Yadji Moussa was a man I met in Cameroon. He became my most trusted friend there. We spent many mornings speaking philosophy, over a cup of sugared tea into which I'd dip the fresh local bread. I trusted him to give it to me straight if I wanted to know the "African Street". He kept me under his wing.
He told me he had problems in the past, that he had been at "rock bottom", and described those tough times in detail, with humor, making me laugh.
During the 30 months I lived there, he only seemed to do better and better. I have written about times that he was a hero in the town of Ngaoundal in Adamawa Province. He had a way of being covertly confrontational, leaving friends and authorities to puzzle whether he was religiously passive, or feigning self-effacement, or ready to cut to the chase with a direct challenge.
He continued to do better and better after I left Cameroon, and Renee, my peace corps volunteer replacement, agreed he was something special. They married and had two kids, Innah and Adamou, and returned to the USA to live in Michigan, around 1989 or 1990 I think.
He revisited rock bottom a few times, and the marriage broke up in 2000. I owed him a lot from my time in Cameroon, and brought him to Vermont to start a business with me.
Yadji worked with me for 12 years in Middlebury.
Yadji drowned June 21, while I was celebrating my twins birthdays in Arkansas. I got a lot of calls in the spotty coverage of the Ozarks. I wrote most of the blog while sitting in my parents living room in Searcy County, trying to decide whether to take my kids canoeing on the Buffalo River. We decided to return and assist with the arrangements for Yadji, who for many years I described as my best friend, and for many times I was furious with, as only a brother can be. I've decided to give this rewrite, to give the record another shot, because Yadji Moussa deserves the best.
