ANNE

Village life: Most of the sowing has now been done of millet, corn, beans, peanuts and cotton and after a couple of heavy rainfalls, people are confident enough to use their horribly expensive fertiliser. As most villagers have no money, this is obtained on credit from the state owned Sodecoton. If the crops do not produce a good harvest and make enough profit, there will not be enough money to pay off the debt and people are forced to go on running up more and more credit in the coming years.

Work: Apart from preparing things for  the school rentrée and delivering equipment to the new classroom at Membeng, my main bit of work this week has involved trying to help one of the schools open a bank account so that money can be better managed and not “bouffed”. Sounds simple? Think again. This is Cameroon. I was accompanied by the president of the development committee and the young female treasurer – an unqualified teacher of Mandoula - plus the usual uninvited passengers. Apart from Odette vomiting at exactly the same spot as Lydia (it must be my driving) we arrived safely in Maroua at the bank I use. As usual only one cashier out of three was in place and there was a huge queue. Eventually I explained our needs – a school account requiring two signatures for any withdrawal. We were asked for Statutes governing our organisation and 500,000 francs (about £650) to open an account which would cost 14,000 every month in bank charges. As we only have 165,000 francs (about £200) this was a non-starter. I was, however, able to collect fairly easily several millions of francs sent out to Hamish for the purchase of a machine for the hospital and then had to check every note before being allowed to leave the bank to wander the streets of Maroua for the rest of the day feeling slightly vulnerable.

Next stop was the bank recommended by mine for a savings account. It was shut at midday and would remain shut for the remaining two and three quarter hours of its lunch break. Third time lucky at the next bank? Don’t be silly. Having gone through all the questions and answers again we were shown upstairs to the manager. All went well until he asked for identity cards and photos of the two prospective signatories. The president produced two photos which were clearly separated by about 20 years and Odette handed over a temporary identity card which was over a year out of date. All was not lost until the manager spotted that Odette is only 19 when the age of majority here is 21. She insisted that she is 20. This would not have been a problem had she been married or pregnant apparently and anyway her husband would really have been the one responsible. Again none of this was insurmountable. All we had to do was to go to the courthouse and get a Certificat d’Émancipation “very easily”. We piled into the car again and arrived at the Palais de Justice to find a judgement being handed down. Typically of Cameroon, the doors were wide open and a crowd of spectators/hecklers were letting the judge know what they thought of his decision.  It was thought unlikely that we would achieve anything on judgement day but we persisted. At the first office we were told we needed a Certificat de Nationalité, not the other. At the second office the young clerk said he had never heard of either and would have to consult the hierarchy. He remained seated. After some minutes spent asking for our documents, he seemed to remember that the hierarchy was housed in the room two feet from his left elbow and left us. At this point I asked Odette if she was sure she was not pregnant. When our young man came back he announced that the hierarchy thought we should come back. I asked when. There was no response except that the hierarchy needed time to study our dossier. I asked what dossier. He indicated the development plan of the school and told us to come back in a week. We left at that point without handing over the bribe which would have solved all problems, went off to lick our wounds and try again another day. I have started a list of things I won’t miss in Cameroon.

Home: Thomas, our cleaner/laundryman, has reluctantly gone into retirement. He wanted to discuss the matter but the more I hear about him, the more I wish we had parted company months ago. Since his departure, we have heard all sorts of unpleasant things about his behaviour when we were not at home. Lydia has come in for a lot of abuse from him for stepping into his shoes. She has been married for 10 years, only has 3-year-old Edvige and makes no secret of the fact that she desperately wants more children. Thomas told her she will have no more now. He has also done some very odd things around the house with toilet paper and we think he has tried to put a spell on me or us. His mother was a sorceress apparently. Could that account for Hamish’s tummy upset, my sudden attack of urticaria or the strange cut that has appeared on my shoulder? I don’t think so and fortunately Lydia is a strong girl who laughed off his threats. He has also warned other male workers on the station to watch out as women are taking over! Drink’s a terrible thing! When I told Lydia that I was concerned that he might beat his wife in a temper, she was able to reassure me – his wife beats him.

Culture: Sunday, 5^th July was the wedding day of my laid back boss, Mohamadou and his lovely schoolgirl bride. The Tégal, or Muslim religious marriage ceremony, started at 6.30am at Mohamadou’s home. The civil ceremony is to take place at a later date. When we arrived the street and pavement outside were covered with lovely carpets and hundreds of men in their best boubous were seated on them. The female volunteers were taken inside to join the women and children in Moh’s family – hundreds of them. At 7, large trays of rice and meat were served along with sweets and chewing gum. I am useless at eating with my fingers. There were prayers and then the men set off for the bride’s home leaving the women behind. As white women from a different culture we were allowed to go with the men while Marceline, another of VSO’s bosses and Cameroonian, had to remain behind. By this time, Hamish had become Papa Nasara and had been given a minder for the day. It was sweet to see them walk hand in hand into the sunlight. At the bride’s home the nasara girls were taken straight into the bride’s bedroom – an honour which is reserved for best friends normally. We were encouraged to take photos and sit on her four poster bed with embroidered drapes.  She wore black while Moh was in white. Meanwhile outside she was getting married with readings from the Koran, more prayers and an announcement of the dowry paid for her by Moh. Chewing gum, sweets and kola nuts were shared by the men before someone came to tell her that she had become Madame Mohamadou Oumarou and the volunteers left her to spend the rest of the day in her bedroom with her friends before being delivered to her new husband at night, complete with wedding presents. All the VSO volunteers and all the male guests then went back to Mohamadou’s home for more rice, meat, popcorn and doughnuts, washed down by sweet tea. As education volunteers, our hope is that the bride can continue with her studies.

Random facts/thoughts:

• I will not miss visits from people at 7am before I have even got my teeth brushed. They come to say hello and stay for an hour by which time the plan for the day is shot to pieces. I must learn to be more flexible. On the other hand, sod it! I go home in 6 weeks.
• The church bells rang at 5am on Wednesday after rain overnight to summon the faithful to work in the church fields. Photo shows the pastor in his favourite role, supervising rather than doing.

Hamish

Michaelou has made a good recovery from his surgery in Yaoundé and is currently travelling back to Maroua.  I think his granny will be delighted to be back home; she has found her first experience of life in the big city quite traumatic!  Most of the women of her generation don’t travel further than the end of their village, so this has been quite an event for her.

Speaking of big events in life, I had to do my first “solo” caesarean last week.  Before then I had always had one of the experienced staff present to guide me, but mainly I just acted as assistant.  Last Friday, the surgeon on duty was Ahmadou Robert, but he had had to go to see the District Medical Officer in Hina (about 50 Km away) and the other surgical nurses were away on leave.  I was summoned to maternity to see a patient who was bleeding heavily from placenta praevia (means the placenta was lying too low in the womb and started bleeding as the neck of the womb opened up during labour).  This is a real emergency, so no choice but to take the patient to theatre.  It was only when we were there that I realised it was me who was going to have to be the lead surgeon!  Well, I’m happy to report that both mother and baby are alive and well and have attached a photo to prove it!  Having said that, after having been told by a biology lecturer 44 years ago that my dissection of the rat was more like an exercise in demolition, I don’t have any confidence that the scar on her womb will stand up to another pregnancy.  Judging by the expressions on their faces in the photo, both Zra (head of midwifery and my “assistant” during the op) and Makoba Christin (the patient) share my concern!

Tuesday was our wedding anniversary and we decided to celebrate in style.  Firstly, a visit to Zra’s bar (yes, the head of midwifery owns a pub!) for a celebratory beer.  Then a gourmet meal at the new restaurant in Zidim (photo attached).  The restaurant was built by a women’s group with money donated by the EU.  The group is led by the wife of the local MP and it was he who got the money.  Given that corruption is an art form here in Cameroon, we have no idea what percentage (if any &/or allegedly) of the EU donation wound up in his pocket!  We had been pre-warned by the visiting Dutch students that when they went to try the restaurant, the staff seemed surprised that they actually wanted food, and that only came out after they’d waited 1½ hours to be served!  So, Anne went down in the morning to place the order; there was an extensive menu offering tomato sauce with rice OR tomato sauce with pasta.  We had the latter.  To drink, there was a choice of water or we could share the one bottle of “Top Pamplemousse” (a grapefruit flavoured soft drink) they had in stock.  However, the food was good and although there were no candles to create a romantic atmosphere, we come out of the restaurant to a glorious sunset.

Anne Poppelaars finishes today and our new Cameroonian doctor is heading south next week to get his diploma presented, so I’ll be on my own for about ten days.  Just as well things are quieter at the hospital at the moment.

Finally, the haematology analyser has been delivered and we’re just waiting for the technician to come to set it up and show us how to use it.  It came from Nigeria, but seems to have been made in England. The instruction manual is written in a language I don’t understand.  I think the original must have been translated from English into another language – French? – then back to English, which is the official language in Nigeria.  Something has definitely been lost in the translation!  Just another of the challenges of life in Africa!