Your Madness Not Mine: Stories of Cameroon

7. Accidents Are a Sideshow

7 Accidents Are a Sideshow It is the deep of night. The world is asleep. The owls are awakening. A young woman is in bed, caught in the throes of a recurring nightmare: She is leaving her house, very early in the morning, once a week as she does these days, and heading directly for “the embassy.” There is already a long line of people waiting. She sighs, yet is grateful she made it that early. What’s a two-hour wait? they are all asking each other. At least at this embassy, they didn’t have to wait long hours only to make an appointment on when to return for a visa application form. A hand finally waves her in. She floats through the door, stands at attention, and waits for the security check. She opens her handbag. A man with cold, expressionless eyes dips his hands into the bag and methodically ploughs through its contents in a matter of seconds. He points to an open basket and she deposits her handbag in it. He waves her through metal detectors. She cringes and holds her breath. Her heart is racing, her palms are sweaty. She resists the temptation to wipe them on her dress. (A friend had jokingly told her one day that the metal detectors in this particular embassy were 97 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. used for something other than security . . . they were used to slowly erase the memories of all those seeking visas to go to their country. Manda had taken the joke seriously. Framing her body within the confines of those cold rectangular metals always made her flinch. She always took a deep breath, blanking out everything she knew before stepping through. She could then retrieve her memories on the other side.) She crosses the two-inch bridge and is now on the other side. She takes in a deep breath. Smiles. Her memories are intact . She is handed an application form. She fills it out, tenders it to the man who is also requesting the ten- or twelve-thousand -franc (the ever-fluctuating equivalent of twenty dollars), nonrefundable application fee. She sits and waits. She waits. She waits. Names are being called from the window up there. She can hardly see the faces spitting out those names. She looks up, directly at the cubicle, and catches the glimpse of a man, young, handsome and a woman, middle-aged, plain, with a very noticeable freckled nose. Their voices are sharp, penetrating , judgmental. Theirs are voices of power, of ownership, of control. Another name. She waits. Finally, her turn. Her name is mispronounced. She almost misses it. Imagine that. She cannot afford to frown, so she walks briskly in the direction of the little rectangular window. She hears a man’s voice. So you want to go to the United States . . . It is a statement. Not a question. Why? he asks. She looks up through the cubicle . No face. She steps back two steps. The face of the young man is in full view. She looks at his eyes. They say nothing. She can feel herself readjusting her pose, bending her head, looking down at her feet. Her mind is floating away. The young man is talking. She cannot remember why she is here . . . When you have all of those documents, you can come back, but not before . . . She is walking through the metal detectors. She does not remember to hold her breath. She is back. Again. Her used manila envelope in her hand. It is sweat stained and creased on all corners. It has had a rough 98 / Makuchi You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. life but has also handled her documents with care. She is going through the motions in her mind, rehearsing . . . go through security check open handbag put open handbag here Take a deep breath. walk through metal detectors, there, pick up handbag hold manila envelope firmly walk through door Take a deep breath. look up, look down remove documents from envelope look up place documents, up, up...