The bustle and blare of the market bulldozed me out of slumber. I felt so blessed that Carole, my local companion had offered to pick me up in the dead of the night and bring me to my place which, by day was recognizable as a street of hawkers but by nightfall had the feel of hawks and hacks, neither of which I was interested in running into.
Street markets appeal to me. I appreciate their authenticity, action and ambition. Often, my intuition leaps into the driver seat and whether I’m in Côte d'Ivoire gravitating to music and mayhem or stumbling upon skulls, skeletons and status quo items in Mali, there’s always something to smile at, or surrender to.
Although antithetical to affluence, there is a simple sweetness in African markets. Far from riffraff, the point where this work is done is poised with potential, practicality, promise and pure sweat. In many of these circumstances, choice is constricted on how people earn their livelihood. For those that can live their purpose, surely, this seems like an invitation to cloud nine.
Whether it was linked to the ten part classification of clouds itself (with cumulonimbus being the ninth one, fluffy, grand and awe inspiring), being high, happy, head in the clouds or akin to the seventh heaven, what takes us to cloud nine?
While it may be utopic to anticipate a sizeable shift in the narrative from commerce to contentment, finding flexion points within our daily journeys seems valuable. Travelling and the inherent invitations therein, seem to lend themselves to landing us in the clouds, even if it’s just for transport sake. Often though, even when I’m not looking for it overtly, I find myself face-to-face with something that sparks joy, glee or satiety. The most obvious options come from food, obviously. Meals that distinctly declare that you’ve landed in new lands, the kind that makes you wonder which genius constructed this, how will you find it ever again, and my favourite, the underdog kind that curves your mouth up and widens your eyes with wholesome appreciation, particularly when you’re not expecting it. Through beignet koki (aka Akara), savoury black-eyed bean donuts and beignet haricots avec boullie, puff puff savoury donuts with beans with corn, I was welcomed to cloud nine.
Carole and I wandered the market, for no real reason. Till we stumbled upon street food. I’d had a taste of it before, but somehow in that moment, it was award-winning. Perhaps it was the way the sun streamed through the stalls, the rickety bench that seemed like the best seat in the house and the ambiance of having a beauty salon at our backsides (pedicure and hair braiding in full swing) while kiddos frolicked in the front and bartering bellowed in surround sound. I noticed the bright blue sky above and the cotton ball looking cumulus that slowly summersaulted across the horizon. Indeed, this was a point of pleasure timestamped in the present, and, for the future. If I’m back in Yaoundé, my stomach will surely be seeking out this specific spot!
I noticed the peace in this place. Perhaps I ought to have felt otherwise, given the grit and grind. I contrasted this to the many luxury brands and escapes that play off the notion of what bliss is and the various ways in which it can be encountered. Yes, they too offer a glimpse into the good life. Getting and staying there though, that was the question.
Why is it that we clamour for the big stuff, and to get to it, squeezing out our life force like that tube of toothpaste that can’t reward us as fully as it once did? Sages of all ages remind us of what inevitably elevates our lives: connection - be it with kids, our clans, as couples or with the Creator of cloud nine itself.
Juxtaposing the market’s buzz was our next stop, the nearby Basilique Marie Reine des Apotres. There, we stumbled upon a Cameroonian wedding. As I watched the scurry and flurry, I wondered if the bride, groom, their parents or crew were boarding for cloud nine.
Inspired by the ceremony and knowing that dancing is another surefire way to end on a high, Sami and Carole planned for us to head to Cloud 9, actually. The famed rooftop joint was cute and cozy. The fairy lights added a pop against the starry sky while the warm breeze carried the artists passion, uniting strangers into sections of folks who swayed and sang together.
It was clear that these guys were in the zone. Their trade bound them together and in so doing, dropped them into flow. It was like I was standing on the shore of their songs, watching them scuba in their sentiments, and sometimes, a few of us were struck enough to stand up and stick our toes in too!
From all the little and lofty things Yaoundé has in store, who knew that housed in a rickety building, the door on the top floor could lead us to Cloud 9? So I suppose it’s true, let’s not judge a cloud by its cover …
May our lives find levity and all the little (and big) things that put us on cloud nine,