I lie in my Peruvian hammock (obtained in 1983 and speckled with mold from years of disuse), gazing up at the blue, puffy-white-cloud-studded sky. I see the black angles and curves of the tree branches silhouetted against this sky, reminding me of my unsuccessful efforts as a child to reproduce such trees on paper. The clouds, some white, some grey, move slowly by overhead, changing shape, always so complex in their outlines to defy description. Such a peaceful pastime, gazing at the clouds, reminiscent of childhood; and such a pleasure to see the blue of a clear sky, after years—no, decades elsewhere—-of skies turned grey by pollution.
Swinging in the hammock, sipping my afternoon drink, I can’t think of much that could be more relaxing. We had a night of frost a couple of nights ago and associated worry about our fruit trees and other plants. We won’t know for months how much damage may have been done (temp: 25°F on 13 May!), but the leaves seem to have recuperated; there is hope for these ensuing pleasures too.
The landscape has changed from a rather bleak, leafless world (with its own wintry beauty) into something approaching spring: shades of mostly light green, punctuated by angular fields of yellow, brown and tan; and, here and there, dramatically beautiful flowering trees in shades of white, red, pink, and lavender. The landscape is a lovely reminder of what the world holds, the warmth and abundance that summer will bring.
This is a peculiarly temperate pleasure that I missed in the tropical world (which of course has its own delights—greenery all year long, bright flowers always dotting the countryside, warmth to soothe the spirit).
All this comes to mind as I contemplate my upcoming trip to Cameroon. I will enjoy Cameroon’s warmth, particularly so at the end of a long Ithaca winter. No need to dress in layers, use mittens or ski masks, hide my cheeks from the biting cold that hurts just by being. And old friends will be there.
I imagine it will be a pleasure. I think about the few hours in Turkey, the country of my youth, wishing there was a little longer time there, worrying about my likely exhaustion from the long trip, all the way to Istanbul and then back to Yaounde (a ticket that was MUCH cheaper than other options). Perhaps they will serve us Turkish food, which I would very much welcome!
What awaits me in Cameroon? Time with old friends, for sure. A chance to share the experience we’ve had working with communities, my convictions about its necessity, perhaps persuade others to follow. Can I be persuasive enough? Such a big question. I am always a minority voice within a cacophony of louder voices, voices that reflect the belief in the power of money over all else; and I do not have the charisma of a politician.
We will see what happens on CIFOR’s 20th anniversary in Yaounde.