Workshopping

Back to a semblance of normal. A couple of good nights sleep and I’m waking at the usual 5 am, creeping out of bed and upstairs to boil ginger and write my morning reflections on the night’s journeys and the previous day’s events. Not exactly profound but occasionally useful. The dreams are possibly insightful, a rehash of the highlights from my unconscious perspective. Juxtaposing numerous events or enigmatic input in some conceivably metaphoric  result to entertain my brain and cause me to consider if or what has any significance.
Mostly I consider it filed away once written out and get on with morning meditation and preparing something for breakfast.
Our hostess has assembled a varied crew of workers both young and mature, and it’s been entertaining. Yesterday a long ditch dug to lay in an electric cable was  disrupting passage somewhat, piles of the sandy earth showing the layers of history. By mid morning a machine arrived to fill it back in after the electricians, who showed up much earlier, have done their job.
 Halfway through the machine operator makes a miscalculation and it falls over sideways smashing one of the glass doors. He jumps out safely but now we have a major problem. They spend the rest of the day employing the cobbing plaster crew propping it up with posts and firewood, levering it up in increments until finally it falls back upright.
During all this the sounds of an alpenhorn drift across the lake below, apparently the locals enjoy a good concert whilst rafting about. The applause is enthusiastic.
Earlier the crew had been chewing away at the excess cob on the walls and filling in holes preparing for the actual start of this workshop. Arriving a couple days early is good for smoothing the rough edges and getting grounded. The opportunity for swimming in the lake also looms temptingly now that most of the clouds (and cooler temperatures) have evaporated with the sun. Muddy cobbers will be availing themselves of the newly refurbished dock by days end and possibly entertaining the small flock of ducks who appeared  stridently paddling our way last evening.  They hung about paddling back and forth within arms reach to our amusement, then suddenly with no warning burst out of the water back across the lake.

Rural and urban reflections

Cock a doodle doo! or uuur, uuur, uuur, depending on translation. I crawl out to do my morning writing into a rainy grey day and a typical German breakfast. Boiled egg, rolls, lotsa jam and cheese.
Walking to the bus the sidewalk and road are hosting a migration of tiny frogs…unseen by the large tractor and cars whizzing past.
We board the ‘Bürger Bus’ driven by volunteers, it takes a very roundabout route through the hamlets and minuscule farming communities that dot the landscape here. The massive brick barns  roofed in thatch or occasionally tiles, the houses to match; steeply roofed, all brick, some more elaborate than others but all maintaining the same profile.Again a train, a smooth ride full of holiday goers, commuters and shoppers some from as far away as  Cuxhaven on the coast.
I continue to be impressed by the old brick buildings; (missing my camera! relying on a less than photographic memory for details)  many have the original date of completion, 1339 and quite a few from  the 1650’s, funky and all dressed standing side by side, hair salons and high end clothing stores, restored or needing attention. In the bank a gigantic, bright red stylized pig.
This town Stade has a variety of architectural styles, mostly old to ancient with a number of moderns  intruding. And bakeries. Most corners have one, an advantage or asset of pedestrian focused urban environments. Paved with brick and cobble, slick with rain and peopled with locals and tourists in spite of the weather. The sun does come out, smiling faces, old men sitting out front of the  numerous bakery/cafes smoking and watching the parade of mothers and children, shoppers and a continuous but intermittent stream of males entering what turns out to be a mosque.
Returning I doze lightly on the bus and then pass out for 20 back at the house, the clouds allow the sun through and I manage to get online, although the immediate is more compelling than whatever turns up on Facebook.

A few days later we're in Ahrensberg.  So many naps. I catch myself nodding off as the conversations (in Deutsch) go on and on, me understanding the occasional word or phrase… especially the ones with English expressions…

Assuming the heatwave would last we brought mostly summer clothes, now I’m wearing 3 layers.
In this more urban environment, the houses here are like museums and art galleries, Massive structures in brick with large windows, grand entrances and large trees among the landscaped surroundings. Germans drive fast, luckily the sound of the tires on the cobblestones alerts us when crossing the street.
My ability to express meaningfully is greatly diminished today. It is so tempting to nap, Elke’s shoulder/headache still bothering her, she is currently lying on the floor with her feet up and deeply asleep.
Yesterday a  drive through apple orchards, cherries and pears, along a very winding road diked against the flooding river Elbe. Not at the moment. The previous month dropped  water levels across the continent, although the heavy rainfall the day before caused flooding locally here outside Hamburg. Catching up on our correspondence, sleep and revisiting German cuisine. I may have to buy more, larger waisted pants. Or fast more frequently.

Our Next Excellent Adventure...

Starts with choosing to take the Malahat after much last minute cleaning, garbage in the bin and waaay too early for the Mill Bay Brentwood ferry… meant to be a relaxed exit. Instead I get a speeding ticket. He gives me a break, I don’t do this frequently.
I’m unsurprised but disappointed with my anxiety, I hate to be late, 2 hours early at YYJ is the result. Relatively mellow  now that we’ve checked our bags finished my yogurt and visited the toilet.
15 minutes in the air through the clouds, nothing to see, I was doing my morning meditation when we ‘touched’ down jerking me right out of it.
Walking with my sticks from one end of the terminal to the other, then a bus ride out to the plane  standing alone, a temporary metal and covered  three level ramp to board. The terminal expansion in full swing adjacent.

Back in the air the turbulence gave me pause, then I settled into  my book and Elke began  a series of movies. I watched other peoples’ movies; 5 different screens visible. We had champagne!
 a meal , an extremely frozen ice cream bar in the dark and a continental style breakfast once we were close to arriving.
Then a long hike, lineups and waiting in a generic airport atmosphere, in spite of the welcoming signs to Paris, I experience little of its ’charm’. Elke has a 15 minute massage then falls asleep. We board another plane and land smoothly in Hamburg.
Where we wait an interminably long time for our luggage, Elke chases after someone taking a similar bag, but ours arrives. With nothing to declare we exit to where sister Sabine is waiting. She leads us to the train.
At Hamburg Bahnhof the train security arrives with us on the platform; must be a shift change. Six of them, looking somewhat menacing and official.  A school group parades by greeting them with friendly comments disarming their gruff demeanour. We take the regional train and Elke falls asleep again so I chat with Sabine as we roll through ripe fields of barley, oats and wheat, woodlots, allotment gardens, (schreber gartens) and small towns where all the houses are steeply roofed in tiles.
That evening we have dinner out to celebrate at a converted, renovated windmill restaurant, after I manage a 45 min nap. Not bad considering I hadn’t slept for 26 hours.

Reflections from the forest

Greetings from the forest in Kiambu Kenya
A number of thoughts and imaginings continue to entertain me as I proceed through life considering  what people think (in spite of repeated entreaties to abandon this habit) of my lifestyle choices and personal responsibilities.
So far what I’m doing is keeping me alive and positive in the face of so much destruction. From here the situation in North America seems more scary than what’s happening around me, although, who can say when I’m only aware of a smidgin of the reality both here and there. It’s definitely  warmer here though and cheaper to live, mostly.
 The political situation in Bamenda is sad and frightening, but the non-violent response by the people there gives me hope. I'm sad we had to leave so suddenly.
Just outside Nairobi we are living behind an electric fence next door to a supposed park that was logged by a relative of the previous/current president.  What we are surrounded by is quite parklike in terms of unbroken forest for many metres  along a small river where a golf course shares the other bank. It has not  been disturbed since it was logged over 100 years ago… Troops of monkeys pass by occasionally, upsetting the two dogs living here (more security features) or stealing any fruit left unmonitored for more than a minute. The cats are no help.

Stepping (or mostly driving) out of here through a housing development of monster houses built of cement blocks covered in tile with humoungus walls, gates and hedges gives me pause for 'who is going to live in them and what are they creating?' Little fiefdoms or enclaves, cameras and guards, fancy cars and flashy lifestyles. At the road; buses, 3 wheeled taxis and motorcycles (mattatus, tuk tuk's and, piki pikis)  along with private cars racing by interspersed with trucks. The construction continues of apartment blocks on side roads along  this main road through what used to be large coffee plantations. A few gates still, everyone seems to need some feeling of security, no doubt the after affects of rebellion and colonial control or keeping their livestock from wandering.
At Thindigwa fruit sellers line the road beside the more permanent commercial establishments. At the road junction there are a number of shelters, filled with the waiting piki-pikis mostly, as the Mattatus disgorge and pick-up,  often barely stopping.
Further into town the highway circles and criss-crosses the city, traffic inching along at various times of the day from one exit to the other. The infra structure has yet to catch up with it’s success. New roads under construction beside bumper to bumper vehicles the piki-pikis weaving in and out  while hawkers flog an amazing variety of items to the waiting motorists. Who knew they could sell pillows and towels ? Apples and bananas, potato crisps and tissues, fly swatters and solar flashlights.
It takes an inordinate amount of time to get to where ever we go, mostly due to the traffic, narrow streets and little courtesy. Should it be a mall, of which there are many, everyone must be checked with a wand and walk through the scanner. My nail clippers seldom fail to get a smile from the guards and the military are frequently found unobtrusively  tucked away in quiet corners regarding the scene.
In the grocery stores the variety is phenomenal, how many different types and brands of rice, hot sauce, dairy products and of course alcohol there are! Just like North America eh? However I’m shocked and disappointed by the lack of choice in chocolate. Looks a lot like a monopoly situation. I found one example of fair-trade in a health food store, and that company was purchased by a multi-national. Not naming names.
But out in the “suburbs”beyond the ring road, as the city slowly eats into the arable land there are fewer gates and walls. Mostly folks are crammed into cell blocks of apartments, stacked  here and there across the landscape. It looks like a building boom with so many under construction, with pole scaffolding suspended off the unfinished cement blocks. Or metal roofed one story ’sheds’ housing innumerable families, trash littering the landscape as far as the eye can see.
If anything it emphasises my deeply felt lack of interest in city living. The hustle and bustle certainly providing opportunities for the myriad people flocking to cities everywhere. Commerce and business providing incentives and, hopefully, inspiration, while more trees are cut down, more cement and pavement cover up the earth. But within this environment are many and varied items and restaurants…
I’m considering hiring a tour guide. I’m almost out of thread/string/twine for my weaving, it seems few here do any crochet, knitting or anything but rug weaving. My one successful foray into a mall scored me a colourful selection of some very fine mercerized cotton from France at more than double the price of what I was using previously, from Nigeria.
 I’ve been discouraged from entering the market where I’m sure Indian cotton of similar quality is available, hence the guide. But it appears we’ll be mobile again soon, nomadic so to speak, visiting and exploring more of Kenya, the coast and then back to Tanzania. I’ll park the loom and much of our library till we locate more permanent temporary accommodation.

Christmas in Kenya

 Dec 24
At the moment I’m staying in an A-frame surrounded by second growth trees in some of the last remaining indigenous forest in Nairobi Kenyas’ environs. A few moments ago there was a large Sykes monkey sitting on the balcony peering at us from the railing. Long tails and a huge hairy brow. They are quite entertaining jumping through the tree tops, chasing each other. The dogs barking their heads off while the monkeys run up and down the vines and trees beside the house teasing them. If we leave a window open for the cats, and bananas on the counter? Bananas gone. Yesterday I was sitting doing my writing and I hear the window moving open, then a face peers under the blind. Cheeky!
It’s a tremendous relief to be away from the instability and potential violence we experienced last month in Bamenda. It was challenging to  focus on anything with random gunshots , tear gas and protests happening. We were already intending to leave, so it seemed appropriate to accelerate our departure since we had a destination and accommodation waiting. Putting out the word to friends and associates we were able to give away and sell  all our furniture and household goods, recovering some of our investment. A bonus really. And all done long before the arranged ride arrived. Floors mopped, bags packed and waiting at the entrance.
It was a bitter sweet departure. We made some good friends in Bafut, some friends were out of the country and others we hadn’t contacted before leaving. The threat of more troops arriving, unknown outcomes and more protests anticipated,  encouraged us to cut short our stay, and move on to our next adventure. One of the German volunteers accompanied us to Dschang where there is a famous museum. The other volunteer was there already staying with a friend and raving about how friendly everyone was. A college town with a lakeside promenade beside the museum, it was quite a contrast.
Then onto Douala by bus. The proprietor of the hotel drove us in the morning to the depot where numerous touts attempted to “assist” us into their company’s bus. I watched them accost a number of arriving women on motorcycles, quite aggressively. The women were not impressed. Eventually we left after a few false starts, entertained by a salesman flogging herbal remedies, standing in the aisle at the front of the bus exhorting everyone to try his samples. After some time he got off and not long later another fellow stepped on and did a repeat performance.
Douala’s a busy place, international seaport and airport, a real cross-roads of cultures. We spent time walking near the hotel, breakfast at a roadside stall every morning, a pizza in the Greek/Lebanese restaurant on our last night. We had a driver from a previous visit and he gave us a tour of the town. Through the port authority; massive warehouses,  lines of waiting workers, stacked containers and seafood restaurants, then the old part of town past impressive architecture, hotels and residences. Lots of very old street trees, mostly mangoes.
 Then into the main market, a more chaotic and crowded place, I’ve never been. Negotiating through intersections spilling over with produce, people and intense smells we inched through, the market itself stretching in all directions beyond sight. Trucks disgorging endless boxes of goods manhandled and hand-trucked back into the market from blocks away where there was somewhere to park. Intense.
In the morning a Christmas parade had us leaving early to avoid the blocked streets, through the airport and onto our plane… practically empty. We managed to score the exit seats, lots of leg room and they cancelled the scheduled stop in Yaounde so we arrived an hour early. The view was clouds the whole way until I saw Lake Victoria!   Our ride arrived after Elke had arranged sim cards so our internet connection is set.

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.