By 9.30am, with the sun already heating up and feeling that breakfast would be a good idea we think about returning to Tourmente’s house. There seems to be little more for us to do at present. All the rubber has been sold and the market is virtually at an end. Lorry drivers begin to supervise loading the bundles of rubber and other produce into the trucks. By noon, the whole exercise will have been completed and after lunch I will go straight back home to Yaounde. So we turn the pickup round, the soldiers climb aboard and we go for a final trip down the little road through the uplifted barrier and drive the short distance towards the place where the road peters out into the forest paths. There are a few very big trees by the roadside, broad-leaved evergreens which afford a large pool of shade around their trunks.

Suddenly we see them - pygmies; somewhere between 15 and 20 people, both men and women, but no children, in a little group sitting together in the shade. It is an arresting sight, for these are not ordinary dark skinned pygmies of the kind we have just seen in the market place. They are yellow. We are incredulous, stunned by this totally unfamiliar unexpected sight. Both Tourmente and I have lived among natives in the Cameroons for years; we have got totally used to seeing all varieties of costume, physique, age, dress and undress. But neither of us has ever seen anything remotely like this. Tourmente stops the truck, the soldiers dismount and we move slowly towards the little group under the tree. We are perhaps 30 metres away from them, but as soon as they see us a minor panic sets in. They hurriedly grab their few possessions and start to move agitatedly away from us. We too are rather scared - too scared for the moment to tell the soldiers with their rifles across their backs to leave us.

Why are we scared? After all, we are accustomed to living permanently outnumbered by natives wherever we travel in the territory and I have never had a moment’s fear of them. At this point in the history of Africa, a white skin almost guarantees freedom from harm. For the Africans, among whom we spend our daily lives, are tolerant, submissive people who have respect, either naturally or hierarchically instilled for the minority of ruling Europeans.
But this is a totally new situation for us, as it is for these primitive people. So in order to defuse any tension inherent in the situation we stop in our tracks, look pleasant and smile at them. The little group hesitates, jabbering excitedly amongst themselves, but then they decide they are too close to us for comfort and they begin to gather their remaining possessions - spears, bows and arrows, staves and baskets - and move further away. We stand our ground, not wishing to give them more cause for alarm. Now both sides stand still and gaze at each other in perplexity and mutual astonishment. It gives me time to take in their appearance more fully.

First, it dawns on me that never anywhere, have I ever seen such small people. Secondly, never have I seen yellow skinned people in Africa. Thirdly, there is something about their proportions which is different. Is it that their arms are longer than normal; shoulders wider than customary? Certainly their physiognomy is very different from any of the other pygmies we’d seen. For their part, they’d probably never seen white men, even though French missionaries are generally intrepid travellers, penetrating into the remotest corners of Africa.

What have we to be frightened of? The bows and arrows? A little perhaps. But we are the kind of men who habitually make our way through unexpected situations without revealing a trace of apprehension. We are also accompanied, not far behind, by two armed guards who are standing near the pickup on the roadside. It is almost certain that their rifles are not loaded, although they would have live ammunition in their belts. But we mean no harm to anyone, least of all this little group of folk from another dimension. We make signs to the soldiers to stay where they are, remaining still whilst we advance tentatively so as to see them better at closer quarters. At once, their agitation is renewed and with rapid gestures of hands and shaking their heads they move off together - they seem to flit, rather than walk. By this time other ordinary dark-skinned familiar pygmies have come up and joined us. Although we cannot talk a word to them either we ask if there is anyone who can speak to them to tell the curious little folk that we mean no harm. We find a native who calls out to them. Nothing doing; they keep on moving away and in a few more moments they have drifted away down the forest path and into the trees. I notice, as they go, that they have dried mud on their legs and feet which is darker than their skin. Usually, mud dries on the skin of blacks from other regions in lighter contrast. The colour of mud is of course quite a crude measure, but it just strikes me, these little people really are different. I guess them to be less than 4 feet high. I see that they move differently, in the sense that their gestures are quicker than one normally sees. They were, of course, in the time that we were near them in an excited and agitated frame of mind. But I notice too that they have a way of wagging their heads and talking volubly amongst themselves. That too is a mark of difference, as most Africans have impressively still heads, in that their often spendid physique is accompanied by a stillness, or economy of movement, when they speak.

Tourmente and I leave the area slowly, bemused but seemingly unable to speak to each other about what we’ve seen. The whole episode has not taken more than 20 or so minutes, but we go back in the pickup to the house silent and reflective. We still have more work to do - evaluating the total tonnage of rubber which has been bought, going over some of the material which has been rejected, partly as a result of my comments the previous evening and talking about the next collective market which will have to be arranged. Soon, the events of the morning recede into memory and we get on with the work of the day.

Hospitable as always and possibly welcoming company as an antidote to his habitual isolation, Tourmente persuades me to defer returning until the next day. Siesta next, for it is very hot, followed by evening drinks and another splendid meal. How do these Frenchmen do it? I live as a bachelor too with a higher income than Tourmente’s, but I never seem able to drum up instant hospitality of the quality now enjoyed by Brouillet, Gaitanos and myself. Gaitanos is another wily old bird, a trader who has made a lot of money. He lives in Akonolinga and so the conversation naturally turns to the group of pygmies.

We ask Gaitanos if he has ever seen yellow pigmented people in the Akonolinga area. "No," he says, but he’s heard of them. Today, he had been too busy looking after his business to leave the shops where the rubber was being bought and so he’d not seen anything unusual. Ordinary pygmies are an everyday sight for him. Tourmente then says that he has been in the area for several years and not only has he never seen such a sight before, but has never even heard of it.

Someone asks, "Why have they come here," since they do not seem to have entered the market and "where are they from?" But it seems, from what Tourmente has already found out, that they are shy and apprehensive. The scenes of the market, the noise, the bustle, the haggling, the sales pitches of the Syrians - all these factors had perhaps made them fearful, so that their produce had been handed in to bolder spirits outside the market areas and taken in on their behalf. They never got into the market place. They had chosen to make the journey, presumably with other pygmies, but had remained practically out of sight. It was just fortuitous and fortunate that we went along the road, for no reason at all except to see the path leading into the forest and happened upon them.

We are, however, all concerned with business and not anthropology, a subject about which each of us is ignorant. We take refuge in Tourmente’s remark that, "Today, we stepped back for a few moments into the Stone Age" and leave the subject there, confused and disturbed by our lack of understanding, but dimly conscious that something important had been witnessed. Tourmente does say, however, that as soon as he can he will find out more about these people by talking to chiefs. I am also conscious that I am in danger of being ridiculed if I try to attach too much importance to the experience.