Just Horsing Around...

Early last week one of my neighbors asked if I wanted to join her and her family to watch the Northwest Regional Horse Race over the weekend. I’ve never been much of an equestrian enthusiast, but this sounded like the kind of event that I didn’t want to miss out on. As has become my custom, I tried to limit my expectations going in; the truth is that I just had no idea if I was headed to a Kentucky Derby knockoff or a casual few loops around a racetrack.

             Prior to the race I had seen very few horses during my time in Cameroon. There used to be one that was often tethered in my quarter, but after a neighbor told me that eating horsemeat is fairly common I stopped asking after its whereabouts.

            The race is being held in the main Bamenda stadium behind the Commercial Avenue, Bamenda’s main drag. My neighbors and I head down just after the 11AM start (the invitation says 11:00 prompt) and I’m nervous that we’ll miss the whole thing. After all, I can’t imagine that the horses run for more than a few minutes. Apparently I’m still a sucker for official Cameroonian scheduling.

            As we walk to the main gate, Asmahan, one of my neighbors, asks me if I’m more excited about the horse racing or the horse dancing. I look at her in confusion, and assure her that horses don’t dance. Just wait, she tells me. Just wait.

            After paying our 200CFA entrance fee (about $0.35) we enter the stadium and I’m amazed to see that the stands are filled and the racetrack is empty. Of course we haven’t missed it, but are instead waiting for the Prime Minister to arrive so the race can begin. It’s going to be a long wait. Luckily, the promised horse dancing is available to entertain us in the meantime. And it’s incredible. The horses are in costumes, the riders are incredibly skilled, and I’m happy to wait and watch all day long.

After three hours of horse dancing, incomprehensible conversations in Fulfulde (a local dialect), and lending my camera to my neighbors, I’m no longer happy to wait and watch all day long. My PCV friend Tommy, who had come to join my neighbors and me, suggests a lunch break and I’m happy to oblige. We head to one of the restaurants in town and enjoy a leisurely meal. As we’re settling the bill, I call to check in with one of my neighbors as to the status of the race. She tells me that the Prime Minister had already arrived, so the race should be starting soon. I head back to the stadium and although I adamantly refuse to pay the recently increased 500CFA entrance fee, I’m granted admittance. One of the benefits to never blending in is that you’re rarely forgotten, and one of the girls selling tickets reluctantly acknowledges that I’ve already paid my fee. In case you’re wondering, ticket stubs and hand stamping haven’t made it over here yet.

I arrive just in time to hear the introductions of each horse and rider. Incredibly, all of the jockeys are under the age of 18. I’m not sure if there’s a correlation, but (spoiler alert!) the winning horse is rode by the youngest jockey in the group, a small 13 year-old. This isn’t the place to get into this, but it is worth noting that all of the jockeys are male. I learned earlier in the day that one of the daughters of a missionary couple hadn’t been allowed to compete in the qualifiers the day before on the basis of her gender.

Suddenly, everything happens quickly. All of the horses line up and before I know it, the race has begun. It isn’t even close for a minute. I’m not aware of any betting that went on (surprising, given the popularity of betting for soccer games), but it wouldn’t have been an exciting race to bet on. The leader of the pack remains in the lead for all four laps and the race is over as quickly as it began. The winning time is just under 3:00, which would probably mean a bit more if I knew how long the track is.  

With the horse dancers looking on in the background, awards are given out to the three winning jockeys. Prizes range from 100,000CFA (just under $200) to 200,000 for the winner. Given that the latter is more than my monthly living allowance (a generous sum itself), that’s quite the prize for a boy of 13. I’m not sure how horse-related expenses work in Cameroon, or if they’re anywhere near their American counterparts. But rest assured, I’m yet to see any kind of official horse stable.

The horse race now officially over, it’s time to celebrate. A small group forms in the middle of the track and starts up one of the traditional dances. And on the other side of the track I learn that there’s an entire set of stands and booths advertising various products and services. More interesting are the jujus that congregate on one platform off to the side-a terrifying group of dancers clad in masks and noisemakers that are collectively some of the most impressive dancers I’ve ever seen. Many children fear these jujus, as is custom. My neighbors are caught between their desire to witness the dancing and their fear about getting too close. After a few minutes I think we’ve all had enough. We head home, exhausted and satisfied. I don’t get many opportunities to witness traditional Cameroonian cultural shows, and this one more than made up for it.

In other news, I’m actively preparing for my parents’ impending visit to Cameroon! They arrive in a few days, and I’m beginning to wonder who is more excited: them or my neighbors and friends here. Family is exceedingly important here, and my family is often a source of concern. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to show Cameroon off to them, and finish the job I started last May, when my brother made the trip out. Here’s to wishing them a wonderful, rewarding, and memorable trip!