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Impressions along the road and within...
Sunflowers among the cassava, sunflowers dried out brown, corn; dead standing, millet, sorghum. Baobabs worn and scarred. Bee hives, both modern and the traditional hollowed out logs hanging from the trees. Cattle and goats on the move, some friendly herders, soot blackened landscapes, scorched trees, deep sand in dry river beds, children waving, others; impassive. Gigantic boulders worn smooth clustered on hilltops, trees as far as the eye can see: acacia, miombo, baobab, other acacia, going brown and others blooming as the dry season  begins.
 Returning to a loved place has been enlightening. Overcoming or at least attempting to understand the cultural differences due to language and religion has stretched my comfort zone, tolerance and occasionally patience. Context as I experience it, in  layers of cognition and insight continue to teach me how little I know. And how educated, sophisticated, motivated and inspired by my consciousness and the myriad abundance I am. Juxtaposed to individuals, children and adults, who can spend the day managing a mixed flock of goats, sheep and cows wandering through a landscape with not much forage. They find what they can. My capacity to understand concepts, consequences and a sense of a bigger picture is limited by my exposure, use and access to information. How much of what I or anyone knows or can use is actually useful in any given circumstance, is dependant on situation, environment, ecosystem ….
Technology is seductive, I am so enrolled. I use a phone and camera to take pictures; a laptop to articulate my thoughts, a reading device to do research and entertain myself on long flights and the internet , when I can find it, to share this with you.
My ability to justify my actions in moral and ethical terms is so caught up in complication it goes way beyond complex. And I’ve maintained and believed I was living a simple life all these years.
Meanwhile, back to what’s actually happening here.  I am overlooking a vast plain to the east dotted with relatively short trees, again as far as the eye can see, eventually reaching the Indian Ocean. The two fellows employed by my host have recently returned burdened by loads of firewood ‘kuni’ they hacked out of, hopefully, dead trees, with a machete, out of earshot, down the slope towards the dry river. Wood being the primary source of fuel for cooking, we will be sauna-ing Finnish style again and then sitting (if the wind dies down enough) around a  campfire. Something I would imagine no one around here would consider a useful pastime unless dinner was being cooked.
The landscape here is so compelling, Walking through the surroundings brushing dry basil stalks, crackling leaves,  drinking in the vistas, the familiar and the novelty. The temperature is certainly amenable, although sitting in a moving car with the windows shut against the tsetse flies can sure build up a sweat. Thankfully they restrict their habitat to few places. I'm glad to be here, again.

Still walking

Walking is our default option for mobility. This weekend we watched Artur Mikes, a 15 month old inquisitive, smiling little bundle of energy make his way around the circling porch of his home. Trucking along with and without my finger grasped firmly in his hand. He would falter, trip and pick himself up consitently without complaint.

 Into the garden, down pathways, back and forth, in and out of the kitchen. Occasionally he reverted to a crawl working his way to his dad or mom then standing, motioning with his hands and spouting incomprehensible syllables.

I felt like I was at the other end of that cycle.
After walking in to their home, a farm tucked in between forest and pasture in the mountains of  North West Cameroon I was beat and almost mute.


Halfway there, Louis, our friend from Bafut offered to take my backpack. No hesitation, I handed it over.
 We’d been climbing up a rutted slope after picking our way across two log bridges traversing the stream at the bottom of a ravine.
The cattle and the rain had made the ground like inconstant corduroy, deeply eroded channels all aimed downhill. Or uphill which is where we were going. These “trails” are erratic, narrow and occasionally slippery. I was using my cane and it often slipped, throwing my already compromised balance off. The grassy pasture, a bright green from recent rains was tufted and steep making for tough going even without the pack. However, the view was spectacular. These are the mountains in the North East we can see from our apartment in Bamenda and it was clear enough to see all the way back there.
 All around was lush growth, blooming trees, shrubs and bulbs.With hardly a cloud, the sun beat down. The shade was  welcome as we circled the mountain, following the cow paths and “road” where we met a herd of cows accompanied by both younger and elder herders.

That part of the trail is completely pedestrian, the steep slopes and erosion make it impassable even for motorbikes. Crossing another watercourse stepping from rock to rock we climbed again. through deeply eroded banks up onto a grass verge. It was startlingly green, bright and fresh like some vast pasture anywhere in the world. Off to the right were small earth brick houses, laundry hung brightly on the fence.

Here we were joined by 3 young boys who accompanied us and themselves by singing loudly as we walked into the forest along a better maintained road.The large trees and thick bush provided  cooling shade and we soon arrived at Martin and Jella Mikes’ homestead.

After a short rest and refreshment we toured the property. Martin is passionate about protecting the forest and has planted over 15,000 trees up the mountain on the property he stewards. His tree nursery has thousands more germinating and filling poly pots.

 He’s also passionate about permaculture  and organic gardening, growing wheat, irish (potatoes), cabbage, onions and carrots. What they can’t grow they trade with neighbours making them almost community sufficient.
Nearby there is a group of chimpanzees living in what remains of the primal forest. Part of why Martin and Jella are here is to advocate and protect the habitat for these remaining animals. The local herders are more interested in burning the vegetation away to make more pasture… Cattle are their life blood. Their economies are based on having large herds and somewhere to graze them.
The local forestry officials seem less than committed to protection and there have been constant struggles with officialdom navigating the bureaucracies. But after 8 years the Mikes’ interest seems hardly diminished and much has been accomplished. Chickens, goats and 3 types of fish in their pond, compost piles producing mulch and dark soil growing healthy vegetables. A well established herb garden and a number of round earth block buildings , water systems and a school for the local children. Unfortunately at this time the school has been closed.
Oh to be young again, with this knowledge and experience….
We had brought some bratwurst from the Helping Hands Butcher shop and with a substantial salad of homegrown veggies had a satisfying supper.

The light faded, the clouds rolled in (literally!) and were in the fog and deep damp.







In the morning after breakfast and some conversation, Elke and Louis built a rocket stove cooker in the  kitchen. Martin had blocks already made and it was together in very little time. I did my best to record the process, It is entertaining how everyone gets in the way of the camera, especially those actually building!

Their previous cooking arrangement involved 3 stones and very large pieces of constantly smouldering wood, so this was a revelation. But also a major adjustment from big stuff to small, twigs and branches. I sensed some resistance from the cook, it will take some time and experience to win her over. The design needed adjustments as well, we are all still learning but it is an improvement in air quality and safety.






Our stay was short, we’d arranged for our taxi to pick us up at 3 so after lunch cooked on both 3 stones and the new cooker, we walked out, accompanied by Jella with Artur on her back. At the rutted field we said goodbye and made our descent into the narrow valley recrossing the stream, clambering up the other side, then back along the road, past horses in the fields and walkers hauling sacks of groceries to their homes. Onto a better road where fellows were falling great eucalyptus trees, slicing them up into timber and boards. Up the steep hillside some women called out us as they stopped their harvesting and hoeing in the terraced farm. Motorcycles passed us carrying massive sacks of NjamaNjama; what they call Huckleberry-  Black Nightshade leaves-Solanum nigra- for sale in town.
Eventually we arrived at the paved road leading  east to Ndop or  back to Bamenda. I had managed the backpack every step of the way. Tired but satisfied. I’m not over the hill yet.
  After purchasing a few items from the vendors congregating along the road we found ourselves a seat in a Mimbo bar and grill and sheltered from the rain. Good timing! Eric our driver came along and we were on our way home. (More pictures on my Facebook page!)

Reflections on Christmas in Bamenda 2015

I find it hard to reconcile the Christmas traditions of my North American upbringing with the reality of tropical Cameroon. There are signs and indications; Christmas carols blasted out from bars or loud speakers on passing trucks from early in the morning starting December 1st, an occasional synthetic Christmas tree parked at the roadside and young vendors walking the streets with baskets of those shiny mylar Chinese folded garlands and decorations in red green and yellow. I even spotted a cluster of those trees beside a gas station like an imitation tree lot without the snow or the camper and fence to prevent thefts. I don’t miss the grand push to purchase piles of corporate generated frivolity, the over the top commercialization and excessive advertising, the implied guilt and expectation to provide everyone I know with something.
I do miss my family, opportunities to connect, eating meals together, making cookies and other treats with children. Sitting together talking late into the night about what is important and how to make a difference in the world. The change of seasons surprisingly (or maybe not) was always a marker of time passing. Here the marker is the end or beginning of dry season. This year it came early and there were no grasshoppers. A tasty treat lightly fried, I’d come to associate them with Christmas.
The solstice came and went, the only noticeable indication the location of the rising sun now as far south as it will go.
And this is marriage season, who wants a wedding reception out in the rain? To celebrate, fireworks are set off, great flashes of light accompanied by sparkles and  concussions of sound reverberating  across the  city. Not only do they go all night long but for some reason they continue during the day, hardly visible even without the haze from the harmattan, dust from the Sahara. It looks like mist or fog, I half expect it to rain… wishful thinking.
The pictures of snowy mountains, trees lit up and decorated on the internet do bring a sense of nostalgia to me, but I prefer to be warm and not participate in the consumer frenzy.
We managed to speak with number of family members through the magic of internet technology, but the cookies are a challenge. Few ovens here and the ingredients are not so available.
Still we have found community and context - dinner with a local family who’ve “adopted” us.  Their newly occupied house, still unfinished, a construction site, but they are home. The opportunity to read a story to the youngest member of the family was grounding. The book, a Canadian  gift from me to him.
I found something deeply satisfying about that, sharing of myself, sitting together reading out loud. This is what  I believe is at the essence of the celebration for me, through food and drink, connecting, reminiscing making plans for the future, enjoying the present of the moment.