Lore and Eileen on the beach with Polly

Easter in Kribi

Kribi is a small coastal tow in south west Cameroon about 3 hours by bus from Yaounde.

After working hard for the last 10 days, writing the process for developing councils in Cameroon, we thought we deserved an Easter holiday. So, on Thursday, Linda, Marg, Elle and I set off on the bus.

We were hoping for a large coach but, unfortunately, as it was not early morning, we got a 20 seater minibus. All buses here are privately owned and none of them have timetables. The rule is that you turn up, sit on the bus and when it is full it leaves. If you do not want to wait too long you get to the bus station at around 7am, for the first bus. This is the most popular and may leave within 30 minutes of you getting on it. But, it may be longer.

We waited 1 1/2 hours – on a very hot and airless bus as bags and people were stuffed into every available space. Eventually we set off with 38 people and as many cases.

But it was worth it. We checked into our hotel at 6pm and by 6.15 I was swimming n the warm warm sea as the sun set and the stars came out.

It is a picture postcard beach shaded by palm, mango and avocado trees with whie sand and warm lapping waves. There were no shops close by and all there is to eat is fresh fish caught on the beach and cooked over charcoal in little makeshift cafes on the sand. The fish is marinated in an oil and peanut sauce, served with plantains and eaten with fingers.

For three days we did little but sit in the sun, flop into the sea to cool off then stagger to the shade of the café for fish.

We all set off in a taxi for one outing to a waterfall that fed straight into the sea. It was beautiful but Elle and I decided to take a motorbike taxi back to ‘our’ beach whilst the others took a canoe trip to look at ‘Pygmies in the rain forest’.

The local fishermen and their families were so friendly and we soon got to know the children, who loved to swim with us. The teenage boys were spellbound at our ‘white man magic’ of being able to lie on the water without drowning. Try as we might, we could not make them see that floating is just about being able to relax. They really thought we had special powers or were super-intelligent beings. Every time we went into the se they followed for lessons. Every time they sank, and this just confirmed that we were from another planet.

Marg brought some origami paper to the beach to show the girls how to make birds. They were fascinated but it was a little complicated for them so I showed them how to make fortune tellers. They loved playing with it although they did struggle with the movement of their thumbs and fingers.

With my stage B French and the help of Linda, who speaks French, we explained how they work and asked the girls what we should write inside. They were perplexed at our questions. We tried ‘what do you wish for’ or ‘what do you want to be or do when you grow up?’ We gave them ideas – famous singer or dancer, rich, a doctor?

Then my new little friend Lore’s face lit up. “I know, I want to marry a white man’.

Last night in Ndu

In the morning of my last day in Ndu, the mayor said that he would like to host a meal for me to say goodbye and tha I was to come to his house at 5pm.

SG picked me up with George. We left George at a bar whist we popped round to SG’s house so that I could take some family photos before I left.

I arrived at the mayors house to find most of the council workers there. Heaps of food had been prepared and George provided the finishing touches with cases of beer and wine.

The mayor made a little speech. He is such a charming, gentle and kind man and it was so touching to here what he had to say. He thanked me for the work I had done and the way I had done it, said that I was like on of his team and asked that I consider staying the 2 years to finish the project. He said we would first eat then SG and a the Ernestine would say a few words before presenting me with a little gift.

So, after the speeches I was told to g to a back room with the girls where they would dress me in the proper clothes for a Manjuh.

I was so touched and felt a little tearful at the huge expression of love for me. I was presented to the whole room and received a round of applause. My Manjuh clothes are very beautiful and I have worn them many many times since. They are clothes for a ‘queen’, whatever that means and when I am wearing them I am often greeted in a special
way that is only used for high status people.

Caroline and Ernestine then took me dancing and Kevin came to walk me home. I had to be up at 5.30am as George was picking me and the mayor up at 6am to take us to a meeting 4 hours drive away.

I felt so loved and honoured and a little sad at the thought of leaving in the morning.

But, reality struck the next day with my daily pastime, waiting for George. He arrived at 8.30am.

Les Blancs and a quiet night in

I am sitting in an internet cafe in Yaounde rying to send pictures of womens day and the connecton is so low that I have given up and will try tomorrow.

Internet cafes are a new experience for me. They are crowded with "les blancs" all trying to make a connection home to loved ones. It feels fraught, hot, intense and frantic but at the same time too it is a little connection with a more civilised world.

By that I mean that the serve nice coffee and clean salads which is sometimes a welcome relief from dirty messy streets and meals that take 2 hours to arrive.

It is a meeting place for NGO Blancs and I am sitting here realisng that I know several people here.

Last night I ate in a restaurant with a Canadian woman, a Morrcain man, two Italians, a dutch friend and Charlie who is a Phillipino. Three of them have just walked in for coffee as I am sitting here.

Ex pat world is odd and tonight I have chosen to sit in my room, listen to music and do my French homework rather than go to a Pig Roast followed by a night club.

I miss the contact with Ndu people but I am going part way back on Saturday to run a 2 day workshop which will be fun - apart from the madness of catching the bus......I will tell you about catching buses tonight whilst my colleagues eat pig and drink beer at Charlies house.

A queit night in, what bliss.

So many things happen in a day and there is so much to tell. Even the trival is fascinating or infuriating here. But I haven’t told you about Women’s Day yet and it was 2 weeks ago.

I dressed in my ‘uniform’ at my Rest House at 6.30am and left or the walk to SG’s house for breakfast. Kevin waved me off and told me I looked beautiful, like a real African woman.

As it was a special day SG’s lovely wife Zenobia, had cooked goat meat stew, yams and huckleberry all washed down with Ndu tea. And remember, this had been done over a wood fire at the back of the house. She as not in her women’s day dress yet but promised to meet me later.

I then strolled off the meet Isabella, Ernestine and Caroline at the Bandstand at the heart of Ndu. We had had strict instructions from the local government officer who would be opening the day, that it would start on time, at 10am. This is almost unheard of in Cameroon and I secretly wondered if he really would start if half the people had not turned up.

Ernestine was there, looking so glamorous. She was mildly impressed with my headscarf but tactfully suggested that we re- did it inside the dressmaker’s shop. The other two tuned up 10 minutes later and we took our places in a long trail of women, gathered in clusters of groups – church choirs, farming co-operatives, work groups, campaigning groups. Each group carried a sign telling the dignitaries watching form the bandstand, who we all were. I am still not sure who the ‘Happiness Group’ are but perhaps us girls should set one up in Cardiff?

Some women wore the official uniform and others had designed their own uniforms. The fabric here is printed with anything you want on it - the president’s face, religious images and bible texts. So much choice and not enough days in the week. (Yes Mum, I will choose you one. Would you like an image of Mary or the crucifixion on your frock?)

The main event happens at th bandstand., wher dignitaries st in the shade. The mayor and his wife were there as were most of the individuals that I hav interviewed whislt in Ndu. The Fon of Ngarum sat in a sepearte box as he is so special. The female MP ‘Madame Esther’ greeted me very warmly and we all lined up for photos. The mayor wanted me to sit with him on the bandstand but the grils said I had to march with them so I did.

Each group take it in turns to march in front of the bandstand, singing a song and the best group win a prize. We sang:

Happy to be a woman in Cameroon

Council women, Ndu sub-division

With Gods blessing

We work hard to do our best

Or

Women are shaking the nation

Women are shaking the nation

Women are shaking the nation

SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE
(shouted loudly whilst shaking our arse)

Ernestine was out choir mistress and had rehearsed us, in the street, 5 minutes before we marched. We had fun but wee beaten by the Ndu Methodist Choir, a huge group of about 30 women singing thee Lords praises in 4 part harmony. No contest I think.

I was then invited to join others in the bandstand to watch the choir and dancing competitions and my 3 friends took it upon themselves to accompany me making the most of it to have a seat in the shade.

We threw money at the groups we liked best and danced with some of them and once the speeches had been made and prizes given out I was invited to the local government officials house for lunch, along with the chairwomen of local groups.

Lunch was the usual – huckleberry, yams, plantains, cow stew and rice all washed down with a large bottle of beer. The host said grace then, in the usual Cameroonian tradition he announced that men should go first for the food, followed by the women later.

Now. I had realised that Women’s Day is mostly about new clothes but, I thought, as the token stranger I could speak up. I suggested, light heartedly, that as it was International Women’s Day perhaps, just this once, the women could go first?

He roared with laughter and led the men to the buffet.

I left sometime later to go to ‘a night club’ with the girls. A night club, in Ndu? The girls explained – all bars turn into night clubs in the evening. They turn up the music and re-arrange the furniture. So simple. Such fun dancing with crowds of women in an area smaller than my kitchen.

Just back in Yaounde after a wonderful weekend. Imagine a Bounty advert OK witout te rum I admit, but white sand, warm sea, ot ot sun and fres fish cooked over coals on the beach, minutes after being caught... That is Kribi.

I will blog more about it tomorrow and send you photos of us frollicking in the waves.

But for now we are writing reports and processes for the next voluteers. This is not my favorite pastime but it as to be done. Yaounde is not a pretty place. It is unsafe, particularly for "les balncs" as we stand out like a sore tumb as rich and un streetwise. We have to gather in groups and take taxis everywhere and the drivers are often really drunk or stoned. It is not a nice experience to be in a taxi with 6 others, in a part of the city that is unfamiliar with a drunk driver. I have done it once and will never do it again.

The alternative is to wait for George - a national pastime here. This George is one of the two taxi drivers in the whole of Yaounde that are to be trusted, recomended by VSO. But I might wait an hour to travel for 10 minutes.

It is a mad mad place. Ugly, hot, dangerous and full of pople who, if I have the time and inclination to chat to them, are very nice people, but, too too busy earning money to be kind and considerate and too tired to care. It is a very sad place really.

But I am having fun quand meme.

Next week is my last and I am not going to let tis nasty city get to me. I have plans that involve visiting posh hotels to swim in their pools.ut that will be after running a 2 day workshop in the North West which will mean 2 eight hour bus rides. And thats another blog another day.

My money is running out at te internet cafe and I am off for... guess what? Fried fis and platain for supper. And do you know what? I may treat myself to an avocado and a beer then take the 5 minute walk back to my hotel. I cant be ++++ to wait for George and I have 3 other Blancs for company.

Cameroon Conversations

Cameroonians are very direct people. Total strangers will want to find out who

you are and tell you what to do i.e. go to a night club with them, marry them, give

them money, sit in their taxi.

In Cameroon someone will thrust some beads into your hand and say ‘give me

3,000 francs’. If you respond no, they will say ‘Ok then give me 2,500 francs.’ It

is no good saying that you don’t want the tacky beads because they will then just

say ‘then just give me some money’. Here are two of the most common

conversations that occur daily.

The Marriage Conversation (circular) Only happens in the French speaking

part of Cameroon.

Total stranger Will you marry me?

Me No

Total stranger Why not?

Me Several reasons, but as a starting point, I am already very happily married.

Total stranger But I want to marry you.

Me But you don’t know me or anything about me. Do you want to marry me or do you want a visa?

Total stranger I want a visa, but, I also want to marry you. So will you marry me?

Me No

Total stranger Why not? (go back to the start and continue for as long as you want)

The NGO Conversation (circular)

Total stranger Are you here with an NGO?

Me Yes

Total stranger Are you going to fund some development?

Me Yes I am working with your local council to improve their effectiveness so that they can represent you better.

Total stranger That’s really great. I am so happy you are here. You are welcome.

Me Thank you.

Total stranger But are you going to give us money to build new roads?

Me No. I am working with your local council to improve their effectiveness so that they can represent you better.

Total strange That’s really great. I am so happy you are here. You are welcome.

Me Thank you.

Total stranger But are you going to give us money to build new roads?

Repeat the conversation for as long as they are walking next to you (5, 10, 15

minutes)

The Ordering Meal Conversation

This is the conversation at every restaurant in Cameroon.

Me Can I see the menu?

Waitress here it is

Me Can I have this fish and some green beans

Waitress We don’t have that fish and we have no beans. You could have this fish with mixed vegetables.

Me Ok, this fish and mixed vegetables

20 minutes later

Waitress You can’t have mixed vegetables because we do not have any beans

Me Can I have mixed vegetables without beans

Waitress I will ask in the kitchen

30 minutes later

Waitress No

Me So, what have you got?

Waitress Fried Barr (a type of white fish) and fried plantains

Me OK I will have that

90 minutes later it is served minus the plantains. They come once the fish has

been eaten and are taken away without consultation.

I now know that the first question to ask is ‘what is there to eat? Even that is a

redundant question because I know the answer. The answer is always fried Barr

and fried plantains.

So, it has taken me 6 weeks to get this right. The thing to do is to go into a

restaurant and say ‘ Can I have some Barr and fried plantains please. I will still

wait around 90 minutes for the food but it saves waiting to hear what they have

not got.

NB This conversation is ALL in French (when in Yaoundé). Thank you thank you

to my French teacher, Valerie for such great lessons. They are working.

Beach Bum for easter

Tomorrow I am catching the bus to Kribi, a town 4 hours by bus from Yaounde. So, we will all 4 of us set off once we have finished our work, at about 12 mid-day and wait at the bus stain until the bus is so full that we could not possibley get another bottom on a seat.

I will be there until Sunday evening, with Rachel, Elle and Marg from Wales and Linda, a VSO volunteer from Holland.  we will then travel back to Yaounde to complete the writing up of our work here.

So, Easter with all the Cameroonian tourist at the seaside. I am told that the beaches are white, there is  fish a plenty and even some night clubs. But, I just want to swim in the sea, eat fish and read my book under a coconut tree.

What a lucky person I am. No Easter egg hunts but plenty of fresh pineapples for my breakfast.

I will not be blogging for a few days, until back at the internet cafe in downtown Yaounde.

Happy weekend all you UK easter bunnies and to my dear son and daughter, I think the easter bunny might come to you if you look where the christmas stockings are stored. Obviously this bunny got Christmas and Easter muddled, which is an easy thing to do if you are: 

1) a rabbit  

2) an atheist.

But at least the bunny has a better memory than the tooth fairy who is never to be trusted to arrive on time.

Happy holidays. 

Sleepless

I have just woken to an enormous storm. Its humid and I cant sleep. Its 4am and I can already hear the town stirring - cockerels shouting, cars revving up and a church bell calling.

Just posted my visit to the Fon of Ndu and realised that, for some inexplicable reason, it shows up in last weeks blogs.

So scroll down and see the madness for yourselves. I am going back to bed for  90 minutes. Have a good day in the cool spring air whilst I sweat it out in another glorious day in Africa.

What's in my wash bag?

People here have no money. Now I know you know that. We all know that. But, it is not until you are here that ‘no money’ really has some meaning.

My council friend Caroline is in her early 30’s. She is a widow with two young children. Her husband died in a motorbike accident two years ago and she now lives with her in-laws, as is the way here. His family are now responsible for his wife and children, unless she decides to marry again.

She was in my room the other evening and was looking through my wash bag. I had some wet wipes and offered her one – I was a hot and humid night and mopping my face with one is very refreshing. But she did not know what to do with it. She had never seen one. Now I appreciate that this is not a measure of poverty and we can all live fulfilling lives without wet wipes but it was the wonder and awe of it all that really moved me. She thought that they were an amazing invention and when I explained what they are really for – babies bottoms, she though that they were even more wonderful.

But the real shock for me came when she giggled with delight at seeing that I shampoo and not only that, I had conditioner as well.

I asked her what she used to wash her hair. Did she use soaps or oils? She explained. Shampoo is very expensive and no one can afford it. It is the price of 3 –4 pints of beer. Or, in terms of wages, the minimum wage is around 25,000 francs a month and shampoo is 2,000 francs a bottle. So, a monthly wage is equal to 13 bottles of shampoo.

Caroline saves up and goes the hairdresser where her hair is washed and this is cheaper that investing in shampoo. I asked how this can be. How often does she go to the hairdresser? She goes every 8 weeks. Now, if I don’t wash my hair here, every day, it begins to resemble a brillo pad. A brillo pad that has scoured a dirty pan. The dust collects in my hair within 5 minutes of being outside.

Caroline always wears a head scarf, and this is why. She looks so very beautiful in it. And I thought that it was a fashion statement.

But process are weird here too. A pint of beer, a pint of water and a cup of tea are all the same price. So which do you think the men drink for breakfast? (another blog, another day.)

Jane, Polly and Gwen make supper

Each day when I turn up for my breakfast I open the front door and walk straight in to a smart sitting room with television, sofas and a coffee table and I take off my shoes at the door so that the dust does not get onto the rug. My omelette, bread, fresh pineapple and Ndu tea are served to me in that room and until Jane suggested I learnt a little about the domestic life of Cameroonian women, I had no idea about the supreme effort it took her each morning to prepare this meal. Until then I did not understand how the house worked, apart form knowing that the hole-in-the-ground toilet was in an outhouse at the very back of the house.

Jane, and Mr. Patrick share their one storey house with their two young sons and Gwen, a young homeless widow. Houses are clustered together in a ‘compound’ that sometimes share outbuildings – toilets, water taps and kitchens. Their house is in a compound of 4 other houses. The actual house has two bedrooms, another room that they live and eat in and a room called a kitchen. The room that they call the kitchen is just an empty room with a concrete floor and a gas cooker in the corner. The cooker is very rarely used as the gas cylinders are too expensive. There are no cupboards, work surfaces and no running water. Tins of food are stored on the floor, in tins, plastic pots and thermos boxes.

So when Gwen and Jane suggested I help them to prepare the evening meal I was delighted t be invited into the secret part of the house the woman’s world in fact.

First I was given ‘a loin’ - a piece of African fabric, to tie round my waist as an apron. Then I collected my low woman’s stool from the outhouse and took it into what Gwen and Jane call the kitchen. The three of us sat round a wood fire surrounded by pots and pans and tin trays of raw ingredients, yams, spices, garlic, onions peppers, tomatoes, rice, carrots and fresh fruits.

My first job was to cu wood with a small sharp knife. Then, up off the stool to wash my hands at the tap in the garden. We chopped all the vegetables on our lap, with no chopping board. Believe me, peeling and dicing a fresh pineapple, holding it by the stalk in the left hand and chopping it with a knife in the right hand is a skill in itself. Gwen and Jane take 3 minutes to dice. I gave up after 5 minutes and two cut fingers. The yams were even more difficult as they are tough skinned and huge.

We made two dishes, pepper soup and tomato rice. Onion, and garlic was fried in a huge pot and spices added. The spices, garlic and fresh ginger were ground between two stones , the tomatoes chopped on our laps, the fire kept stoked and pots moved on and off the fire if the food was cooking too quickly. I fetched water for washing hands, washing food and washing pots and covered the outside of each pot with a mixture of old ash from the fire mixed with water. This is made into a paste and smeared on to prevent the pot from being covered in black smoke which then is hard to wash off and makes tea towels or anything it comes into contact with, filthy. Now that’s a handy hint for all you campers out there. Its messy but effective.

We were joined periodically by an older woman from an adjoining house, who wanted to watch me struggle. I even had a lesson in carrying water on my head.

It took 2 1/2 hours to make the food and by that time I was so exhausted I just wanted sleep. But, it was delicious and as the guest, I left for home without having to wash up in the dark.

The fon's Wives

Yesterday SG and the mayor arranged for me to visit the fon of Ndu. We had not called round earlier as the mayor had been out 

of town. Apparently, this is a special occasion and SG,MT the mayor and others wanted to come along. I think they wanted to hear me address the fon and tell him about my work here and, they wanted to watch as I greeted him formally.

So, after finishing another lively focus group, George the town planner and I went to a bar, with sub-chiefs from the meeting, to wait for George the driver. The four sub-chiefs of Ndu are deputy Fons, and will be at the palace when well turn up.

I have told you about waiting for George and today was no exception. We sat and drank,  and as Town Planner  George became more animated, we discussed is plans for developing Ndu town centre.

Two hours later we phoned driver  George. He was in the market looking for my Manjuh hat, collecting palm wine and rounding up all the people who wanted to come with us.

One more hour later he pulled up with Felix, Caroline, Ernestine, Kevin, MT and SG. The mayor pulled up in his jeep, with Genesis the driver. We all piled back into the bar to discuss hats and wine and the excitement of the day - should I greet the Fon in the traditional way, at the beginning of the meeting, or should we first introduce ourselves and explain that I have been initiated, then greet him? Half an hour later, with my hat on my head, we set off for the 20 minute drive to the Fon's palace with an agreement to greet him after being introduced.

Every village has a Palace and the entrance is usually marked by large corrugated iron turrets. Inside the entrance was not as I expected. I had an image of the wonderful Indian forts with every room beautifully proportioned to allow for maximum view and shelter from the sun. How wrong I was.

A huge expanse of dry and dusty parkland was surrounded by crumbling modern brick buildings. Children and women filled the space, chatting, playing, sleeping and watching me.

We were all shown into a dark room full of benches and a table was brought in so that we could display our drinks and carry on boozing. We had to wait.... No surprise there then. The Fon was busy hearing a land dispute in his tribal court and would be about an hour, which gave us all time to drink some more beer.

Eventually we were shown into the meeting room and after being introduced by the mayor, I had to speak to the Fon and tell him about our project. He listened, I greeted him as Manjuh, everyone smiled and then, because of my title, I was invited to meet the Fon's wives in the women's quarters.

Fons are polygamous. They have to take on all their fathers wives and then can add to them too. The Fon of Ndu has 29 wives and has lost count on the children front but, looking around, I would say there must be in excess of 75.

There was great excitement in the women quarter. The men had to sit in the car and i was accompanied by Caroline and Ernestine and the Queen of Ndu, who is, if I understand right, one of the Fons daughters, a beautiful woman of about 25.

I had to greet all the wives. They live a squalled compound of red brick huts with shared 'kitchens' and sleeping areas. There is no electricity, little furniture and home comforts at all. 

In honour of my visit it was agreed that they would perform a little dance and we were shown into another hut whilst the band gathered. Around 20 wives joined in and we danced and laughed together for 10 minutes before joining the men in the car park. They were bored and needed another beer. So, with Genesis at the wheel, I left the women to their merry-making, dropped the boys off at another bar and went back to my room for a moment's peace and quiet before my walk to Jane's for supper.

Another full day in Ndu ends and my head is fit to explode with new experiences.

Kevin who brings me hot water daily

Caroline and Ernestine on a girls day out

Caroline and Ernestine are administrative assistants at the council and have taken me under their wing for shopping, outings and general African fashion advice. They teach me how to tie my head wrap and barter for my pineapples, paw paws, papaya and passion fruit so that I not have to pay 'skin tax'.

My daily route to breakfast

Waiting for George

Organising my day is not possible. or rather, I do attempt do do it but have never got to the end of it having achived all I set out to do. For the first few days i found it intensely frustrating but now I just accept that the day will unfold how it unfolds and some new knowldge is always gained. I make sure that if a meeting has bee set up, we get there on time and belive me, that is an achievement here. Those of my council collegues who have traveled to the UK  all comment on how organised and efficient our working day is and how they would love to work like that but, it is 'out of their control'. They work in 'black-man time' which bears no resemblane to my watch at all. 

A typical day in Ndu starts at 5.30am when I am woken by the sound of Kevin, my houseboy, chopping wood and lighting a fire to boil water for my morning wash. Kevin and I have made a pact to work in ‘white man time’, which means that when the radio announces it is 6.30am, my water is hot, in a bucket and in the washroom. I then leave at 7.15am for a 25 minute walk to Jane-Frances’s house for breakfast.

From here onwards I lose a little control. Breakfast is planned for 7.45am, then George the driver is supposed to pick me up to take me the 4 miles to my office. Waiting for George is a full time occupation here. He may come within 30 minutes of the agreed time or, he may not come at all. But that is OK because my office keys may or may not be at the office. The administrative staff have the bunch of keys and as there is not a powerful enough current to operate the computers, they may be in town, where computers function.

I have discovered that my best plan is to wait at a place where I can work. So, I agree to meet George either in the internet cafe or I walk all the way home and wait and work at the desk in my room. But, on my way home I often get a telephone cal from SG MT or the mayor, arranging to pick me up to take me to some unplanned destination. I may be taken to hear a choir competition, to meet a family member, or to a dressmakers to arrange my outfit for women’s day. I have also been taken to the market to see the slaughterhouse – which is simply an area of the open market where live animals turn into meat in front of everyone present.

Today George took me 30 miles down the road to Ntumbaw for a meeting with councillors and local people. It is a dirt track and when I say dirt… I mean dirt. I have finally realised that women here wear headscarves, not as a fashion statement but to protect their hair from the dust.

So we set off and George dropped me at 1.30pm with the promise to pick me up at 3pm. I was expected at my friend’s house at 4pm as she was going to give me a Cameroonian cooking lesson, preparing supper for the family.

The meeting went very well. Three Fons and over 60 others turned up. I greeted the Fons in the traditional way, now I have been initiated. As usual this caused great mirth from the locals, who have never before seen a ‘white-man’ do this.

Just as we started the meeting the rains fell. These were the first rains for six months and I have never seen rain fall like this. We were all packed into a grain warehouse which had a tin roof. The noise was so deafening that the meeting had to be postponed for 90 minutes because no one could hear anything but the sound of water crashing on sheet metal.

So, once the meeting had ended and everyone had had their picture taken with me, it was 4pm. George had not turned up and there was no mobile phone signal to call him. I thought that I would miss my cooking lesson, when my colleague and interpreter, Felix, offered me a lift on his motorbike.

This journey would have been impossible if the rain had not fallen. He roads are so covered in red dust that I would have been unrecognisable after 30 minutes on the back of a bike. But, the dust had settled and the air smelt so fresh.

We were 3 miles outside Ndu when George pulled alongside me in the jeep. I declined his offer of a lift and was dropped off at Jane’s house in time to cook pepper soup for 6 on a wood fire.

International Womens Day

Its 7am and am off to collect my new girlfriends so that we can march through the streets. I will be traveling for 4 days after that so will not be blogging until I find technology again - in 5 days time.

The grandstand is being cleaned and music is blasing out already. I am all dressed up in my 'uniform' complete with head wrap. Pictures later!

Manjuh of Ngarum

My work here is to engage the community, all 17 villages, in the idea of developing the councillors’ skills, knowledge and behavior so that they work effectively at representing their community. For this to happen we need all relevant movers and shakers to join in the debate on what they want from their councilors and council, then develop a two year plan. Part of the problem is that the community do not hold them to account in any way at all. They are too busy with their daily lives. In Mr Maslow’s hierarchy, they are so stuck on the bottom of the triangle that engaging in local politics may seem irrelevant.

It takes two hours or more to get to many villages on the dirt tracks so we have set up three focus groups that will cover all 17 villages and 41 councilors.

Last week we set of for Taku, a small community in the hills, to meet with councilors, traditional chiefs, women’s groups, and charities in the area. We had a great turn out and an enthusiastic reception.

Three traditional chiefs (AKA Fons), came and asked many questions about how they would be involved. They are very powerful people in the community. They head up village committees and are well respected and connected with anyone of influence. They turn up with minders who either bring their own ‘clean’ chairs or use a duster to wipe the chair and then lay a piece of carpet on the chair to protect the Fon’s clothes. There are rituals around how they are greeted and how we behave amongst them. I always ask my minder to go first then I copy.

At the end of our meeting, the Fon of Ngarum asked for a lift in our jeep, back to Ngarum, as it was on our way. When we arrived he offered me a drink in a bar so, after chair dusting and carpet laying, me, George the driver and 2 councilors joined the Fon for drinks. After the first beer the Fon announced that as he was enjoying the conversation we would all have another drink.

The conversation lead to ‘how to greet a Fon’ and I asked why some people greeted him by clapping cupped hands together three times then raising their cupped hands to their mouth and making a grunting noise. Others just bow.

He explained that one has to be initiated into his tribe before being able to do the complicated greeting. Initiation involves giving the Fon a goat, some chickens, palm wine and a lump sum of money. Villagers all attend the ceremony and join in the drinking and dancing.

The Fon then offered to initiate me and as I was nudged heavily in the ribs by my friend and councillor, Mr. Patrick, and told this was a great honour, I accepted.

Mr. Patrick and I negotiated the fee with the Fon’s minder, in a back room at the bar. We agreed 3,000 francs cash and 3,000 francs worth of palm wine for the villagers - a total of £6.

The ceremony took place in an empty room in the village, used for the Fon to meet his people. Word got around and I was joined by some 10 villagers. Mr. Patrick lead and I copied everything he did – bowing, grunting and drinking palm wine from a hollowed out animal’s horn.

Once this was over, the Fon announced that he would like to give me a name. Apparently this really is a special honour and does not happen automatically. I was given the name Manjuh, which means great leader of women. He asked that someone buy me my Manjuh hat so that I can wear it on International Women’s Day. The Fon of Ngarum will sit on the bandstand on the day to watch us ‘march past’, and I will be able to great him in the traditional way.

I have a funny feeling that much will be expected of me on the day, but that is another tale to tell

God help you in your mission

Ndu Baptist Church, pictured on the Internet, has a congregation of anything up to 2,000 each Sunday. Clearly the church has a lot of influence in the community and so I thought I would pay it a visit. George ( the driver) said he would meet me there and that the service would start at 9am.

I arrived at 8.55am and as George was not outside I ventured into the church and the moment I stepped inside the minister approached me. He had heard that I was coming, said that I would be welcomed officially then would be expected to address the congregation and tell them why I was in Ndu. Not only that, I was to sit at the front, on the huge stage, behind the minister.

No point arguing, so I took my place. Choirs were to the left and right of me and the church slowly filled to capacity.

The church is a huge concrete hall with a corrugated tin roof. The PA system, operated by two men at the front of the hall, gave out a constant buzz that sounded like a remote controlled aircraft overhead. As I was sitting behind the minister and readers, I could not really hear what was going on and t add to the confusion there was simultaneous translation into the local language ‘Lambe.’

If there is one thing I have learnt through my stay in Cameroon is that it is pointless trying to work out exactly what is going on at any one time and tht asking lots of questions may not add clarity. Knowing this, I just sat and waited for my moment. I had been told that the service would be around two and a half hours long so, I would just have to wait for a sign and it might be in 10 or 90 minutes.

About 45 minutes in o the service I heard my namne beibg spoken hen the miniter turned round and beconed me onto the podium. I did my bit then with a round of applause returned to my seat and as I did all the choirs stood up and in glorious harmny started singng to me ‘God Bless Her in her Mission’.

Sunday Lunch

Funerals and Female Ju Ju’s

Friday’s death was a woman of 78. Now, in Cameroon that is a long life and a cause of celebration as well as sadness. She was mother and grandmother to 36 children and lived in a village about 10 miles from Ndu. I was invited to go with a jeep load of people from the Council, as the dead woman was the mother of a colleague.

What I did not know was that the journey was up hill – like driving up The Skirrid. We drove for around 5 miles on ‘roads’ then turned off up the hill for another five miles. On the way we picked us as many mourners as would fit in the jeep, on top of the 10 of us that had set off from Ndu earlier.

We thought we were late as we had taken about 90 minutes to gather everyone that wanted to go, then we had to buy beer. But when we arrived we were informed that they had only just started to make the coffin. First we all queued outside the woman’s house and in turn were invited into her bedroom to look at her. She was tucked up in bed looking very peaceful, with two of her daughters sitting beside her.

We then strolled around the village, admired the views and sat under trees hiding from the sun whist the family sawed away for 2 hours. Palm wine and soft drinks were handed round by the family and we knew when the actual funeral was going to start when we heard the nails being banged into the coffin.

Family and friends all gathered in the back garden where the coffin was displayed on a bench. A priest said a few words, then the elderly people in the village spoke followed by a young person. SG said a few words on behalf of the Council. Lastly the sons and daughters came forward and each banged the last nails into the lid of the coffin to seal it before it was carried to the graveside – in the back garden.

The grave had been dug earlier by 12 young male villagers. They then stood in the grave to receive the coffin and once installed in the grave it was covered with branches of trees. This, I am told is to give support for the 12 men who will tread all the soil that had been removed, back into place.

This process took over an hour. Soil is gradually sprinkled in whilst the men, standing in a square of 4 lines of 4, stomp on the grave making very tribal noises in unison. A chorus of women sing in a similar rhythm, ‘Finally, finally the Lord has taken her, finally, finally. After every ‘verse’ the men turn 90 degrees and carry on.

Once the soil has been replace young children place flowers on top of the grave and the female dancing Ju Ju’s start singing and dancing.

After a hearty meal of dried fish, fufu, huckleberry and rice, we left for home with a live chicken tucked under our arms for Sunday lunch.

Friday night in Ndu

It’s the weekend, but really for my new friends it’s just another evening in sleeping old Ndu. We started off the night by visiting the head of the Baptist church to enrol him in the possibility of joining our 2 year project, supporting the local council to develop their skills. He was delightful and very excited when I told him that his church was on Google Images. So excited that he wanted me to see the inside as well as the outside. So in we went.

It has the capacity to hold a congregation of 1,500 people, but he realises that he does need to raise money for an extension, as it is sometimes very overcrowded. He is very excited about the VSO project, is 100% committed, and, with the promise of a congregation of almost 2,000 and six choirs, I happily accepted his invitation to church at 9am on Sunday.

Then off to the bar to meet SG and MT (municipal treasurer, AKA Patrick) and an aperitif of wood-smoked beef pieces with a hot pepper dip and cold beer. Yum. We then left for the Lord mayors house for supper. The Lord Mayor is holed up in a town 4 hours drive away because of a national strike – more of that later, but he had asked Gladys, his housekeeper, to cook for us. The menus was goat stew, yams and rice followed by paw paw and bananas and lashings of beer.

Now, lashings of beer is not a good idea at the best of times but just imagine a mile long walk home, down totally unlit scree tracks without a touch. I had left it in my room because the evening before there was no electricity.

MT and SG walked me home by the light of their mobile phones. The night sky was so dazzling in the total absence of man-made light that it was breathtaking. The following conversation followed:

SG ‘Polly, you need to watch the road not the sky’

P ‘But the sky is so amazing that I can’t take my eyes off it’

SG ‘ More amazing than an iPod?’

P ‘Yes’

SG ‘But how about an iPod and the night sky, now that would be something.

SG then confessed that he went to bed last night and in his dreams he was listening to an iPod.

SG discoers the iPod

Everyone here calls people by their work title, even out of work. So, Jonathan, who is the Secretary General of the Ndu Council, is called SG by his wife, colleagues and friends.

SG is quite a character and chatters to me about his trip to Oxford 2 years ago to study local government at Ruskin College. As part of this 3 course, he was taken to Brussels to the EU headquarters.

Last night I went round to his house for supper. His wife cooks outside on a wood fire, keeps all the food warm in thermos-like boxes, which are then used as serving dishes at the table. Tea too is served ready brewed in a thermos flask. I am usually offered a small can of condensed milk to add to the tea but, tonight, joy of joys, we had lemon instead.

We had cow stew, which is tough pieces of meat in a very rich tomato sauce, served with rice and the local green vegetable ‘huckleberry’. Plates of bananas were then served with bread and tea.

SG then got out his England photos, of Buckingham Palace and the EU building in Brussels. He was so thrilled to have been given the opportunity to travel and is ore and wonder of life in Europe.

Its not difficult to see why. One photo pictured him lying on white sheets in a sparkling Brussels hotel bedroom, I had a minor pang for home at the thought of ‘my clean white linen and fancy French cologne,’ oh and hot water and a flushing toilet.

But this is day in day out. Women get up at 5am. A fire has to be made, water heated for washing and cooking, breakfast made and children sent off to school, all before they go to work or the field.

Ndu has got water and if you have the money to attach pipes from your house to the system you will get water for about half the week. Most people cannot afford the fifteen pounds to do that and take buckets to and from standpipes. The problem is that Ndu is up high on a hill and water has to be pumped by electricity…and electricity is often not powerful enough to get it up the hill. So, no water.

Back to Jonathan or ‘SG’. I invited him round to see my photos displayed on the laptop. He was so impressed and excited with what he calls ‘white men inventions’ so I showed him my iPod. He held it in the palm of his hand, like an injured bird and listend through the earphones to The Cherubs. He is a lively and talkative man, full of fun and love for everyone. The iPod silenced him. I have not seen him look so serene in the week I have been here, then he looked down at the iPod and said ‘I would lie in my bed with this and all my worries would dissolve.

I love my iPod but, its not that good – or did he mean The Cherubs?

Red dust and Ju Ju's

Just suppose you had one bucket of warm water a day what would you do with it? You have to know that because there are no tarmac roads the red dust from the dirt tracks spread their powder across everything in it path.

First lesson:- do not moisturise your very dry legs and feet in the morning then go for a walk. The red dust just sticks to it like glue.

I have become expert at the bucket bath. Face, hair, clothes, body then dusty feet last. Moisturise feet at bed time.

These were not part of my learning objectives but you never know what you don’t know. This is experiential learning in action.

Ndu is covered in red dust, and tea and eucalyptus trees. It is also full of funny, warm and very passionate people.

Today amongst the council work, we have been chasing Ju Ju’s. As far as I understand, Ju Ju’s descend on a village for special occasions such as death and marriage and are supposed to encourage happiness, participation and fun.

Basically a group of men with their faces covered in something like knitted chain mail and their body covered in feathers, chase people around the village engendering shrieks and giggles and terror. They want wine and money and look fierce, brandishing branches of trees and lashing out at anything in their path. I am terrified of them, which makes it good sport for my new ‘friends’ to encourage me to photograph them. If I do, they chase me for money and believe me, I run like I have never ran before.