Dear friends,
one night and 4000 km separate me from home this time tomorrow I'll be wrapped in the familiar chaos of insomnia and heavy Milan, heart pounding and probably anxious to take back what I left for these long months.
was exactly nine months ago, I was in the same place at the same time. That time Nsimalen smelled it again and I was a foreigner. Today more alien but the airport does not stink anymore.
Caro JJ, come back to what you know. Your world welcomes you hungry for stories and you give them to him. For a little 'hurt and you will feel more alien to Nsimalen cederai but the desire for exotic tales of sorcerers made with crab, Amougou of monkeys and children homeless. How could you forget the speeches on the absence of professional power, without giving in on the progress and Westernization anthropological evolutionism. You'll forget because this time share for a world that you know and you know what he wants.
Once again shut the bedroom door in Cameroon, this infinite space that has allowed many to dream. Who knows, maybe the window will open tomorrow on pampas or the unknown deserts of Mongolia dissem What is certain is that there are slightly less curious look down on the street but no less deserving Tadino, with its people and its stories.
It 's hard to say what I will miss, the list would be endless but they are also lots of things I missed, a lot really.
It 'hard to put a point on a story like that, but it's nice to know that we can begin the next with a capital letter.
It 'difficult to select the best moments, but there are some pictures that even time can erase.
I do not forget the penultimate train trip to Yaounde when beginning to see the ups and downs of suburbs my roommate exclaimed enthusiastically "welcome in the seven-hilled city!" And the surprise soon reciprocated when I told him that the city of seven hills, there is one also from me. We laughed thinking how we are closed in our little worlds.
No one will take away the sense of incomprehension and helplessness cursed in front of words of a mother who confessed often with disarming honesty to appeal to an iron chain to prevent his child (six years) to run away from home constantly.
I will never forget that girl that one day I walked in quiet neighborhood, ran towards me with two eyes and hesitant and suspicious mi chiese
"Est-ce que tu es vraiment blanc?". Da allora mi è capitato più volte desiderare di addormentarmi e risvegliarmi nero, perché ci sono delle cose di questo mondo che da bianchi è pretenzioso sperare di capire.
Dell'Africa non è possibile lavarsi una volta tornati a casa e anche se la mia Africa non è vittima di guerre né muore di fame, non per questo il ricordo di certi vissuti sarà meno rovente.
Non basteranno certo quei quattro batik appesi al muro a rendere il reinserimento più facile, nè le lettere, né le fotografie, né i cd dei Faadah Kautal, ma sono contento di rivedervi e di potervi raccontare una volta di più tutto questo cammino.
jj escalante
