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!