on a placement service for children from the North – uh sorry, servants – in bourgeois families who aren’t too particular about the age of their employees. That is, families like ours. So.
According to the arrangement between this service, Fam’s family and my mother, Fam must be paid and educated in return for his work.
Time passed, there was no pay, no school enrollment, but there was a lot of work.
After trying to make my sister Garance aware of the fate of Fam, I understood that the issues of children not attending school in the North, the drought that is raging there, hunger, child labor… are too, far too far from his thought pattern.
The only interest she has shown in Fam consists in throwing orders or reproaches to him: “Clean my bag. Bring me this, that… Why are you putting everything away badly? She doesn’t understand anything, I’m fed up…”
Fam is the same age as my sister. She is poor, expresses herself badly in French, she is a bush girl. Too many flaws to be able to interest Garance.
And me, from the top of my twelve years, I found myself assuming the role of impatient teacher, strongly solicited by a teenager very thirsty to learn. Cahin-caha, we tried, in secret from my mother.
When Fam progressed in learning French and gained confidence, the first thing she asked of my mother was to go to school, not her wages. But our mother is so good at answering people with promises. Always promises.
Then one day, my aunt Suzie, a very different woman from my mother, came to visit us.
I immediately recognized in her the ally I was missing in this house. It was two months ago. Of course, Aunt Suzie couldn’t help but rail against Fam’s situation.
She is one of the few people who knows how to destabilize my parents, especially my father. I like to listen to them in secret. I love his tours.
– Why did you recruit her if you didn’t want to send her to school? she asked my parents.
– I don’t think it would bring him anything… defended my mother. She is very lucky: she is well fed, well dressed, well housed, in a bourgeois neighborhood, it’s still not bad for someone who lived in a adobe hut and didn’t have enough to eat!
– What a beautiful social promotion for her then!
– If you had seen her when she arrived, she was all emaciated, she didn’t speak French! We would not even have said a real Cameroonian…
– And our elders in the village, do they speak French?
– No… I don’t see the connection…
– Where does she come from? From the Far North, from Adamoua?… The Septentrion, it’s big…
“I don’t know…” my mother waved away.
My father looked up from his magazine Jeune Afrique (the reference for the elite) to add: Is it so important? The Septentrion is the Septentrion!
– I’m surprised that someone like you who talks all the time about the real Cameroon doesn’t care that much about his country…
“Unlike you, isn’t it? The math teacher is now interested in his country! Big deal…
– Professor Yves, the professor…
– As if that changes anything… It’s because of this type of claim that you’re still not married!
– Yves, how low! I’m a widow, have you ever heard me complaining about my love life?
– It suits you well to define yourself as a widow, no doubt because you find it more noble… but you weren’t even married to this man, you were his mistress!
– Rather than deploying so much energy to take care of your sister’s private life, why not enroll this young girl in school, help her build her future and that of her village?
– Ah! Don’t try to humiliate me in my own house…
– Far be it from me that intention… A girl in school, a better society, on all levels…
“It’s not our fault these people don’t send their children to school! Besides, it’s none of your business…
– Well, yes, exactly. Now that I have seen Fam, a teenager who is eager to go to school but is prevented from doing so, she has become my affair…
Our father grumbled something before diving back into his reading while our mother pretended to activate, rather uncomfortable.
Aunty Suzie let out a long sigh and then started helping Fam clear the table. She then joined us on the veranda to chat with us.
Over the next few weeks, Aunt Suzie started visiting us more frequently. I understood that Fam had become his business. His efforts to conceal his interest in the girl did not escape me. If my mother suspected something, she was careful not to show it.
At each of Aunt Suzie’s visits, I saw Fam’s eyes sparkle and her whole being come alive.
A month ago, Aunt Suzie explained to my mother that she could enroll Fam in a school to take evening classes. My mother’s face immediately closed.
Auntie Suzie was not discouraged, she pulled another card from her bag offering to teach Fam herself literate, according to the timetable my mother wanted. She kept a long silence before promising that she would think about it.
The time has passed. My mother ended up answering that she thought it better to enroll Fam at the next school year. Seven months of waiting, in the uncertainty of a promise. From that day I saw Fam begin to wither.
Then a few days ago, it vanished. Just like the other domestic workers.
Tata Suzie swears she has no idea what happened to Fam.
I don’t believe her, but I can only thank her from the bottom of my heart for helping Fam spread its wings. How can you blame her for having been contaminated by Fam’s thirst for freedom?
I am so proud of these two women.
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