General Strike the day after

Dec 9
As we walked out to say our last goodbyes to the women in the village, Elke received a call, a friend was trapped in town, her car’s back window smashed, a neighbour beat-up and gunshots all around; a riot in progress on the main street of Bamenda. How does one respond to news like that?
We met up with the children, some of the women and said goodbye. The women were understanding but regretful. At lunch with one especially hospitable friend, we heard over cellphone that people had been killed, the riots had spread throughout the city, police station burned, a politicians car torched in front of the hospital, blockades on many streets.
My anxiety level rose considerably, in spite of the benign surroundings and we proceeded walking out to say goodbye to another friend, wondering where we might be spending the night. Calling  our friend who had been downtown, she invited us to her home nearby. She’d been rescued by a young man on a motorcycle who navigated the back roads around barricades and burning tires to get her home safely. Plus, someone had driven her car back as well. All her groceries had to be discarded -full of broken glass.
Our time there was fraught with concern, a continual ringing of phones and incoming text messages kept us up to date with all the latest conjectures and possible truth, including the news that more troops were coming from Yaounde. Hard to sleep with all this weighing on our minds, our intention to leave on Monday now placed in jeopardy. 
All our furniture spoken for, household goods and incidentals ready for removal Saturday. That is if the roads are cleared and people are allowed out.
More phone calls in the morning. Apparently the authorities were now releasing all the children held in residential schools. A window of opportunity to make our way home… past charred pavement, piles of still burning refuse and tires, the burnt out hulk of a truck straddling the road. In one spot  an opening pulled aside for the traffic between still burning tires. At most intersections military armed and watchful. People lining the streets, on the move loaded down with all manner of items. In front of one school taxis loading children, some looking a little lost, backpacks and bags in hand.
Our fellow apartment resident had told us not to return yesterday; tear gas drifting, tires burning and police and demonstrators everywhere. She was at the hospital when we returned, a friend caught a bullet.
The floor in the apartment looked clean but as soon as I walked in, black footprints.
It all looks normal outside except for the blackened pavement, taxis and pedestrians going about their business, buses driving past the food market… except they’re all empty…?
At least there’s no gunshots or tear gas. We finished packing, we are ready to go as soon as we an arrange transport. But when will that be?

General Strike an interlude

Dec 8
The 3 day strike is over, another called for January. Yesterday, traffic was flowing a little subdued but almost normal. The motorbikes did another honking drive by in a group, the water cannon and tear gas possibly taking place elsewhere but certainly not visible to us.
The market down below was busy almost all morning, well past the stated 9am “deadline” a few stores open along the main roads, although we heard nothing was open on Commercial ave. 
The night before we heard the ruling party CPDM was planning a rally in town at the grandstand, a feature of every Cameroonian town we’ve been in. An interesting proposition, provocative in the extreme since this area is represented in the parliament by the opposition party and the strike was challenging the government to address concerns. Which it hasn’t. Instead it continues to ignore, deny and repress any actual dialogue. See this
In conversations with numerous individuals, the under current of dissatisfaction and impatience soon comes to the surface. We heard stories of successful businesses driven into failure by the policies and attitudes of the rulers here. Opportunities for improving the lives and fortunes of citizens squandered or undermined by the powers that be, the regions resources providing for the rest of Cameroon. Or more likely the people in power, Teachers and military often wait months to get paid, the standard of living is in  the lower 3/4 of countries worldwide and yet the president is one of the richest men in Africa. What is wrong with this picture?
Early in the morning one of the volunteers went downtown to mail something for us and to attempt to get cash. He told us the area was crawling with machine gun toting military police. Made him extremely uncomfortable.
We had arranged to head out to the farm since we understood everything was supposedly back to normal. And it appeared to be. Our driver took us easily out of the city, we purchased bananas from a roadside vendor and arranged for pick-up later in the day.
 I spent the morning re-ordering/organizing the toolshed while Elke re-plastered the lounge hangout space. It’s a pleasant place to be, birds singing, a gentle breeze and plenty of greenery. And a great way to say goodbye, doing something useful and meaningful.

General strike- Next installment

Dec 6
As the morning progressed, I headed down to †he market. A few taxis heading up the hill, lots of motorbikes and a steady stream of pedestrians going both ways.
The fellow with a table near the taxi stand had a chunk of meat on his table, the smell indicated it wasn’t fresh in spite of the hour. Must have been left over from yesterday. Crossing the bridge I averted my eyes from the creek, it’s choked with debris, plastic waste, discarded clothing and all the leftovers from the market. There is nothing quite like the smell of… you get the picture.
In the open part of the market where the trucks drop off oranges, melons and papayas folks were busy distributing the wholesale into retail, wheelbarrows and handcarts piled with produce. I was jostled by the crowds of women (mostly) out getting their daily supplies. From my usual vendors I got lemons, tomatoes and papayas. They seemed unworried, the tomato lady was busy negotiating for 6 baskets of tomatoes, the lemon lady always looks worried and the melon sellers never stop trying to get me to buy.
My usual trudge back uphill was marked  first by an inability to cross over due to a preponderance of motorbikes and then the sight of Elke on the balcony waving to me. She had preceded me out the door taking a bike to Oscar shop where things not available in the market (occasionally) can be obtained. Actually just about everything is available in the market, one just needs to know where to look and I wasn’t relishing the thought of traipsing through the rabbit warren. Normally an enjoyable experience on a dry day, the women constantly call out to me. Those who we are familiar with ask after “Madame” or “Ma”. It’s often cooler in there  as well and folks are friendly whereas walking the street edge can be percarious as traffic honks it's way through the crowds of vendors and shoppers competing for space.
Back home we are set for the next few days, we won’t go hungry. Our friend and associate  Beatrice stopped in to collect the drying ginger from the back room. She’s interested in some of our furniture. We’re both willing to write it off in our need to leave but it’s wonderful to get something for it . Others have expressed interest, looks like it’ll all be out of here, which is also a concern; I don't want to walk away from a partially furnished apartment , leaving it for others to deal with. It will all be absorbed into our community. Items of clothing given to friends, household articles taken to the Eco-village or the guest house.
The waiting around is the worst, not knowing when or if, much less concerned about being involved in some ridiculous political disagreement or altercation. The occasional percussive report, scenes of people running plus stories of injury and worse are not something I want to get used to.
My privilege is showing. I’m quite aware I have the option to both come here and then leave should things become too difficult or uncomfortable. My upbringing and background presupposes an expectation of basic human rights, guaranteed access to appropriate healthcare, nutrition, water and waste management. I have taken these things for granted. Along with trusting the police to protect me and having faith in the benevolence of government. I suppose I could say this is another awakening from complacency.

Life in a general strike-reflections

Dec 6
Another quiet night. The general strike is keeping most traffic, specifically taxis, off the roads. The motorcycle riders are like young rebels everywhere,  nothing (or very little) stops them from trying to make a living ferrying people and goods about the city. This morning the activity/traffic seems especially intense. It appears we have a safe window between 6 and 9am to get get things done to shop and travel where necessary. I saw some buses arriving too. None left last night.
Yesterday after checking with friends we were advised to stay put. In any case there were no taxis’ running and a trip out to the farm on a motorcycle would be brutal. And to be stuck out there? It’s a great place to spend the night but some prep is needed to make it work.
As 9 am approached the traffic noticeably diminished to occasional private cars and a few motorbikes. The police vehicles make a lot of noise as they hurtle along warning everyone to “get out of the way!” with their horns. From our balcony we watched as they attacked some buildings and I assume dissenting citizens just beyond Hospital Roundabout with their water cannon. Much smoke on either side of the road. I’m tempted this morning to go view and photograph the damage. The street there is lined with small eating establishments, up one nearby road is a bus stand we’ve arrived at from south. But I won’t. Elke has pointed out I don’t run so fast (or at all!) and if this area is a hotbed of resistance, who knows what they or the military have planned today. My jokey manner belies the anxiety we are feeling.
I walked out mid morning yesterday looking for bananas, they can be found most days on trays atop the heads of vendors walking around the city but seldom if ever at the market. Usually at roadside stands here and there. None to be seen. Even the roadside stands themselves were missing, their wooden shelves and tables hidden from the possibility of use as fuel. I passed  quite a few pedestrians. One fellow accosted me , in pidgin, warning me “No taxis”.  I saw a couple of men standing in the road stopping motorcycles and encouraging them to disgorge their passengers.
Back in the apartment we watched through binoculars as tires were laid across the road as a barrier, then the police moved in and threw them aside, proceeded up the road blasting water into the buildings and side streets, lobbing smoke bombs or tear gas here and there. As soon as they were out of sight, the tires reappear. This looks more like mischief than open insurrection. And the response is like smashing a sledge hammer on a mosquito. The military/police seem intent on provoking a violent response so they can justify their behaviour.  From what I’ve seen (and it aint much) the citizens are exercising incredible restraint, operating with non-violence as a rule; racing on motorbikes in swarms honking their horns and pedestrians running away to avoid confrontation. The general population attempts to continue as usual, although  most everything is closed for business.
 The strike will continue till Wednesday, after that we intend to make our way, away. By bus if possible otherwise if not, we’ll charter a taxi out to the next large centre and thence to Douala where there is an airport.