This past Tuesday I posted two items for your reading pleasure, one of which was a reccuring post I call "Cameroon in the News." Every month or so I like to search the web for the latest news on Cameroon that I think you may find interesting and/or educational. I wanted to quickly revisit a story I posted on Tuesday from The Washington Post, which described the practice and prevalence of "breast ironing" in Cameroon. I consider The Washington Post to be a very decent news source especially considering some of the other options out there. Yet when re-reading this article by a freelance writer, an American woman who spent a short time in Cameroon, I found myself disappointed with the Post's decision to publish the article. Now before I lose you on this one let me explain that the practice of breast ironing is something I find to be indefensible. It is not something I am confronted with frequently as it is rarely practiced in the northern region of the country where I am posted. I spend little to no time in the southern regions of the country where it is more common so I also cannot speak to its presence and prevalence in that area. My disappointment with this article stems more from the fact that this freelance writer failed to do the issue justice. I don't question her good intentions. Unfortunately her article indicates to me nothing more than an outsider's curiosity/nosiness, and I question whether it has added any substantive value to the fight to end the practice. Where do her statistics and numbers come from? I'm not disputing them, but I also like to know where the information comes from beyond vaguely identified health activists. What are the motives for those who practice breast ironing and how are people going about stopping the practice? She touches on these issues, but unfortunately I don't think this is something that she has sufficiently looked into.
My apologies for the rant, but reading through this article a second time it got me a bit upset. Someone living the expat lifestyle in a country such as Cameroon will never truly experience or understand the society from their insulated neighborhoods, private schools, tinted SUVs and pricey restaurants. As a result I don't believe the writer of said article is in a position to accurately depict the practice. If you would like to know more about this issue, visit the following link which I found to be far more informative. Women in Africa Bear A Painful Tradition. For more info see this article published by the German development organization, GTZ, an agency that has worked extensively on womens health issues in Cameroon.
3.09.2010
Cameroon in the News: February/March
Breast ironing, a painful practice for Cameroon's girls (Washington Post)
Cameroon footballer jailed in Myanmar for forgery (Associated Press)
Polio vaccination targets 85 million in West Africa (Daily Nation)
UNHCR chief puts spotlight on Central African refugees in Cameroon (Reuters)
Cameroon journos 'tortured' (News 24)
Pig vaccine helps humans (Science Alert)
Ohio zoo helping with parrots rescued in Cameroon (Associated Press)
Cameroon has grown up (France 24)
Fifa denies African fans priced out of World Cup (BBC)
Cameroon GDP set to grow 2.9 pct in 2010, 4 pct in 2011 (Reuters)
Cameroon footballer jailed in Myanmar for forgery (Associated Press)
Polio vaccination targets 85 million in West Africa (Daily Nation)
UNHCR chief puts spotlight on Central African refugees in Cameroon (Reuters)
Cameroon journos 'tortured' (News 24)
Pig vaccine helps humans (Science Alert)
Ohio zoo helping with parrots rescued in Cameroon (Associated Press)
Cameroon has grown up (France 24)
Fifa denies African fans priced out of World Cup (BBC)
Cameroon GDP set to grow 2.9 pct in 2010, 4 pct in 2011 (Reuters)
Does anyone in the Maroua market sell kiddie pools?
Its official, the hot season has finally arrived. How do I know? I'm stuck to my chair right now, thats how. Actually I just went online and checked Google weather for Maroua, Cameroon. A mild 108 degrees is predicted today. 115 tomorrow. Its my second hot season here and I must say that so far it is not nearly as unbearable as last year. I still have to survive the height of it in April so we'll see if I'm still singing the same tune a month from now.
I believe the main difference is I've modified my daily schedule to suit the climate. Being an impatient first year volunteer last hot season I think I tried to fight the heat and go on about my day as normal. That is just not possible and I paid the price in the form of severe heat rash, dehydration, weight loss, and just generally being uncomfortable.
This year I have no illusions about my ability to function in this type of weather. Every morning I'll wake up around 5:30 when the morning call to prayer rings out across Bogo. At this point it feels somewhat cool, but probably somewhere in the low 90s. The first cold bucket bath of the day gets me ready to head out into the fields, orchards and/or tree nurseries. By about 9AM the heat is fully upon us, and I retreat to my home for cold bucket bath number two. Before it gets too close to midday I head to the market and pick up any food or household needs; sometimes just to shoot the breeze with friends.
By 10AM I am in full relaxation mode. My shaded porch is the coolest spot in my house, but the tin roof and concrete walls bake in the sun and getting as far away from any buildings is the best way to stay cool. Most folks choose to spend the midday hours outside their homes under the Neem trees that line the streets of Bogo, and seeing as its about 10 degrees cooler under their canopy I understand why and have taken to doing it myself.
Its hard to get much accomplished when I can only work about 3 hours in the early morning, so after napping or reading the day away I often try to visit farmers, orchards and tree nurseries in the afternoon after about 3PM. Its still hotter than the hinges of hell at 3PM so 1 hour is about all I can muster.
Despite the stifling heat, the guys are still out playing soccer in the evenings from about 4:30-6:30. Every other day I'll join in the evening practice and scrimage, but this time of year I need an extra day to recover. Cramps, dehydration and exhaustion are guaranteed. The morning after a practice it is obvious to everyone that I'm hurting. Limping around town and making painful grunting sounds when trying to sit down on someone's rug or work with them in the field are dead giveaways.
Evening temps are better but only because the sun is no longer beating down upon us. There is a steady breeze that blows through my concession at night. The only problem is that it is even warmer than the stagnant heat still leftover from the daytime. Cold bucket bath number three helps cool me down enough to go to bed. Timshel has started knocking over his water dish into the sand, and then proceeds to dig a hole and sleep in the cool and wet trench. I left a full bucket out for him the other night and once he knocked it over into the sand he slept like a rock. He is very grimy now as a result, but I'll let it slide until the heat subsides.
I believe the main difference is I've modified my daily schedule to suit the climate. Being an impatient first year volunteer last hot season I think I tried to fight the heat and go on about my day as normal. That is just not possible and I paid the price in the form of severe heat rash, dehydration, weight loss, and just generally being uncomfortable.
This year I have no illusions about my ability to function in this type of weather. Every morning I'll wake up around 5:30 when the morning call to prayer rings out across Bogo. At this point it feels somewhat cool, but probably somewhere in the low 90s. The first cold bucket bath of the day gets me ready to head out into the fields, orchards and/or tree nurseries. By about 9AM the heat is fully upon us, and I retreat to my home for cold bucket bath number two. Before it gets too close to midday I head to the market and pick up any food or household needs; sometimes just to shoot the breeze with friends.
By 10AM I am in full relaxation mode. My shaded porch is the coolest spot in my house, but the tin roof and concrete walls bake in the sun and getting as far away from any buildings is the best way to stay cool. Most folks choose to spend the midday hours outside their homes under the Neem trees that line the streets of Bogo, and seeing as its about 10 degrees cooler under their canopy I understand why and have taken to doing it myself.
Its hard to get much accomplished when I can only work about 3 hours in the early morning, so after napping or reading the day away I often try to visit farmers, orchards and tree nurseries in the afternoon after about 3PM. Its still hotter than the hinges of hell at 3PM so 1 hour is about all I can muster.
Despite the stifling heat, the guys are still out playing soccer in the evenings from about 4:30-6:30. Every other day I'll join in the evening practice and scrimage, but this time of year I need an extra day to recover. Cramps, dehydration and exhaustion are guaranteed. The morning after a practice it is obvious to everyone that I'm hurting. Limping around town and making painful grunting sounds when trying to sit down on someone's rug or work with them in the field are dead giveaways.
Evening temps are better but only because the sun is no longer beating down upon us. There is a steady breeze that blows through my concession at night. The only problem is that it is even warmer than the stagnant heat still leftover from the daytime. Cold bucket bath number three helps cool me down enough to go to bed. Timshel has started knocking over his water dish into the sand, and then proceeds to dig a hole and sleep in the cool and wet trench. I left a full bucket out for him the other night and once he knocked it over into the sand he slept like a rock. He is very grimy now as a result, but I'll let it slide until the heat subsides.
2.21.2010
Cameroon in the News
APF Proposes Preventive Action Against Corruption (AllAfrica.com)
http://allafrica.com/stories/201002190807.html
The Healing (Washington Post)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/18/AR2010021803144.html
Egypt 3-1 Cameroon (The Guardian)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/jan/25/egypt-cameroon-africa-cup-of-nations
Water crisis persists in Cameroon's capital city (Radio Netherlands)
http://www.rnw.nl/africa/article/water-crisis-persists-cameroons-capital-city
Cameroon Regulates Trade of Endangered Animal Meat (Epoch Times)
http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/29944/
Cameroon police seize 700 parrots at airport (AFP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iuXwoRFWZuQ9cLPQZ44Ol30TN_ZQ
Cameroon frees detained journalists (AFP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5gYieY7yqpnwZeB306GeMTYBgr9AA
http://allafrica.com/stories/201002190807.html
The Healing (Washington Post)
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/02/18/AR2010021803144.html
Egypt 3-1 Cameroon (The Guardian)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2010/jan/25/egypt-cameroon-africa-cup-of-nations
Water crisis persists in Cameroon's capital city (Radio Netherlands)
http://www.rnw.nl/africa/article/water-crisis-persists-cameroons-capital-city
Cameroon Regulates Trade of Endangered Animal Meat (Epoch Times)
http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/29944/
Cameroon police seize 700 parrots at airport (AFP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5iuXwoRFWZuQ9cLPQZ44Ol30TN_ZQ
Cameroon frees detained journalists (AFP)
http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5gYieY7yqpnwZeB306GeMTYBgr9AA
2.18.2010
Around the World in 28 Days (written February 9 2010)
Writing this entry I find myself back in Bogo and back in my normal routine, but the last few weeks outside of my village has been anything but routine. Earlier this January I embarked on what could easily be considered, excluding of course coming to Cameroon, as my most ambitious journey yet. Approximately one month ago I set out for New Zealand to attend my cousin’s wedding and spend some much needed time with family members. The time spent there was well worth the voyage, but to say that getting to NZ from Africa was tiresome would be a gross understatement. On paper (my e-ticket) the trip seemed intimidating. Yet I feel that travelling in Cameroon has done wonders for my patience and resolve. Nevertheless what often looks good on paper can be quite the opposite in reality. Allow me to elaborate:
Cameroon to New Zealand (In theory)
Day 1- One hour motorcycle ride from Bogo to Maroua. Upon arrival, go to the bus agency and buy a ticket for the first bus to Ngaoundere the next morning at 5:30AM. Spend the night at the PC Transit house.
Day 2- Roll out of bed at 5AM. On the way to the bus station, stop and eat some beans and beignets from one of the mamas on the street. Arrive at the bus station at 5:30 for the 8 hour trip to Ngaoundere. The bus arrives in Ngaoundere in mid-afternoon. I like to take my time going overland through Cameroon, so I head to the PC Transit house to get some street meat, cold beer and rest up for the night.
Day 3- In the morning go to the train station and confirm the train reservation. A first class ticket (17000 francs) gets you a chair. Some say the floor is actually more comfortable than sitting in the chair for 16 hours. I am in agreement with that, but I can’t bring myself to sleep on the floor. My preference is to pay 25000 francs for a bed in a four person couchette. When things go wrong on the overnight train to Yaounde, which is almost a certainty, I prefer to be horizontal. The train leaves Ngaoundere at 6PM each evening and is theoretically supposed to arrive in Yaounde around 10AM the next morning.
Day 4- Arriving in Yaounde one must push their way out of the station through the endless throng of baggage porters, taxi drivers, vendors, police, pickpockets, etc. Then buy a seat in a shared taxi for 200 francs to get to the neighborhood of the Peace Corps office/transit house. Do some laundry and take a hot shower in the transit house. Head down the street to ‘Le Car’ and buy a 6000 franc ticket on the afternoon bus to Douala. Leave Yaounde on what is actually a nice tour bus where everyone has their own seats, arriving in Douala in no less than 3 hours. Descending the bus in Douala try to deduce who is a real taxi driver while not being relieved of my possessions. Get to a hotel and call it a night.
Day 5- Yes, this is day 5 and we are not even out of Cameroon. Take a taxi or hotel bus to the airport. While waiting in the line at the ticket counter, I try to practice patience with the 500 people who approach asking to change money and then decide that they are my best friend in the entire world. Get through the customs and immigrations officials, who are not above asking for ‘gifts’ to streamline the process or to exempt you from some asinine regulation they probably came up with in their head five minutes ago. Board an Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Malabo, Equatorial Guinea, and then Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The flight time adds up to about 6 hours. Arrive in Addis Ababa late in the evening and almost immediately board a 10 hour overnight flight to Bangkok, Thailand.
Day 6- Arrive in Bangkok sometime in the early afternoon. Spend the next 6 hours in the Bangkok airport waiting for the 12 hour flight to Auckland, New Zealand.
Day 7- Arrive in Auckland at around 2PM. Keep awake as long as possible to get in tune with local time. As soon as nightfall arrives, collapse in the nearest bed.
Cameroon to New Zealand (In practice)
Much to my surprise, Cameroon was not the problem on this trip. Let’s pick up at Day 5, shall we?
Day 5- Everything is going amazingly well (too well perhaps?). The Ethiopian Air flight arrives in Douala a bit late, but we still get out of there at a reasonable time. The 20 minute puddle jump to the island of Malabo is uneventful. The problem begins in Malabo when for whatever reason we sit on the tarmac and at the gate for an unusually long time. Arriving in Addis Ababa, what was supposed to be a comfy layover is now a rush to get to the connecting flight to Bangkok. Coming off the plane I ask the nearest person who looks official which way to the flight. I arrive at one end of the terminal where they are boarding a flight to Dubai. The Bangkok flight is on the other end of the terminal (not a large terminal, but seconds count at this point). I arrive at the correct gate to see the doors closed. The plane is still there but pulling onto the tarmac. I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.
Day 6- It’s just past midnight and I find myself at the Ethiopian Airlines desk pleading for someone to help me reschedule my flight. The guy at the desk feels it necessary to tell me multiple times that this mix up was not the airline’s fault, so why should he be in a hurry to help me? I offer to go find the jackass who sent me to the Dubai flight and drag him down there to prove otherwise but at this point I’m being ignored. My experience of African travel kicks in at this point. Politeness has gone out the window. I go around the counter and head into the back of the office to talk to the big man. I think to myself that if I did this in America I would most likely find myself in a TSA holding cell very quickly. No one here looks interested in stopping me. After wrangling with the manager in the back I am booked on the next night’s flight to Bangkok. They are perplexed that I don’t want to pay $20 for an Ethiopian visa, go through immigration and get a hotel for the night. I hope to visit Ethiopia when my service in Cameroon is finished; I have no interest in seeing their country this time around. I’m wiped out at this point and about to crash on a chair in the terminal. A customs official approaches, hands me a blanket and tells me to go sleep in the airport mosque where there is soft carpet. Not how I planned to spend this evening, but I must say it’s an interesting development in the adventure. Plus the carpet was really cushy. Much more comfortable than my bed in Bogo, I must say.
Day 6 (Part 2)- I awake from a deep sleep around 6:30AM. That would mean that while the travelling faithful came in to pray at about 5:30AM there was some random American sprawled out in the corner. I tend to snore and talk in my sleep so I can only imagine it was an interesting morning prayer session for them. I see that another stranded traveler from Senegal is also just rising and we exchange a look of solidarity in our faux-pas.
It’s 7 in the morning and only 17 hours to go before the next flight to Bangkok. My Senegalese friend and I get our meal vouchers from the Ethiopian desk. He’s been stuck in the Addis airport for 3 days trying to get to Hong Kong. Meeting someone in the same situation can be comforting. I must be a more social creature than I thought, as not speaking to a friend or family member for almost 4 days during the ordeal between Cameroon and NZ was trying. Not to mention that this poor guy’s situation was far worse than mine and it put my travails into perspective. We run into another gentleman, a Congolese with an Austrian passport. He’s been in the airport for 5 days as neither Ethiopian Airlines nor Ethiopian immigration will allow him to leave. I decide not to pry any further. I just met this guy and I don’t need to know what Interpol watch list he’s been placed on. I spend the next 17 hours wandering the terminal and using up my meal vouchers. Boarding time arrives. I see that my Senegalese friend is also getting on his flight. Its good to know he doesn’t have to spend another night in this black hole of an airport. I’m not holding out hope for the Congolese guy though. Much to my delight, especially after all the problems last night, the desk agent put me in business class.” Would you like a warm towel, sir?” Better give me two, I spent the night in your airport and I’m a bit ripe. “How about some Champagne?” How ‘bout yeah! And don’t be shy, keep ‘em coming. “Anything else, sir?” I’m going to need two more blankets, a beer and more cheese and crackers to finish off my dinner. And my neighbor here who doesn’t speak English or Amrhaic looks cold. Go get her another blanket too. I know this flight attendant is not responsible for my problems, and she is being a good sport, but she works for Ethiopian Airlines and therefore represents all that is evil in my world at this moment.
Day 7- I arrive in Bangkok in the early afternoon. Ethiopian Airlines told me confidently that Thai Airways would take care of rescheduling my flight to New Zealand once I arrive here. Thai Airways quickly dispels that myth and informs me that, no, in fact it is Ethiopian and only Ethiopian that can right this wrong. The next flight to Auckland, NZ, does not leave until tomorrow but knowing all too well how they operate I get to work at once. It quickly becomes apparent that although Ethiopian has an office in the airport, it looks as though no one has staffed this office for a number of years. I go through four Thai Airways employees before I find an agent who understands that while I would love to deal with someone from Ethiopian (seeing as how competent they’ve been up to this point), it is a bit difficult when their presence in the Bangkok Airport consists of a dingy office locked up and devoid of any human presence. Finally I reach an Ethiopian agent over the phone. The flight to Auckland tomorrow is booked solid and thus my only consolation is being placed on the standby list. If I don’t get this flight I miss my cousin’s wedding. She doesn’t seem moved so I play the Peace Corps card. That at least gets me a hotel room and meal vouchers for the night. A dinner buffet never tasted so good and a hot shower was never more in need.
Day 8- The Auckland flight is not until this evening, but I’m back at the airport at 7AM. Ethiopian “has done all they can do” by placing me on standby. If I don’t make this flight tonight I don’t make the wedding. So now I find myself at the Thai Airways counter where my mission for the next 12 hours is to make the employee on duty as uncomfortable as possible. Offering to don the lovely purple Thai Airways uniform, serve drinks and do the pre-flight safety speech for the upcoming flight is a good way to start off. Checking my email in the cyber café later that day I come upon an interesting message from a family member in NZ. He just checked the flight this evening to Auckland and there are over 10 economy seats available. I go back to the Thai Airways counter and the urge to jump on the desk and yell, “Liar!” is almost too much to overcome. I don’t appreciate being held in limbo for hours on end. I decide against it and calmly approach, suggest they check the flight’s seating chart, find me an open seat on the aisle and print me a boarding pass. She seems shocked that I have this information available to me while she did not. I sense that I’m about to get on the flight so I hold my tongue. Boarding passes in hand, I ask her about 7 or 8 times whether or not this actually means I have a seat, each time adding another “really?” to the inquiry. If I had been working with this woman throughout the entire ordeal she may have understood why I was acting like a complete lunatic at this point. But she was just the last of about 40 people from Addis Ababa to Bangkok who had to hear the same sob story about the PC Volunteer on his way to a family wedding. I may have embellished the story a bit along the way, but I was getting screwed over here!
Boarding the flight that evening, calm descended over me for the first time since Day 5. And I must say that Thai Airways knows how to fly. I was in the nose bleed section of that flight to Auckland, somewhere around row 77, and it was infinitely nicer than Ethiopian business class. I’ll stop there to avoid from making this sound like a sales pitch for Thai Airways.
Day 9- Yet another early afternoon arrival, finally in Auckland, and I descend the plane to clear immigration. New Zealand customs is no joke, and their BioSecurity branch seems wholly focused on rooting out anything that may harm the country’s unique and fragile environment. Coming from Central Africa they pay me particularly close attention, right down to any dirt or dust that may be on my shoes and backpack (and there is plenty). Into the international arrivals lounge and I’m nearly tackled by two parents for whom I am almost inexplicably happy to see. It’s nice to be missed. The rest of the story would be an entirely different entry altogether, but I will say that despite the bumpy ride the short time down under was well worth it.
Epilogue
After reading this, some of you may be thinking that there is no way in hell I’ll ever fly Ethiopian again. Surprisingly I must say that you are wrong. It’s been a dream of mine for some time to visit Ethiopia and I fully intend to do so when my service in Cameroon is finished. The history of the country from ancient times to present day fascinates me, and I think once you get a taste of Africa there is always a need to see and experience as much of it as possible. Also, before my trip to New Zealand I signed up for Ethiopian Airlines frequent flyer program, ShebaMiles. I racked up something ridiculous like 13,000 miles on this last voyage. With a bank of miles like that I can now get into the Sheba Lounge in the Addis Ababa airport, which from the outside looked quite posh. They have no idea how intent I am in turning that lounge into my personal playground for the 2 or 3 hours prior to my next flight out of Addis. I also have some ideas for my next sojourn in Ethiopian Airlines business class:
-If Ethiopian immigration will allow it, ask to store my newly purchased goat in the overhead compartment.
-Asking for an English-Amhraic dictionary and insisting on speaking to the flight attendants in their native tongue.
-Requesting an inordinate amount of extra pillows and blankets to make a fort out of my seat.
-Bringing a copy of a children’s story along for the ride (‘Go Dog Go’ and ‘Goodnight Moon’ are personal favorites). Inform a flight attendant that I cannot possibly sleep unless someone reads it to me, twice (second time in Amhraic). At this point I think they’ll do just about anything to get me to go to sleep.
-In the morning before the descent into wherever I may be going, put on a track suit and pump ‘Eye of the Tiger’ on my iPod. Run the length of the plane through the aisles, shadow boxing with the drink carts.
Cameroon to New Zealand (In theory)
Day 1- One hour motorcycle ride from Bogo to Maroua. Upon arrival, go to the bus agency and buy a ticket for the first bus to Ngaoundere the next morning at 5:30AM. Spend the night at the PC Transit house.
Day 2- Roll out of bed at 5AM. On the way to the bus station, stop and eat some beans and beignets from one of the mamas on the street. Arrive at the bus station at 5:30 for the 8 hour trip to Ngaoundere. The bus arrives in Ngaoundere in mid-afternoon. I like to take my time going overland through Cameroon, so I head to the PC Transit house to get some street meat, cold beer and rest up for the night.
Day 3- In the morning go to the train station and confirm the train reservation. A first class ticket (17000 francs) gets you a chair. Some say the floor is actually more comfortable than sitting in the chair for 16 hours. I am in agreement with that, but I can’t bring myself to sleep on the floor. My preference is to pay 25000 francs for a bed in a four person couchette. When things go wrong on the overnight train to Yaounde, which is almost a certainty, I prefer to be horizontal. The train leaves Ngaoundere at 6PM each evening and is theoretically supposed to arrive in Yaounde around 10AM the next morning.
Day 4- Arriving in Yaounde one must push their way out of the station through the endless throng of baggage porters, taxi drivers, vendors, police, pickpockets, etc. Then buy a seat in a shared taxi for 200 francs to get to the neighborhood of the Peace Corps office/transit house. Do some laundry and take a hot shower in the transit house. Head down the street to ‘Le Car’ and buy a 6000 franc ticket on the afternoon bus to Douala. Leave Yaounde on what is actually a nice tour bus where everyone has their own seats, arriving in Douala in no less than 3 hours. Descending the bus in Douala try to deduce who is a real taxi driver while not being relieved of my possessions. Get to a hotel and call it a night.
Day 5- Yes, this is day 5 and we are not even out of Cameroon. Take a taxi or hotel bus to the airport. While waiting in the line at the ticket counter, I try to practice patience with the 500 people who approach asking to change money and then decide that they are my best friend in the entire world. Get through the customs and immigrations officials, who are not above asking for ‘gifts’ to streamline the process or to exempt you from some asinine regulation they probably came up with in their head five minutes ago. Board an Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Malabo, Equatorial Guinea, and then Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The flight time adds up to about 6 hours. Arrive in Addis Ababa late in the evening and almost immediately board a 10 hour overnight flight to Bangkok, Thailand.
Day 6- Arrive in Bangkok sometime in the early afternoon. Spend the next 6 hours in the Bangkok airport waiting for the 12 hour flight to Auckland, New Zealand.
Day 7- Arrive in Auckland at around 2PM. Keep awake as long as possible to get in tune with local time. As soon as nightfall arrives, collapse in the nearest bed.
Cameroon to New Zealand (In practice)
Much to my surprise, Cameroon was not the problem on this trip. Let’s pick up at Day 5, shall we?
Day 5- Everything is going amazingly well (too well perhaps?). The Ethiopian Air flight arrives in Douala a bit late, but we still get out of there at a reasonable time. The 20 minute puddle jump to the island of Malabo is uneventful. The problem begins in Malabo when for whatever reason we sit on the tarmac and at the gate for an unusually long time. Arriving in Addis Ababa, what was supposed to be a comfy layover is now a rush to get to the connecting flight to Bangkok. Coming off the plane I ask the nearest person who looks official which way to the flight. I arrive at one end of the terminal where they are boarding a flight to Dubai. The Bangkok flight is on the other end of the terminal (not a large terminal, but seconds count at this point). I arrive at the correct gate to see the doors closed. The plane is still there but pulling onto the tarmac. I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach.
Day 6- It’s just past midnight and I find myself at the Ethiopian Airlines desk pleading for someone to help me reschedule my flight. The guy at the desk feels it necessary to tell me multiple times that this mix up was not the airline’s fault, so why should he be in a hurry to help me? I offer to go find the jackass who sent me to the Dubai flight and drag him down there to prove otherwise but at this point I’m being ignored. My experience of African travel kicks in at this point. Politeness has gone out the window. I go around the counter and head into the back of the office to talk to the big man. I think to myself that if I did this in America I would most likely find myself in a TSA holding cell very quickly. No one here looks interested in stopping me. After wrangling with the manager in the back I am booked on the next night’s flight to Bangkok. They are perplexed that I don’t want to pay $20 for an Ethiopian visa, go through immigration and get a hotel for the night. I hope to visit Ethiopia when my service in Cameroon is finished; I have no interest in seeing their country this time around. I’m wiped out at this point and about to crash on a chair in the terminal. A customs official approaches, hands me a blanket and tells me to go sleep in the airport mosque where there is soft carpet. Not how I planned to spend this evening, but I must say it’s an interesting development in the adventure. Plus the carpet was really cushy. Much more comfortable than my bed in Bogo, I must say.
Day 6 (Part 2)- I awake from a deep sleep around 6:30AM. That would mean that while the travelling faithful came in to pray at about 5:30AM there was some random American sprawled out in the corner. I tend to snore and talk in my sleep so I can only imagine it was an interesting morning prayer session for them. I see that another stranded traveler from Senegal is also just rising and we exchange a look of solidarity in our faux-pas.
It’s 7 in the morning and only 17 hours to go before the next flight to Bangkok. My Senegalese friend and I get our meal vouchers from the Ethiopian desk. He’s been stuck in the Addis airport for 3 days trying to get to Hong Kong. Meeting someone in the same situation can be comforting. I must be a more social creature than I thought, as not speaking to a friend or family member for almost 4 days during the ordeal between Cameroon and NZ was trying. Not to mention that this poor guy’s situation was far worse than mine and it put my travails into perspective. We run into another gentleman, a Congolese with an Austrian passport. He’s been in the airport for 5 days as neither Ethiopian Airlines nor Ethiopian immigration will allow him to leave. I decide not to pry any further. I just met this guy and I don’t need to know what Interpol watch list he’s been placed on. I spend the next 17 hours wandering the terminal and using up my meal vouchers. Boarding time arrives. I see that my Senegalese friend is also getting on his flight. Its good to know he doesn’t have to spend another night in this black hole of an airport. I’m not holding out hope for the Congolese guy though. Much to my delight, especially after all the problems last night, the desk agent put me in business class.” Would you like a warm towel, sir?” Better give me two, I spent the night in your airport and I’m a bit ripe. “How about some Champagne?” How ‘bout yeah! And don’t be shy, keep ‘em coming. “Anything else, sir?” I’m going to need two more blankets, a beer and more cheese and crackers to finish off my dinner. And my neighbor here who doesn’t speak English or Amrhaic looks cold. Go get her another blanket too. I know this flight attendant is not responsible for my problems, and she is being a good sport, but she works for Ethiopian Airlines and therefore represents all that is evil in my world at this moment.
Day 7- I arrive in Bangkok in the early afternoon. Ethiopian Airlines told me confidently that Thai Airways would take care of rescheduling my flight to New Zealand once I arrive here. Thai Airways quickly dispels that myth and informs me that, no, in fact it is Ethiopian and only Ethiopian that can right this wrong. The next flight to Auckland, NZ, does not leave until tomorrow but knowing all too well how they operate I get to work at once. It quickly becomes apparent that although Ethiopian has an office in the airport, it looks as though no one has staffed this office for a number of years. I go through four Thai Airways employees before I find an agent who understands that while I would love to deal with someone from Ethiopian (seeing as how competent they’ve been up to this point), it is a bit difficult when their presence in the Bangkok Airport consists of a dingy office locked up and devoid of any human presence. Finally I reach an Ethiopian agent over the phone. The flight to Auckland tomorrow is booked solid and thus my only consolation is being placed on the standby list. If I don’t get this flight I miss my cousin’s wedding. She doesn’t seem moved so I play the Peace Corps card. That at least gets me a hotel room and meal vouchers for the night. A dinner buffet never tasted so good and a hot shower was never more in need.
Day 8- The Auckland flight is not until this evening, but I’m back at the airport at 7AM. Ethiopian “has done all they can do” by placing me on standby. If I don’t make this flight tonight I don’t make the wedding. So now I find myself at the Thai Airways counter where my mission for the next 12 hours is to make the employee on duty as uncomfortable as possible. Offering to don the lovely purple Thai Airways uniform, serve drinks and do the pre-flight safety speech for the upcoming flight is a good way to start off. Checking my email in the cyber café later that day I come upon an interesting message from a family member in NZ. He just checked the flight this evening to Auckland and there are over 10 economy seats available. I go back to the Thai Airways counter and the urge to jump on the desk and yell, “Liar!” is almost too much to overcome. I don’t appreciate being held in limbo for hours on end. I decide against it and calmly approach, suggest they check the flight’s seating chart, find me an open seat on the aisle and print me a boarding pass. She seems shocked that I have this information available to me while she did not. I sense that I’m about to get on the flight so I hold my tongue. Boarding passes in hand, I ask her about 7 or 8 times whether or not this actually means I have a seat, each time adding another “really?” to the inquiry. If I had been working with this woman throughout the entire ordeal she may have understood why I was acting like a complete lunatic at this point. But she was just the last of about 40 people from Addis Ababa to Bangkok who had to hear the same sob story about the PC Volunteer on his way to a family wedding. I may have embellished the story a bit along the way, but I was getting screwed over here!
Boarding the flight that evening, calm descended over me for the first time since Day 5. And I must say that Thai Airways knows how to fly. I was in the nose bleed section of that flight to Auckland, somewhere around row 77, and it was infinitely nicer than Ethiopian business class. I’ll stop there to avoid from making this sound like a sales pitch for Thai Airways.
Day 9- Yet another early afternoon arrival, finally in Auckland, and I descend the plane to clear immigration. New Zealand customs is no joke, and their BioSecurity branch seems wholly focused on rooting out anything that may harm the country’s unique and fragile environment. Coming from Central Africa they pay me particularly close attention, right down to any dirt or dust that may be on my shoes and backpack (and there is plenty). Into the international arrivals lounge and I’m nearly tackled by two parents for whom I am almost inexplicably happy to see. It’s nice to be missed. The rest of the story would be an entirely different entry altogether, but I will say that despite the bumpy ride the short time down under was well worth it.
Epilogue
After reading this, some of you may be thinking that there is no way in hell I’ll ever fly Ethiopian again. Surprisingly I must say that you are wrong. It’s been a dream of mine for some time to visit Ethiopia and I fully intend to do so when my service in Cameroon is finished. The history of the country from ancient times to present day fascinates me, and I think once you get a taste of Africa there is always a need to see and experience as much of it as possible. Also, before my trip to New Zealand I signed up for Ethiopian Airlines frequent flyer program, ShebaMiles. I racked up something ridiculous like 13,000 miles on this last voyage. With a bank of miles like that I can now get into the Sheba Lounge in the Addis Ababa airport, which from the outside looked quite posh. They have no idea how intent I am in turning that lounge into my personal playground for the 2 or 3 hours prior to my next flight out of Addis. I also have some ideas for my next sojourn in Ethiopian Airlines business class:
-If Ethiopian immigration will allow it, ask to store my newly purchased goat in the overhead compartment.
-Asking for an English-Amhraic dictionary and insisting on speaking to the flight attendants in their native tongue.
-Requesting an inordinate amount of extra pillows and blankets to make a fort out of my seat.
-Bringing a copy of a children’s story along for the ride (‘Go Dog Go’ and ‘Goodnight Moon’ are personal favorites). Inform a flight attendant that I cannot possibly sleep unless someone reads it to me, twice (second time in Amhraic). At this point I think they’ll do just about anything to get me to go to sleep.
-In the morning before the descent into wherever I may be going, put on a track suit and pump ‘Eye of the Tiger’ on my iPod. Run the length of the plane through the aisles, shadow boxing with the drink carts.
1.15.2010
Dan's best songs to listen to while crammed into a bush taxi careening across Africa
Much of the past few months has been spent on the road. Maroua to Ngaoundere to Yaounde to Bafoussam to Foumbot to Foumban to Mbuda to Dschang, back up North for the holidays, and now back in Yaounde on the cusp of a journey to the fatherland for a wedding. Without a doubt my mp3 player has been one of the most integral items I brought with me to Africa. My tattered copy of 'East of Eden' is a close second. When on the road there is no shortage of entertainment to be found amongst my fellow passengers or throughout the landscape out the window. Yet there are those times when escaping into my music is a great distraction from the erratic driving and cramped quarters. No to mention on many buses between cities the driver tends to pump Celine Dion over the vehicle's speakers. So allow me to share with you some of the tunes that keep me sane on even the most trying of journeys.
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I-IV) by Pink Floyd
There's nothing like a 13 minute song to whittle away the kilometers. And even better if that song happens to be a rock masterpiece.
It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube
I was sharing my earbuds with a Cameroonian kid on a recent voyage and the shuffle brought us to this song. After hearing it once he wouldn't let me go on to the next track, and we ended up listening to it about 5 times. Nothing like some hardcore hip hop to help bridge cultures.
Rock the Casbah by The Clash
The first and only rock song that I've witnessed a Cameroonian enjoy.
Carolina On My Mind by James Taylor
A little nostalgia never hurts when the voyage gets to be too much.
Country Roads by John Denver
See previous.
Sun Is Shining by Bob Marley & The Wailers
I can't think of any time when listening to Bob wouldn't be appropriate, but I think this song was made for the parched highways of the Extreme North.
Lucky Star by Madonna
Yes, this is a personal favorite and I am not ashamed of that in the least.
Rosa Parks by Outkast
This was my 14 year old host brother's favorite song on my iPod. Last time I visited them I brought him some CDs I made, one of which contained this track. Picturing him breaking it down in his living room while his mother looks on in horror brings a smile to my face.
Don't Wake Up Policeman by Junkie XL and Peter Tosh
A little tribute to those gendarmes and police at the checkpoints who make travel in Cameroon oh-so efficient!
Jazz (We've Got) by A Tribe Called Quest
When the chauffeur starts to drive a little nutty, which is a certainty, the Tribe can be counted on to keep me mellow.
Africa by Toto
Yes, I am that cliché. I ride across the country blasting "I've got some rains down in Africa!!"
North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem
When sitting next to a Cameroonian guy between the ages of 15 to 30 they will inevitably ask to share earbuds. I have no problem with this and it can lead to hours of entertainment for us both. However from time to time I get one of those guys who wants to listen to Thriller 50 times in a row (I'm not knocking Michael). I "accidentally" skip to LCD Soundsystem and within 1 minute I have the earbuds to myself again.
Get By by Talib Kweli
This song makes Cameroonians dance in their seats. Works every time.
Friend of the Devil by Grateful Dead
An anthem for the wayward.
Soon the New Day by Talib Kweli & Norah Jones
An unlikely collaboration to say the least but it's the only Norah Jones song that has received a thumbs up from my adopted countrymen.
Louisiana Saturday Night by Alabama
I was curious as to how the fellow sharing headphones with me on my latest bus ride would receive country music. I think I can mark that experiment down as a complete failure.
Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
When the woman to my left starts breastfeeding her child in plain view of everyone and the gentleman to my right has obviously not showered since the rainy season, this tune takes me to exactly where the title suggests.
Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts I-IV) by Pink Floyd
There's nothing like a 13 minute song to whittle away the kilometers. And even better if that song happens to be a rock masterpiece.
It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube
I was sharing my earbuds with a Cameroonian kid on a recent voyage and the shuffle brought us to this song. After hearing it once he wouldn't let me go on to the next track, and we ended up listening to it about 5 times. Nothing like some hardcore hip hop to help bridge cultures.
Rock the Casbah by The Clash
The first and only rock song that I've witnessed a Cameroonian enjoy.
Carolina On My Mind by James Taylor
A little nostalgia never hurts when the voyage gets to be too much.
Country Roads by John Denver
See previous.
Sun Is Shining by Bob Marley & The Wailers
I can't think of any time when listening to Bob wouldn't be appropriate, but I think this song was made for the parched highways of the Extreme North.
Lucky Star by Madonna
Yes, this is a personal favorite and I am not ashamed of that in the least.
Rosa Parks by Outkast
This was my 14 year old host brother's favorite song on my iPod. Last time I visited them I brought him some CDs I made, one of which contained this track. Picturing him breaking it down in his living room while his mother looks on in horror brings a smile to my face.
Don't Wake Up Policeman by Junkie XL and Peter Tosh
A little tribute to those gendarmes and police at the checkpoints who make travel in Cameroon oh-so efficient!
Jazz (We've Got) by A Tribe Called Quest
When the chauffeur starts to drive a little nutty, which is a certainty, the Tribe can be counted on to keep me mellow.
Africa by Toto
Yes, I am that cliché. I ride across the country blasting "I've got some rains down in Africa!!"
North American Scum by LCD Soundsystem
When sitting next to a Cameroonian guy between the ages of 15 to 30 they will inevitably ask to share earbuds. I have no problem with this and it can lead to hours of entertainment for us both. However from time to time I get one of those guys who wants to listen to Thriller 50 times in a row (I'm not knocking Michael). I "accidentally" skip to LCD Soundsystem and within 1 minute I have the earbuds to myself again.
Get By by Talib Kweli
This song makes Cameroonians dance in their seats. Works every time.
Friend of the Devil by Grateful Dead
An anthem for the wayward.
Soon the New Day by Talib Kweli & Norah Jones
An unlikely collaboration to say the least but it's the only Norah Jones song that has received a thumbs up from my adopted countrymen.
Louisiana Saturday Night by Alabama
I was curious as to how the fellow sharing headphones with me on my latest bus ride would receive country music. I think I can mark that experiment down as a complete failure.
Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
When the woman to my left starts breastfeeding her child in plain view of everyone and the gentleman to my right has obviously not showered since the rainy season, this tune takes me to exactly where the title suggests.
12.27.2009
Un Noel Villageois, Deuxieme Partie
Christmas Day, 3:00PM- Finishing a quick meeting with my counterpart at my house I get a call from the parents stateside. Its always wonderful to hear from family, especially during this time of year. I wrap up my call, see my counterpart to the door and get a bag ready to leave my village Xmas for a more American one in Maroua.
3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.
4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.
5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.
5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.
5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.
6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.
7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.
8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.
9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.
9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.
11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.
So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.
3:30PM- Luckily I’m in a muslim village. There are still plenty of cars going to Maroua despite it being a holiday. Everyone piles in to the van. I’m one of the tallest people among the travelers, so naturally the station chief (I think he’s new) tells me to climb across 3 rows of seats into the back.
4:10PM- Approaching the village of Balaza roughly halfway between Bogo and Maroua, our car begins to pass by a childrens soccer game next to the road. One of the children accidentally hits our van with the ball. At this point the driver comes screeching to a halt. He looks pissed. He quickly gets out, walks around the vehicle, picks up the soccer ball, says something unkind in Fufulde, gets back into the car with the soccer ball, and drives off. I look around the car to see if anyone else is shocked by Mr. Grinchy McGrincherson’s behavior back there. Surprisingly no one says anything. I imagine that they are wiser than I in this situation. Perhaps if I criticize this man’s shocking lack of Christmas spirit I may find myself on the side of the road with the kids he stole the ball from. I decide its best to keep my mouth shut on this one. That guy just stole a ball from children, and I am sorely lacking in the energy needed to deal with that level of grumpiness.
5:00PM- We pull into the station after a bumpy one and a half hour ride from Bogo. There is no such thing as an uneventful ride to Maroua on Djamaare Express, and I am always thankful to twist myself out of the packed vehicle and get my feet back on the ground. Picking up a moto taxi at the station I head straight for the PC house.
5:05PM- Getting to the house I see that the festivities are in full swing. PCVs Caitlyn and Josh have found Jesus fabric at the market and are decked out head to toe in tailor made outfits. 15-20 PCVs are in Maroua, and it looks as though the bar around the corner has been busy sending crates to our house this evening. Someone scavenged the neighborhood earlier and brought back a large part of a Neem tree which is now serving as the Christmas tree in the main room. PCV Adam & Co. are in the kitchen putting together what looks to be a great meal. Two feasts in one day are just fine by me. Someone’s iPod is pumping Christmas carols. A far cry from my time in Bogo over the past 24 hours, but the familiarity of it is a nice finish to the day.
5:30PM- After sitting back and easing the days travel pains with a frosty Castel, I get to open my secret santa gift from PCV Josh. It’s a Manchester United jersey. Hell yeah.
6:00PM- Beverage run around the corner with fellow PCV Josh. The Domayo Boulevard is packed at this point. Not an empty seat at any of the watering holes, and the ‘bonnes fetes’ and ‘joyeux noels’ are coming from all directions. Josh’s Jesus outfit is a big hit, and after exchanging some holiday greetings with a table at Champion Bar he leaves one of the revelers with a plastic Santa necklace. I strongly doubt he woke up this morning and thought that some American guy wearing Jesus fabric would see him at the bar and accessorize him with a plastic Santa necklace.
7:00PM- After a bit of revelry dinner is ready. Homemade calzones courtesy of our chef of the evening. I don’t think I’ve had a day of eating like this in a very long time.
8:00PM- My calorie intake today is off the charts. I could definitely do with some sleep, but when getting a case of drinks from around the corner earlier, my neighborhood bartender insisted I come have a round with him to finish off the festivities. I’m not one to say no to such an offer.
9:00PM- Most folks at this point have full bellies and are down for the count. So I put on one of the Santa hats in the house and make my way around the corner. Our bar is still packed to the rafters but I post up and the bartender and I crack open a few 33 Exports.
9:45PM- I’m exhausted at this moment in time, so in order to create a little entertainment I trade the bartender hats. I get his Guinness hat and he gets my Santa hat. I miscalculated this, and before I know it the poor bartender is getting hassled by the clientele. “Papa Noel, Papa Noel!! Ou est mon cadeau?” In my search for entertainment I’ve inadvertently almost caused a riot at a bar on Christmas. As the customers continue lobbying for free beer I make quick work of my 33’ and give him his hat back.
11:00PM- I’m off to bed, and have no complaints of how the day unfolded. When I originally decided to spend the day in village I pictured staring at the wall of my house and twiddling my thumbs. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, and I wouldn’t do a thing different if given the chance. And getting to start all over again that evening with the PC crew after my Bogo Xmas wound down was a special bonus.
So that was Xmas 2009 for me. Happy Holidays to everybody back home, and have a great New Year.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
