10 green bottles

Water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink!

Well that's a bit inaccurate really, as we can get plenty of bottled mineral water from our local store. We drink between 2 - 3 litres a day each, depending on the heat. And Gweneira lived on little else for 5 days while she was flushing out some kind of bug.

Flushing - that's a word that features larger in our volunteer vocabulary than it ever did in Wales! Getting and collecting enough water to do the necessary takes quite a bit of our time, and we've been lucky to have running water from the tap for part of most days so far. Up in Santa, my colleague Kareen had no water for 8 days, and was overjoyed when it flowed long enough to catch up on some washing. Stand pipes are in each area, and we see people crowding round them with large containers and wheeled trolleys.

There is such a serious water shortage here that each locality has some kind of rationing. One problem as an inhabitant is that there's no regular schedule, so it's unpredictable. When we have water, we rush to fill all our containers. This morning I counted 96 bottles full, plus all the large buckets and bowls we possess. We collected about 4 buckets full of rainwater the other evening, dirty stuff but OK for the loo.

For washing and cooking vegetables, making hot drinks and rinsing crockery we use water that we boil and then filter. It doesn't taste great, so neither of us enjoys drinking it cold, but it is clean. So when we have running water, we boil up a large saucepan of tap water so we can fill up the filter.

Washing ourselves usually means using a bowl, bucket and scoop. We do have a shower, but no water ever comes out of it - pressure much too low! Being a softie, I add some boiled water to my bowl when washing my hair. I've been thankful for a tip from a neighbour at home to bring dry shampoo - it's so useful here. But then washing my hair in a bowl just shows how dirty it is - brown water as if I was rinsing out hair dye!

Of course we all do our clothes washing in cold water. I have no idea how Cameroonian people manage to keep their clothes so clean. You see Omo-white shirts crisply ironed, on people living in far worse conditions than us. The laundries are too expensive for most people, and there's no such thing as a laundrette, though I have seen washing machines out for sale by the roadside.

Ironing is essential, for anything that's been dried outside. Have I mentioned the tumbu fly? It lays eggs in any clothing or sheets drying in fresh air, then when they hatch they burrow into your skin! To prevent that you have to use a hot iron on everything, especially the seams - even bras and knickers!

Why does Cameroon have all these water problems? Especially with the amount of rain we've had in the past week, it's hard to understand. Some villages have no steady water supply at all, even for health centres, and it's certainly a priority on most wish lists.

I've asked for reasons, of course. First, electricity is a problem - lots of power shortages and surges, which affects water pumps. Bad weather knocks our electricity off most evenings now. Then the pipes are inadequate - certainly domestic plumbing wouldn't win any prizes, so I guess the same applies to the main systems. Infrastructure issues loom large here, and it's beyond me, but it certainly makes me appreciate what we have in Wales. I won't waste a drop in future!

Day tripper

A day out in Cameroon is not exactly like a Women's Institute day trip in Wales. There are no organised trips from Bamenda, and it involves a lot of co-ordination. Heather, one of the long-term volunteers, had been planning a trip to Bambalang Lake for a while, and our arrival meant enough numbers to make it worth while.

Why Bambalang? Hippos! Who could resist? So, meet at 7 on Saturday and load up 2 minibuses, hired by Heather's friendly moto driver Nelson. Then set off north for an hour's drive on tarmac road, with great views of rugged hills. Rather Scottish, in the misty light. Delayed a bit by a runaway cow in the outskirts, we got to Ndop by 9ish, to pick up more volunteers and stock up with bread and cake.

Then off the road, bumping along very rough dirt roads for another hour or two, dust blowing in the open windows, snapping photos of farming villages as we hurtled past. We had to stop at the Fon's palace, and troop inside to sign a register and pay a fee for permission to visit the lake. Crowds of people were there, come to hear the Fon make an announcement. This was not for us to witness, and as we drove out, some caught a glimpse of the juju dancers coming out of the palace.

Relieved to get down when we reached the lake, wide and peaceful in full sunlight, we packed ourselves into an open boat and pulled out. Don't bother asking about lifebelts, overcrowding, leaks, engine, comfort, shelter - OK? You can guess the answers if you've read my blog so far. Boatman, 2 minibus drivers, 2 guides, 13 volunteers. No, there wasn't a chilly bin full of cold drinks either. And I can guess my insurance didn't cover this trip!

So, a beautiful wide lake, seeing the occasional fisherman in a flat boat, lots of large birds of prey, herons, egrets. We skirted the edge of the lake at the far side, looking for upright bamboo stalks moving in the water, with no wind - a sign of a hippopotamus swimming underneath. No joy. Not a glimmer of a sight.

Signs of a gathering storm drove us across to land on an island, where a group of villagers go to catch and smoke fish. They build simple shelters but I noticed the TV aerial! First chance of a toilet stop (free range), stretch our cramped legs and admire babies, relax while our guides discussed hippos and weather with the locals.

Yes, hippos are over there, they said, and we set off again, right into the storm, till common sense prevailed and we turned round to head for safety. The rain poured down, drops like pebbles, soaking us to the skin. Heather thought I had fake tan, as the red dust streamed down my face into my white blouse!




Reaching muddy land at last, we piled into the buses and set off back along the track - ruts and potholes now full of water, bus skidding, leaning over dangerously - another Alton Towers experience! The drivers were in a hurry because there are sometimes armed robbers on the Ndop road - you can see the bends where they ambush passing vehicles at dusk, and of course a group of white people would be a prime target.

But here I am, all safe and sound, just a white blouse now tan and it serves me right for wearing one. We live and learn!

Santa baby

Commune de Santa where I'm working is in a lovely spot. It's high up among the hills, with fantastic views and a cooler climate. The people are very friendly and sociable. When I'm introduced, people shake my hand and say "You are welcome". Even little children are taught to shake hands!

So far I've only been in the main village of Santa itself, which is on the main road between Bamenda and the capital Yaounde. The council area covers about 530 sq km, with around 200,000 people and 10 villages. They have schools, health centres, churches, a radio station, markets and lots of bars.

Markets are important here, since most people are in farming. They grow Irish potatoes, cabbages, carrots, avocados, bananas, yams, coffee and other crops, and keep animals like cattle and pigs. There's forestry and furniture workshops, a big potato marketing shed and buyers come from nearby African countries to buy crops here.

It's volcanic soil and there are crater lakes but Mount Lefo is not active, at the moment anyway. Now the rainy season has begun, we should see waterfalls, but it does make getting around even more difficult!

Can you hear me?

Writing a blog is a bit like dropping pebbles into a deep dark well, waiting to hear a faint splash.

I know some people are reading the blog, because I've got a few followers, and one or two emails, but that's all. It would be really nice to get more comments, followers and general response, to encourage me.  The Internet cafe is slow, electricity is intermittent at home especially in the evening after work, so it's not like just sitting at a fast PC on broadband!

I was also hoping that my work colleagues would use the blog as a resource in adult community learning.  It's a relatively painless way to include education for sustainable development and global citizenship, as well as some communication skills, if our tutors referred to the blog in classes (not just ICT classes!).  They could use it to raise issues like gender and equality pro-actively, and generate discussion.

So, if anyone is reading this, let me know!  If you have questions, I'll try to cover them in the blog, or by email.  And if you can publicise it more, please send the link to anyone you know.

Best wishes to all my friends and readers!
Ros

I get around

Public transport is quick, available and cheap here. You just have to ignore comfort and safety!

To go to work in Santa, I walk to the end of the street and stand there. When a yellow taxi slows down, I lean in and say "Santa park?" and if the driver is willing to take me I get in and off we go. I say "good morning" to the other passengers and we all squeeze up. On the 3 miles into town the driver stops to let people in and out, collecting the fare as they leave. There are fixed rates for most normal journeys so I always keep my cash in hand, and a close grip on my bag.


Santa Park is not what it sounds like. It's a petrol station on Commercial Avenue, and most taxis to Santa set off from a traffic island there. So I arrive and look for a cab which has a few people in and around it, and say "Santa?" and the driver nods. When he has enough people we all squeeze in and off we go.

On my first day travelling up to Santa on my own, there were 8 of us in the taxi including the driver. Three on the back seat is OK, but 4 is a real pinch. It's 20 km uphill most of the way, spectacular views if you have leisure to look.

Mind, I prefer that to sitting in the front. When Gweneira and I had to sit on the front passenger seat, my left leg pushed up against the gear stick and Gwenno half on top of my right one, well I could hardly stand up when we got out, 40 minutes later. I just staggered to the next taxi and flopped into it!

Oh, I forgot to explain how 8 fit in the car. It's straightforward really - the driver gets out to let someone else in on his side, usually a slim man, and then the driver sort of half sits on top of him. The passenger sticks his arms in the air, or behind the driver and poking out the window, it's quite amazing really how they do it. And drives like that.

One day the 2 middle guys got out just before a junction, we drove past it and round a bend and waited so they could walk along and get in again. I've heard the council is trying to stop overcrowding so they must have been avoiding a checkpoint. Presumably it's OK to have 4 in the back, 5 if you include the baby on its mother's lap.

Of course there are no seatbelts, and I don't like being in front because I can see the road. Going down a steep road at 90km sharing the front seat with a mother and toddler was just a bit much for me. Though I do choose older drivers if possible - advised to do so as they have families so tend to be more careful. They slow down for the speed bumps and zigzag around potholes.

I think I'm getting a lifetime's worth of roller coasters here, if I can live through it. And I haven't even tried the moto taxis yet (yes it's motorbikes with no helmet and no more than 2 passengers plus a small child on at the same time!)

Downtown

Living in Bamenda is amazing experience, it's hard to choose what to convey to readers elsewhere. The town is spread out wide and far, with a steep escarpment called "Up Station" where the British lived when they ran this part of Cameroon. The view is often hazy, with humidity and dust, but it's nice up there, cooler.

The centre of town is Commercial Avenue, lined with street traders, shops, bars, businesses, the central market and the grandstand. Traffic (especially the yellow taxis) is chaotic, and you have to learn to walk nonchalantly across the road like the locals, rather than scuttling like a scared rabbit!

Street stalls sell all sorts of stuff: you can top up your mobile, eat freshly cooked doughnuts, barbecued fish, roast groundnuts or fried plantains. Taxi drivers just pull over suddenly to buy a roast corncob, then eat it while they drive.  A woman wiped her hands on her apron from frying doughnuts to sell me phone credit!

Apart from this main avenue, there's a real mixture of residential, commercial and industrial businesses on all the streets. Along the dusty road to our hotel was a car repair shop, a furniture maker, and a bar as well as many houses. Our hotel was not exactly as it looks on the front - the barbecue area in the back yard was interesting!