Grassfields Stories from Cameroon

10. The Green Card

71 10The Green Card hen news broke that Peter Mola and his wife Ely Nyango had won the green card lottery, they became the hottest news items around town. Their names were on every lip in the village of Ndop. Everyone wanted to know what they would be doing in the United States of America. Their relatives wanted to know where they would live and what they would eat in the white man’s land. Others were interested in finding out whether their three teenage children would be able to make friends with white kids. Some poor relatives came holding their caps and headscarves in their hands asking for their own share of the lottery money. “Ma pikin, gibe ma own moni mek I tchop before die take me go,”xcviii Mola’s maternal aunt said, stretching her headscarf in front of her nephew. “Auntie, dis green card lottery whe I tchopam so no be moni,”xcix Mola explained. “Ah ah! If lotta no be moni, na wheti no ma pikin? I beg gibe ma own mek I de go me nayo-nayo,”c the woman said. “Auntie, you be ma mami. I no fit lie you, lottery na daso half book whe gomna for America gibe me mek I take’am enter for America,”ci the young man explained. “Mof-me-de!” Wona tchotchoro dem wona sabe wayo pass mark!cii the seventy-two-year-old emaciated woman exclaimed in desperation. “My son, will there be a furnished home waiting for you and your wife when you arrive in America?” Pa Musonge asked her son, a grin of contentment on his heartshaped face. W 72 “No papa, we’ll have to rent or buy our own house,” Mola said. “Oh! Is that true, my son?” “Yes, papa,” Mola assured his father. “This story is bigger than my head. So what is this green card lottery?” “Papa, the green card is only a visa, an authorization that allows my wife, my children, and me to immigrate to the United States of America. “Alright! I thought that our suffering was now a thing of the past since you’ve won the lottery,” the sexagenarian said. “No, papa. Money may come but we’ll have to work for it,” Mola explained. “Is there a job waiting for you in the white man’s country?” Mola’s mother asked. “No, mama. We’ll have to look for our own jobs,” her son answered. “This I don’t understand. You have a good job here, why go to a strange land to look for work?” His mother asked. “I hear that America is the land of dreams,” Mola explained. “Land of dreams, my son? So when you sleep here you don’t dream?” his mother asked, worried. “Mama, what I mean is that in America, everyone can succeed. You don’t need a godfather or bribes in order to succeed over there,” the young man said, smiling contentedly. “Mama, America is a land of opportunities. It is good for these children,” Ely cut in. “Wheti wona go tchop for dat farway kontry? Dem de cook fufu wet njama-njama for deh?”ciii Mola’s paternal grandmother asked. “No grandma, fufu wet njama-njama no de for deh but we no go die hungry. Mukala dem no de sleep wet hungry. Tchop 73 de for deh. We hear say dem get plenty hamburger wet hotdog ,”civ Mola explained. “Eeeh! Eeeh! Dat pipo dem de tchop dog!”cv the nineone -year-old woman exclaimed, clapping her cupped hands thrice in disbelief. Silence fell on the crowd that had assembled that evening to wish Mola and his family farewell to the dreamland . Mola’s oldest uncle who had served in the colonial army in England advised him not to throw away the chance of a life time. “Take a chance, my son. You may never have this opportunity again. Life belongs to those who venture. A sedentary snake never looks fresh,” the elderly man said. After having said that he invited everyone to join him in the pouring of libation. Standing up bare body but for a sanjacvi tied around his tiny waist he uttered the following incantations: Gods of mbolo, gods of messi, gods of mbongkoh Goddesses of nguala, goddesses of meusoh, Goddesses of Bekeu and of Teuloh, We place our son, daughter, and their children in your hands. Watch over them day and...