The Curse of the Nomad
If you talk to teenagers in a small town for any length of time, you'll inevitably hear them complain about how their lives are boring. "There's nothing to do", they claim, "My life sucks. Nothing ever happens to me". Inevitably, several of these disaffected adolescents resort to behavior that seems frightening to adults; they listen to strange music, dress like hobos, and lurch around the public square like extras on the set of a zombie flick.
Eventually, the well-intentioned community sets up a youth centre hoping that disaffected teens will find an appropriate outlet for their angst. Unfortuately, there is nothing less cool than any teenage activity sanctioned by adults, and this effort inevitably fails, much to the consternation and bewilderment of the community at large.
Boredom, to an adult, is an unfathomable mystery. We understand procrastination, but to us, an uneventful day is a good day. If nothing happens, that means our lives are orderly and peaceful. We've read the papers enough to realize that "something happening" is usually a bad thing. Boredeom smacks of ingratitude. Those kids don't know how good they have it.
Of course, I realize my own perspective may be slightly skewed. You see, I'm living under The Curse of the Nomad, and eventually, my pleasant, if uneventful, life will one day be plagued by unimaginable suffering.
It was the summer of 1995, and I was a volunteer English teacher in Jos, Nigeria. On a dusty Saturday savannah morning, I made my weekly trek down to the main market. The market was a sprawling, chaotic mass of commerce; Igbo women from the south in colorful printed batiks smiled and shouted "see tomates! see tomatoes", and crafty Hausa merchants in long, flowing robes attempted to entice with their bootleg tapes and genuine rolex watches. The market was teeming with thieves, touts, and beggars, as well as bedraggled children mesmerized by their first sight of a "bature", which means European in Hausa. I bought tomatoes, peanuts, and spinach from my usual vendors, and, as usual, gave my change to the resident lepers and amputees.
In Nigeria, begging is seen as an honorable profession by most. I quickly learned that the greatest insult a Nigerian can say is "he didn't want to help". You weren't expected to give everything you had to the impovished in a Christ-like flourish of generosity, but you were expected to give a little bit of what you had--a few coins after breaking a bill. Beggars functioned as de-facto tax collectors, and I was more than willing to do my part. I even came to recognize a few of the lepers and amputees, and had developed a friendly rapport with them in my smattering of Hausa.
On that day, however, I was accosted by an agressive beggar; a scar-faced Tuareg nomad that towered over my 6'3" frame. I gave him the change left over following my most recent purchase, and instead of smiling and blessing me for my generosity, he continued to follow me from stall to stall, muttering and gesticulating wildly. Because I didn't want to succumb to intimidation, I ignored him. For a half and hour, this intimidating man in his black turban and indigo robe continued to shadow me, and when I saw a merchant dressed in the same fashion, I asked what he wanted. The merchant, in somber tones, told me that I was being cursed.
"He dey say, you no good man. He say he curse you. You na go have lower back pain."
I was shocked by the specificity of the curse. This must be powerful juju...As I wandered through the market I wondered if this was the first time I was charmed, or whether it had happened before without my notice. After all, if you can be cursed with lower back pain, perhaps social awkwardness or hallitosis could be induced as well. Perhaps we're all victims of such commonplace curses.
I managed to give my tormentor the slip, but to this day, I live in dread of the nomad's curse. I make sure to lift heavy objects with my legs, and try to keep my stomach strong, but I know that someday, it'll catch up with me.
When the curse finally takes effect, perhaps I'll think back to those careless days of youth when I myself complained "nothing ever happens to me". My curse on the youth of this bored, slackjawed generation is this: "May you one day become old and neurotic like your parents". I have no doubt I possess powerful juju.
Eventually, the well-intentioned community sets up a youth centre hoping that disaffected teens will find an appropriate outlet for their angst. Unfortuately, there is nothing less cool than any teenage activity sanctioned by adults, and this effort inevitably fails, much to the consternation and bewilderment of the community at large.
Boredom, to an adult, is an unfathomable mystery. We understand procrastination, but to us, an uneventful day is a good day. If nothing happens, that means our lives are orderly and peaceful. We've read the papers enough to realize that "something happening" is usually a bad thing. Boredeom smacks of ingratitude. Those kids don't know how good they have it.
Of course, I realize my own perspective may be slightly skewed. You see, I'm living under The Curse of the Nomad, and eventually, my pleasant, if uneventful, life will one day be plagued by unimaginable suffering.
It was the summer of 1995, and I was a volunteer English teacher in Jos, Nigeria. On a dusty Saturday savannah morning, I made my weekly trek down to the main market. The market was a sprawling, chaotic mass of commerce; Igbo women from the south in colorful printed batiks smiled and shouted "see tomates! see tomatoes", and crafty Hausa merchants in long, flowing robes attempted to entice with their bootleg tapes and genuine rolex watches. The market was teeming with thieves, touts, and beggars, as well as bedraggled children mesmerized by their first sight of a "bature", which means European in Hausa. I bought tomatoes, peanuts, and spinach from my usual vendors, and, as usual, gave my change to the resident lepers and amputees.
In Nigeria, begging is seen as an honorable profession by most. I quickly learned that the greatest insult a Nigerian can say is "he didn't want to help". You weren't expected to give everything you had to the impovished in a Christ-like flourish of generosity, but you were expected to give a little bit of what you had--a few coins after breaking a bill. Beggars functioned as de-facto tax collectors, and I was more than willing to do my part. I even came to recognize a few of the lepers and amputees, and had developed a friendly rapport with them in my smattering of Hausa.
On that day, however, I was accosted by an agressive beggar; a scar-faced Tuareg nomad that towered over my 6'3" frame. I gave him the change left over following my most recent purchase, and instead of smiling and blessing me for my generosity, he continued to follow me from stall to stall, muttering and gesticulating wildly. Because I didn't want to succumb to intimidation, I ignored him. For a half and hour, this intimidating man in his black turban and indigo robe continued to shadow me, and when I saw a merchant dressed in the same fashion, I asked what he wanted. The merchant, in somber tones, told me that I was being cursed.
"He dey say, you no good man. He say he curse you. You na go have lower back pain."
I was shocked by the specificity of the curse. This must be powerful juju...As I wandered through the market I wondered if this was the first time I was charmed, or whether it had happened before without my notice. After all, if you can be cursed with lower back pain, perhaps social awkwardness or hallitosis could be induced as well. Perhaps we're all victims of such commonplace curses.
I managed to give my tormentor the slip, but to this day, I live in dread of the nomad's curse. I make sure to lift heavy objects with my legs, and try to keep my stomach strong, but I know that someday, it'll catch up with me.
When the curse finally takes effect, perhaps I'll think back to those careless days of youth when I myself complained "nothing ever happens to me". My curse on the youth of this bored, slackjawed generation is this: "May you one day become old and neurotic like your parents". I have no doubt I possess powerful juju.
