Every young Cameroonian, has at the very least, heard Aveiro Djess’ song by now. It has been thumping and bumping on speakers all over the country. I don’t watch TV, so I am guessing it must be climbing the charts on TRACE, BOOM TV and every other Cameroonian music channel, and radio station too.
The song itself is a breath of fresh air as it takes us away from the redundancy of the love songs which our urban musicians never seem to tire of. Although it also borders on the disguised religious theme of grass to grace, and of various protagonists being lifted to higher heights by their sheer hard work and by the blessing of a doting God who rewards hard work while casting aside enemies and haters.
But as I had once mentioned in an article here, we Africans love such music with themes that collide at the intersection of our christian beliefs, our superstitious beliefs and our hope for making it out of the grueling environment we wake up to every morning.
Aveiro Djess’ song is before everything an attack on the social media part of our lives. I want to be able to dissociate things clearly here because too often, we think the two are inextricably linked. The truth is that there is a much bigger world outside of social media, although, as time passes there is a growing gray area between them, as our behaviour in real life is fast becoming shaped by our interactions with social media.
These platforms have taught us to ‘glam up’ for the likes and the approval of total strangers on the internet. Social media has also thrust into our faces celebrities and people it has fabricated, along with the seemingly fabulous life they are living. Unfortunately a huge part of the story is usually missing – the path and the grind to their apparent success. As a result, a lot of young people have decided to ‘glam’ up their lives and post only that on social media.
As fate would have it, it affects their lives outside of that digital world and they shun hard, dirty work. Patience is out the window and too many young people want to get rich very quick without putting in the work. It has also increased the disdain and the shaming (I hate that word) of hard, dirty, honest work.
That is why some person argued against me on the article I wrote about Grand Barack. I mentioned that the poor man was taken away from his honest job as a welder and was dressed up for our entertainment. The person argued that Grand Barack was a star and I was a hater. Where is Grand Barack today?
Someone made a joke once on twitter. The person said “my mother is sending me to go grind spices. Does she know I’m a celebrity on Twitter?” It is funny, but it also exemplifies how a generation of young boys and girls are going to approach work that involves a hands-on, dirty, and sweaty commitment.
So, for Aveiro Djess to sing a song that breaks this creeping state of mind, it is laudable and it is timely. And it is great that the song is a hit song, and hopefully the message will be passed on and imprinted into the souls of my junior brothers and sisters just as Keng Godefroy’s “La Vraie Magie C’est Le Travail” left its mark on me about a decade or so ago.
But on the flip side…
Aveiro Djess’ song is also, inadvertently, a celebration of the status quo, and a salutation of the lack of inertia, impetus, creativity, investment and growth in the job market. It reinforces what I like to call the “on va faire comment” syndrome. A disease that has particularly taken a hold on Cameroonians.
If you watch and listen to the song, you notice that he sings about a particular set of jobs – car washers, pousseurs, okrika sellers, benskin guys – all blue collar jobs. And for the case of Cameroon, jobs which people generally do not give any value to and for which people underpay the services. Never mind the added flavour of people generally looking down on those who practice these jobs.
But the sad reality is that the Cameroonian is largely an informal economy; 80% of people are working in the informal sector, most with miserly pay. When you add to the fact that most people, upon graduation, are formatted to think that writing a concour is the only way to secure a future, you begin to see a problem. And for those who are formatted to think that if they cannot come up with money to bribe for a pass at a concour, they will have to face a market where there are no jobs. Most of them end up doing what? – buying a benskin.
The job market is tough, no doubt. Our economy is in shambles. But unfortunately we are not encouraged, or generally do not want to think in the sense of innovating, and being creative in the job market. The government also does not do its part to stimulate growth in the economy.
And so the status remains quo and everyone is left to fend for themselves by joining the ever-increasing ranks of benskin riders and awasheurs at Marche Mokolo – not that they have too much of a choice, anyway.
But Aveiro Djess’ song somehow reinforces the belief that it is OK to reside in that scope – so long as you are putting food on the table. But it is not OK. There is a lot that can be done with creating value and pushing down a lot of the mental walls that are holding back our job markets. It is not OK that these people continue getting miserly wages and fees and live with no social coverage. The prospect of food on the table in the evening alone does not, and should not be a reason to perpetuate the cycle whether in ignorance or in the bliss of oblivion.
And somewhere in the midst of all that cacophony, we are giving the government an easy pass.
So as you gyrate to that song this December, have that thought in the back of your mind.
Let the church say Amen
- Wandji Wilfred.