Crime, Grime and Cameroonian Time

Well, it’s happened. I’ve become a victim of crime. On Thursday, when I was returning back from work to my accommodation, I was beckoned into a yellow taxi. There were already three passengers in the back but only one – a young man probably in his twenties - in the front passenger seat. I squeezed in beside him. Soon the young man began complaining that he didn’t have enough room. He and the driver suggested that I help them to push the front seat back. Some energetic pushing by me and the young man did not achieve anything – or so I thought. The driver suggested that I get out and catch another taxi. Ever helpful, I got out, only discovering as my feet touched the pavement that my wallet was missing from my left pocket ... I shouted out as the taxi disappeared at speed. Too late. Someone was a richer man by about ten thousand Central African Francs, 20 Euros, and my plastic cards, and I had to walk the rest of the way home in the heat and dust.

Those ten thousand francs were not as much as they sound, and I’ve cancelled the cards, but it was an unpleasant experience. I was angry with myself as much as with the driver and young man who had obviously spotted a likely victim. I’ve had plenty of learning experiences since I arrived in Africa, but this was one I had not sought.

Commissioner Michael Ndjok, Commissioner of the 4th district, came to take my statement. I don’t think I’ve met a Police Commissioner before – it’s certainly a grand title. He was sympathetic, but described my experience as a frequent one. Ah well, c’est la vie, as they don’t say here in Anglophone Cameroon.

There are frequent power cuts here in Bamenda. It seems that there is loss of power more often here than in Douala or Yaoundé. There is an unexpected consequence. If you are just a few yards away from the main road, and away from car headlights at night, the darkness has an intensity I have never seen before. At the same time, the stars are intensely clear and bright against the utter blackness.

On Friday afternoon, I was invited out to a wake in a village called Ngyen-Mbo - more of that tomorrow. On the way there conservation NGO director Penny showed me some of the local wildlife and a tree nursery and a tree planting project she had set up. The countryside was beautiful and everything was in bloom.

I've decide I've been a bit negative, so I'll save the crime and Cameroonian time for a later blog.

The pictures here show:

1. a frequent wild flower. Does anyone knows its name?

2. Penny examining a recently planted cashew nut tree.

3. The local cattle - for the farmers in the choir!

4. A man from the Mbororo trible looking after the cattle. People like him drive this animals along dirt roads for many miles

Spills and Skills

I’ve been very busy lately preparing a course I’m delivering on the managing of change. The usual stuff: PowerPoint presentation, flipcharts and handouts. I’ve tried to allow space for participants to interpret my pearls of wisdom in their own context.

You’ll remember that I’ve mentioned the issue of waste disposal before. The local council has reacted to criticism of its waste disposal policy by putting up signs on either side of the stream into which market traders routinely push all their unwanted material (maize husks, plantain peel, and rotten oranges. In the photo you can see the consequence of the brand new signs. In my presence people carry on using the stream for disposing of their rubbish.

I’ve met some impressive people since I’ve been in Cameroon. The long-term volunteers show a quiet determination to make things happen. I am particularly impressed by the commitment of the VSO volunteers located far from Bamenda. In the past week I’ve also met Penny Fraser, Director of the United Africa Association, with a strong interest in conservation work, and a clear lover of Cameroon and its people.

I remain amazed at skills demonstrated by local craftsmen. Here I don’t mean the manufacturers of wooden masks for tourists, but local furniture producers, who work in the open air, turning out wooden and even cane furniture. The photo shows the cane worker.

The first picture shows a craftsman - wearing a top with a Dutch company name - and the second shows his raw material. The third shows a rubbish sign, with rubbish on it!

Mankon and Mount Carmel

I've had my hair cut at a ‘Barbing Salon’ – I suppose that barbing is what a barber does.

I’m determined to see a little of the country while I am here. Yesterday I travelled out to the palace at Mankon. A sort of nation-state, Mankon has a clearly defined territory, a population (of various origins) organized into clans and political lineages, perfectly defined institutions and once had a military force directed by a sacred sovereign, the fon (chief, king).

I and a Dutch lady were shown around by Vincent, a son of the Fon. Vincent is a teacher of French, but also acts as curator of the museum. The museum was built and arranged by an Italian organisation, but no one is updating it now, or working on preserving exhibits. It’s that issue of sustainability again.

Back to Mount Carmel Baptist Church again today. I got a really warm welcome - as if I'm a regular! Again, the singing was absolutely delightful. The church is in the shadow of a mosque which is beginning to dominate Old Town.

The images here are, from the top:

1. Mosque going up above the Old Town, Bamenda

2. Barbing salon

3. Mankon

4. Wearing an ingenious contraption to keep the sun off while leaving the hands free

The Word in Pidgin

Pidgin English is no longer a makeshift language it once was, and has grown to maturity, as a language can, and satisfies the complex linguistic needs of the many people here who need a common tongue. To my surprise I came across the New Testament in Cameroonian pidgin this morning. It is entitled: Gud Nyus Fo ol Pipul (I think you’ll be able to work this out!), and this edition was published in Yaounde, in 2005.

Whilst there is a clear resemblance to English, the structure of the language is definitely African. The first verse of St John’s Gospel reads:

“Fo fest fest tam, yi weh na de Tok e bin dei: de Tok e bin bi witi God, an de Tok e bin bi na God.”

It’s clear that Tok comes from the English talk and that fest is first and tam is from time, but the structure is un-English. I'm starting to understand it, but it's not easy.

The pictures here are of:

1. The New Testament in pidgin. The banana is of no significance!

2. and 3. Roadsigns!

Visit to Babessi

Yesterday (Wednesday) I went with my trusty girl Friday (Desiree) on a long trip to the council in Babessi, some 75 kilometres away. The road was a difficult one. It took three taxis and 3½ hours to get there from Bamenda. I’ve written before about the unique public transport system here. Two of the three taxis had broken windscreens and needed to be bump-started. The Cameroonians take all of this in their stride. Indeed, it could be argued that taxis of this type offer a solution to complex journeys at limited cost. The last part of the journey is on bumpy, unasphalted road, and the car windows have to be kept shut because of the choking red dust.

The Mayor of Babessi wants me to find some second-hand road-making equipment. They need a grader and a front loader. They’re willing to pay shipping costs and could collect from the port of Douala. Ideas, anyone?

I’ve tried to avoid too much detail about what I’m doing here, because I know that some people’s eyes glaze over when I talk about SWOT analysis or STEP. I know, I know, but these are useful tools in analysing where an organisation stands. This journey was the last of my information gathering visits linked to the management of change. I’m now trying to put together a report which will inform (I know, jargon again) the training course due to take place on 3rd February.

The journey was through some beautiful mountainous countryside. It’s volcanic rock, I think, although Graham Potts may know better. There are resemblances here to Snowdonia. There is almost no tourist industry here. I’m sure people would pay to visit these beautiful mountains to look at the wildlife – I saw some large birds of prey yesterday.

The pictures here are of the countryside between Ndop and Babessi.

Cooking and cooking the books

The cuisine of Cameroon is one of the most varied in Africa due to its location on the crossroads between the north, west, and centre of the continent; added to this is the profound influence of French food, a legacy of the colonial era. The national dish of Cameroon is ndolé, a stew consisting of bitter leaves, nuts and fish or goat meat. I’ve eaten it in Bamenda and Douala, and its consistency and content seems to vary.

Staple foods here include cassava, yam, rice, plantain, potato, maize, beans, and millet. The French introduced French bread which is seen less in this Anglophone area than in the francophone parts.

The soil of most of the country is very fertile and a wide variety of vegetables and fruits, both domestic and imported species, are grown. Common vegetables include tomatoes, bitterleaf (aptly named) and cassava leaves. Today (Wednesday) I saw some rice fields and a tea plantation on the road to Befussi.

It is no secret that there is corruption in Cameroon. Someone here called it “a monstrous slimy hydra” – what a good phrase! Only yesterday I was given a specific example of the misappropriation of funds – an example which it would be unwise to detail here. These comments should not lead to the conclusion that everyone is doing it. The question "Why can’t the Cameroonian people do anything about it?" contains the answer to the puzzle: because there is no such thing as "the Cameroonian people", only a wide array of disparate peoples who happen to live within common borders. Civil society is very weak here. All those pressure groups (like PTAs, single-issue campaign groups, trades unions ,which keep an eye on government activity) are weak here.

We've had some heavy tropical rain - warm rain - which has kept down some of the dust.

Signs and wonders

I sat with a group of Cameroonians yesterday to watch the inauguration of President Obama. There is tremendous enthusiasm for the man here and hope for the future. I hope that they are not disappointed.

It seems to me that Africa gets a lot of Europe’s rubbish. Most of the taxis I have ridden in so far have been imported from Europe, mostly from Germany and Holland, when they are no longer good enough for use on the roads of those countries. Cars which can no longer be used on the roads of Europe because they do not meet environmental demands are clearly good enough for Africa.

I looked at a stall of electrical products today. These too are all old fridges and other electrical goods which have been shipped over by the container load. One has to wonder how environmentally friendly these fridges are, and whether the electric kettles are safe to use.
Another aspect of this concerns men’s clothing. You see lots of younger men here wearing t-shirts bearing logos and wording which do not relate to this part of the world. Many have texts on them in German or Dutch advertising schools or garages in small towns. I even saw the name of the electrical company Philips printed with the first “i” missing!

I have also been looking a lot lately at the signs by the roadside. They reveal a different sort of English from that spoken in the U.K. The two signs here are on the road which I walk down every day from my workplace into the town centre. The third shows a mechanic's shop near Douala. Note the spelling.

A quick word of thanks to those who have sent emails and made comments. Thank you! Dioch! Dankon!