Dan's Excellent American Adventure (And other deep thoughts)

As many of you know I recently made a short trip to the United States for my sister’s wedding. For those of you whom I saw, it was a real pleasure and 10 days at home was not nearly enough to do it justice. And if at any point during the trip I was too entranced by whatever plate of food happened to be in front of me to visit and chat my sincere apologies. While I failed in my mission to gain 10 pounds in 10 days, I think the 5 that I gained in that short time is still a respectable showing. I am writing this entry in late March back in the north of Cameroon, but this entry actually covers events beginning back in early March when I began this most excellent of adventures back to my homeland.

So how does one go from a village in northern Cameroon to the United States? Well firstly, a little financial backing from the parents doesn’t hurt J I think I owe you guys some frequent flyer miles in the future. Or as my mother would say, “Just you remember this when picking my nursing home!” But to get to my flight in the capital, Yaounde, I had arguably the most interesting and exciting journey to date. As you’ll soon read that isn’t necessarily a good thing in this country. Leaving Bogo during the first week of March, I hopped on my friend’s motorcycle with a duffel bag and Timshel and made the 45 minute ride into Maroua. The ride from Bogo to Maroua is usually enjoyable and without incident, and that afternoon it was especially serene as I contemplated that in just a few days I’d be stuffing my face with just about any food or drink I could get my hands on. After a day or two staying in Maroua, handing Timshel off to a volunteer in town who offered to look after the little menace and doing some last minute business around town, I headed to the bush taxi agency for the 8 hour drive south to the city of Ngaoundere. I had a reserved ticket for the bus to Ngaoundere that morning, but all that really means is I am in the front of the line waiting to be trampled when the stampede of passengers towards the open bus door begins. The bush taxi fits about 25 people comfortably but about 35 people usually fill up the bus and the top is loaded down with a 4 to 5 foot pile of stuff on the roof. Not exactly the most nimble vehicle on the road, but the driver seemed convinced that he was driving a supercar on the autobahn. Despite the white knuckles I did my best to fall asleep. About halfway through the trip I was awoken by the driver laying on the horn and braking suddenly. Apparently a dog had wandered onto the road. Doing about 80 in an overloaded bush taxi is a bad idea, but trying to avoid a dog at that speed is an even worse one. Unfortunately for the dog, the driver was not quick enough to maneuver. But my sorrow for the dog quickly gave way to concern for our own safety when the bus began to rock and sway as the driver tried to get it back on the road. After a few tense seconds of swerving onto the sandy shoulder we came back onto the road in one piece. I didn’t sleep much the rest of the way.

When I finally arrived in Ngaoundere a group of about 40 porters and bag handlers crowded around our car of roughly 35 people looking for a customer. Since my time in Cameroon I’m still a believer that being polite is almost always the best policy for a foreigner, but situations such as this are no time for being polite. After a hellish 8 hours crammed in a bush taxi, I didn’t have any problem being brusque with the 5 or 6 people who ran up to me and grabbed my half empty duffel bag that I obviously didn’t need any help with. I escaped out of the mass of humanity gathered at the bus station and found the first moto taxi at the exit and high-tailed it to the Peace Corps house. Fortunately a few volunteers that I trained with and are now posted around the Ngaoundere area were in town. After a day like that I was in desperate need of either a nap or a beer. Luckily they talked some sense into me and we headed across the street to one of the neighborhood watering holes for a few ice cold bottles of 33’ Export.

I used a day in Ngaoundere to unwind a bit, and also got a chance to climb Mount Ngaoundere on the outskirts of town. The climb itself only takes about 45 minutes, but spending about 2 hours at the top enjoying the view was a great way to spend a day. That evening I hopped on a moto taxi and headed back to the bus/train station to catch the overnight train to Yaounde. En route to the station the moto driver started going increasingly faster and using the middle of a busy city street to pass and weave around other cars and motos. Normally I wouldn’t give it much concern, but this guy’s driving seemed to go beyond the average aggressiveness and crossed the line to just plain dangerous. I explained that I was in no hurry and suggested he go back onto the right side of the road. Something was lost in translation and he began going even faster down a hill. About 100 yards down the road the traffic came to an abrupt halt. Monsieur Eival Kneival saw it too late and slammed on the brakes, but then proceeded to slam into the back of a pick up truck, tossing me off a few feet into the busy street. Luckily I came out of it with only a scraped hand. My French has improved a great deal, but I was at a loss for words in this situation. After exhausting a number of English expletives that he couldn’t understand I believe conveyed my anger effectively enough. The driver tried to restart the stalled moto in the midst of oncoming traffic, and after a number of attempts and more close calls with angered motorists he willed the moto back to life. The rest of the journey was pretty quiet, but upon arriving at the train station the moto driver was very annoyed to learn that he wasn’t receiving the full fare. While I admittedly don’t know the unwritten rules of moto taxis very well, when the customer is tossed off the bike into the street I believe that warrants some kind of a discount if not a free ride.

Surely the train to Yaounde will be better than the journey so far? I had reserved a sleeping car which would give me a rare opportunity to sleep in transit. The train left Ngaoundere at 6PM that evening and was scheduled to arrive in Yaounde the next day at 6AM. My hopes of sleeping the entire way were dashed by the constant fear that hit me every time the train hit top speed and felt as though it wanted to jump the tracks. I had to position myself just so, in the event that a rougher than normal bump would eject me from my top bunk bed. And I admire the entrepreneurial spirit of Cameroonian villagers selling produce along the train’s many stops, but hearing them scream “bananes! ananas! batons!” (bananas, pineapple, sticks of manioc) at the top of their lungs during a stop at 3 in the morning doesn’t give one much chance to rest up. Other than a brief midnight breakdown in the Cameroonian bush, I arrived in the capital without incident and stumbled my way to a taxi and into Peace Corps HQ. And just in time for an 18 hour journey to Washington-Dulles!

Personally, I hate flying. It’s not a fear of flying per se, but rather a fear of the whole process involved. I love traveling, but a flight has always been best when I can sleep through the entire thing. Tiny seats, stale air, food of questionable origin, and no matter how clean I am when I get on the plane I feel as though I haven’t showered in a week when I get off. Yet after the voyage from Bogo to Yaounde, I arrived at Yaounde’s Nsimalem Airport and was immediately taken in by the grandeur and modernity of it all. I waited in a line at the baggage counter and it seemed like a portal into a completely different world. For one, no one was checking or carrying on any goats. After passing through security, where the customs agent looked at my pre-Peace Corps passport photo and commented that I should eat more, I went and sat at the gate and actually found myself becoming excited about flying in an airplane again. After a 20 minute flight from Yaounde to Douala we set off for Zurich and then on to Washington. I never thought I’d be excited to receive a plate of reheated airplane food, but when the flight attendant asked if I would be having chicken or beef I said I’d be having both. I ended up only receiving beef and a scowl from the flight attendant, but I will say that may have been the most anyone has ever enjoyed a meal on an airplane, hands down.

So touching down on American soil I felt a chill go through my body. Was it because I was so emotional to be returning? Was I being overwhelmed by nostalgia? Possibly, but I believe a more plausible cause was the fact that it was freezing! It was probably no colder than 35 degrees, but that was enough to do it for me as I waited for a taxi in the warmest clothing I now possess; a windbreaker.

Sidenote:
And just some words of advice to those of you looking to take a long journey like this: When you arrive on home soil, call your mother. Their minds wander as to what terrible fate you may have succumbed to while in transit. During the few hours I was sans cell phone in the DC area, a number of family members developed the compelling theory that I was attacked in a Zurich Airport bathroom by a roving gang of Swiss bandits. Look, I didn’t think to use a pay phone, OK? I didn’t even know those still existed!

Once on US soil I had an excellent time. Getting to see family and friends at the wedding was fantastic, and the food and beverage wasn’t too shabby either. I even took a picture of my plate of food at the wedding reception (For comfort during those dark times). It snowed a few inches during the weekend which was a huge bonus, although I think my body was more confused than ever. For the most part the weather was quite cold and dreary, but I was amazed to see clouds, rain, ice and snow again. As I mentioned before I unfortunately failed in my quest to gain 10 pounds and I also fell short in my list of restaurants and cuisines that I needed to eat. So much food, so little time. I’ve been thinking about all the meals that I consumed while there and while the food at the wedding was in a league of its own, there were many other special ones. I gorged myself at McDonalds, which was glorious, but probably not such a good idea. North Carolina BBQ was on hand the night before the wedding. The old man cooked up some serious rib eye steaks to finish off the weekend. Sadly I never got to my favorite greasy spoon diner in Arlington for a breakfast of biscuits & gravy and cheese grits washed down with some viscous coffee, but the St. Patty’s day brunch of bangers and mash with a few pints of Guinness at our neighborhood pub was a more than adequate replacement. And a large thanks to those fine gentlemen in Arlington (you know who you are) for welcoming me back to the states with some massive BBQ chicken legs and sending me on my way with an equally delicious lamb roast the night before leaving. And my kiwi cousins were excellent companions during the last few days in DC. “Should we have a doughnut at 3PM in the afternoon? I certainly don’t see why not! Should we have another Guinness? Brilliant!”

Besides the food, are there any thoughts on American culture or society after being away from it for over 6 months? Perhaps I was surprised about how little has changed, and admittedly 6 months is not that long in the grand scheme of things. However there were still things that caught me by surprise or perhaps had forgotten about altogether.

-While I’m sure the faltering economy has affected many, it was hard for me to see obvious signs of it. Perhaps spending most of my time in the DC bubble has something to do with that. Or possibly I was taken in by the organized, clean and seemingly prosperous way of life in the states as opposed to my current home.
-It was very nice being able to walk down the street and not get hassled every 20 feet. That feeling of anonymity and privacy we afford each other in the U.S. has become incredibly foreign to me. In many ways it’s very nice to be such an object of interest in Cameroon, but not at all hours of the day. The anonymity is something I will miss a great deal, but not as much as I’ll miss cold cuts (mmm, tuuurrrkeeey).
- The prescription drug commercials on television are a little bit ridiculous. I don’t know if there are more of them these days or not, but it seemed as though they ran constantly on television at all hours. I couldn’t get away from them. The state of healthcare or perhaps the lack of it in Cameroon makes them seem all the more crazy. People take these drugs and then are miraculously able to go mountain biking, fly kites and go have a wonderful time at an amusement park. The witch doctors in my area may be very interested to hear about these miracle drugs.
-The daily appliances we use are absolutely fascinating. I didn’t have much time to use them while home other than doing a bit of laundry and watching the TV, but seeing them again brought back memories of using them in the past. I can vaguely remember times when I would spend the majority of my day at my office computer, come home and put a load of laundry into the dryer and add another to the washer. Then immediately I might heat up some food in the microwave, grab a drink out of the fridge and take a seat at my own computer to check email. In the background there might be a CD in the stereo while Sportscenter flashed highlights across my TV screen. In many ways I’m remembering this in a positive light, so please don’t think I’m harping about American indulgence. Just the mention of instant sports results and highlights brings a tear to my eye. Then again, if I ever hooked myself up to the grid like that again I’d probably get epilepsy in a week or two. Just watching one 40inch plasma screen while home was an emotional experience.
-Which leads me to my next point. I made a trip to Best Buy in Arlington. Right after the heavens opened and angels sang on high (in full Dolby digital surround), I took a stroll among the aisles of flashing screens, shiny plastic gizmos and all the electronic media you could imagine. I didn’t want to embarrass my cousin who was with me at the time so I refrained from kissing the floor, but I still spent a number of glorious minutes roaming in awe. However, I give props to the DVD guys here in the Maroua market. I believe they’ve got Best Buy beat in the films section because in Cameroon I can buy 50 Arnold Schwarzenegger movies on one disc for 1500cfa ($3). What’s better than one Scwharzenegger movie? Fifty Schwarzenegger movies!!! Sure the quality is a little inferior and the legality of it all is a bit questionable, but that’s what I call the free market (or perhaps the black market) at its best.
-Transportation in the United States is comparatively timely, clean and efficient. They don’t let goats or sacks of dried fish on the subway, and taking a taxi is not generally a life threatening activity. Then I think back to sitting on I-95 bumper to bumper or every month pumping an insane amount of money into an automobile just to get around. Transportation in Cameroon is always an adventure, and as I said that is not always a good thing. Nothing ever leaves or arrives on time, the roads can be dangerous and the vehicles are in terrible condition, which actually sounds a bit like the Beltway.

To sum up my return experience, there are many things in the United States I’ve missed a great deal, mainly friends and family. Cold cuts are a close second (mmm, roast beeeef). Hot showers were amazing, but if I really want one in Bogo I just need to set a bucket of water in the sun for about 30 minutes. Fast and continuous internet was also great to have again. In ten days I probably got more work done on the internet than in 6 months here, but on numerous occasions I’ve been in Bogo for weeks and forgotten all about internet until stepping foot in the provincial capital. It was a rarity for me to go without email even for one day in the states, but the lack of it here really has not been a huge problem. And finally, its nice to come back to a country where you mix into the crowd and can be anonymous. Yes, we are all unique snowflakes but walking around and not getting called “Nasarra, nasarra!” for a whole 10 days is a nice surprise.

Other volunteers were eager to here of my voyage; the food, the luxuries, the news, the trends. Others were just amazed that my shirts smelled like Tide again. It would be a lie if I said 100% of me wanted to get on the plane at Dulles the other week and return to Cameroon. There was a little voice that kept saying just one more fast food joint, just one more NCAA Basketball game, just one more load of laundry, just one more…and the list goes on and on. But pretty much all those things that make American culture great will still be there in a few years, possibly even new and improved! And besides, if I didn’t go back some person(s) in Bogo would likely ask the question for years as to where that damn Nasarra ran off to.