The
glint of new zinc roofs on a hundred rolling green hills from which a
dozen waterfalls tip their load into fast moving rivers. Small
pockets of indigenous bush and forest being taken over by gum trees,
coffee and bananas. Still, a host of birds to delight us - and frustrate us - we never saw that Bannerman's Turaco!
One
tarred road, the others, dirt tracks and footpaths. All a slippery
red clay making walking in the wet a dangerous feat, like walking on
ice – uphill! We wondered at the learnt skill of these women on
their way to church in ill-fitting stiletto heels, while we
lurched from one step to the next – in our hiking boots!
Scores
of motor bike "taxis" hovering around like vultures at "3
corners," the main intersection - blinged out and pimped up with
"all in one" designer leather seat and tank covers, flags,
plastic flowers and mud flaps inscribed with the likes of "Plan with God,"
"The Don" and "Fear women." They have right of
way so beware the person who doesn't hear them free-wheeling down the
hill – you may loose your arm!
It
is the men who wear the traditional clothing – an elaborately
decorated wide, loose tunic and matching pants, a fez type hat and
hand painted bead necklace. It seems a carved wooden stick is a
status symbol as only the older men carried them. The women are more
modern and it is not unusual to see a lady out on her daily chores
wearing a shiny satin evening dress with ALL the frills and ruffles.
Every
8 days it is market day. The town gears up in their finest (said
evening dress) to be seen and meet up with their friends in the
seeming chaos and dust. There are stalls selling fruit
and vegetables, others with gaudy synthetic clothing and second hand shoes, more stalls with hunks of bloodied meat and strong smelling
dried fish, another selling exercise books, needles, insect killer
and pens - around another corner you can buy shucked peanuts out of a
wheelbarrow by the beach bucket full or ready boiled tubers. Another with racks of wax print cloth - the colours and patterns overwhelming - too many to choose from. This day
is followed by "Country Sunday," a day of rest, well earned after all the bustle.
Our
neighbours – the Full Gospel Church - each day we are accosted by
the wailing and lamenting of "Fire, fire!" and "In the
naaaaame of Jesssusss!" - accompanied by the worst band ever! - an
out of beat drummer, a discordant organist and the most tone deaf
singer ever to have crooned down a microphone. We were even blessed by an all night vigil - twice! Why in the world they
have a following is a mystery.
Our new friends - "Tu lai ma" - as we meet every morning for discussion and sewing - their kindness, smiles and enthusiasm for what we wanted to share with them warming our day and making the journey meaningful.
A bit of Belo will travel with us - in our hearts.
