My Name Is Fingal O' Flahertie Wills, But You Can Call Me Ernest

A taxi ride officially starts my day today, as it does most of the time. Taking a taxi here is not the same as back home. Here the taxis are shared, dropping off and picking up along the way. You want to avoid the front seat, as this will accommodate two people when the back three seats fill up, and it can be a bit of a squeeze. A number of these cabs are lovingly cared for, with artificial arrays of flowers and fruits adorning the dashboard and interior. Some even have lit up images of crosses and pictures of Jesus. Many have painted messages on ranging from the casual "Hey Baby!" right the way through to the more spiritual "God will save you!"

Getting into my taxi today, I find it funny that the taxi driver doesn't want to speak to me. Instead, I look at him through the open passenger window, and he looks back, tooting his answers at me on the horn. "Are you going to Fakoship?" Toot! "100 Francs?" Toot!! One toot meaning yes, I get in and off we go. Horns are highly prized here and must be used at every opportunity.

All taxis go down to Moliko (town centre), but not all taxis go up to Buea Town. This is where the funny hand signals play there part. My one for Buea is a combination of the traditional hitchhikers thumbing, and the special shake that the actor from Buffy and Little Britain used to do in the Nescafe adverts in the 80s (clearly, I'm too young to remember them, and was a told about them by an old person). God help me if I ever need to go anywhere else, as Buea Town is the only one I know. I can imagine an Italian footballer would probably make it all the way back to Naples using his considerable repertoire.

Walking back home I visit the local fruit stall sellers, who are mostly clustered together on the main street, in little wooden bays. They are always noticeabley very vocal in their efforts to sell their produce. I guess it must be the nature of it. I buy my usual bunch of bananas, a Paw paw slice, and a Pineapple twist. They also sell broken coconut, semi-peeled oranges, peanuts and Popcorn or "Puffcorn" as some people call it.

The evening is completed with a trip down the local to watch the Champion's League. Watching this here appears to be as important as going to church, and every bar looks busy. Instead of watching a six goal thriller in Manchester, I am forced to watch a dull draw in Milan. The power goes off for a good part of the second half, and sitting in darkness I chat to a local soldier stationed down the road.