Jane-Frances and Polly go shopping for tea

Yams and plantain on sale at the roadside on the edge of Ndu. The young women selling was delighted to think that her picture woul d be in "white man world" ans was more than happy to pose for me, as you can see. She shrieked with laughter when I said it would be broadcast on the internet. She in now 'famous'.

My new boss at SO Cameroon

Ibrahim manges all the new volunteers working in the North West of Cameroon and places us in our villages. In our first few days he trained us, took us out for lunches, introduced us to the staff and even took us for tea to the British High Commissioner. (more of that on my return)

He delivered us to our village mayors last week and phones periodically to make sure we are all OK.

We are certainly being looked after.

Olga from the Conga shows us her Womens Day dresses

and Marg tries one on

Dont tell anyone that I am a midwife

Every day, my new friend Jane, who makes me breakfast, tells me 'there has been a death in the village'. Three days ago it was a young man of about 30. His wife is pregnant for the 4th time. She rarely goes to the clinic because it costs 70p but she had been two days before because she was concerned that the pregnancy had been 12 months long. Te examined her and told her it was twins.

When she gave the news to her husband, he went down with a 'stress headache' and died 2 days later.

She now has to bring up 3 children, has no money and needs to go to hospital for a scan and plan for the birth. The hospital is 15 miles away - at 5 miles and hurt on the dirt track. If she gets there she will have to stay until she gives birth and will need to take her sister with her so that so can buy and prepare food. That is another bus ticket.

Jane worked out that the total bill would be 20,000 francs (20 UK pounds). I agreed to fund it. I am spending no money on food as Jane is cooking for me, so that is my food money. Jane will pack up a basket of vegetables to give to her sister and I hope by the time I pop round for tea at 6pm, she will have gonbe on her journey to the next town.

Yesterdays death was a man of 28. When I asked what the cause of death was I am just told that he was ill! People do not go to hospital because they cannot afford the treatment, so, I think that simple infections kill a lot of people as they just get more and more weak.

Jane thinks that the pesticides that farmers are sold by disreputable companies, is poisoning people. Her food is all organic and she runs an organization that attempts to train farmers not to use chemicals.

She prepares me grated vegetables and hard boiled eggs for breakfast, all swilled down with Ndu tea with lemon. Delicious.

Ndu town

The road to Ndu

onwards to Ndu

Onwards to Ndu

We were meant to leave Bamenda at 12 mid-day to travel the 3-4 hours to Ndu. But, Patrick wanted to visit his 10 year old daughter who is at boarding school in Bamenda. So Jeremiah and I will wait with Lumumba until he is ready. Lumumba, Jeremiah and the mayor of Kumbo sat in a bar drinking beer until 3pm. Patrick joined us for a last beer and finally, when I thought we were on or way, we stopped for plastic bags to wrap our cases in. They will be travelling on the back on the jeep and as we will be driving on a dirt track for two hours our clothes need protecting from the red dust that seeps into everything here.

This is an old jeep that has seen better days – no upholstery and covered in red dust in and out. In the front two seats were the driver, Patrick and the major of Kumbo. In the back, me, Jeremiah and Patrick’s wife, Jane Frances. The tape recorder blasted out African rhythms with a religious message. Jane Frances sang along with the chorus – ‘Jesus you are powerful, kind and handsome’.

I have never experienced such rough roads. Then we turned off onto the B ‘road’. Two hours later, after stopping for plantain and paw paw we arrived at Kumbo where Jeremiah and his mayor got out. We all drank a gin Alco pop and wished Jeremiah farewell.

Forty minutes later we pulled up to the mayor of Ndu’s house where we had supper, Yams, ‘beef’ stew and rice all washed down with a gin Alco pop, in a small three roomed single storey house furnished and feeling a lot like a post war prefab.

Off to bed in the Council’s guest house on the edge of the village, hot water boiled over a wood fire on request for a morning bucket wash.

The bus to Bemenda was scheduled to take 6 hours. It leaves the bus station any time between 6am and 10am depending on how long it takes to fill up. Yusuf took us there for 8.30am. The bus station – a piece of dusty ground between two market stalls, was crowded with people, mainly local people travelling home to see family, but a few “Blancs” – this is what the locals call us.

Two very young women who could not have been more than 20, introduced themselves and said that they were gong to Bemenda to study linguistics. One was from the UK and the other from Canada. It tuned out, on further questioning, that they will spend 2 years in a small village learning to write and speak a local language with the purpose of assisting in translating the bible into that language.

As we travelled the landscape and architecture changed. Baptist churches, catholic missions and boys selling white sliced bread were all part of the Anglophone district. The bus to Bemenda was scheduled to take 6 hours. It leaves the bus station any time between 6am and 10am depending on how long it takes to fill up. Yusuf took us there for 8.30am. The bus station – a piece of dusty ground between two market stalls, was crowded with people, mainly local people travelling home to see family, but a few “Blancs” – this is what the locals call us.

Two very young women who could not have been more than 20, introduced themselves and said that they were gong to Bemenda to study linguistics. One was from the UK and the other from Canada. It tuned out, on further questioning, that they will spend 2 years in a small village learning to write and speak a local language with the purpose of assisting in translating the bible into that language.

As we travelled the landscape and architecture changed. Baptist churches, catholic missions and boys selling white sliced bread were all part of the Anglophone district. The bus to Bemenda was scheduled to take 6 hours. It leaves the bus station any time between 6am and 10am depending on how long it takes to fill up. Yusuf took us there for 8.30am. The bus station – a piece of dusty ground between two market stalls, was crowded with people, mainly local people travelling home to see family, but a few “Blancs” – this is what the locals call us.

Two very young women who could not have been more than 20, introduced themselves and said that they were gong to Bemenda to study linguistics. One was from the UK and the other from Canada. It tuned out, on further questioning, that they will spend 2 years in a small village learning to write and speak a local language with the purpose of assisting in translating the bible into that language.

As we travelled the landscape and architecture changed. Baptist churches, catholic missions and boys selling white sliced bread were all part of the Anglophone district. The bus to Bemenda was scheduled to take 6 hours. It leaves the bus station any time between 6am and 10am depending on how long it takes to fill up. Yusuf took us there for 8.30am. The bus station – a piece of dusty ground between two market stalls, was crowded with people, mainly local people travelling home to see family, but a few “Blancs” – this is what the locals call us.

Two very young women who could not have been more than 20, introduced themselves and said that they were gong to Bemenda to study linguistics. One was from the UK and the other from Canada. It tuned out, on further questioning, that they will spend 2 years in a small village learning to write and speak a local language with the purpose of assisting in translating the bible into that language.

As we travelled the landscape and architecture changed. Baptist churches, catholic missions and boys selling white sliced bread were all part of the Anglophone district.

Its the weekend and we have been planning our trip to the north west: I leave the capital tomorrow at -am on a - hour bus ride to Bamenda, a large town the size of Cardiff. Here I will meet the mayor of Ndu, have supper with him the, the next day it is another - hour drive to my new home in the tea plantations.

Its been a great week, shopping for material and celebrating Margs birthday between working learning about local government in Ndu. The best new of all is that my case has arrived. Yusuf, the dirver, went to colect it at èpm on Wednesdy. He has done this 20 times before but this time the customs officer demanded that he drove all the way back to Yaounde to fetch me and Rachel so that we could verify that they were our cases. We drove through rush hour traffic.It took 90 minutes.

Then the man who deals with lost cases was out.

Finally I tracked down the head of customs, a fierce looking woman who was not keen to part with the bagI am told that she wanted a bribe, but, VSO says we have to resist corruption so, I answered her every question and finaly she agreed to part with my bag. Why? Because we shared the same second name _ Louise. I have never been so pleased to be called Louise.

I now have clean clothes, an i pod and a laptop. What more could I need in life?

lipsick but no clothes

I have found an internet cafe and my French has improved enought to ask where the @ key is _Valarie, you did not tel me how to say that, or that French keyboards have keys in different places.

I am really enjoying life, dispite my case beig in Brussells. I had to go to the market to by local clothes the day after I left and now am dressed like a local. I think I look like I am wearing my grannys tablecloth but no one else has seemed to notice. Dont worry friends. I had packed 3 lipsicks in my hand luggage. I know my priorities.

It is hard to know where to start. The smells, the sounds, the wonderful VSO staff or the Womens Day Dresses?

Womens Day Dresses I think.
All women in every village and town in Cameroon march on Womens Day, wearing this years cloth made into the dress or skirt of thier choice. Every year there is a new print. The cloth this year is pink, green and orange and is covered with slogans related to womens rights.

Most dresses are a cross between a maternity smock and a night dress, covered in frills and flounces. Every employer is supposed to buy each female staff member the cloth to make a dress then everyone joins the march. I am told it is more a celebration of a free dress than a political statement and that I will be expected to join in. I have chossen my dres. It is to be made by Olga from the Conga and will be ready for me before I leave for Ndu on Saturday. Its pink.

My case may arrive today _ Wednesday, then I wil have my camera cable and will post a picture of the dress. The bill will be sent to the Welsh Assembly, fashion account.

No internet

I thought I'd post on Polly's behalf. The latest that we know from Cameroon is that the internet is hard to come by (and thats in the capital). Polly has managed to send one e-mail and sends her love to every one she's feeling very at home. It is quite possible that she will not get the chance to blog at all. Look at where she's headed next! (it's so small a village I can't find it on a map!)

Grace

be my valentine

Just off to lunch with my valentine then on the train to heathrow. Bye..........

What will I miss most?

How much can I fit in one suitcase and what will I have to remove?

Desert island disc time - my luxury? Should it be loads of cosmetics, a pillow, perfume and what will I download onto my i pod?