Of selling ones soul and burnt out houses

Dear readers,

Last few weeks have been rather intense. I went on a trip to Bulgaria, received an invitation for a scholarship in Kenya and I am currently at page 13 of my MA-thesis.

But first over to a country we all know and love. Yes, you guessed correctly! Cameroon. Good, I'll admit it. Cam and I have not always been on speaking terms. In fact, when I visited it the last time, it decided to stab me in the back by giving me malaria as I wanted to leave the country. Thankfully I survived and got back to my cold and malaria free country up north.

Yet, Cameroon is a stunningly beautiful country. I admit that there are few places in the world that would offer a traveler so much diversity in one single country. Honestly, a 3 week holiday means 21 different holidays, since one sees a different side of Cameroon every day.

Some people, like my parents, believe in this country enough to make serious investments into it. They set up a business, help people get to school and strive for development of the Cameroonian tourist industry. They litterally work night and day and usually get quite good result. Usually, this leads my mother to conclude that with a bit of TTT (Talking, Tipping and Threatening) one can actually run a tourist business in Cameroon.

The latest project has been a cross-over between a camping and a nature resort in the mountains of the North West Province. Beautiful spot. High up in the mountains where it is cool enough to ease one's European climatological sensibilities. Pride and joy of the project was the pavilion, that was planned to become a multi-functional builiding.

The local population was engaged in running the camp, guarding it and guiding the tourists. Plans were there for improvement of the drinking water facilities and improving the road.

But then it happened. In the night, someone burned own the first of the boukaroums (something akin to a rondavel). The thached roof was no match for the flames and the poor boukaroum was burnt to the ground. Then the reception, equipped similarly with a thached roof was burnt down, folowed by another Boukaroum. Eventually the purpetrator was caught by the angry townpeople of the village, who were about to throw the guy into the flames of his own fire. Fortunately, our manager managed to avoid the mob burning the guy at the stake and the pyromaniac is now in jail. Unfortunately, not before half of the camp was destroyed. it will be closed and sold off. The dream died in the flames of the thached roof.

What was destroyed even more utterly than the camp, however, was my parents belief in Cameroon. They gave everything they had to the country and this was their reward. It is a sad affair, not only for my parents, but also for all those Cameroonians that want their country to progress and to reach higher levels of prosperity this can only be done, though, if the people of Cameroon manage to find a cure for one of those all to human defects: jealousy. I f they find the cure, I do ever so hope they will share it with the rest of us...

Ој Косово...

Момак је имао слатке смеђе очи. Личио је на иконе које се налазе на старе цркве које се налазе на зидовима старих цркви бивше византијског света. Имао је и брата близанца и нећу неговати да сам био доста импресиониран његовом лепотом. Можда моја двиља момковом лепотом другима није баш била најчишћи осећај на свету, али момак било је заиста леп. да пустимо онда стару аверсију интелекуталаца старога кова према физичности и хомосексуланости. Дивља лепотом оног момка по мом мишљењу била је толико чист осећај лао што дивља лепом црквом или уметношћу. Није ли, на крају крајева, Бог највећи уметник?

Били смо на презентацији превода најновије књиге Дубравке Угрешића, која се зове "Баба Јага je снијела јаје". Водили смо дискусије о разним субјектима и без икакве сумње да је разговор био угодан и без икакве сукобе. Момак је водио пореклу из Босне, тачније из Сребренице. Питао ме је шта ме је привлачило толико у Балкан да студирам његов језик. Рекао сам му да ме привлачи стара култура, књижевност и уметност. Био је доста зачуђен па питао ме је чиме се бавим тренутачно. Мислећи да сам међу интелектуалцима, одговорио сам да студирам косовске епове. Одговор му се није свидео уопште. У очима, његов поглед се променио од пријатењства до непријатењства. Очигледно, чак и студија непријатељске књижевности је доста да сломи икакве шансе на пријатељство.

Наравно разумем босанске осећаје према српској култури. Разумем их, али их не одобравам. Нису Милош Кобилић или цар Лазар узели Сребреницу и нису Југовићи убили неоружане момке и мушкарце. Озбиљна студија српских епова, које се употребљавале за свакакве малверзације кроз историју, по мом мишљењу најбољи антидот нечистом национализму која је схватила Србију после краја комунистичке владавине. Само кад епове сматрамо књижевношћу и кад их и проучавамо као сваку другу средњовековну књижевност, можемо да откријемо праву вредност старих епова. Али за то је нужно да расводимо дефинитвно средњовековну прошлост и политичку садашност.

Проблем, иначе, није само да су криминалци искористили епове за своје малверзације и первертизације. Либерална елита земаља бивше Југославије (као што Дубравка Угрешић, која зове фолклористику "интелектуалном инфантилношћу") епове не тематизирају. Због тога пуштају народну патримонију иредентистима који имају већ мора крви на рукама. Прави одговор националистишким первертирањем није да игноршемо косовске епове, али да их проушавамо и да их терамо од националистичког дискурса.

Д

Sic semper tyrannis

SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS

U koos het aardse koninkrijk, van geweld en onderdrukking

Dat met tranen wordt gewassen, met zweepslagen getooid

U verwierp een hemels rijk, vol vrede en verrukking

Uw hand heeft van velen meer dan slechts de levensgeest gerooid

Wat had u graag het aanbod in een woestijn gekregen

Zonder twijfel had u ‘t aangenomen, ras en zonder spijt

De naam des schenkers had u misschien verzwegen

Verdrukt, verbannen of vergeten mettertijd.

Maar wie de aarde kiest, kiest ook de wisse dood

Als de koninkrijken vallen en u zult vluchten van uw troon

Groeit gestaag de geringste goedheid groot

En krijgt u ten langen leste niets dan ’s duivels loon

Translation

You chose an earthly realm, of violence and oppression

Bathed in tears and decorated with lashes of the whip

You spurned the heavenly realm of peace and rapture

Your hand reaped more than just the life spirit of many

How gladly would you have entertained that offer in the desert,

You would have accepted it of course, rashly and with no regrets

You would have kept silent about the name of your benefactor

Perhaps you would have repressed it, banished it, or, with time, have forgotten it

But he who chooses the earth, a certain death does choose

When kingdoms tremble and from your throne you’ll flee

The littlest goodness will grow grand,

And at the end, you’ll receive naught but the devil’s pay.

Vaistina

Dear all,

I am not much of a blogger. I never really felt the urge to put my thoughts to digital paper, but I would like to give it a try now. The title of this blog is vaistina. For those of you who do not know Slavic languages, it means 'in truth'. I thought that would be a nice name for a blog. Misleading perhaps, because I cannot claim to denote the objective truth with absolute precision, but I endeavour at least to faithfully represent my version of the truth.

I am not yet sure what the purpose of this blog is going to be, but I guess that will sort itself out in the end. Posts on this blog will be in English, Dutch, Romanian, Serbo-Croat or Bulgarian. This means that certain people will be able to read certain parts of my blog. English, along with Romanian and Serbo-Croat will probably be my main proze language. Dutch will be my language of poetry and Bulgarian will pop up whenever the fancy takes me. I will not be translating every post in a language other than English. The only exception would be the poetry that I write in Dutch, to which I will add a translation in English.

I hope to hear from you all!