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.