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
2.21.2010
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.
Un Noel Villageois, Premiere Partie
Christmas Eve, 3:00PM- Getting back to Bogo after a long absence, I took the day to soak in the sights and sounds of the Thursday market. After all the travelling my level of exhaustion has hit levels I never thought possible. I retreat to my living room back at home and sink into a magazine, falling asleep after reading the table of contents.
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
7:00PM- I’m not much of a nap person, but that was glorious. Luckily I’m up in time to get ready for the Christmas Eve mass at the Catholic mission in Bogo. Though missing many things I associate with the holidays I’m very excited to spend Christmas in Bogo this year.
8:00PM- Three different friends have given me three different times for when mass begins this evening; 7:00, 7:30 and 8:00. Going on past experiences I’ll be arriving at the church at 8:30.
8:25PM- Bogo is always eerily quiet at this hour. A few blocks from the mission I hear ‘Daniel, Daniel!’ I turn to see a local friend who now lives out of town, back visiting family for the holidays. Catching up with him as we continue to the mission its strange to think that after one year I already have what I could consider to be ‘old friends’ from Bogo.
8:30PM- Just as I’m walking through the mission gates I hear the drums and jubilant singing begin. Finally I’m fashionably late for something in this town! The mission chapel lit up at night is quite pretty and I feel strangely comfortable spending Christmas Eve in this setting.
8:45PM- After a few rounds of local songs and hymns, the mission youth group begins the readings. First read in French, they will then be read in Fufulde.
9:00PM- Much to my surprise the next hymn is ‘Silent Night’ in French. Despite the difficulty in following the words when a large group is singing, the melody is immediately familiar and makes me feel at home here.
9:20PM- After a few more readings, a few more songs and lining up to add to the collection box, the father begins his sermon for the evening. Bogo’s population is almost entirely muslim, and in his message he emphasizes that the spirit of Christmas is not something exclusive to the Christian community of Bogo but something that can transcend differences in beliefs. Comforting in its inclusiveness and awareness of the diversity in Bogo society.
9:45PM- Mass is over and I’m on my way home through the dark and deserted streets. Hearing ‘Silent Night’ at mass was unexpected but enjoyable. Suddenly I find myself whistling ‘Let It Snow’ as I make the walk back home. I discover that if I close my eyes and concentrate, the loose sand under my feet feels almost like walking in snow. I think I am entirely alone, but anyone witnessing this has definitely concluded that I’m nuts.
10:00PM- Still exhausted. Back to sleep.
Christmas Day, 8:00AM- Looks like Santa comes to Cameroon as well! I start the morning opening the many packages that arrived at the post office this past week. Packaged food, candy, books, magazines; I can’t think of a better way to start my Christmas in Bogo.
8:30 AM- Back to the mission for the morning mass. Last night’s ceremony was fairly low-key. Not the case this morning as it looks as though the entire Christian community has turned out. The chapel is packed to the rafters, everyone with their best attire on.
10:00AM- Mass has progressed very similarly to last night’s up to this point. During one of the last songs, some of the older women in the congregation begin howling at the top of their lungs over the youth group’s drums and singing. About ten women take to the front of the church to dance. It quickly swells to half of the roughly 200-300 in attendance. The frenzy fills the church with sound and the sand floor being pounded by the joyous congregation fills the room with a dusty haze.
10:30AM- The celebrations are over and after wishing friends and colleagues a Merry Christmas I begin to make my way home. On the way out one of the nuns at the mission invites me to join them for lunch. She doesn’t need to twist my arm. I’ve eaten with the sisters at the catholic mission before and it is always delicious.
10:40AM- On my way back home I take a little detour to the market. Timshel could use some holiday cheer so I stop off at the grilled meat stand and purchase 1000 francs of grilled beef. Being a big cattle town, beef is very cheap here. For 1000 francs ($2), the butcher/griller gives me what must be close to a pound of beef.
10:45AM- Bogo is almost entirely muslim, especially in the center of town and my neighborhood. Nevertheless I am greeted with ‘bonne fete’ and ‘joyeux noel’ from all sorts of people. Its nice to know that despite the huge difference in cultures and religions there still seems to be a mutual respect present.
11:00AM- I’m back home and Timshel has caught the scent of what I’m carrying. Before he has a panic attack I empty the meat into his dish, wish him a merry christmas and quickly back away. Despite being a friendly dog Timshel does not like to be bothered when eating his meals, especially when that meal happens to be a grilled side of cow.
11:02AM- It looks like he enjoyed that. I don’t think he breathed that entire time, and he has retreated to the corner of the porch and looks to be down for the count.
12:30PM- Back to the mission. Timshel is out cold and its my turn to stuff my face.
12:40PM- Arriving at the mission it already smells delicious. Lunch is being put on the table as we speak. The mission at Bogo currently houses three nuns, one from Spain, one from Congo and one from India. All of them are extremely pleasant, and the Indian sister, being an Anglophone, is an excellent outlet when I am tired of speaking French and Fufulde.
12:50PM- We visit for a few minutes and then make our way to the table. Sitting at the table with a Spanish nun, and Indian nun and a Congolese nun (that sounds like the start of a bad joke); I am first treated to a huge salad, something which is hard to come by in Bogo. It is delicious and they do not have to push me too hard to take another helping.
12:55PM- Salad is done, and the main dishes start coming out. The Congolese sister has prepared some excellent chicken, plaintains and cous-cous. A large dish of pasta is also available. I try balance my desire to be polite with my desire to stuff my face.
1:00PM- I was already a big fan of the Bogo nuns, but they just went up a few more notches in my book, as one of them pulls out a cold bottle of 33 Export for me. At first I think it’s a test. Am I going to accept this frosty bottle of beer and then get wrapped on the knuckles with a yard stick? I roll the dice and am pleased to discover that it is no test of my moral fiber.
1:30PM- My belly is happy and about to get happier, as one sister brings out a tray of assorted Spanish and Indian pastries. I’m encouraged to try every one. I pretend to be full but promise that I’ll do my best.
1:50PM- That was a proper meal. They can be few and far between here in the village.
2:00PM- Before retiring to my living room to digest one of the sisters asks that I take a look at their gardens and fruit trees. Just as we are wrapping up the tour, a fellow PCV spending Christmas in Maroua gives me a call. They are incredulous that I am not in Maroua for the holidays.
2:02PM- I get a call from angry PCV #2. Apparently there is an Xmas present waiting for me in Maroua, and I’m very inconsiderate for not coming to join them for the celebrations. From my side of the line they sound as though they are having a pretty good time. All this peer pressure is starting to get to me.
2:05PM- I stop on my way home to speak with a few colleagues. Continuing home I see I have a missed call from angry PCV #3.
2:06PM- I call back angry PCV #3, at which point I am passed around to about 6-7 people telling me how uncool it is that I am not sharing Christmas with them. These guys really know how to lay it on thick, all the while using my phone credit to do so. I should probably get into Maroua for Christmas evening before this gets any worse. My village Christmas is winding down, and hey, its not every year that you can celebrate two distinctly different Christmases on the same day!
On the road again
I just spent the last three weeks travelling in the West of the country around Bafoussam and doing some mid-service medical exams in Yaounde. I don’t think I will ever piss and moan again when travelling in the U.S. I can’t think of anything in the states that can compare to the mayhem of travelling by bus or train in Cameroon.
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
As for my medical exams it was nice to receive a clean bill of health. I had a fairly unpleasant start to Peace Corps service by getting ill 1-2 times per month and dropping 30 pounds in the process. Knock on wood, but it seems that my body has slowly accepted the rigors of African village life.
I believe being away from someplace for an extended period of time affords me the opportunity to assess what I’ve come to know, or atleast feel, about that place I’ve left. I had to come to Africa before considering my life back in the states. The same has happened recently while spending 3 weeks away from Bogo. Getting to leave the Extreme North is a rare occurrence for me, so seeing some of the country’s southern regions was a real treat. The folks down south I met along the way were incredibly hospitable, PCVs and HCNs alike. I’d say the high point of the trip was our visit to the Palace of Foumban in the West Region. Two other volunteers and I spent a day touring the palace, palace museum, central market and mosque, ending the day at a beer garden in the center of town. The establishment’s anglophone owner, Tobias, fixed us an incredible feast (you name it, and it was brought to the table) accompanied with cold beers, promised to send us Xmas and New Years greetings via email (still waiting on those), and finally offered us his daughters’ as wives. Despite having to decline his last gesture of generosity, he assured us that we and any of our friends would be more than welcome in the future. For a foreigner in Cameroon visiting larger cities or tourist areas, the potential for negative interactions with a stranger could spoil one’s outlook on being open and friendly. Luckily meeting folks like this exuberant, welcoming gentleman reminds me that while being on guard is advisable when travelling here, the people welcoming you into their country/town/home are probably more often than not of Tobias’ mold. To any PCV in Cameroon or anyone planning to visit the country in the future, I could confidently say that spending a day touring Foumban would be one of the highlights of your trip.
While on the road I had plenty of time to ponder my first year in Bogo and I think the following sums it up pretty well:
1) I sometimes complain about my situation here in the Extreme North. Yes, it is hotter than the hinges of hell. Yes, having a nutritious diet in the village is nearly impossible. Yet despite seeing a number of beautiful areas around the country I can’t say I’d rather be living in any other part of the country. When I go to the bus station in Bogo I don’t get mobbed by every hustler, salesman, baggage porter, crazy person, etc. On the contrary the station chief will most likely take my bag, place it in the front seat, and usher me to a bench in the shade to await our departure. All the attention is a little awkward but appreciated nonetheless.
Some would see the flat, charred and barren landscape in my part of the Extreme North as ugly, and I admit that sometimes I see it as such myself. Yet I’ve watched the sun rise on the road between Bogo and Maroua while biking in solitude, and it is an image I’ll keep with me long after I’ve left Cameroon.
Fulbe, the predominant culture/language/ethnic group is obviously shockingly different than my own background, and it can at times be extremely frustrating in both professional and personal situations. With that said (and this is not to say the fulbe have a monopoly on hospitality), I have never felt unwelcome in a fulbe town. I may very well feel under the microscope and picked over by every eye in the village, but despite being such an anomaly I’ve rarely if ever left anyone’s home in Bogo without a full belly of hot tea and bowl after bowl of cous-cous. Still not a big fan of the cous-cous but working on it.
2) I actually missed my dog while away from Bogo. Its strange how Timshel’s mission in life seems to be causing me trouble and yet I miss the little bastard. To make up for my extended absence he got 1000 francs of street meat for his Christmas breakfast.
3) I also missed Bogo. That much is clear to me. I did not, however, miss eating dried fish and MSG sauce over rice. I’ll be avoiding that meal like the plague over the coming year.
4) It is amazing how much work we did in Bogo when I told colleagues I was leaving for a long time. Perhaps they misunderstood me and believed I was not returning at all. My work in the mango orchards progressed more in the month before my trip than it had in the 6 previous months.
5) Throughout the country I’ve seen some great markets, the center of any African village/town/city. With that in mind I still have to say that Bogo’s is my favorite. There are larger markets than Bogo. There are better supplied markets. There are more convenient and accessible ones too. Yet if you are looking for a market based on its level of authenticity and pure chaos, the Bogo Marche on Thursday has no equal that I have seen.
6) Its funny how safe Bogo feels at this point. The road trip around Cameroon was a blast but constantly worrying about being relieved of my possessions at any number of bus stations, markets, etc. can get old after 3 weeks.
7) If anyone from Brasseries du Cameroon reads this, start sending Pride Pilsner, Gold Harp and/or Castle Milk Stout to the North of the country. They are far superior to anything you currently offer us northerners.
8) I missed hearing call to prayer. Let me rephrase that: I missed hearing call to prayer, except for the one before sunrise. That one I could do without. The other four are fine. In all seriousness I find it to be a beautiful and exotic sound, just not at 4:30AM.
9) I’m about 2 hours south of Maroua at this point and I realise it’s getting really dusty up north these days. The rain has not fallen since September and the Harmattan winds are pushing in from the Sahara. I’ll probably need an entire day to dust and sweep my house.
10) Finally, a quick thanks to all the fellow PCVs in the West who hosted us during our adventure. The West region is beautiful and your hospitality was amazing. Come see us in the Extreme North sometime, as you are always welcome(but I’d stay clear in March and April!).
10.28.2009
So You Want to Visit Cameroon???
Many of you have expressed an interest in visiting me during my time here in Africa. Personally I think that is fantastic, and I would welcome with open arms any and all of you hearty travelers out there in search of a good adventure. Yet a trip to Cameroon could quickly turn into a logistics nightmare for someone not fully prepared. Fear not as I, for one, am an extremely capable host. Furthermore, I have described below what a voyage to Cameroon to visit yours truly would entail and I could personally guarantee that you would have the experience of a lifetime.
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
Cameroon is an amazing country but let’s be honest; traveling in Africa is not for the faint at heart. Sure, one could travel to the dark continent to see the game parks and popular tourist haunts, and multitudes of people do just that every year. However if you are someone looking to experience the real Africa without the insulation of expensive safari tours and lavish hotels, then I believe you just may have what it takes to come see me in Cameroon!
Getting Here (In one piece)
Go to Europe and then turn right. Actually it’s a little more complicated than that, but keep in mind that your trusty sidekick(me) would be by your side to oversee all travel arrangements once you touch down. Most American travelers coming into Cameroon will arrive in either Douala or Yaounde in the south of the country via a flight from Paris, Brussels or Zurich. Swiss Air through Zurich seems to have the cheapest flights. But you still need to get to the Extreme North of the country. What are your options, you ask?
1) Fly into Douala or Yaounde (preferably the latter) and check into a hotel to rest up for a day or so. Lavishing your host with one or two nice meals is not required but certainly encouraged:) After recharging for a bit, we would hop on an overnight northbound train to the city of Ngaoundere. Using the train is perhaps the most common route to the north of the country, but the overnight voyage to Ngaoundere can quickly turn into a twenty hour fiasco depending on delays and breakdowns.
When arriving in Ngaoundere you’ll probably first notice the very pleasant temperatures. Spending a day climbing Mount Ngaoundere or just exploring the Central District and the Grand Marche is a great way to unwind and stretch those legs after being cooped up in planes and trains for so long. From Ngaoundere, Maroua is just another 7-8 hours by bus on a paved road.
2) Fly instead to Ndjamena, Chad which is just across the northern border of Cameroon. Once we get past the sticky palmed border officials we are only a few hours north of our provincial capital, Maroua. Despite the close proximity of N’Djamena to Northern Cameroon, political instability in Chad is frequently a problem and could potentially inconvenience any travel plans made in this area.
3) Fly to Abuja, the capital of Nigeria, and then take another flight to the northern city of Maiduguri. Maiduguri lies just a few hours west of Cameroon, and arranging private transport from Maiduguri is something I can do in advance from Maroua. Unfortunately I have no info on how well this option works, but I believe it will be attempted by a few visitors of a fellow volunteer in the near future.
What Do We Do Now?
Maroua-
We’ve arrived in Maroua, one of the only large cities in Cameroon predating colonization. Let’s take a day to wander around and see the city. Visiting the Grand Marche is always an adventure. For all you shoppers, the “Artisinat” at the market houses all sorts of traditional crafts, wooden masks of various local tribes, intricate carvings and leather goods. The local vendors and craftsmen, while a bit on the aggressive side, always love to see Americans. I think they like your American dollars even more, but disputing prices with them is always fun.
At this point it’s probably close to mid-day, which most likely means that we are drenched from head to toe in sweat. The only remedy for that is to head back to the hotel pool, take a swim and enjoy a few cold beers while waiting for the heat to recede. And while it is purely a suggestion, buying your favorite Peace Corps volunteer dinner at the local French restaurant that evening is not a bad way to end the day!
Up for a little nightlife instead? The main boulevard in Domayo quartier is the undisputed Maroua hotspot containing many bars, a few dance clubs and all the grilled meat and fish that you can handle.
Bogo-
Enough hotels and swimming pools, lets go to the bush! 40km east of Maroua is the place I call home. From reading my blog I’m sure you’ve already learned a great deal about my town so I will spare you the details. But a trip to Bogo is not complete without visiting the Thursday market. It is truly a sight to behold, and beyond just being a great market, moving around the stalls and various thoroughfares affords me the opportunity to show off my nasarra visitors to local friends and colleagues. By the end you’ll be so tired of saying ‘Jam Koodume’ which basically means I’m very well and ‘Mi Jabbi’ which is what you say when someone welcomes you to Bogo, that you’ll never want to hear them uttered again.
Enough with the market, let’s go see the big man. The Lamido of Bogo is very welcoming and friendly, and he is always extremely pleased when visiting Nasarras come by to say hello. There are plenty of other friends and neighbors to visit. While staying in Bogo for just a few days you’ll shake more hands then you ever thought possible, and the hot tea and cous cous will be free flowing!
If Bogo wasn’t far enough off the beaten path for you, then during our last day in town we’ll head out another 10km to the village of Bagalaf where my main colleague lives. The simplicity and tranquility is something I enjoy a great deal when working here. If you had a mental picture before the trip of a traditional African village, then I would bet that it looks a lot like Bagalaf.
Farther Afoot
Got some extra time in country? Below are many interesting and highly recommended areas of the country to visit. I myself have yet to visit many of these sites but would no doubt accompany you throughout. And keep in mind that half the fun of traveling in Cameroon is the voyage itself (minus the overloaded buses and sharing seats with goats).
Kribi
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kribi
Limbe
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbe,_Cameroon
Mount Cameroon
http://www.mount-cameroon.org/en/index.htm
Rhumsiki
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhumsiki
Waza National Park
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waza_National_Park
Mandara Mountains
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mandara_Mountains
Foumban
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foumban
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