Towards the end of my stay in Bamenda, I went for an overnight trip to Njen, a village to the west of Bamenda, close to the border with the south-west province. I went with Nabil, with whom I had been hanging out for some of the activities in Bamenda.

As David was leaving for an NSA meeting, he quickly scribbled some instructions for how to get to Njen:

Basically, we had to first get to Guzang, a town on the way, and then find “any available transportation” to Njen. We had the phone number for Felix, one of the Bahá’ís in Njen, and also a name in case we got stuck in Guzang.

So we set out on Tuesday morning (12 May), catching a taxi to the Hospital section of Bamenda then looking for transport to Guzang. We found a car, a small hatchback, which we entered – along with 6 other people, 4 in front and 4 in the back – an extremely tight fit.

The road to Guzang was quite pleasant, with lots of greenery and mountaineous regions in the background. Once we got to Guzang, we asked one of the shopkeepers about getting to Njen – he helped us find the right transport, and we thanked him and gave him a Bahá’í pamphlet. When we were heading back to Bamenda we ran into him again and invited him to visit the Bahá’í centre in Bamenda whenever he was in town.

The right transport to Njen, we found out, was a motorbike. And we both got on, the driver, me, then Nabil. Luckily for us, this driver was a pro – he knew the roads like the back of his hand, and we felt quite safe with him. We later found out that he was either from Njen himself, or spent a lot of time there.

The road to Njen, from the moment we left Guzang was untarred. For the first third of the way, it was pretty flat and even, with the usual small bumps and shallow mud puddles. However, we soon saw why the only available transport was with motorbikes – cars could never take this road and survive. It became a steeper downward incline, lots of bends, and the road surface was completely uneven with large rocks and big grooves in the mud. Apparently the road had been cleared a long time ago (of bushes), but they never got around to flattening it. Here’s a video clip of the road, as we were heading down – the steepness of the incline is not apparent:

And a photo of the road, for full effect:

The whole trip from Bamenda took maybe a couple of hours, so we got there before noon. We realized that we had arrived on their “market day”. The way life in the villages around these parts is organized, is to have 7 days of working in the fields then the 8th day is a market day, where everyone brings harvest to a common area in the village and they trade, and where passers by can come to buy. Market day is also the one day when they get to turn on their electricity generator. They use this power to, charge their cellphones, cut hair (using an electric shaver), and of course blast music in the pub for dancing.

We went to the pub when we arrived, and someone managed to get in contact with Felix. Apparently they had been told we would arrive on Monday, and were expecting us, but we never showed up. So Felix had assumed it meant the next monday and gone off to Guzang for the day. He said he would make it back soon, and to wait for him there. We ended up staying in the pub, watching some of the locals drink and dance, till evening. A few people greeted us as they came in, saying they were Bahá’í and one of them even greeted us with Alláh’u’abhá, then proceeded to go in and participate in the activities. We got offered two rounds of Top (an orange soda drink like Fanta) by two different people who befriended us. We also got quite hungry as we hadn’t had any lunch, and spoke fondly of having garri and sugar (also referred to as bachelor’s food).

Around 6pm, when it was starting to get dark, we heard word that Felix was almost back. Then we suddenly heard that there had been an accident, then we heard some details – there was a guy on a motorbike who had slammed into a car (the car had no brake lights and had suddenly braked), this guy was apparently Felix’s brother. We also heard that he had injured his legs… no, he had fractured them… then, another revision, the legs had been completely severed! We also heard that Felix had gone to check up on him.

At this point we were thinking, if his legs were severed he probably wouldn’t make it, and either way if it is Felix’s brother he would have to go and take care of him, accompany him to the hospital, etc. and we didn’t know anyone else here so maybe we should start thinking about heading back. We were assured that there was no need to be hasty, and that Felix will no doubt return soon.

Finally at around 7pm we caught sight of Felix, learnt that the accident hadn’t been that serious (apparently some sort of leg fracture), then started heading to Felix’s home. This in itself was another 15-30min walk, it was dark now and the road quite slippery. We had more than a few close calls slipping, but managed to avoid a complete fall. We arrived at Felix’s compound, with three houses in an arc, his in the middle. His wife was on a trip and so he didn’t have food, but one of his in-laws sent some over – baked bananas (unripe) with fish stew – very delicious. I unconciously started to tarof, but was informed that it is very rude to refuse food. The stew was particularly delicious.

Felix told us a little about the history of the Faith in Njen – apparently they have had Bahá’ís there for more than 25 years, at one point numbering over 30. The chief is also a Bahá’í, and we got to meet him the next day. Felix is a merchant – he travels all over Cameroon selling cola-nuts mainly, he is sometimes away for months at a time. This makes it hard for him to have regular activities, though he did run some children classes recently. He has also been the delegate for his area to the National Convention for 15 years running – he showed us pictures of this years’ convention and shared stories. He commented about how he seemed to be getting out of touch with the new activities of the plan, and we took the opportunity to share with him, in some detail, the sequence of courses and how exciting they were, and how they were being pursued all over the world.

The next morning, we had a meeting with the chief. He was a very nice fellow, quite happy to see us, and quite convinced of his being a Bahá’í – he told us how over the years many times other churches would approach him and he kept insisting, “I am a Bahá’í!”. We also told him about the sequence of courses and he seemed happy at the prospect. We then had a meeting with the other Bahá’ís, some 7 or 8 showed up (the chief is on the far right):

We explained that we were here for a brief visit, to tell them about the current activities in the plan, and offered to organize for volunteers to come to visit them from Bamenda and go through the sequnce of courses with them. We were just here to tell them about it, and determine what time of the year was good for them (between the planting season and the harvest, ideally). Here are the notes Nabil took:

They also asked a couple of questions, which they said people had been asking them – why are there no priests or pastors in the Faith, and what’s up with the succession of authority from Bahá’u’lláh to ‘Abdu’l-Bahá – is it hereditory? We tried to answer them, and I believe Nabil gave a good response. I later learned that these were common questions and many people asked these questions:

We then decided to leave, but first went for a walk around, with Felix showing us their local school (where we bought big avocados and bunches of 8 bananas for 50F each (0.10c US$)). This proved providential as we saw a pickup truck passing by the road and with Felix’s help got seats on it. It took us all the way back to Bamenda for a good price. The drivers switched in Njen, and the new driver seemed to be well known as a runner among the local checkpoint police. They had no patience for him and force a good 500F out of him at every stop. It didn’t help that he had no papers at all with him. He ended up quite broke by the time we reached Bamenda and we had to find change at a local petrol station to pay him.

Some more photos of Njen – Cola-nut tree:

A house in Felix’s compound:

Yam:

Latrine, round the back:

Banana tree:

With Felix’s brother in law and Felix:

Me and Nabil, back at the Gillett home in Bamenda:

Bamenda is a city in the north-west province of Cameroon. It is famous because – well, I was born there for one thing. And I attended many wonderful summer schools close to Bamenda as a kid. And it says “Place of Birth: Bamenda” on my passport (Australian passports only show the city, not the country) – so I invariably get asked by security officers at airports, “Where is Bamenda?”.

I stayed in Bamenda for 9 days.

Here are some photos from Bamenda. Mud on my shoes and jeans:

The Bahá’í centre – side:

Other side:

Back, where some students were studying for their exams:

Plant growing beside it:

We went to visit the house in which my family stayed, when I was born. I have heard many stories about it, of how there was a yard infront of the house which would be filled with sunbathing snakes at noon, though they would retire at other times. Apparently my grandmother who was with us at the time was quite fearless and killed one with a stick. My dad preferred to ignore them. So here’s the infamous house:

There were no snakes out when we visited (3pm). This house, as well as the other one on the hill are owned by the Presbitarian church and two pastors live in them now. The view is quite picturesque, here’s a video:

More pictures of the view:

This is David’s car, which is 24 years old now, but of which I had many memories. It is still going, but on it’s last legs. It is thinking of going into retirement – just a matter of time now. It needed some help here with the fuel pump:

On the way out of Bamenda, on the last day there. Street vendors:

Driving through Nkwen (Bamenda is divided into three main areas, with Nkwen being one of them. The centre and Gillett house are also there):

Round-about, as you head to up-station:

Driving up-hill:

A nice house in up-station somewhere:

On the road – a “call box”. Mobile phones are prevalent everywhere in Cameroon. Everyone seems to own one, even in the villages, in the markets, etc. There are huge roadside posters for the two main companies operating there, Orange and MTN, on every road. You also see small signs on many shops, even in villages, as those shops sell recharge cards. There are also many call boxes, a small stall where someone stands and lets you use their phone, then charges you based on how long your call lasted:

Hills:

In Bamenda, I stayed with the David and Manal Gillett (Ramin their son being in the States at the moment, but who will be going to Tanzania soon), a pioneer family with whom I grew up. They are staying in what used to be the Frooghi’s house, which I remembered from my childhood. The house in general was familiar, as well as the path to get to it from the main road.

Here are some pictures of the house – round the back:

Side:

Other side:

Pumpkin:

Corn:

Beans:

Washing my clothes – which I apparently knew how to do:

Some items of interest, probably only to my sister – water tank:

Matchbox:

Bucket:

Toilet paper:

This is of interest to my friend Navid, I noticed a couple of your dad’s books on their shelf:

And Julius, who has been helping the Gillett family for many years – he now has a wife and three kids (more details in an upcoming post), and declared a few years ago – such a wonderful man:

Arrived in Douala on the 8th of May, in the evening.

Everything was pretty straightforward, until we got to the baggage collection area. There is only one exit – the “something to declare”, red doorway. The green “nothing to declare” route is permanently blocked and has some mobile phone sales desk planted infront of it. There were porters everywhere, trying to secure your services. I had been warned about these porters by Sahar, but I forgot to keep change with me – so I tried to refuse all porting aid, to no avail. One ambitious porter managed to grab my bag and made for the exit with me trailing behind. We stopped at the door, where he asked me to pay something for the passage. I kept protesting that I had no change – but finally ended up pulling out an Israeli 50 shekel note, and as I was trying to explain to him what it was the customs officer saw the note in his hand and motioned to him to get moving. Just beyond the exit Reza was waiting for me, so I grabbed my bag from the porter and when I turned around he was gone. I’m not sure what he did with the shekel note, but I hope he didn’t take it to a mosque.

The next morning, after a late breakfast Sima called Manal in Bamenda, who asked “Where’s Lessan? We’re expecting him!”. Realising that I was meant to have travelled to Bamenda that day, we decided to try to make it happen – but it was already 10am. By the time we got ready and to the motor park in Bonaberi, it was 11:30. It was promised that the bus would depart within the next hour, but we finally moved out at 1:45pm. The buses get pretty crammed, with 5 people sitting in a row, but I had a good seat at the front. A girl sat next to me, and it turned out later she didn’t have her ID papers with her so we kept getting stopped at each police/gendarme checkpoint for them to try to coax a bribe out of her, which she was quite adamant she didn’t want to give. We finally arrived in Bamenda around 10pm.

Pictures of the drive to Bonaberi, from the Bushrui’s home. You can see Reza in the front:

Street corner:

Road sign:

The bridge: