Our Man in Newcastle

As you might imagine, I have been giving my upcoming post in Cameroon a great deal of thought.

In particular I think the fact that this is not my first VSO posting actually makes it harder.  While Africa will be new to me, doing THIS, ie the whole VSO thing is not.

I think it’s fair to say that it was the new that fired me up and kept me going in Vietnam.  I followed the same curve that every volunteer there has ever been has followed - sheer euphoria, followed by exasperation and tiredness followed by a surge with the end in sight.

So where do I start on that curve this time?

I also don’t want to start every sentence with “When I did VSO in Vietnam we…” and that goes for work, socialising and blogging.

And there is the fear too.  I am slowly admitting to myself that Vietnam was, all things considered, pretty cushy in every respect.  In all honesty I struggle to think of a placement that could be any easier.  But Africa and Bamenda?  This will be very different.

I’ve learnt that it will be not be too hot.  It will rain a lot.  There is very little to do and despite it being a sizeable city there is virtually no expat scene.  When I am not working I can expect to be doing a lot of reading, pottering and tuning in to World Service.

I think. I repeat, I think, I am fine with that.

I didn’t want to be doing expatty stuff.  But then again, just how much can I amuse myself?

In time I’ll put together some rules for myself in terms of how I treat my Cameroon experience, but certainly the first is: I may be a returned volunteer but I know nothing.  This is all new and I should act accordingly.  It’s important that I show be neither a know-it-all or a cynic.

And to be honest, unlike surviving in Asia I feel like I wouldn’t know where to start in Cameroon.  I really do know absolutley nothing.

* I have been reading two Cameroon blogs - first off Rev Tracy’s thoughts from Bamenda itself and also Yer Man in Cameroon who amongst a great number of other fabulous post has a heartening piece on Bamenda.

* No pic is not African, nor is it symbolic in any way.  It’s from my holiday snaps - a little bit of sunshine in Zakynthos - I returned today.  Full set is here.

Remember that big news I have been alluding to in the comments section of this blog?

Well finally, now that I’ve resigned my work, told my parents and let friends know, here it is.

In September I shall be leaving Newcastle to live and work in Bamenda, Cameroon for two years. Yes, it’s another VSO gig.

More details later but, in short, I am going to work as a fundraiser for an AIDS awareness charity.

It’s going to be a lot of fun.

Some links - Wiki, Flickr, videos.

Oh and it’s nothing but a shell and brand, new spanking domain but set all RSS readers to www.ourmanincameroon.com.

Yup, you’re coming with me.  Things are going to get a lot more exciting around here.

* Should also add that I am off on holiday for a week from today.  More information when I get back.  Apologies if comments remain unmoderated while I’m away.

There was a moment earlier today that I kicked myself for not attending Glastonbury. 

A quick look at the webcam and it looked, well, dry.  And there are few better places in the world than a dry Glastonbury.

But then I just checked again and this is what the place looks like now and all of a sudden I’m glad I’ll be tuning into to it on the sofa later.

However this does give me the chance to tell a Glastonbury story. 

On my old old blog I once wrote this about the greatest performance I had ever seen - from a mystery performer in a tiny Glastonbury tent.  To tell the truth my memory is not that good.  I viewed the whole through a haze.  It had been one of the days.  But it was, kinda cosmic.  Man.

“His voice, when he started singing, was howling. Deeply mournful at first and the small crowd caught each other’s eyes and nodded and smiled in appreciation..”

“I had never heard the song before. I can’t even remember how it went. All I can recall is that it soon started to pick up pace and it moved from melancholic to joyful as it progressed through the verses.

“Our heads nodded more vigorously and our smiles grew wider as the song quickened. And, as it did so, it wasn’t long before the strumming of his guitar became a blur.

“By this time his howling voice was louder and clearer. He was holding notes for what seemed like forever. His eyes lighting up, watching us as we watched him in amazement.

Soon his right hand had become impossibly fast. You could no longer focus on it. The song was of the dueling banjos genre. He knew he could play faster and hold a note longer than anyone and he was enjoying watching our amazement

It was only earlier this year, while watching a DVD, that I found myself vaguely recognising the lead actor.  When he sang it became clear.  This was the guy.

I am fairly sure that this is my mystery singer.

I’ve just found out something quite worrying.

You see I’d been waiting for the summer to warm up.  Truth is I’ve recently resorted to switching on the central heating in the evenings.

Last year I got back into the UK last year after three summers away.  Because summer was well underway by the time I arrived and because everyone was moaning about the weather I never really noticed the temperature.

But now, having gone through the winter, I’ve been waiting for warmth.  So far the temperature has rallied around the mid to late teens centigrade.  But we should be knocking on well into the twenties right?  It will get warmer soon.  Won’t it?

Finally, I gave up expecting heat and actually Googled to find what the average temperature should be.

Turns out this is entirely normal.  Worse still, in August, potentially the hottest month, we’re still not going to get anything much higher than 20 degrees.  Whaaaat?

Before going away I can recall sweating in the office in the summer.  I can remember swimming in the North Sea.  I can recall camping using only a cheap Tescos sleeping bag inside a cheap Tesco’s tent.

In this heat?  Incredible.

In Hanoi it regularly reached 40 degrees in the summer but because I hid in air conditioning I am not sure I ever really aclimatised. 

I think It was Nicaragua that ruined me.  In much the same temperature I had only fans to keep me from meltdown.  Maan it was hot. 

But I got used to cold showers and sweating and grabbing my hat whenever I went out.  I got used to sleeping on top of the bed rather than under sheets.  I even got used to ice in beer.

Now I feel like as a result of that spell in Central Amercia my thermostat has been permanently hotwired.  Maybe I’ll never be warm in the UK again.

This current temperature still feels like early Spring at best.

However disillusioned we get with Gordon Brown and the Labour Party (and there’s no way I’ll vote for them again - though I Blame that on Blair, not Brown), we should never forget just how horrible and slimey Tories are.

Recess Monkey - I feel your pain.