Days begin early in Africa. In my London life I had been used to rising about half past eight of a morning; here everyone was afoot at five-thirty, as soon as it was light. I was wakened punctually by sounds of beating metal and screaming and guessed that my local missionary was about his business. I had been allocated a large, old mission house to myself. At the time I had no idea what luxury I was enjoying; this was the last time I was to see running water, not to mention electricity. I was intrigued to find a paraffin refrigerator next door, the first time I had seen one of these monsters. Capriciously unpredictable, these erstwhile staples of bush life have become rare and expensive as electricity has been introduced into the towns. Out of sheer perversity, they will spontaneously defrost and destroy a month's meat supply or give out so much heat as to incinerate anyone in the room. They must be protected from draughts, damp, unevenness of the floor and with luck they may consent to exert a mild cooling effect. In Cameroon, with numerous languages and pijins, there are other dangers. English paraffin and petrol get mixed up with French pétrole and essence, American kerosene and gas. It is not unknown for helpful servants to top paraffin refrigerators up with petrol, with devastating results. I peered inside; carefully stacked were bags of large yellow termites. Even in death they seemed to seethe. I was never able to bring myself to eat more than one or two of these African delicacies, of which Dowayos are inordinately fond. The insects swarm at the beginning of the rains and are attracted by any light. The standard means of collecting them is to place a light in the midst of a bucket of water. When they reach the light, the insects drop their wings and fall into the water whence they can be collected and their fatty bodies either roasted or eaten raw.

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