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Prayers on a cliff edge

NATIONAL DIRECTOR'S BLOG EVEN if I coughed the vehicle wobbled, ever so slightly. If I shifted about or tried to open the door of the old Land Rover things got very scary. I was on my way from Fotabong to Foto, two remote villages in South West Cameroon where I lived and worked as a priest. It was the rainy season and so the road was muddy and dangerous. I say 'road,' it was a dirt track which climbed 2000 feet along a ledge cut into the side of the mountain. Two parallel ruts ran up the middle of the track made by other vehicles which had battled their way up or down. Each time a vehicle bounced along, the ruts would get a little deeper until some poor soul would find themselves stuck and u

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