Tele #

I have a phone this time in Cameroon. I can't guarantee that it will always go through if you try to call, but you are welcome to try. I am eight hours ahead of Seattle-just for a reference point. The number is (237) 641-0775. I don't expect many calls so no one should feel obliged to call, I know it is expensive. I love getting emails just as much.
More soon...

I am amazed at the human capacity to adjust and acclimate in all types of environments. I left cold and rainy Brussels and my favorite friend Jeroen who drove over from Holland...And after sleeping the whole way to Cameroon I awoke to find myself in the steaming hot chaos of the Douala airport. I was tired, but I felt a rush of excitement and at the same time..and calm in my heart...I had been here already...and I knew what to expect. I managed to collect ALL of my three oversized bags full of gifts and Cliff bars and with the help of a paid friend, we bribed customs and made our way through. I am going to get really good at this bribing thing!! Lines of people were standing outside waiting to greet their friends and family members coming from countries many people will only dream of seeing. I immediately recognized Ronla, my friend Sui's sister (Sui was my closest friend here last time and I am now living in her compound). We drove to their house in Douala and slept there-at least the kids did and the baby but I was hot and restless so laid awake all night trying to cool off. Ronla and I left the next morning at 5am and headed to the dusty bus park where we reserved our seats near a window, behind the driver....and then we sat...and sat...until 10am when the bus finally lurched out of the park-packed (literally)-with people. As the day passed, and our bus climbed through the rolling green hills of Cameroon, the red mud villages, the droves of children selling food beside the road, herds of cattle, and rivers with hanging bamboo bridges...I smiled to myself, recognizing places along the way. I used to think that without road signs I would never be able to find my way around this country-but those places along the way had been seared into my memory and I felt incredibly happy.
In Bamenda we changed buses and had to move my 5 bags to the other bus-a very interesting ordeal. A huge argument broke out in our bus among the passengers and I had no idea what was going on bc I couldn't follow the multiple dialects that people move in between so freely, but eventually everyone was laughing, including me bc I thought it would be appropriate (!!) and we went on our way. We drove until it got dark and until the bits of paved road disappear into dust and bumps that threaten to spill your insides. The drivers race...on pavement or mud-I am always nervous-but I pray the whole time and hold my breath. As night fell and the darkness wrapped all around us my eyes felt so heavy as I strained to see any bit of mud and vegetation as the bus flew... Just as I closed my eyes the driver slammed on his breaks and we slid to a stop. A huge lorry full of crying goats taken to be sold somewhere else told us there was an accident ahead. We rounded the corner and there, laying partly on the side of the road and partly in the jungle bush was a huge bus turned on it's side and people scattered in the road-falling, screaming, staring and as we passed my heart started pouding like a gong...I jumped out of our bus with everyone else and ran into the headlights of the huge beast of a bus-the lights vertical in front of me-glaring. I couldn't even see people's faces, nor could I understand their screams, but I could understand the wet glisten of blood and the collapse of some of the figures in the dark. Eventually I understood that there was a man trapped beneath the huge bus loaded on top with tons of luggage, bags of rice, and firewood. All of the men that were able were trying to lift the bus off of the person, letting out cries here and there. I stood in the middle of this-trying to will the bus up..off that man and I felt trapped inside the banging against my chest. It felt like too long before I finally moved. I ran back to the bus and tried to find a flashlight-but there was nothing-so I grabbed my water and ran back to people, trying to asses their wounds in the blackness. I felt completely useless and panicked and guilty that I was not a doctor-that I couldn't do anything to help anyone-that I couldn't fix their internal injuries, nor could I call an ambulance to come and get them. No...no one will come to get them. All of these people, 40 or so will wait in the blackness of the night, beside a jungle road...and wait until a vehicle might pass with space to take them to a hospital if they are lucky-or at least to someone's house. There would be no call, no flashing lights and sirens-just the silence of the night pierced with screams.
Finally some of the men started throwing the luggage off the top of the bus laying now in the dust and like a miracle the men were able to push the bus up enough to free the man underneath. I never saw him...they carried him so fast into the bush-he was just a crumbled silhouette. The driver of our crammed bus yelled at us to get in and he sped off and our bus all argued the whole way back to Kumbo whether or not we should have carried people with us...
I will never forget this feeling though-of helplessness-uselessness to help people who needed someone. As I walk around now and thank God for this beautiful view-up here in this incredible green forest carved into the endless grasshills and peaks-I still see those lights-stacked like balls of fire on top of one another burning holes through the darkness. So if you pray-please do-people need it.

My return to Kumbo

I made it...finally after almost 5 days of traveling. I am here with Sui's family-in my village and I feel like I have returned home. I just wanted you to know that I have made it safely but I have so many people to greet so I will come tomorrow and write more about my travels and what it feels like to be here again.