The first rains : a blessing for the cocoa farm (march 15th)

The rains came early this year. I woke up to the sound of water drumming on our zinc roof, and my heart jumped with joy. In Cameroon, we farmers live by the rhythm of the seasons—dry season (saison sèche) and rainy season (saison de pluie)—they control everything we do.

Today I walked through my cocoa farm near Yaoundé, not far from the Sanaga River. The young plants are drinking up this first rain like they’ve been waiting all their lives for it. Maybe they have. The soil here is rich and red, full of iron that makes everything grow strong.

My grandfather used to say: “The land in Cameroon is blessed.” Looking at my healthy cocoa trees, I believe him. The earth is speaking, and right now it says: grow strong, my children.

Market day : coffee, community, and shared success (march 28th)

Market day in the village—what we call njangi time, when people meet, share, and support each other. I loaded my small truck with coffee beans from last harvest. The price is good this season, better than last year. Coffee farming in Cameroon isn’t easy, but it feeds our family and sends my children to school.

At the market, I met with other farmers. Jean-Baptiste showed off his plantains—bananes plantain—huge this year! Marie talked about her vegetable garden: tomatoes, onions, and piment that taste like sunshine.

In Cameroon, farming is never just about money. It’s about people. We share seeds, laugh together, and celebrate good harvests. As we say in Pidgin: “If you dey farm alone, e no sweet.” (If you farm alone, it’s not enjoyable.)

Wisdom from the Sky and the Elders (April 10th)

My uncle—my tata—visited today. He’s been farming for more than 50 years. He taught me something new about reading the sky. “See those clouds?” he pointed. “Dem di waka fast. Tomorrow go be sun. Perfect for drying corn.”

He was right. Traditional knowledge runs deep here. My uncle never went to agricultural school, but he knows things textbooks can’t teach. He listens to the land, the clouds, the birds. He can tell soil fertility just by holding it in his hands.

That’s what I love about farming in Cameroon. We mix old wisdom with new methods: solar dryers next to wooden barns, smartphones to check crop prices but still planting cassava by the moon phases like our ancestors did. The land talks, and the elders know how to answer.

The harvest dance : corn and family (april 22nd)

Harvest time for my corn! The whole family came to help. Even my youngest daughter carried small baskets. In Cameroon, farming is family work—famille na force. Everyone has a job, from grandmother to grandchild.

The corn ears are fat and golden. This crop will feed us for months and give us money for seeds next season. After work, we roasted fresh corn on the fire and told stories.

The land was laughing with us, whispering joy as the smoke rose. My children learned farming not from books but from experience—dirty hands, full bellies, bright smiles.

Cassava, beetles, and the patient Crop (may 5th)

Not every day is easy. Last week, beetles attacked my cassava plants. At first, I panicked, but my neighbor showed me a natural spray made from neem (nim/kinin) leaves. It worked!

In Cameroon, we face many challenges: pests, unpredictable rains, and market prices that rise and fall like tides. But we adapt. Cassava reminds us of patience—it waits in the ground, fresh until you need it. My grandmother calls cassava “le manioc patient.”

That day, the land was warning me. The cassava leaves whispered of trouble before I even saw the beetles. Listening saved the crop.

Under the mango tree : hope for tomorrow (may 18th)

This evening, the cool breeze blows, and I sit under my big mango tree. My farm spreads out before me—cocoa trees, coffee bushes, vegetable patches, and golden corn fields. This small piece of Cameroon feeds my family and connects us to the land.

Tomorrow I’ll check my tomatoes and water the seedlings in my nursery. Next month I’ll plant arachides (groundnuts). Next year, maybe something new. That’s farming here: always learning, always planning, always hoping.

After twenty years, I still don’t fully understand the land’s language. But each season, I hear a little more.

This is my life, my work, my joy. This is farming in Cameroon.

 Share your voice

What is the land telling you on your farm this season? Do your elders share wisdom about reading the rains, the soil, or the sky?

The land talks. Together, we can listen better.