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!