This was my house on the old mission station in Southern Cameroon. It was called "The House Behind the Mango Tree." I was the US Embassy's Warden of the South Province, and that was the address for all Americans in case there was ever an evacuation: The House Behind the Mango Tree. But the mango tree must have died some years ago. Now there's a beautiful safoutier, which Cameroonians call a "plum tree," though the fruit it bears is nothing like a plum. It's tangy and olive-like and really delicious.
Also on the old mission station, the main missionary residence, probably dating from 1900 or so.
These wretched beasts are zebus, which are herded and used as beef cattle. I had a 5-year war to keep them off the mission station lawns. Guess they won in the end.
And here's the church at the station.
My office was in this building, which still seems to function as a school, but it has a very distinct air of neglect to it these days.
The open air market in Ebolowa.
A view from the resort at Nkolandom, or "Hill of Elegance."
In the museum at Nkolandom, there's a replica of the interior of a traditional chief's throne room for the South Province.
Masks once used by Bulu shamans before the arrival of Christianity.
At Ako'okas, the rock needle that I first tried to climb in 1996 and to which I returned on this most recent trip. I still didn't make it to the top...
But the hike up and back through virgin rainforest was fun...
This girl reminded me of my younger daughter. She was all dressed up in makeup and a long gown, but she took off her shoes and climbed the mountain barefoot. The rock face in the background is what stopped us... You need both climbing gear and courage to tackle that kind of angle, and I have neither.
The view from the highest spot we reached, which was not the summit.
The rock from below...
Here's the "Rocher d'Ako'okas" as seen from the road to Gabon.
Madame Medjo, whom I first described in my journal 29 years ago as "The Wicked and Powerful." Isn't it crazy how wrong we can be about people?
This little church was built by Madame Medjo's husband but never finished. It stands just beside their house in the village, and he's buried beneath the floor.
Madame Medjo and her niece Germaine in the yard of the house at Ako'okas. Like most Cameroonians, they consider the village "home," but they live most of the time in town.
The church from another angle. Pastors do occasionally come to lead services here. And I led one impromptu service in memory of Pastor Medjo, who was Madame Medjo's husband.
Francois and Vic started clacking some sticks together, the women started singing, and the men gathered in from the field to clap and sing.
The guy in the white T-shirt is a black American discovering Africa and loving it.
The front of the chapel at Ako'okas with a large photo of Pastor Medjo. This place is well cared-for, and it functions as a private family chapel, really.
The banner above the chancel of the church is taken from a verse in the minor prophet Habakuk. It's pretty standard for churches of the Eglise Presbyterienne Camerounaise, especially in rural areas. It says "Holy, holy, holy: The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before him." The word "holy," in Bulu is "etyi," which can also mean "off-limits" or "forbidden." The first time a Cameroonian layperson told me what it meant, he said, "Etyi means 'interdit'. No one is allowed in that part of the church except the pastor and the elders."
Pastor Medjo is buried here, under the floor of the vestry.
We spent most of this trip in Yaounde, the capital city, where I served as an interpreter.
The hotel was pretty deluxe.
Yaounde is much the same as I left it, a little more crowded and a lot more congested, but very recognizable. What's changed is my desire to explore it all on foot...
