| Africa Journal |
| 10.5.99 |
| Okay, I'm starting my journal a bit early since I made it to the airport a full 45 minutes early. Already I'm faced with a bit of confusion, as I don't see my flight posted on the information boards. We're supposed to meet in about half an hour, but I don't see anyone from our group here yet, so I hope Im in the right place. |
| ����������� All right. Time for all my preconceived notions concerning Africa. I just reread a book about African politics last week. It's called Out of Africa by Keith Richburg. He was the West African correspondent for the Washington Post from 1991 to 1994. As a black man and descendant of a slave, he summed up his experience in Africa with one poignant phrase: "There but for the grace of God go I." He was quite disenchanted by the corruption, riots, violence, and sheer evil he saw throughout the continent. He did not appear to subscribe to any dependency theory to explain Africa"s ills. He put the majority of the blame on the Africans themselves. |
| ����������� It's now 8 p.m. and we've been in the air a bit over two hours. I've been lucky enough to have the most companionable of seat-mates. How endearing this man is! We've yet to face the silence that comes so soon after introductions, so I know little of the usual information regarding his identity. In all other matters concerning this, I am quite well-versed, however. He is on his first plane ride ever to visit some old friends from World War Two in France. He hasn't seen them in 54 years! He lives in the Amish part of Pennsylvania and spends much of his time with them. Unmarried, he eats fish and wild turkey with the Amish and takes them to doctors and stores. A simply splendid man, and so generous! |
| 11.5.99 |
| ����������� I hope Mr. Miller made it to his friends all right. We had to leave him to get our connecting flight to Douala. Speaking of, we are now in Africa. |
| ����������� I'm in Africa. I still can't believe it. Tonight, after we'd eaten and gotten settled in at the Presybterian Mission House in Buea, I remarked to Will and Nathan that it's so strange to think that I'm on the same continent where hundreds if not thousands of people have their human rights violated almost daily. Granted, other places have their problems, but Africa just seems so bloody and violent when compared to Asia or South America. As Keith Richburg said in his book, in Africa, they've stopped counting the bodies. |
| ����������� But that's not what I've seen so far. It's true that there's a wildness in the air - the cacophony of various insects outside my window at this moment is like nothing I've heard before - there are so many insects, so many unknown sounds! But the human things, they're not that unknown. Things here are civilized. The way the Cameroonians walked from house to house, chatting with each other, with friends; the way the taxi drivers greeted each other with familiaritiy - it seems like someone would miss these people if they were gone. Like they'd not only count the bodies but mourn them and remember them. So far, this is the Africa I wanted it to be - primitive and unrefined by Western standards but with people who care about their lives and their communities. But then the question begs to be asked: if they do care, why haven't they changed the corrupt system that allowed for Paul Biya campaign material to be exclusively displayed at the Douala airport? Why haven't they cleaned up the squalor of the stacks of old tires and burned-out buildings? But America has it's problems as well. I mean, just in South Carolina, we re-elect Strom Thurmond every six years, and God knows that's the wrong thing to do. I'm not sure that judgment should be passed so quickly on these people. I'm sure they have hardships and problems that I can't even begin to fathom, starting with a very different way of being taught and raised. I have lots of questions and not so many answers. I only hope that some of them will be addressed in the days to come. And, for now, Africa is waiting. |
| 13.5.99 |
| ����������� This entry is being hastily written after a long night of drinking, smoking, and playing cards. Today has been a stupendous day, though, and there are so many things worth writing down that I can't wait until tomorrow morning. |
| ����������� The day began with an early morning walk to the bank. Unfortunately, the back was closed for Keep Buea Clean Day. I was impressed with the civic responsibility that this suggested, even if in practice it doesn't quite work out so well. In fact, it seems as though instilling responsibility in a good work ethic is more important, but that's coming from someone steeped in capitalism. After breakfast, I got a completely different glimpse of Cameroon from the drive up from Douala. Buea is marvelous. The living quarters reflect something that I hadn't noticed much of in Douala: pride. While things are still rough-hewn by Western standards, old town Buea was clean, neat, and well-maintained. Even more noticeable was the friendliness of almost everyone we encountered. Southern hospitality is nothing compared to this. Once again, the scenery was breathtaking. I'm no poet, and it seems like you need poetry or one hell of a camera to capture the stuff we're seeing. The birds, the flowers, even the lizards are all brightly painted and exotic-looking. Just one more step removed from the doldrum of South Carolina. |
| ����������� The University of Buea was intriguing as well. Almost immediately, I noticed the massive campaign to stop the use of pidgin English. It seems like something indigenous is being destroyed while something more Western is being forced, but I suppose I could say the same thing about the crackdown on bad Southern grammar in schools back home. By the time we got to Victor's lecture, I was pretty exhausted, but by the end I perked up considerably. His pieces of trivia concerning the current political situation were especially noteworthy. For instance, he told us that on a recent referendum, the voters were given the options of "yes" or "oui." Also, he said that Cameroon currently has over 170 political parties. Simply astounding, and heavily divisive. Overall, I found the brief glimpse of university life in Cameroon to be strikingly similar to Western university life. In the dorms, someone was even playing a rap remix of Pachabel's "Canon." The similarities between the two cultures seem to be easy to find, but you have to wonder how much of that is recent and Westernization or modernization. |
| ����������� I'm losing horribly at rummy. |
| ����������� I know it's only been about 12 hours since I last wrote, but we're taking a lengthy bus ride from the Nigerian border to Limbe, so I thought I'd get a head start on today's activities. Once again, we've had an incredibly eventful day. The tea plantations we saw this morning were extraordinarily large. I realized that even with all my time in the South, I'd never seen a real plantation. The work looked really hard and really tedious. I can't imagine changing places with the girls working in those fields, even though they looked about the same age as me. Of course, the plantations that produce palm oil would be even worse places to work. It's actually dangerous. |
| ����������� Limbe was unlike either Douala or Buea. The inhabitants didn't seem terribly friendly, especially in contrast to the workers of the tea plantations who ran out to greet us and wave. At times I felt like I was part of a parade. I guess it's the skin color. I'm actually quite surprised that the colonial experience and the effects haven't completely jaded these people. I'm sure that there's got to be some negative racism somewhere, but I haven't seen it yet. |
| ����������� I can certainly see why the inhabitants don't travel much. The roads are in truly terrible shape. It doesn't seem like much industry would be able to develop without good roads. Once again, it seems as if a few resources were put to use - if people demanded that conditions be changed - there could be so much progress. But I guess that apathy is worldwide. But I think I-d do almost anything before I'd starve to death. But then again, these people aren't starving. And yet the best way to ensure that you don't starve in the future is to make progress. What a vicious cycle. |
| ����������� Okay, I didn't think that I was terrified of heights, but climbing on the erupting Mount Cameroon was pretty damn scary. The whole time I just kept thinking about how stupid it'd be for me to die for such a trivial thing, and all the things I'd never get accomplished. But as I was climbing down from the volcanic ash, a little child I had been trying to exchange Nigerian money with came up the slope and held my hand to help me to the bottom. Though I imagine he was motivated by economic rather than compassionate reasons (that's what Will says anyway, such a realist), the gesture was still much appreciated by me. Maybe I'm na�ve, but I can't help but believe there's a possibility that he truly just wanted to help me out. I remember when I was that young, I was never so aware of economic concerns that I didn't still feel things. It'd be a terrible thing to be cynical at the age of six. |
| 14.05.99 |
| ����������� Another enlightening day, and a day where a lot of the comments I'd written in here previously and ideas that I hadn't expressed explicitly were addressed. For instance, I had ignorantly asserted that apathy and indifference were pervasive. I couldn't understand why the people were not more vocal in their opposition to the CPDM. Today, I saw two very different versions of people striving to make a difference. |
| ����������� The morning was a brief venture to the medical clinic of Dr. Biaka (spelling?). The place was stunningly done - very posh and modern, especially for a developing country, though still leaps and bounds better than my doctor's office. Marble floors, painted tiles, hand-carved balustrades, and glass encasings all reinforced the luxury of this place. At first, I was really impressed that this single man would be willing to invest so much money to bring this beautiful artifice to a country that generally lacks '"grand" architecture. Dr. Biaka spoke of the need to make his patients happy, to make them think of life rather than death. This didn't seem like such a bad thing. But then I reflected on things for bit and realized that Dr. Biaka could have conceivably sent literally hundreds of students to the university for the same amount he spend on his marble floors. Such waste and excess in the midst of needy and poverty-stricken people is hardly commendable - indeed, it is foolhardy and loathsome. But on the hand, I understand that Dr. Biaka is in a business and that his intention is to make money. I sincerely hope that he is indeed able to start the NGO he spoke of (though I'm not sure that Princess Diana is the worthiest of namesakes). In the meantime, though, Dr. Biaka is not the saint he appears to be. |
| ����������� Dr. Luma, on the other hand, had to be one of the most impressive individuals I have ever met. I truly felt inspired upon leaving the Children's Reading Corner. The stories she told were marvelous, and it was so kind of her to show us the traditional Cameroonian games. The real fun began when she began to tell us the history of the CRC. She was so dedicated and impassioned, I couldn't help but be caught up in the fervor. Unlike Dr. Biaka, Dr. Luma was giving her time, her money, her resources, not for personal gain but for the hopes that primary school children would come to learn how to read and so that advanced students would have a place to study in peace. I immediately told myself that this was a worthy cause. My own love of reading and past experience in working in libraries (I once even wanted to be a librarian!) made this especially poignant for me. I should probably add that one of my majors is literature. I think my passion for literature rivals Dr. Luma's. I think she has the right idea by approaching the problems she sees in Cameroon from the bottom, to get to the root of the problem. |
| ����������� We also went to a public hospital today as well. It was how I expected it to be, just like you see on commercials and television programs. I wasn't overly concerned with the risk of infection - I mean, DeLancey goes there every year, and he's still walking around. And, God, that was nothing compared to walking on that volcano. At least by visiting the hospital, you learn something about real people's lives. It was so surprising to learn that the hospital houses people recovering from surgeries in the same room as people with infectious diseases - people are separated only by gender, not by affliction. I mean, it's common sense that you're going to be more prone to infection after a surgery. It seems worth it to build a wall or something down the middle of the room. It almost seems like a waste to try to cure these people at all if they're just going to contract something in the recovery room. Not that these people shouldn't be given a chance just because they can't afford Dr. Biaka's prices - rather, they should be given a real chance and not some half-way attempt to try to save them. |
| 15.05.99 |
| ����������� Today was our slowest day thus far, as far as activities go, but the most magical. We went to Bwassa, the village of a university student named Simon. The trip there was nice, as we got to speak with Victor and Thomas in a very casual, candid setting. I ended up giving my copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude to Thomas to read. We also discussed the influence that Islam has had on Cameroon and the general effects of Islam throughout the world. |
| ����������� The trip to the village was interesting enough. The garb of the chief wasn't quite what I expected - the Western shirt and stocking cap didn't seem to be either royal or African to me. It makes me wonder how they can really complain about the young people in their villages becoming more westernized when they themselves aren't doing much to discourage that my dressing themselves in Western clothing. After the chat with the chief, we went to his "small" garden. I was surprised to learn that it consisted of acres and acres of different plants and crops. That's not exactly what I had envisioned when he said it was small. The performances of the children in costume afterwards was interesting to watch as the spiritualism of these "Christian" people made itself known. I'm still not sure how these people are able to reconcile their native religions to that of Christianity. I don't understand what the benefits are of mixing the two. I found it rather difficult to believe that the chief turned himself into an elephant in the sacred forest, but I was even more taken aback to learn that Victor supported the allegation. |
| ����������� The chicken house we ate at for dinner was a nice change. I felt a certain familiarity with a traditional contemporary African family by eating there. And the whole existence of the chicken houses shows entrepreneurial spirit. And the food was damn good too. |
| ����������� The night was highly charged, politically. We went to a crowded bar that was already frenzied because a soccer game was on. Two gentlemen joined us at our table and started talking about politics. One of them told us that we would never see an uprising because the people weren't willing to give their lives when all they wanted was peace. Another said that he wasn't sure what to expect if the SDF did take power because "you can never tell with an African in control." This seemed to me to almost be support for the colonial system. The party broke up with a group of SDF supporters screaming propaganda and the police breaking up the uproar. |
| ����������� Tomorrow we leave for Bafoussam. Buea has been a nice city - big enough to find things to do but small enough not to lose your bearings. It's kind of sad to leave Victor, Thomas, and Esther behind. I wonder if I'll ever see them again. But I guess that how it is when you travel. |
| 16.05.99 |
| ����������� Today was the long and tedious drive to Bafoussam. It included a stop at a conventional market place. The drive in all actuality was simply stunning. I keep thinking of all the beautiful sights I've seen in the US - the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, the Smoky Mountains - and while those things are lovely, after looking at them, you go a few miles down the road and you're back in the midst of industrialized, telephone-poled squalor. This land is virgin compared to those other places. Every time we turn a corner of the road or come over a hill and have some new breathtaking scene before us, I try hard to conjure up a comparable image of beauty but have failed each time. I don't have the vocabulary to describe it. The sweeping plains, the sloping mountains, the lush glades - most of it adds up to beauty that most Americans can hardly imagine. Is this what Archenland was like in the Narnian Chronicles? Everything here is just so alive. |
| ����������� The market wasn't quite as inspiring. The morning had been rainy and the ground was reduced to a thick mud, reminiscent of the mud pools of a barrier island in South Carolina. We trudded through it stolidly; I soiled yet another pair of khakis, and I really didn't see anything terribly different from the market in Buea. There was one interesting spectacle. A traditional medicine man was hawking his wares at the market, from finely ground powders of questionable origins to monkey skulls. Other than him, there were just the usual traders of spices, peppers, fruits, tires, jewelry, radios, tupperware, and a variety of other items. Unfortunately, Nathan and I did not find any Fourre cookies for our consumption. |
| ����������� Later on in the day, we stopped at the Bufang waterfall. It was mesmerizing. The gorge it emptied into was so steep and so far below us. The waterfall itself was perfect, cascading glassily a few hundred feet into the pool at the bottom. There was an alter near the apex of the fall where we were standing. DeLancey explained that natural wonders like this often have followers that perform sacred rituals or sacrifices. We couldn't go far into the opening because our driver told us it was a sacred place. The oddest thing about this whole matter is that the practitioners of these rituals probably consider themselves to be Christians or Muslims, but they have yet to surrender their traditional religions completely. I wonder that some cultures and religions are very strong and have resisted any infiltration by other religions like Hinduism and Jainism. But some of these Africans seem almost eager to incorporate new religions into their own. |
| ����������� We arrived in Bafoussam in time to see the bustling traffic of a commercial city right before the sun set. It was a Sunday evening, but people were out in throngs. Despite the heavy traffic and carefree driving, there was only one lane of traffic for either direction. It doesn't appear that the inhabitants of Bafoussam allowed for much potential of growth. Though this is a busy city, I don't see how it can continue to grow without changes to the infrastructure. But I guess that "progress" will find a way. |
| 17.05.99 |
| ����������� We left the crass attempt at a luxurious hotel this morning to drive to Bamenda. But I should not neglect our breakfast. The omelettes we had this morning with cheese, ham, garlic, spices, everything you could ever want - marvelous! I'm surprised at how preoccupied I've become with my food. When I'm hungry, that's almost all I can think about. Rick was terribly ill today. I went to wake him up this morning, as planned, only to find him throwing up on the wall, the doors, and the floor next to his bed. We left him at the hotel for our first forays then drove to the mission in Bamenda without incident, although he did throw up behind the bushes once we got there. |
| ����������� This morning, we went to a palace as part of our time to allow Rick to recuperate. It was the Bafang palace. It wasn't terribly impressive, to be honest. The architecture of the place was fascinating; I'd never seen anything quite like it. And the homes of all the wives with their many, many children! Because the Fon inherits his father's wives, his family is extremely prodigious. As such, he may be a powerful man in the community but he is hardly wealthy. The meeting room for the elders was a bit tainted: one fluorescent light bulb hung above the sacred meeting place. I don't know why these traces of modernization disappoint me so. At least the carved pillars outside the hall were truly African. They were so intricately carved, so carefully constructed. That part of the visit was truly a taste of the Africa you see in films and books. |
| ����������� The drive down to Bamenda from the overlooking cliff would put any view of Los Angeles to shame. We counted about four waterfalls cascading from the edge of the cliff. The city here is quieter than Bafoussam but without the charm of Buea, from what I have seen thus far. We did have a bit of fun at the crafts place up the hill from the Baptist Mission where we're staying. They have tons of original souvenirs, and we're going back to stock up. There seems to be a bit of irony that we have to go to a place that was put in place by foreigners to make available these truly African wares though. It's kind of like being on the Indian reservations at home and having the tourists be the only ones to buy the authentic Indian things. |
| ����������� There are a lot of white people at this mission. I felt like I was having more of the African experience in Buea, but these white people aren't tourists (they're mostly missionaries), so I suppose that they're just as much a part of the present Cameroonian scene as the Cameroonians themselves are. Still, I feel like I would have rather come here before, many years before, to see the Africa untainted by the white man. But I guess that'll never be. And I'm sure that the Africans feel much worse about this than I do. |
| 18.05.99 |
| ����������� Today we made our trek back to Handicrafts in our attempt to buy the place out. I picked up a number of things for myself and my friends, although I was holding out for some material I saw in the market yesterday. Most of our group bought quite a bit, from giant bronze masks to little carved elephants. My only main concern for souvenirs is coins. I'm happy to report that I was able to pick up two Nigerian coins at Handicrafts today. We were half an hour late meeting DeLancey back at the mission, but we still made it to our engagements punctually. And what engagements they were. |
| ����������� Our first stop was a government-run school about 20 minutes outside of Bamenda. We were able to walk into all the classes still in session, which were mostly fourth to seventh grades, I think. In each room, all the pupils stood up upon our entrance and recited, "Good day, sirs." It was so charming! But the conditions of the school were appalling. Anywhere from 90-120 students were crammed into one teacher's room. These solitary teachers taught every subject to his/her students. There was no leeway for aptitude; regardless of intelligence, children of the same age were lumped together for the duration of their studies. Besides the normal curriculum, the students were taught to tend a large garden. The produce from this garden was sold and the proceeds helped to fund the school. The upper classes were much small than the lower classes because so many students chose or were forced to drop out. It was very disheartening. |
| ����������� I think that education is the impetus for any progress that can expect to be made in a given area. I've often thought that this was a problem with the South, that so little value was placed on education because people with only high school degrees or less could still find good-paying jobs in textile mills and factories. Granted, many of these people seem happy with the money they earn, despite that the labor itself is mind-numbing and heart-breaking. The biggest problem seems to be with the people who cannot content themselves with this but who are offered no other outlet for their skills, whether they be artistic or intellectual in nature. The same problem presents itself here in Bamenda. The children who have the natural aptitude don't seem to be able to do anything with it because of the lack of resources available, including a lack of good books and knowledgeable teachers, though the teachers themselves have their own hardships with huge, heterogeneous classes. But there's never an easy solution to problems of this magnitude. How can you convince an unschooled populace that it is in their best interest to pay the extra money to ensure that the best education possible is received for future generations? The scope must be shifted from immediate needs to future ones. |
| ����������� After the visit to the school, we walked to Rebecca's sister Mary's house for lunch. We had fufu and some type of greens but not ndeley. A man from the Peace Corps dropped by and joined us. He had a lot of interesting things to tell us about his stay in Africa and seemed to really enjoy his work, more so than a lot of people in America who have higher-paying jobs with better conditions. Mary showed us how she had prepared the meal. Like most Cameroonians, her kitched is separate from her house. The food was made over a wood-burning fireplace; the pots were held up by large rocks. It seems odd that these people that have a television should still use such a primitive means of cooking - coal stoves don't seem very hard to keep up. But I guess some things are universal, and the desire to watch TV seems to be one of those. The food was good enough, and I think we were all satisfied. |
| ����������� Julie, Christa, and I went to the market next. I was able to buy a red scarf and some purple material for drapes. The market was a maze of booths and vendors, but toward the end I felt I knew the place pretty well. For some reason, when I was in the market, I felt more like I was in the Middle East than in Africa. After a brief stop at Presbook, we met up with the rest of the crew for a meeting with premiere human rights activist Albert Mukong. He had a lot of thoughtful things to say. The Christian overtones in his ideology were unmistakable. He told us that the problem with Cameroon was that rights are granted and protected by laws but in Cameroon there is no rule of law. He went on to give some actual cases and then outlined some specific human rights violations within Cameroon. The man was very impressive, certainly one of the more heroic figures I've ever met, but it was rather sad to see him place so much stock in the United Nations. While it's true that all the member countries made a pledge to uphold liberty, there are overriding interests that render the Declaration of Human Rights useless at times. The day has not come when pledges are honored. It seems to me that a better way to correct human rights violations, rather than raise awareness externally (and Cameroon's infractions aren't nearly so bad as to warrant much of the admittedly limited attention of the world), the emphasis should be on reforming or replacing the regime in power. Ultimately, the current status of human rights in Cameroon affects only Cameroonians themselves, so the direct benefits to be derived from action are for them. I'm not saying that there shouldn't be international aid or that people shouldn't care about the plight of Cameroonians, just that rather than simply condemn a country for its practices, human rights groups should push to change the attitudes of the people so that such behavior is intolerable. I guess I'm saying more activism or militarism is sometimes warranted. |
| ����������� We went from Albert Mukong?s offices immediately to the home of Fru Ndi, the leader of the SDF. We were received very warmly and Mr. Ndi answered our questions thoroughly and candidly. His main argument was for a federal system where each province had a share of the national budget and where some things were dealt with on a provincial level rather than national. He had a lot of good ideas and a nice, easy way of explaining things to us, bringing the big picture into focus. His wife was also kind and sent us away with popped corn and heated cashews. I would like to see Fru Ndi come to power, to see if he would really implement, or be able to implement, his ideas. It doesn't appear that he's going to give up any time soon, so I may get my chance. |
| 19.05.99 |
| ����������� The day began with a meager breakfast, even by our modest standards. I had two pieces of buttered French bread and water. After breakfast, we drove out to Bafut where we visited another palace. This was much more interesting that the first. One of the Fon's wives, Rose, led us around. Each wife has her own living quarters and kitchens. The Fon had four wives of his own and 48 inherited wives. His own children numbered 32, while his inherited offspring added almost 200. The primary religion for the inhabitants of the palace was ancestral worship. This didn't conflict at all, according to Rose, with the Protestant faiths of the inhabitants. She showed us a rock where adulterers were tied and where each digit was cut off and fed to the criminal daily until they died. This reminded me of the sacrifices of the albinos that the other Fon's group made to the volcano god. |
| ����������� The men and women of the palace performed an authentic dance for us. The women's dance was lyrical and feminine, with each woman sashaying about and singing. The men's dance was much more volatile in nature. Each man was masquerading as a spirit symbolized by the type of mask he was wearing. The spirits clashed and fought, watched over by a man costumed on stilts. After the performance, we talked to the Fon for a bit. The most interesting I gathered from the chat was the dissonance between the Fon's abhorrence of Westernization and his desire for a stronger export system. A good balance of trade between any countries precludes a demand for the other country's goods. Cameroon can not enter the global market as a strong exporter unless it is willing to import products from its Western trading partners. This seemed to me a fundamental flaw in the Fon's ideology. |
| ����������� After a quest for edible items in Bafut (we ended up with a hand of bananas and 6 loaves of bread), we drove into the countryside toward Njinikom. This country was truly paradise. All I can do is reiterate what I said about the drive to Bafoussam and multiply it a hundred-fold and insert a few photographs to make myself understood. Spectacular. |
| ����������� Last night's meal of okra soup was fairly disgusting. Luckily I found some french fries and moutarde du dijon to quell my appetite. Tomorrow's meal of rice and beans should be better. |
| ����������� We saw 29 waterfalls on our way to Njinikom. |
| 20.5.99 |
| ����������� This day bas been another reserved primarily for travel. We were supposed to go to a parade today in celebration of the unification of francophone and anglophone Cameroon, but the parade didn't begin until 11:00 and we were scheduled to leave from Bamenda at 1:00. Our last meal in Bamenda was a good one - rice and beans. Strangely enough, I liked the rice and beans that we had in Buea a lot better but my peers tell me the dish in Bamenda was better, so I'll defer to them. At the restaurant, we were able to catch parts of the big parade in Yaounde. It was quite a celebration there. |
| ����������� The drive to Kumbo was beautiful but uneventful. I was in quite a bit of pain for the duration of the drive as I had had quite a bit of water to drink before we began and needed very much to find a toilet. I had to wait over 2 hours until we reached the Merryland Hotel, where I promptly relieved myself for a full 40 seconds. |
| ����������� The six of us walked into town after settling in. The purpose was to mingle with the celebrating crowds and to absorb some local culture, but we found a bar practically adjacent to a large Catholic church and requested an enclosed room on the terrace. We ordered a round of beer and played cards all afternoon. We started with poker and then moved to blackjack. Considering that we were gambling with CFA's, it was quite an amusing game. Christa proved to be the most shrewd of us all. I of course lost all my money first. After a couple of hours at cards (which felt very Hemingway-esque to me), we walked back to our hotel amidst the usual calls of "white man" and "homme blanche." I can see how this can become unsettling after a while. Perhaps a color-blind culture will never exist. I don't think the people mean much by it, and the people in Kumbo are quite friendly, all told. |
| ����������� We took our meal in our hotel. We had chicken, potatoes, carrots, green beans, and cabbage. Despite the eurocentricity of the food, I wasn't able to recapture my appetite. The food was nice, though. And of course we partook of the Cameroonian staple, djinno. Everyone turned in early tonight, as we have a long day tomorrow, driving to Founbam in time to actually get things accomplished. All in all, the holiday wasn't quite as festive as I'd expected. Although the way Cameroonians drink, every day seems like a holiday. |
| 21.05.99 |
| ����������� The savannas on the way to Founbam were exactly the way you'd expect Africa to look. Dr. DeLancey said that the savannas we saw were very similar to the land in Kenya that the wild game roams. Here in Cameroon, though, the whild game for the most part has been run off. The land was still lovely to drive across. |
| ����������� After a very brief stop at our hotel, the Hotel de Chalot, we headed into the center of Founbam. The palace of the sultan makes an impressive landmark. We visited there and toured for about an hour and a half. The land around Founbam in inhabited by the Bamoun people. They seemed very fierce and warrior-like, though it appears that they have changed a lot since the palace was first built in 1924. In just this century, the Bamouns have converted to Christianity and Islam and been forced to Westernize. It is sad to see such a rich culture succumb so quickly to outside effects, especially before there is time to preserve and record the histories and traditions of these cultures. I suppose the Bamoun youth bear the brunt of responsibility, though. And as the Fon at Bafut told us, the youth are being lost to American culture. |
| ����������� The Bamoun people had done an admirable job of preserving their culture. Besides the palace and museum, there was a long mural depicting the founding of the Bamoun civilization. It was in disrepair, though, and it appeared that interest in preservation had fallen off sharply with the economic crisis. |
| ����������� The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel. I ordered a European dish (and suffered the scoffing of my colleagues) and ate with DeLancey and Jean, our driver. I worked on my postcards until the others eventually joined me, at which point we had a rather rousing debate about religion and the true meaning of love. For a while I felt like I was in my old element, until Rick pointedly asked Christa, "Do you believe that bullshit in the Bible?" I had to give him a brief lecture on respecting other people's beliefs. You'd have thought he learned that by now in Cameroon. Oh, well. We had supper that evening at the same place we had dined at for lunch, the Royal Caf�. Considering our dining companions for lunch had only been four Peace Corps volunteers, I didn't expect to see many Cameroonians eating there for dinner. I was not disappointed. It makes me wonder how these restaurants stay in business in the off-season. |
| 22.05.99 |
| ����������� After a lengthy drive to Yaounde today, we finished up our trip of the South and anglophone Cameroon. The drive wasn't nearly so beautiful as the other drive we'd had, but I suppose it was the most direct route. Yaounde was fairly unimpressive in terms of beauty, though I suppose it fits the bill for a capital city. To be honest, I wasn't able to survey the landscape adequately as my intestinal disfunctions finally caught up with me in a most violent manner. Luckily it happened at a place that had adequate equipment, namely toilet paper and a working toilet, so it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. After a cursory trip around the city and a stop at the international phone booth place, we settled in at the Madison Hotel. DeLancey, Will, Nathan, Christa, and I immediately partook of the spaghetti offered in the hotel restaurant. This was to be my last contact with my companions for quite some time. I'll skip the gruesome stuff. I will make a point of saying that I did happen to look out of the window right as the sun was setting, and everything looked like it was made of gold. I wish I had my camera with me, but the sun set and everything changed almost immediately. |
| 23.05.99 |
| ����������� Scanning over yesterday's short entry, I am reminded of the countless lasting impressions that I've witnessed today. The morning was pretty dull - early breakfast (skipped,� because of illness), a flight from Yaounde to Maroua (the most useless and longest lines I've ever endured), and then - the North. |
| ����������� Desert. And more desert. Rocky, desolate, uninviting. There are a number of adjectives that sprang to mind. But certainly beautiful in some cold, hard way. And certainly hot. The Argentine lady that joined us is going to be quite unendurable without a good humor by all. |
| ����������� I can't get over how different life is here in the Far North. As were lying back at night, counting the endless stars, I remarked to Julie that I can understand why there's not a strong nationalist feeling among Cameroonians. It seems that the average anglophone leads a life completely and fundamentally different than the Far Northern francophone. The crops grown, the architecture built, the food eaten, the religion practices - all these factors are more than enough to arouse divisiveness in a budding democracy, where each region seems intent upon being supreme. So once again, the issue of Cameroon's relative stability makes itself manifest. |
| ����������� We drove from the airport in Maroua an hour northwest to our hotel. Then we embarked on the most fantastic journey up one of the mountains. When the Muslim slave traders moved into the area, the existing inhabitants were given two options: convert or be a slave. They chose neither and instead moved into the inhospitable but impossibly beautiful mountains. The mountains are carefully terraces and cultivated to provide nourishment for their many inhabitants, making sure to leave not one square inch unplanted. The drive up this terrace was perilous, but we walked back down to better enjoy the unequalled view. From the apex, we could see into Nigeria. At the top of the mountains, we toured the palace of the chief. It was a very harsh, dark place. Flies were buzzing everywhere, even on the faces of the children that ran next to the van, begging for a pen or a bon-bon. That part was heartbreaking. The climb and descent were some of the most privileged moments I think I've ever had. At one point, the group came to a halt and just absorbed the pervading silence. It was beautiful. |
| ����������� I must admit that my night wasn't spent in quite as an enrapturing way. I've done my best not to complain about the conditions (at least in my journal), but I have to admit that the hard mattress, pillow like a bag of rice, completely sweat- and swear-inducing heat, and lack of a toilet and shower deserve remembering. Thus the presence of this paragraph in my journal. And now no more complaining. |
| 24.05.99 |
| ����������� Today was a most exhilarating day. It was the earliest start yet - breakfast was at 5 a.m. We then drove for an hour or so to the Waza Game Preserve. We entered the Preserve at 7:07. By 8:00, we had seen over one hundred elephants, antelopes, giraffes, storks, warthogs, and a lion. DeLancey said that we were extremely lucky. The elephants were some of the first animals we saw. Another group had told us they'd spotted some elephants, so we set off. I expected to see a couple at most. Instead, we saw a cloud of dust with a dark mound in the middle. It turned out to be a herd of over one hundred elephants, including quite a few baby elephants. We left the pack after only an hour or two and headed back to the hotel. It was quite a luxurious place, and I settled in for a nap until lunch time. Lunch left a bit to be desired, as it was only cold chicken and bread. A thunderstorm set in during the afternoon, and I must admit that it was one of the most glorious things I'd seen. After the storm, we went back to the preserve, but it wasn't nearly so fortuitous a visit as before. I fell asleep soon after returning. But the day had been quite enchanting and fun, though it lacked the cultural elements of our other outings. |
| 25.05.99 |
| 2:50pm |
| Because of our tremendous luck yesterday, we decided not to awake as early as planned and instead slated breakfast for 6:30. Once again, we were in the park by 7. As for the animal sightings today, we have seen only 2 warthogs and 2 gazelles. We have had more luck finding large ditches that we have to push the van out of. In fact, at the moment, we are stuck in a prodigious pit. We have been here for about 5 hours now. For the first 3 and a half, we all pushed and slid around in the mud; now, after a couple of pointless efforts, the guide has gone to get help. We are as yet unsure of the nature of this help. For now, everyone's spirits are still high, but our food supply is getting pretty much exhausted. Breakfast this morning was bread and butter, then we passed around small pieces of bread, my cheese, someone's crackers, and Will's cookies. DeLancey contributed Tic-Tacs. It'll be interesting to see what supper turns out to be. We're good on water, thank God. |
| 26.05.99 |
| We were finally rescued just as the sun started to set over the Preserve. By that time, we'd been stuck for over 8 hours and had been in the park for about 11 hours. After my last entry, we busied ourselves in various ways. Rick and I built a fire place from termite dung, dirt, and clay, then gathered dead wood to start a fire. Christa built a spit in case we caught anything to cook. Nathan and Julie busied themselves by whittling spears and arrows from young trees. |
| ����������� Our guide left us at about 2:20. It took him 3 hours to walk about 12-15 miles to find someone. Luckily, there was an anti-poaching unit from Zimbabwe led by a white guy named Craig in the area. The unit, about 12 men strong, came and picked the van out of its rut. It took them a good amount of work, but only a couple of minutes. And we'd been trying for hours! They followed us out of the park to make sure we didn't get stuck again. When we got to the edge of the park, we stopped at their camp to thank them. There they told us that the road to Maroua was treacherous and that we'd never make it in the dark. They offered to let us stay with them, which we gladly accepted. They rounded up some sleeping bags for us. Alicia (the Argentine grandmother) of course wanted to sleep in the wan, and Madeleine (our translator and guide) slept with her. Will, because of his sickness, joined them. The rest of us passed the night in a hut. The Zimbabweans taught us crazy-eights, then Christa and I played shadow puppets. All in all, we spent a rather cheery night at the anti-poaching camp. We left early the next morning, with the anti-poachers following us to ensure our safety. We made the lengthy trip back to Maroua in good time and finally deposited Alicia. After lunch at Emmanuel, my first meal since the bread we'd had the morning before, we drove to the geological monuments of Rumsiki. The land there was truly desolate, in every sense of the word. We settled into our rooms, which were fairly nice, and went on a brief tour of the village. Our first stop was the home of the fortune-teller. The man was supposedly 96 years old and had inherited his abilities from his father. He divined the future by asking a specially-prepared crab a question. Only Julie paid the requisite 1000 CFA's to learn her future. After that stop, we made a tour of the village, where we saw some grave plots of the animists and the women weaving cotton. We were flocked by children asking for coins and pens. One child approached me but didn't ask for anything. Instead he showed me a seed he was carrying and proceeded to tell me about the beautiful flower the seed would produce. He then gave me the seed, free of charge. I spoke with him for quite a bit and learned that his name was Kazmel. He wanted to be a teacher when he grew up. I got his address and maybe we'll correspond. |
| ����������� After the tour, we watched an absolutely spectacular sunset. Everyone was in a jubilant mood and we were all in good spirits after our rescue. Sheep was served for dinner, and then it was off to bed. A long day, to be sure. |
| 27.05.99 |
| ����������� Today was yet another early day. We arose early enough to watch the sunrise, which was at 5:30. Unfortunately there was quite a bit of cloud cover so we didn't see much. We then trekked to the bottom of the canyon. At one point we were only a few hundred feet from Nigeria. The trek lasted nearly two hours, and I felt so ill that I threw up when we got back. We left Rumsiki after breakfast and went to Maroua. There we stayed in a "classic" hotel, like the one in Casablanca, called Relais de la Porte de Mayo. It was pretty chic, I'll have to admit. We stopped by the leather market and fought the salesmen there. Then we sat around and had a good bit of fun. We had to pack for the airplane, which took a while. Then we turned in early. By the way, on the way to Maroua, we drove through the Koza Pass which had lovely scenery, although it was very reminiscent of the village we visited on our first day in the North. |
| 28.05.99 |
| ����������� The countdown is on. Today we drove from Maroua to Garoua. We took the scenic route, as always. We stopped early in the morning at the Kola Gorge, in an area of gray rocks with a stream bed about 35 feet down. Once we got to Garoua, we drove through the city, going by a beautiful Mosque, built with money from Saudi Arabia. We also went by Ahidjo's house, which was fortified by a huge brick wall. Lunch was at a local place. Once again, the flies decided to join us. The chicken for lunch was all right, but my appetite had returned with a vengeance, and I scarfed down quite a bit. We made another stop by a very large river. There, a man had the ability to summon a domesticated hippo named "Africa." He called the hippo for us and we took our pictures and petted him. Then it was off to the airport. |
| ����������� What an experience there! Almost as soon as we arrived, a fellow approached DeLancey, asking him for a bribe to get us on the plane without any hassles. DeLancey of course refused. We then all had to open out bags and have everything examined minutely. The officers spent quite a deal of time sizing up Will's shaving gel. Julie had the most trouble by far. They asked for her receipts, which she gave them. They then said there was a 20% tax on all goods bought in the country. Keep in mind, we were only flying to Douala; we weren't get leaving the country. After a good bit of complaining and a great deal of time, we made if through without paying anything. This was all in the sweltering heat without air conditioning (ah, Third World travel!). The flight was uneventful and we made it to Douala without incident. After dinner in a trendy restaurant overlooking the harbour, we turned in for a restful night's sleep. |
| 29.05.99 |
| ����������� Our last day in Africa. Breakfast was tres magnifique, with croissants and pastries from a patisserie across from our hotel. I can't wait to have good French food. We watched CNN for a bit. Today is a big day for Africa, with the inauguration of the democratically-elected president in Nigeria. Thomas and Victor stopped by to say goodbye, and Tomas asked for some suspenders. Victor will be coming to USC in August of a Fulbright scholarship. Lunch was at a Mediterranean restaurant here and was quite lively and good. Everything in Douala seems to be owned by Greeks. As we were walking back from lunch, a young child begged us rather vehemently for some coins. He even attached himself to my leg and sat down. I must admit, I won't miss the pleas of "un cadeau!" Now we are waiting, waiting for the time to go. |
| 30.05 |
| ����������� The airport in Douala was much bigger than it originally looked when we landed 3 weeks ago. I've a feeling we somehow missed the nice section. Anyhow, we got to the airport well in advance and avoided the harassment by customs officials. However, we were forced to check the bag that had all of Julie and my souvenirs. I hope nothing I bought will be damaged (or nothing of Julie's, for that matter). |
| ����������� We arrived in Paris on schedule. Julie and I took the RER to the Gare du Nord together. She left for Koln almost right away. After she left, I made my reservations for a train to Berlin that was leaving the following day and went to look for the Woodstock Hostel. For some reason, my sense of direction was a bit skewed, and I walked in every direction conceivable before I finally went the right way. I finally found the hostel about two hours after I'd begun my exodus. The people that worked there were very nice and charming. I got a single room for 107 ff. I went up to my room to rest for a bit, and a tremendous storm quickly gathered. The storm at least cooled off the area, but it knocked out the power as well, so I wasn't able to do my laundry. Instead, I went for a walk through the 9th and 10th arrondisements. It didn't take me long to figure out the streets of these neighborhoods. I had lunch in a small eatery - cheese pizza. After lunch, I walked back to my neighborhood, bought a Herald Tribune, and sat down in a park to enjoy the weather. Then I took another stroll around, buying a Push-Up (orange, of course) along the way. I went to the train station, where I made a plethora of calls to Dan and my parents. I finally decided to forego my night at the Woodstock and instead take a night train to Berlin. |
| 31.05.99 |
| The train arrived in Berlin at 8:51, about half an hour before the first train to Lutherstadt-Wittenburg. I walked around the Berlin Zoo Station and was thoroughly unimpressed. I took the 9:25 train to Wittenburg without incident and arrived at 10:51. I had to wait until 12:20 for Dan to arrive at the station. Meanwhile, I was absolutely starving and had no Deutschemarks to buy anything. Luckily, Dan had a loaf of bread with him when he arrived, so I munched on that as we walked through Wittenburg. We had lunch at an Italian restaurant, another cheese pizza. I had to explain to Dan that there were virtually no dairy products in Africa because Africans don't use milk. We walked around the town for a bit and had an ice cream cone, even though it's really cold here. The church and city are quaint and lovely. Life is definitely slower-paced than in Paris. |
| ����������� Last night, we met up with the other Americans studying here at a bar. I knew a couple of people from school. The only interesting thing to come up was a conversation about joining the Peace Corps. I suppose my arrival sparked the debate. This one guy said that he didn't think anyone could be happy living in non-Western conditions and that you couldn't provide for your children if involved or living in a Third World country. The girl that is considering the Peace Corps replied that all she needed to be happy was a car that worked, a clean place to live, and maybe a CD player. The others were amazed at her "sparse" needs. I sat in dumbfounded silence. A car that worked? I had been trekking and digging out cars stuck in mud for a month. A clean place to live? Julie and I killed about 100 bugs before finally giving up in Rumsiki. Nathan had to sleep with Rick one night because there were fleas all in his bed in Maroua. And CD player? Ha. No electricity, no place to buy batteries, and certainly no place to buy CD's. I couldn't believe how much I'd changed and grown as I listened to this conversation. Just a month ago, I may have joined in, but now I'd be coming from a completely different viewpoint. My eyes were open to different things now. And I could see how I could be happy without the car and the clean place and the CD player. |