Mamma Mia!

The day starts off well: brilliantly blue skies and all things bright. Very quickly, the storm clouds float over the mountain, stealing light which had previously promised so much. All of a sudden, it goes deathly dull, very quickly. Doors slam throughout the nearby village houses, as the mountain wind simultaneously picks up. The first rumble of thunder takes me by surprise-there are no distant warning rumbles. This first one seems like it tumbled down the roof.

WALLOP! The wind increases again, the heavens open up, and the lightning kicks into life. It's a thrilling show, watching people scatter in all directions: those coming back from their farms, loaded with produce; those out to meet friends and family; those preparing for church; those preparing for the pub. All are treated the same and are dispatched to the nearest possible shelter. Nothing really happens here when it rains. Life just stops, and the streets become empty. Within an hour, the skies have cleared, and people tentatively start reappearing from their temporary refuge, umbrellas at the ready, just in case.

One thing that has struck me almost immediately from the very first time I entered Cameroon is the number of Albino Africans. I've been fortunate enough to see a number of African countries, and none of them have the concentration of albinos that Cameroon has. It is really surprising. Can it be explained through science? I don't know. Thankfully, the idea of them being trapped spirits, ghosts or whatever you will is dying out, rather like the concept of witch doctors, but much quicker. From my experience, the albino women tend to be very sleight, whilst the men are usually pretty big. Like I say, this is just my own observation, but I have yet to see a big woman or a small man.

What i can say with conviction is that one of the senior class teacher at school- Mr Nduka Ndive (no duff) has been most welcoming and helpful. He's married with a (black) daughter, who also attends the school. The daughter came into my class the other day to speak to her father. One of the children asked him how it was possible that he was white, yet his daughter was black. Tough one really. A bit like the old smart arse joke, when at the end of any type of meeting (work, recreation etc..) at the point of "Any questions?" one wise guy wants to know how a brown cow, eating green grass, can give white milk. There's always at least one.