Leaving on a jet plane

More goodbyes - 13 of us new volunteers arrived together just 8 weeks ago and with just 4 of us going back to the UK together, it feels like a family parting, not knowing when we will see each other again. We've supported each other while settling in, made deeper connections as individuals through the intensity of this experience in Cameroon, and I hope we can continue to keep in touch across the continents.

A long bus journey to Yaounde gave us the chance to drink in the sights and sounds of rural African life for the last time. We noticed areas of comparative wealth - like the large town of Bafoussam where garden plants are on sale in pots to adorn the homes of the richer residents. Yaounde, the capital, was just as hot and humid as we remembered. The hotel electricity flicks off every evening, but luckily comes on again later so we get air conditioning, and I actually used a blanket for the first time!

Tedious paperwork at the VSO offices, reclaiming travel expenses, seemed to take most of Friday, and was rather a dull end to our relationship with VSO Cameroon. Not that we expected a thank-you party, but some sort of end-of-placement review would have been nice. We were glad that our flights were confirmed, after all the uncertainty of the volcano problems, and celebrated our last night in Cameroon with a candlelit dinner (no choice as the electric had gone off again!)

On Saturday we did the tourist thing - by taxi to the central market, a huge spiral of a building, where we were instantly snapped up by men wanting to lead us to our purchases. (They also wanted us to have their babies, marry them, take them to the UK etc etc). We also visited the cathedral, to hear wonderful singing at a wedding, then went off in search of more traditional crafts.

A big market at Tsinga is the place to go, full of stalls with wood, pottery, metal and basket work, musical instruments, masks - everything you could wish for. It was hot, and I watched a football game across the road while waiting for my friends to finish bargaining. No room in my cases for more stuff - thank goodness I've given away so much already.

All packed up and at the airport by 6:15pm, we queued for 4 hours or more to check in, hassled by an increasingly drunken man who seemed to think he owned our trolley. I'm quite good at French but couldn't understand why he wanted us to clingfilm our bags. When we finally reached the check-in we realised why it all took so long; several people had to weigh and search all the cabin bags, and at least 4 people separately checked passports and visas. Please note - pack all your souvenirs in the hold luggage. By the time we got through, the airplane was boarding, and we had to hurriedly spend our last francs on Swiss chocolate!

A comfortable but late overnight flight got into Paris with barely enough time for passengers to run and make the connecting plane to London. Only when we arrived at Heathrow did we realise that 2 of us had missed it, and so had our luggage! Still, I was glad to get the bus to Swansea - a whole seat to myself - and having no heavy cases certainly made it easier to manage the bus/train up to Llandeilo.

How quiet it is! To be truly on my own, for the first time in 2 months, seems strange. Nice to see my home (freshly painted while I've been away) and cats, talk to my daughters in lengthy phone calls, share a bottle of white wine with friends, admire the garden's spring flowers, get my hair cut. The luggage arrived late Tuesday afternoon so now I can unpack and try to wash out the red dust of Cameroon. Time now to reflect on lessons learned, to think about how to share my learning with my organisation and others, and how to continue to help people in Cameroon to develop in the way they want.

So long, farewell

The last few days in Cameroon - finishing up my work and saying goodbye to all the lovely people I've met here.

On Tuesday morning I sat in on my last TAP committee meeting. The Transparency Accountability and Participation committee was set up as part of the Santa Council partnership with VSO, and comprises some councillors, staff members and VSO volunteers. I've been working with them throughout, and I'd suggested using this meeting to review their one-year action plan, 6 months after it was developed. It's all very well to create action plans, but the real challenge is to make sure that people implement them - just like back home in Wales!

The meeting crystalised some of the problems faced in organisational development here - people came and went so we started an hour late, only 2 people had brought their copies of the plan so someone had to walk over to the council offices to photocopy it again, some actions had not yet been costed, outcomes not specific enough, monitoring not built in securely. But we smartened it up, and I think my presence helped to reinforce the long-term volunteer's approach, emphasising the effective methods but leaving the decisions on content up to the local people, whose plan it is.

This VSO approach was clear when we organised a 2-day workshop on the Local Economic Development Plan. Originally devised in 2005, the plan hasn't been effective since 2006. A review late in 2009 had restarted the process, and the workshop in April aimed to set it off again with a new 5-year plan and a LED committee to implement it. This time the Council has already allocated 2.5 million francs in funding, so there is a better chance of effective work with the broad aim of raising income levels.

A mixed group of about 35 people included councillors, members of village development associations, common initiative groups (mainly farming), representatives of central government departments and finance groups. We presented methodology like action learning and SMART planning, which many have experienced already. The TAP committee facilitated small group work, reflecting on the lessons learned from past experience and deciding on the way forward, making outline plans for 5 economic areas. For me it was very interesting to see the outcomes. Some of the goals look rather unrealistic but it is definitely their plan, and they will need to get expert assistance in each area of economic activity in order to tune it more finely and get it to work.

My main task here was on helping the council to engage more with the community, so I ran a workshop last week for the councillors. There were some lively small group discussions, devising strategies for dealing with issues and problems they face in trying to interact with the community. It is much more emotionally political here - hostility towards councillors of an opposing party, rivalries with traditional rulers, some village organisations not letting the Santa councillor speak!

Some input from Wales was well received, ideas like having community champions, using local radio, publishing councillor allowances and developing a code of conduct for councillors. I've already had good feedback from the workshop, as the First Deputy Mayor used some of my material when he spoke to a village association on Wednesday, telling them what their councillor should be doing for them!

So, on Tuesday afternoon came my send-off. Speeches, presents, photographs, a late lunch - I was fine till the 3 council boys gave me a framed certificate with thanks for their training in Excel! Overwhelming. The Mayor invited me round to his home afterwards for a glass of wine and his wife gave me a jar of her ground-nuts. They proudly showed me their pigs out the back - very cute piglets.

The Mayor had been busy all day with the Senior Divisional Officer, as there has been serious trouble between 2 villages over a land dispute (fighting with guns!) What a mixture of responsibilities here, the Mayor sorts out stuff like that, getting all the traditional rulers in together, but then he has to ask the SDO for permission to fill 6 vacant posts as revenue collectors and the like. Imagine if the Chief Executive of Carmarthenshire County Council had to ask permission from WAG to fill a clerical post?

Ah well, I could stay here years and not understand it all. I would like to stay longer, or at least, come back and see how they are getting on. I'm hoping for emails and skype to keep me in touch with what's happening here, with other volunteers, local people, action plan updates...

She's leaving home

Monday morning at 9 o'clock ...

Sad moment, all packed up ready to leave Foncha Street, where we've enjoyed many happy, joyful times over the past 6 weeks. I've seen Gweneira off at the bus station, where she's travelling to Yaounde to work at a government ministry for this last week. And I'm waiting for a truck bringing the new inhabitants, then I will move over to a hostel for the rest of my stay in Bamenda.

Sharing a house with a stranger, in a strange land, is not everyone's cup of tea. Personality clashes, differing opinions and attitudes, domestic habits or just getting on top of each other - these can all prevent a harmonious home life.

It's been our great good fortune that none of these have been evident here in Foncha Street. Gweneira and I have shared a positive attitude to life in Cameroon, committed 100% to being here and making the most of every experience, good or bad. We've both loved finding our way around and getting to know some of the local people. The daily grind of life with dust, water and electricity shortages, computer problems etc has developed our adaptability and resourcefulness. And we've had so much fun!

There is nothing more important in a housemate than a shared sense of humour! We have laughed till we cried about some of the things that have happened here, and at ourselves in dealing with them. Puzzling over people's behaviour, unpicking cultural differences, questioning corruption and incompetence, celebrating the kindness of strangers and the rapport with colleagues - our long conversations have helped us both in coping well with life in Cameroon.

As far as work is concerned, we've been a good match. Gwenno's public relations and community engagement experience gave me tremendous support in my work with Santa Council, generating ideas on the why, what and how to improve their 2-way communication with their public. Similarly, my education and training background has helped Gwenno to prepare her work on developing organisation marketing profiles and in running a workshop on effective communications for national volunteers and staff.

Our own communications with folk back home have been complementary. Gweneira is a good writer, sending informative and humourous emails back to an enthusiastic audience in Ceredigion. She's also written articles for the Cambrian Times newspaper, and I'm sure this experience will lead her to do more writing. My blogs are shorter and less personal, but I've been encouraged by Gwenno's enthusiasm and we've had fun choosing pictures to illustrate them.

Developing local people has been a shared interest too. I'm impressed with Gwenno's encouragement for a young national volunteer, Elfrida, to take on a leading role in the organisation profiling. While I've done some computer work with young council staff, improving their skills and training them to teach others. We hope that this staff development can continue after we leave, as young people are so important to Cameroon's future prospects.

Volunteer life here is no picnic, no luxury holiday, as I hope my blogs have illustrated. Without a positive approach it would be easy to be depressed by sights of poverty and fears that nothing will ever get better. Here in Foncha Street we have been uplifted by each other's support and pleasurable company. Gweneira has left, and this is home for us no more. We hope the next residents, long-term volunteers, will enjoy their 2 years here as much as we have enjoyed our 6 weeks.

A day in the life

Up at 6:15 - is there water? Yes, fill the bottles and buckets quick before it goes off. Fill the big pan and put it to boil, so we can top up the water filter later. Make myself a cup of tea from the filtered water, and squash a few ants with the hot teabag - death from the skies! Banana and yogurt for breakfast, with malaria tablets, garlic pearls and vitamin B.


When Gwenno is out of the bathroom, nip in and wash in a bowl of cold water, head to toe. If I'm washing my hair, I use some of the heated water just to get some lather from the shampoo. Pour bottles into the cistern to flush the loo (yes, the water is off by now!)

If our cleaner comes she usually arrives about 7. To be honest, she's not that good at cleaning. We have to do the bathroom and kitchen, but she does wipe the floor once a week, washes clothes in cold water and irons some of them. She's a lovely lady and we've gained a lot from the insight into local life she brings, and knowing we are supporting her family for a short time.

I get dressed and clean my shoes (though I'm not sure why I bother!) I set off first, so Gwenno padlocks the gate behind me. Then catch a taxi to Finance junction, wait 15 minutes or so, then another taxi up to Santa. Buy a bottle of water and trudge up the hill in the heat, to a meeting which is unlikely to get going for an hour or so.

Work usually consists of meetings, talk, planning workshops. After the meeting I hang around; I don't have an office so I go to Kareen's house where she makes me a cup of good Cameroonian coffee. Kareen (long-term volunteer) hasn't had water for a week but she lets me use her loo!

At 2pm I go to the council office, where Godwill, Stanley and Bismark are finishing up their day's work. These are young general clerks, and I'm helping them improve their spreadsheet skills so they can teach other council staff. They are enthusiastic, a great bunch to teach - when I show them a new thing in Excel, they say "Wow!"

By 4 we are all flagging, so I give them homework and set off down the hill. Catch a taxi and we are packed like sardines. A rather large lady is sitting on my left thigh, and by the time we get to Bamenda I can't feel my left foot. I get out and almost fall over, but a man grabs my elbow and supports me. "Tap your foot", he tells me, "it's just cramp". He holds me up till I can feel again, then walks me down to Mobil, where he grabs a taxi for me.

Off at Foncha junction, and into the internet cafe. It's hot, connections are slow and it takes me half an hour trying to download emails. My foot is OK now and I walk home, where Gweneira is on her computer. Water is still off, but electricity is on. We chat about our day then decide what to cook.

Washing tomatoes means using filtered water, carefully washing knife and chopping board too. Spring onions are harder, washing the dirt off first, peeling then washing thoroughly in filtered water. Gwenno swats a cockroach with her flipflop. I light a candle in case the electricity goes off while we are eating, which it does!

Luckily the light comes on again, and I manage to do a bit more work on my laptop, clean off the virus it picked up in Santa today and prepare for the day ahead. The water comes back on late, and i wash a few things - the dust means I can only wear something once, and it's impossible to scrub enough to get a white blouse clean. Gwenno irons her clothes inside out, to kill off any insect eggs in the seams.

By 9:30 the electricity has gone off, the radio stops so we know it's throughout the city. I put my head torch on and go to bed. Once tucked up in the mosquito net I read a little and listen to the rain, now pounding on the tin roof. I fall asleep when it eases off, to wake now and again during the night - woken by odd noises, rain, heat or just the discomfort of my very hard bed!

Money (that's what I want)

Waiting in Express Union for money, crowded, hot and stuffy, gives me an opportunity for people-watching. I go to collect funds sent by VSO in Yaounde to pay for a workshop. The first time it was utterly confusing, but the helpful security guard sorted us out. First I complete a pink withdrawal slip with full details of the payment and the password - this came in a text from VSO. I put the slip in my passport, and drop it in a cardboard box on the counter. Nervous at letting go of my passport, I watch it carefully, especially when other customers block my view. When the box is full, a clerk pulls the contents through the metal grill, and starts to process them on her computer.

I listen for my name. She calls out "Rosalind Joy" and pushes a printout to me to sign. This goes back in, and after a while I see her put it on the pile for the cashier. This lady sits in a separate barred enclosure. When she eventually calls out a name, people go to her and collect their cash and documents, counting them carefully and putting them away safely before leaving the building. This is banking for those with no bank account, no plastic cards, who deal only in cash - like us, while we are here in Cameroon.

Change is a problem, due to a real shortage of currency. Trying to break a 10,000 note takes careful planning, buying a pack of 6 water bottles at 2,300 from Nicoline in our nearest store will usually do it. You buy phone credit in multiples of 500, and calls cost around 100 a minute. For transport you need coins of 100 - 500; I pay about 150 now to get into the town centre, then 500 to go 20km to Santa. For street market traders coins of 25 - 100 are best; a mango is 50, bunch of bananas or carrots 100, one small apple is 100. Traders do their best to give change for large notes, going into nearby shops, but you'll wait a fair while.

It's always best to have the right money in bars. People drink a lot of beer here, and it's strong; a bottle of beer (.65l) is 600. A meal of fufu corn, rice and beans in a chop house is 150. Grilled mackerel on the street is 700 and a plantain is 100. Local VSO volunteers meet up at the International hotel in Bamenda on Friday nights. When we go, we pay 3,000 each for a bar meal of shrimps in garlic and tomato sauce with chips, and 5,000 to share a bottle of red wine - our one bit of luxury and it's delicious!

Most local people couldn't dream of eating in the International hotel. The minimum full-time wage is officially about 23,000 CFA (central african francs) but many have less. Our local barman told us he earns 20,000 a month, and his rent for a 2-room house is 10,000. For a 2-bedroomed house, we pay 2,000 a month for electricity and 1,000 for water. If bills are not paid within 10 days, they add on 5,000 surcharge. The electricity company acted rather strangely with the last bill, refusing to accept payment when Yusuf, our fixer, first went there. Were they trying to delay our payment so they could fine us?

Yusuf is studying for A levels at the moment, and wants to go to university. At fees of maybe 200,000 a year he is going to need help. Our barman Cheery's 12-year-old daughter hasn't gone back to school after Easter because he can't manage to pay her school fees, which total 85,000 a year. He has 2 younger children too, as does our cleaner Anne. School supplies like stationery are expensive here, at 2,500 for a ream of paper. Few people have computers or internet access - our Internet cafe charges 200 for 30 minutes, 100 to print one A4 page. There's a thriving market in second-hand text books, some of which are very old and out-of-date.

A lot of people are telling us about school fees and other debts now. They know we are leaving, and they only have this chance to tug our heart-strings and open our purses. Cameroon people are quite open at saying what they need - they will just ask straight out for something. This took some getting used to, like when I was making my breakfast and our cleaner came into the kitchen and said "Give me some of your bread". I cut it in half for her. A lady on first meeting Gwenno told her "I want something from your bag". If you refuse, nobody takes offence. But local people do share readily, with neighbours, relatives, their church.

Eric, the security guard at our lodgings, had told us about his ambition to produce music, so we gave him 5,000 to buy a microphone headset. He was delighted, and invited us round to his 2-roomed home last Sunday afternoon. His family made us very welcome in their small living space, and insisted on fetching soft drinks. We gave chocolate to their older girl and she took one bar outside right away to give to the neighbour's children. Eric played his music and sang "Thank you God". His wife sincerely thanked us for the headphones!

In community work there are differences from the UK, because people here just do not have reserves of cash to cover their expenses. They live much more hand to mouth than most folk in the UK. This means that we have to include "motivation" in most things we do. A financial incentive to attend a workshop, for instance, has to cover transport costs, plus we provide a good hot meal. Councillors only get 10,000 a month allowance, and yet their constituents expect them to attend, buy drinks and contribute donations at every village event in their area - which includes 4,000 to 5,000 people.

Employees, including those in public service, often don't get their salaries on time. They can wait months to get paid, having to ask the landlord to let them off the rent and borrow from other people to get by. Small unofficial credit unions help out. "Njangis" are like clubs of friends, paying in money regularly and giving it to each in turn. Again it's this communal, co-operative approach to life. One young man told me that in his extended family, they are making sure that everyone is educated to the same level. So he won't be able to go to college until his siblings and cousins have also reached college entrance level. Wow!

As time goes by

Waiting patiently - is that a skill we have to learn? If so, Cameroonian people are experts. I'm certainly much better at this than I was a few weeks ago. Waiting to download emails in the Internet cafe, or to upload photos for the blog, I wish I'd brought my knitting!

Shopkeepers wait for customers, sitting patiently. They don't try to "look busy" as I was told to do when working as a sales assistant for a Saturday job. No, they just do what they need to do, then wait. If someone comes by, they get up to serve you, eagerly. If they don't have what you need, they run to fetch it from another trader. Then they sit down again to wait.

Standing at the roadside, waiting for taxis, all you can do is stand. No chance to read a book, you have to keep a lookout and whenever a likely prospect comes near, you call out to them. If they don't accept your business, you just wait some more. At the motor parks, you may get in a taxi right away, but then you still have to wait for it to fill up. No point in being impatient - it won't get you anywhere any sooner.

Meetings never start on time. We plan to start at 9am, and the VSO volunteers are ready. One councillor is always on time; he sits. He might close his eyes for a while. He talks to you if you want, or just sits while waiting. Someone else comes, then goes outside again. When enough people have been spotted, we go to round them up, or phone them. The meeting usually starts around 10.

One meeting started 3 hours late - the volunteers were all on time, but the one paid staff member didn't turn up till 12, without letting us know. We just get on with discussing what we can. I arrived once to find a farming lady stretched out on a bench in the Community Education Action Centre. She had come for a meeting but the Director wasn't there, so she just lay down to sleep!

Workshops always start late. We are a bit tense, organising a workshop for councillors and not knowing how many people will come. The workshop is scheduled with registration at 8 am in the hope that sufficient people will arrive to start at 9. By 8:30 I am trying to find the rest of the committee, to brief them on the group work. By 9:50, half have arrived, and we start gathering them in from chatting outside, so we can start an hour late. It's a bit like sheepdog trials, round them up to bring them in. We even ring a brass bell! A few more people drift in during the morning.

One problem with starting late is that lunch is at least an hour late. It's hard to get people back to work after a break, so they prefer to work through, even if lunch is not till 3pm. Breaks are tricky; allowing even 5 minutes for a breather means that not everyone comes back. Do we wait for them? No, carry on regardless. They may have gone to make phone calls, or to another meeting, or to a local bar ...

Waiting for food is getting easier now. I'm used to having hunger pangs through the day, and being glad of a few plantain chips or an apple to keep me going. When we go to a restaurant we can expect a long wait, easily an hour or more between ordering and getting anything to eat. Maybe they've had to go buy the ingredients at market, or butcher an animal, or light a wood fire under the grill. And getting the bill, that's a whole other matter. Sorting it out between a group of us, getting the waiter to tot it up again and take off those extra items nobody owns up to having, and then looking for change!

Well, guess I'll have to write another blog about money.

Happy birthday to you

Many thanks to family and friends who sent Happy Birthday messages to me - yes, I did enjoy my day.

Easter Monday leaving Limbe - the joy of finding a 4 star toilet at the motor park! If you're ever waiting for a bus at Mile 4, just walk along to the petrol station, buy some excellent plantain chips in the shop and politely ask if you may use their WC. It has water!

Arriving at Mutangene, a helpful young man from Amour Mezam bagged us seats on the bus to Bamenda, already crowded and almost full. We were 7 on the back seat, and every row the same, packed like the proverbial sardines in our tin can. Padded by my ample rear, I was OK but Linda and Gweneira felt the painful effects of the metal framework, and Gwenno's sunburned back was an added discomfort.

In Cameroonian style I nursed a baby for the mum on our row, and he played with an empty water bottle. Shortly after setting off, the whole bus was treated to a sermon from a young man a few rows ahead. "I've been a bad man", he confessed, and Gwenno muttered "Well if you want to be good, give me your seat!"

Thanks be for good driving or whatever, we reached home safely, in daylight. It felt so good to be really clean again in Limbe, with hot showers and water whenever we needed it, then just a few hours later back to Bamenda's brown dirt roads, pouring rain and no electricity in the house.

Tuesday morning, my birthday and a trip up to Santa for a 9am committee meeting. Walking into the building, I was rather surprised to see the large table covered with carved wooden figures, typical Cameroonian artwork, and an unknown young man sitting there along with Derick and Kareen, volunteers. He introduced himself and I chatted to him about the pieces, which were quite good. When the rest of the committee arrived, there was a brief discussion about how we could hold a committee meeting with the table covered like that, and he packed up his goods and left. Later, we worked out that everyone had assumed someone else had invited him along, but in fact he'd just turned up at the office on the chance he might sell something!

After the meeting, I invited everyone for lunchtime drinks. Councillor Mbuh Samuel said we should put some meat in the belly before beer, so we went to the mimbo house (bar) he favours. The landlady put a large bowl of chunks of meat in gravy in the middle of the table, and gave each of us a small enamel bowl. Along with a piece of meat, we got an oblong loaf of white bread and a fork. Quite tasty, and it was OK to leave the bones and gristle; well I left them anyway.

Everyone sang "Happy birthday" to me, with an unexpected second verse: "And how old is she?" Faced with the whole bar then looking at me, I had to tell them. One thing that's nice about Cameroon is that age is a good thing. So I am Madame Rose or Mami, and people shake hands with me with their left hand supporting their right arm, to show respect for a senior or more authoritative person. Wow!

Later I visited Angeline in her office at the Municipal Treasury. I've never been in a Treasury before, except at the Tower of London, which was not a bit like this one. Council facilities here are not exactly plush. Very few computers, no Internet or email. The council chamber has only one electric socket and no ceiling so that rain on the tin roof drowns out any chance of debate, and as for the toilets - well, a photo can't really do them justice.

Back in Bamenda, Gwenno and I went out to our favourite local chop house - dinner at Mr Bobs. Peter, the chef, trained at catering college and we fell for his cheerful smile and white hat the first time we spotted him at the roadside. He grills whole mackerel and serves them on a metal platter with pepper sauce. A neighbouring stall cooks the fried potatoes, and the supermarket sells us a litre carton of red wine, and supplies wine glasses. We sit on the wooden terrace behind the grill, and Peter brings us a bowl and warm water to wash our hands, then we eat the whole lot with our fingers.

On this special occasion, the rains came just after we'd finished eating, so we retreated inside the chop house to polish off the wine. The chop house is just a bare room, open front, simple wooden seats and tables. We set off home as it grew dark, not the best night for my head torch to expire, but the rain had quieted the street life and we had no hassle on the way.

Definitely my best birthday in years!

Surfin' CFA

"It's not Hawaii", I told Linda on the phone. "Don't expect a luxury hotel and shopping mall - it's still Cameroon."

Three of us Welsh volunteers had booked a weekend break in Limbe, down on the Atlantic coast. We wanted to see Mount Cameroon, second highest in Africa, swim and relax for a brief spell half way through our placements.

The Atlantic coast - big waves crashing on the rocks, red kites soaring overhead, beautiful beaches, small boats out fishing - just like Wales! Oh, except that it's really hot and humid, the sea is warm and the beach is black volcanic sand.

Limbe is in a lovely bay, with fishing shacks strung along a dark beach at the south end. Our hotel, the Miramare, is an easy walk along a dirt track to the edge of town, crossing the river as it flows down to the beach. Out in the sea are little islands and an oil rig, lit up at night. The sea is too rough for swimming off the rocks here, but a good pool, cleaned every day, attracts a lively crowd of Cameroonian families to party there.

At the top of the road leading down to the Miramare are the Botanic Gardens, a peaceful place to wander and seek some shade under the palms. An old quarry within the gardens, transformed into an arena, is used for weddings and other celebrations. There's a Commonwealth War Graves site, with moving memorials to soldiers from Cameroon and elsewhere who fought for Britain in two world wars.

Zooological Gardens bring out mixed feelings. Call them a Wildlife Rescue Centre and they appear much better to our 21st century principles. We walked up there and were shown round by a guide who told us stories of young animals rescued after their parents were killed by hunters for bush meat. It's an illegal trade but still popular, and there's an international market for meat, ingredients for traditional medicines and remedies, from protected and endangered species.

A baby gorilla found in a taxi has now grown up in safety to rear its own young. We watched enthralled as families played and lazed around in the heat. Sure, we could see gorillas at London Zoo, with hordes of other people eating ice creams. Here we were almost alone, seeing them in their own climate zone, with a background of tropical foliage and open hills. Fantastic!

(photos thanks to Gweneira, Friday's designated photographer)

Our "must do" list included a boat trip. Stopping for cold drinks in a lovely bistro overlooking the sea, we spotted a poster and Linda phoned the number. The man at the next table got up - "Hey, you're ringing me!" So, next morning we fastened up life jackets and clambered into an open motor boat with 3 barefoot young men, then zoomed off from the Limbe beach with a flourish.

A couple of minutes later the engine coughed and spluttered to a halt. Embarrassingly close to shore, we watched the flat pirogues of local fishermen drifting past, using only one oar! Then, off again, and out for a closer view of the oil rig, "Noble Don Walker" painted on its side. Do they really have names like boats? Interesting to see someone being hoisted up in a basket from a boat, right up to the platform high above, like James Bond.

Great views of the coast, but Mount Cameroon still hiding in clouds, then we pulled in to a small island. No longer inhabited, we climbed steep steps up to the top, to see the remains of the village. The people left 30 years ago, moved to new villages on the mainland. The boys told their story, showed us the 2 remaining huts, left as a memorial. Each year villagers return to pour libations for their ancestors, who were each buried under their huts. Pigs were kept in a cave just above the tide line, and they traded fish for other goods on the mainland. Now birds are the only inhabitants, dropping seeds so plants and trees are spreading across the flat top of the island.

(boat trip photos thanks to Linda, Saturday's designated photographer)

A longer wait for the engine to start this time, involving the boys taking it apart, cleaning fuel lines and putting it all together again. I wondered how we would manage for water on the island, and whether anyone would notice our absence. When we finally got back, hungry for a late lunch, the office girl told us the engine was new. "It is now, " we said!

Easter Sunday, still 2 things on our list - to see Mount Cameroon and to swim in the sea. Jeremy, our friendly hotel gatekeeper, booked a taxi for our trip along the coast to "the best beach in Limbe". On the way we stopped at the place where lava last flowed out of the volcano, in 1999. Climbing up wooden steps and picking our way across the black rocks and cinders, we admired the way plants take hold in such an unpromising environment - life survives!

The Seme Beach hotel at Mile 11 lets non-residents in for 1500 CFA (Central African Francs), including a ticket for a free soft drink. There's a natural rock pool in the Seme river, which comes straight off the mountain, cold and clean. The water is so good that they bottle and sell it. Jumping in is a shock, welcome in the heat.

Ah, but the beach! Wow. Hot black sand, warm sea, big surf for jumping and being knocked over; strong currents and waves but life guards on surfboards to keep watch. A wide long stretch of sand - horses to ride, space for a never-ending football game. The river spreading out over rocks on to the sand; children lying at the river mouth to let the cold water wash over them.

Great music from the beach cafe's sound system; people dancing their way to the sea. Some families dressed for church, having photographs taken in this beautiful setting. As the tide comes in, football stops and a vigorous volleyball game begins on the grass court, then they all dive into the river pool to cool off.

We didn't want to leave. Never! Sun-baked, we headed up to the main road and caught a taxi. Then, halfway along the road, peering through the taxi window, someone caught a glimpse - Mount Cameroon emerging from the clouds at the last possible moment! Excited squeals, appeal to the taxi driver, we stopped briefly to get a good look at this massive mountain and Linda managed to take a shot. What a great way to end a fantastic weekend!

On the road again

Going on holiday is always an adventure, well it should be. Nowadays it often means waiting around at airports, queuing to get through security and finding you've left an unsuspecting item in your hand luggage that sets the scanners off, then paying a huge amount for a tiny bottle of water to take on the plane, where the food is indigestible but you eat it anyway out of boredom, and regret it later.

If you want more fun in your travel, come to Cameroon. The Amour Mezam bus company yard at 7am on Maundy Thursday was quiet at first, taxis unloading, people buying tickets and snacks for their journeys. It's hard to remember our arrival here a month ago, shell-shocked from the journey from Yaounde, overwhelmed by the noise and bustle, scared by the confusing melee of people, buses, motorbikes and taxis.

Now the three of us, Gweneira, Linda and I, felt totally capable of coping with this long weekend trip away on our own. Our bus to Limbe, 361 km to the south west, was a 30-seater and we bought good seats near the front. Our luggage was piled up waiting to be loaded on the bus roof, and we waited too (we're getting good at that).

Wandering round the dusty yard, taking photos, watching people, talking to mums with babies and bus drivers relaxing in their office, investigating what was in that funny looking basket ... fascinating. People take all sorts of stuff on the bus, their produce to sell and the goods they have bought - hens, plantains, furniture...

Traders pop into the bus or sell through the window, and there's plenty of choice. We bought Magic Chalk cockroach killer, slightly dodgy CDs of Cameroon bands, grapefruit drink and nuts.

Before setting off we needed to use the bus station toilets, and this was an experience somewhat unlike Heathrow. Two young lads were running the place, and one asked Gwenno whether she needed a pee or to use a cubicle. Pee was 50 and cubicle was 100 francs. We all chose the luxury version. The other lad was on bucket swishing duty, western style loo but no flush, and men just peeing in the open yard in front of the cubicles. When Gwenno left, the lad asked for her email address!

Our bus finally set off at 11:30, and was then really efficient. Enough space for the 30 passengers, fairly fast but safe driving, beautiful varied scenery - mountains, valleys and right down to the flat plains by the sea. The roads were much better after we left the north west region – with tarmac and even white lines!

We got snacks like fresh pineapple from vendors on the way, snoozed a bit in the heat and tried to take photos through the window (not very successfully). There was a "comfort break" stop to use a pretty awful hole in the ground toilet (shared with mosquitoes) but we noticed the Cameroon travellers just peed at the roadside - probably a healthier as well as cheaper option. Neither men nor women have any inhibitions about this here.

Landscape changed, from the northwestern red soil and houses made of the red mud blocks, to lighter sandier soil and houses made of wooden planks, sometimes with decorative carved motifs. These homes were set down, in lusher growth than we see in the north west just now. Hotter and much more humid, more tropical to see and feel.

Further south we found large plantations of eucalyptus trees and of palm oil, with blue plastic bags collecting the oil. These monoculture crops bring income from exports, but are fairly destructive of the environment and particularly the water catchment.

Arriving at Mutengene near Limbe in late afternoon, we swapped to a smaller bus for the last leg to Limbe's motor park, to be met by taxis ready to take us right to our hotel by 6:30 – just 12 hours after leaving home. Ah, the sea, hot showers and air conditioning! Of which, more in the next instalment.