On Friday afternoon the electricity went out once again. I didn’t have any work to do without electricity and everyone at the office was just hanging out and chatting, so I asked Heather and Kat if they wanted to run downtown for a mini-tour of Bamenda. Heather and Kat are two students from Toronto working in Bafut at the hospital. Steve introduced us, well, over email; this was the first time we actually met. I took them to the main market and to check out Commercial Avenue, showed them where all the important things in the city are: main market, whole wheat bread shop, white man supermarket, food market, and Dreamland. After it started to rain, we decided to go to Dreamland early for our “Halloween Party”. Kat and Heather want to do a lot of the same stuff that I want to do, and also have only the weekends to do them; hopefully we’ll be able to get organized so we can see as much as possible. It will definitely be nice to have some other people with me on those weekend trips.
The power was still out when we got to Dreamland, so their menu was somewhat condensed…they did have chicken though; everyone always has chicken. Only a few of us remembered to do the hats (or chose to), three of them had on these stupid toques that all the bike drivers here wear. They always have bunny ears on them or tails and stuff, very bizarre. It was definitely funny to see though, ha ha. Sunde, one of my coworkers, joined us there to hang out; it was pretty cool of him. After Dreamland, we walked over to this place called the Denver Complex. It could have almost been mistaken for a bar from home; well, think run down wood, country bar. Closest I’ve seen though, ha ha. We were meeting up with some of the German volunteers there to have a beer. After the beer at Denver, I was pretty tired, so I opted out of the dance club.
I caught a bike home, Sunde flagged him down for me; in fact, he decided to follow me home on a bike he caught right after, because he was worried as soon as I left. The driver was wearing a huge white fur toque with massive rabbit ears on top. Usually the ears hang down to keep your ears warm, but these rabbit ears were a fashion statement. Ha ha. As we started going down my street, Longla, I realized he had no headlight, and there are no street lights in Bamenda. So, there we were, bouncing from pot hole to pot hole, with his huge bunny ears flapping in the wind. At first I was pretty scared, the first few times we had a foot or two of air I was wondering what I was going to do when we crashed. But then, watching his stupid ears, and being pretty scared, I just started nervously laughing, out loud. He must have thought I was drunk or something; wondering why the white girl was laughing when we are going over such a huge jump, ha ha.
I woke up on Saturday morning pretty early; while I waited for Kat and Heather to go up Station Mountain, I decided to do a little cleaning. I did all the floors and windows, then sat down to do some reading. All in all a pretty relaxing morning. Loveline came in to chat with me for a bit. The conversation began with the simple how was your night, did you have fun etc, but quickly turned into a much more awkward topic–Cameroonian boyfriends. I have told the staff at work that I’m engaged; it started as married, but then I slipped up and mentioned something about my boyfriend. I had to re-establish the relationship as ‘just about married–soon’. I know it sounds ridiculous, but everyone here wants to move to Western nations and the best way to do that is to marry a foreigner. Even with this, Loveline begins asking me if I have found a Cameroonian boyfriend yet and if I’m looking. I was a little taken aback, and just replied with “No. I’m not looking. I’m getting married. I cannot date anyone else, I already have someone.” This didn’t end the conversation unfortunately. She responded so matter-of-factly with “Well, you are allowed to have a boyfriend in Cameroon and a boyfriend in America you know.” Oh really? Says…..Cameroon officials? Where is this coming from? Haha. I tried to explain that no, in fact I wasn’t, “In Canada you are only allowed one spouse, and cheating on your spouse is not allowed. Many people will divorce if they catch their husband or wife cheating.” Still, she responded “Well, I think it will be ok with your fiance to do this. You can just ask him? He will say yes, it is a long time.” At this point, I just burst out laughing. No, I don’t think that will be ok, ha ha. After finally understanding that I was not interested in getting myself a Cameroonian boyfriend she says “So you think you can go for the rest of the time without a special friend? It will be long.” “Yea, should be fine thanks.” Just to finish up the conversation on a positive note, she says “Well, your boyfriend will be very happy to not get illed by you in case you have illness from a boyfriend here. There are many illness from sex, so now you will be sure to be safe from that.” Yea, one of the many bonuses of not sleeping around with random locals in Cameroon. So random.
Heather and Kat showed up around 10 am and we left for our hike to Station Mountain. One of the guys at work, Celestine, gave me directions through the local villages and back roads to get there. I was a little concerned considering there are no street signs or anything, its all 2 roads after the church, before the school, by the shop, not the road that goes up–more to the right a bit, I think…haha. I am starting to get a sense of this place though, even in the villages outside of town after all the time I have spent in the field. I easily found the church, the school, and the shop, and we were off to start our hike. It took us a total of 3 and a half hours to get back to my place. The hike itself was pretty steep, but much nicer than taking the dirty and polluted road up. It was super hot; we were all sweating and feeling a bit dizzy. Once we reached the top, the view of Bamenda was pretty spectacular. This city is huge–I will be adding my panoramic photos sometime this week of it on jenmcq.smugmug.com. On the way down, Heather’s leg had been bugging her, so we took the road back to the original back road. We stopped in at the handicraft shop. There was a ton of stuff, I think they provide for the other 2 craft shops in town (yes only two). So, if anyone has any special requests, let me know soon.
We went back to my place, rinsed off a bit and tried to cool down before heading into town. Our original plan was to go to the trade fair; but we were all getting the shakes from not eating and our hot hike. We stopped at a restaurant called Kidex, a somewhat cute place with a large covered balcony. The balcony had strings of bright plastic flowers along the overhang and brightly coloured plastic chairs. Extremely tacky, but better than dirty and disgusting. When we finally got a copy of the menu, we were informed that they were sold out of almost everything except njama njama (cooked bitter green leafs with tomatoes and onions), rice, and I believe they had some fou fou left (corn flour and water mixed together to create a mushy paste). None of those meals sounded exactly what we wanted at this point, considering our exhaustion, heat, and level of hunger. We opted for cokes, very nutritious meal. I could have really gone for a booster juice, the berry tornado flavour, with an energy booster…in fact, I’ve been craving a fruit smoothy type drink for the past couple weeks. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to happen. Emily pointed out to me that I talk about food 60% of the time on this thing…as I’m write this I think she may be right.
While we were at Kidex, we met some peace corps guys. They seemed pretty nice, regular guys. We talked about Bamenda and how they plan to survive for 2 years here, ha ha. We all exchanged numbers before leaving; we plan to go to Batibo’s cultural celebration that one of the guys is helping plan for the 22nd. Should be a pretty exciting one. Sunde met us at Kidex and the girls left to go home. Sunde and I went to the market to buy some groceries and stuff. He used to work in one of the stalls on Commercial Ave selling used backpacks, so he knows all the people in the street market. They all kept asking if I was his ‘new woman’, I have a feeling Sunde has a few women; everywhere we went he was making up excuses and putting new numbers in of women, ha ha. As we were walking home, I told Sunde about the sex talk I had had with Loveline. His response was somewhat different than expected. He laughed about Loveline talking to me about it and what not; however, he then said that if I’m not going to have sex with Cameroonians, I could marry one to bring to Canada–it is the nice thing to do. “It can really help someone Jennifer.” Ah, so if I’m not willing to sleep with the guy, at least marry him. Ha ha.
[If your name is Dawn or Pieter Baljet, Brian or Deb McQuhae, please skip this next little story. If you decide to read it, know that I am still staying till December 16...]
We were supposed to meet that night at 8 pm in front of the main gates; however, I received a text from Heather that she no longer wanted to go and Kat was afraid to make the trip alone. I decided to go and pick up Kat at her place and go to the main stadium after. I knew that she lived near Nkwen, a district about 15 minutes by bike away, but I had never been to her home. We spoke briefly on my crappy cell phone with awful service and all I heard Ntassem. So, I went out to catch a bike to meet her. We drove through Nkwen, past the town and turned onto this long, somewhat paved road. The further along we went, the less houses and shops there were. I kept asking if he was sure this was the way. He kept reassuring me, but asking me if I was sure she lived in Ntassem. I started calling Kat to double check on her street name. My phone does this odd thing where it randomly turns on and off for no reason; it seems to only really happen when I desperately want to use my phone. As I am trying to call Kat, we stop at a road block. There are police roadblocks all over Cameroon, but this one was different. There were 4 fairly large guys in jeans and dirty t-shirts holding machetes; they were probably about 25 or so years old. I tried to remain calm as the shone their flashlights in our eyes and demanded to see our ids and papers. I passed over my photocopy of my passport page and visa for Cameroon. They looked at it for some time, just staring and flipping it over and back again; so, I said, “It’s a photocopy of my passport.” “I know what it is!” the biggest guy barked at me. He then asked me what we were doing on this road. I told him I had come to pick up a friend of mine. When I said that, he decided to let us go. As soon as we got through the block, I started to ask my driver what was going on. He explained that the guy had just told his friends to let us go, because our way back they would have two whites to look forward to. He tells me that these guys often take bikes from drivers and do what they want with the passengers; simply being robbed would be a good option for us at this point. He says that we have to find another road out once we get to my friend’s house, but he doesn’t know the area at all. Just as he is explaining this to me, Kat calls.
Kat and Heather were a little nervous going out and what not; I don’t mention anything that’s happening at this point, just ask her where her house is. She pauses to think and says Ntambessi. Ntambessi is right in the center Nkwen; we had passed it about 15 or so minutes ago. We are now driving on a dirt road that is so bumpy and mangled it looks like it was made this way on purpose. When I tell the driver this he starts swearing. I’m sure it was directed at me, but he told me we were going to be ok, and not to worry. He says that we have to turn around and go back through the road block, its too dangerous to drive any further on this road now that it’s dark. So, we turn around; I immediately felt nauseous and light headed. I tried to take deep breaths, but the situation was now out of my hands. I just had to wait. As we drove up, the four guys were hassling another bike looking at their papers and questioning them. They hadn’t turned to stop us until we were quite close; this is when they realized who we were. My driver starts yelling that he’s sorry, we went down the wrong road, it was a mistake. As he’s yelling this and we are getting closer and closer, the men start waving their machetes and spreading out in the road attempting to slash whatever they might get a shot at. My driver swerved betwen two of them and sped around the corner, just missing one of the machetes on his left. I thought for sure it was going to hit us, or at least the front tire of the bike.
For the next 15 or so minutes, I don’t think I said anything except “thank you, thank you, you are amazing, thank you” to my driver. He could have easily made a deal with those guys just to hand over the whiteman and he wouldn’t have been in any danger. Instead, he decided to put his life on the line for me. He introduced himself to me, his name is Elvis. Once we hit Ntambessi, we had a few minutes before Kat got there to catch our breaths and reflect on what had just happened. He explained to me that “This is Africa Jennifer, we cannot go where we want. Thieves and bad men are everywhere in Cameroon; it is very dangerous, even for Cameroonians. You have to be very careful here, it’s never safe.” I think for the first time, I really realized how dangerous it can be here.
We picked up Kat and finally made our way to the Trade Fair to meet Sunde. The fair was being held in the main Stadium in Bamenda; it is huge–check it out. There were people everywhere, and stands selling everything you can imagine. From crafts and art to cakes and roasted fish to canola and palm oil to beer and palm wine to cell phones and internet plans, they had everything at this fair. They also had games at the fair; we didn’t play any but they were a little different. They were mostly dice and gambling related games; however, all the prizes were either pots, pans, tupperware, or dishes–not your average stuffed animals or blow up hammers here. We walked around a bit at first; we saw a dance off on one of the smaller stages. Then we found the main stage, we saw a girl who had an awful voice singing along to a popular Cameroonian song. Hundreds of people were there watching, I don’t think it was for the music though. She was wearing tight white pants and a tight white shirt shaking everything humanly possible to shake. A lot of pretty inappropriate sexual moves considering there were small children in the audience. Ha ha. Kat and I were a little stunned; well, that is, until we decided we should take some dance classes here, ha ha. The next performer was called DJ Bebe. The kid could not have been more than 13; he was about 4 feet tall with a white baseball hit and white plastic rimmed sunglasses. He turned on some music that reminded me of that hamster dance song, and spent a good hour dancing and jumping around. Everyone started screaming and cheering when he did the robot; really, it was quite strange. Kat and I were moving in and out of people trying to get the best view of the kid while laughing hysterically at what we could see.
While we were standing on the side of the stadium watching the show, a man approached us. Sunde had gone to grab a friend from the main gates, so we were alone for a bit. He kept asking me to come with him and sleep with him and trying to put his hand on my waist. After the nights events, I was getting a little frustrated by people hassling me in general. I kept smacking his hand away and telling him to get lost, but nothing. He had been drinking quite heavily. A woman came over to Kat and I to ask us if we would support her (look at what she’s selling and buy some). She was selling packages that looked like larger soya sauce plastic packets. Inside though, was not soya sauce, but whiskey or gin. She told us we could buy it wholesale if we wanted to sell some, or buy it as a single packet. The packet had about 4 to 5 ounces in it and was 100 CFA (about $2 US). We were buying ourselves two when Sunde finally came back. I was hoping he would get rid of the guy for me. We all bought a whiskey packet, then the guy who wouldn’t leave me alone asked if we would buy him one. I responded with the obvious ‘no, get out of here you creep’, Sunde however, just handed over his whiskey packet and told the guy that we had to leave but to enjoy the whiskey. It worked. Suppose sometimes being forceful and pushy isn’t the best approach to those situations–think I’d continue to be forceful in those situations though. I already look like an easy target, don’t need to accentuate that any more.
We then went to one of the many bars in the fair to hang out. There were five of us, and Sunde and his friend decided to pay for all the drinks. In Cameroon, if you invite someone out for a meal or a drink, you are responsible for paying. Not sure what happens when its a mutual decision to meet for a meal or drink….ha ha. Kat and I were lucky enough to have Sunde who showed us where the lovely latrines were. You had to pay to use them, otherwise you used the bush. Not sure why we had to pay, there is no way they had ever been cleaned. Ha ha. When we came back from the bathroom, we were both ready to go and began asking Sunde to call Donald, another one of our co-workers. Donald was supposed to give us a ride home, but he wasn’t picking up his phone. So, Sunde and his friend kept buying more drinks and trying to convince us to stay longer. Finally, Kat and I decided we could call my new man, Elvis to drive us home. Sunde wanted to escort both of us home and didn’t think we could fit four on his bike; however, we convinced him we could squeeze on so he could get back to his friends sooner. To fit all of us on Elvis’s bike, Elvis pretty much had to sit on Kat’s lap; it was definitely a tight fit. We all made it home safe, though it was quite late considering we had to meet at 7 am to catch a bus the next morning to Santa.
On my walk to the motor park at 6:45 or so, I saw about 5 different jogging groups. The young people in Cameroon are quite concerned with appearances, weight, and fashion. Every morning during the week, all my neighbours listen and watch this exercise show on the radio or tv, depending on whether they have a tv. Its mostly just walking and marching in one spot, while this strange guy counts and claps–not really too much of a workout. But it is interesting that so many people here are concerned with that; not something I’ve seen in other developing nations. I waited for Kat at the park, and we caught a car to Santa where we were meeting Eric, one of the VSO volunteers. Eric picked us up in Santa in his friend, Vincent’s truck and seven of us left for Awing. Awing was about an hour drive on bumpy dirt roads outside of Santa. We drove to the base of Mount Lefo to begin our hike.
The hike started on a nice path, not marked, but well used. After about an hour and a half of hiking, the path started to become a little harder to follow, and soon we were following the paths made by water coming down the mountain during the recent rainy season. It was still fairly easy to walk and hike, until we came to a somewhat wooded area. It was mostly shrubs, skinny trees, and weeds; however, it was not so easy to manoeuvre in there. Trying to step over branches while weeds and prickles wrap around your legs. After two and a half hours, we reached the top! It was a pretty difficult hike, we were all fairly tired by the time we got up there. We stopped for a snack–Kat and I shared some yoghurt and an orange–and to take some photos and catch our breath. Before heading down, Eric and I began considering the option of taking a route to go around the forested area and then cut back to the trail. After a quick look and general assessment, we all thought it seemed alright and started down our new path.
The beginning of our new trail seemed great; however, things quickly started to change. There was a large cliff separating us from the original path and our new route began to get quite a bit steeper. Soon the dried up water paths we were following were overgrown with vegetation. The grass was above my head at many points. As we walked further, it only got worse. The paths would randomly drop down anywhere between 2 to 5 feet without a warning. We started to hold on to the tall grasses on either side of us in case of these drops, so you could fall back instead of forward onto your face. I could feel bruises forming all over my back, legs and arms. As we kept going, our legs began to get much more tired; we would sit and hop along with our legs under us, sliding down the grassy path. Tom was in front, clearing the way by sliding down. Sitting and hopping made the drops hurt a lot less and gave your legs a break, but soon I could feel it in my arms, and would need to try walking again. It was a painfully long 4 hours down. We just had to keep going; everyone was tired, exhausted, and cut up; but we kept on moving. When we finally reached this path at the bottom to someone’s farm, there was a waterfall there. I had been out of water for a few hours now, so I was happy to see some fresh water. No one hesitated drinking it, just jumped under to cool down and drink. As nice as it was to see that waterfall, we still had no idea where we were and how to get back to where we started. Luckily, Vincent had grown tired after about 30 minutes and turned back to where we had parked the car. He had been waiting for us ever since. Unfortunately, everyone was attending a “Cry Die”, the funeral ceremony in Cameroon. We could hear the guns shots going off the whole time we were climbing the mountain; shots are fired throughout the cry die to release the spirits from the body. All of the houses in the same village outside of Awing we walked by were empty. Facing total exhaustion, we all just kept walking, trying to laugh about the situation we had gotten ourselves into. We finally stumbled upon a couple of young kids who, when asked about the high school we had parked at, looked at us like we were nuts; apparently the school was not within walking distance. So, we kept walking, hoping to hit a road that a car might be able to make it up. We reached another home with a few women home and asked what quarter of Awing we were in and where the closest main road was. Although there wasn’t a main road close, cars could access a road to the left if we kept walking. We called Vincent and let him know the quarter we were in and he set out to find us. We kept walking, the last bit was hill after hill; every time we came to the top of one hill I would almost not want to look ahead, knowing it was probably another hill. Sure enough, it would be, ha ha. We finally hit a junction and had no idea which way to turn. With no one around we started to wonder what our next move should be when we heard a car. Everyone started to get excited, hoping for Vincent. Sure enough, Vincent’s big pick up truck came bellowing around the corner, bouncing up and down over the pot holes and cracks in the dirt. I have never been so happy to get into a small space with so many smelly people, ha ha. Sitting felt so good, although my legs and arms were burning and itching from all the cuts and scratches I had gotten from the bush whacking we had done. It didn’t matter, we were back, and heading home.
Our hike lasted 6 and a half hours, and was one of the most exhausting experiences physically and mentally, that I’ve faced in a while. Kat and I were finally back in Bamenda by 7:30, a short 12 and a half hour day out. We parted our separate ways at City Chemist Roundabout; I helped her catch a bike home, then caught myself a ride. The driver going home told me he would not drop me at the Rendez-Vous Junction; my home and GHAPE are right beside the shops at the junction. I said it was right before the junction and asked why he would not drop me there. He explained that that junction always has ‘bad men’ and ‘drunks’ who are up to no good, all the time. Now that it was dark, it wasn’t safe for me to be seen getting off a bike near there; he said it was far too dangerous there for a woman, let alone a whiteman who was a woman. He let me off just before my place and I went around the back of GHAPE to my apartment, constantly checking over my shoulder.
All in all the weekend was…good…I suppose. I now have some girlfriends who want to get out and see Cameroon with me. I was also able to meet some wonderful people; Elvis’s actions almost make up for the machetes and road block. There are thieves, hooligans, and murderers everywhere; however, when life is not valued, dangerous situations become much more prevalent. There is no safety with police or security, as they are all wiling to take a few francs instead of protecting the rights of citizens or enforcing the law. It is unfortunate, but a fact of life here. It is just something I will have to accept and learn to work around; taking as many safety precautions as possible.
