Struggle street to Yaoundé
Hi BoBers,
After a brief rest stop in Banyo eating lots of salad and repairing my many accumulated punctures, I left for Tibati. The road was still bumpy, dusty and slippery. Still difficult to find food. One evening, I got a series of punctures that left me camping with only a handful of peanuts for dinner. I only reached the next town at midday and the best food I could find was a loaf of bread and a couple of tins of sardines. Stopping to eat or rest was frustrating because I was immediately surrounded by little flies that constantly try to crawl in your ears. I was also accosted once by a swarm of wild bees, collecting my precious sweat.
And precious it was because an unexpected side effect of the lack of food was the lack of salt. I began to cramp all over my body. Calves, hamstrings, hands, even abs. I was feeling quite ill by the time I arrived in Tibati. I made an electrolyte solution for myself and had a big salty dinner and was feeling fine in the morning.
I met Merlin who helped me find a little pocket of Christians serving breakfast. Even though he was a Christian, he was fasting without food or water as well for Lent. A bit more hardcore than giving up chocolate. He would do week-long stints at the community gold mine to make money. He’d also bring electronics with him to sell at the camp. Always hustling. Apparently the government has a monopoly on gold sales and sets a relatively low rate. Also, for every 10 bags you process, 8 go to the community, i.e. in someone else’s pocket. He said it was still worth it.
After Tibati, it was a newly-built, Chinese highway carved through the jungle down to Yaoundé. Occasionally, there was an optimistically signposted rest stop or emergency phone that didn’t exist or was shuttered. Clearly not built to an African plan. There was also almost no traffic on the road, which left a serene and smooth ride through the jungle.
The cramps returned. At one point I was squatting in the bush, doing my business and was hit by an enormous cramp in my abs. It was all I could do not to fall backwards into my boom boom. Suddenly the lack of traffic was more a liability than a benefit - nobody to hitch a lift from. I managed to limp into the next village and spent the next day in bed, drinking my isotonic drink and also took some malaria medicine to be safe. The rapid test in the clinic was negative, but you can never be too careful.
Another interesting observation was the change in culture crossing from Nigeria. I’d grown used to the noise of generators, the yelling, the laughter and the intrusiveness. Cameroon was the exact opposite. People kept their distance, often even avoiding eye contact. Some locals told me with pride that nobody would bother me in Cameroon if I minded my own business. It was also the first country that I saw individual houses in the countryside. Their familiarity shocked me a little. They wouldn’t look out of place in an Australian beach town, with wispy green lawns, full hedges and flower gardens. Up until now, people clustered into villages separated by open countryside. Perhaps this reflected a more individualistic and reserved attitude.
The traffic in Yaoundé was awful. Taxis lurk in the right lane, screeching to a halt at any moment to pick up a passenger. Sometimes another taxi will stop next to the first, trying to negotiate a better rate, or swerve in front of me and stop to pick someone up. I thought I had a hang of traffic in Africa by now, but I had a few close calls in Yaoundé.
I arrived to the warm shower and washing machine of my American/French hosts, thankful for some rest and western comforts after a lonely and difficult 6 weeks crossing Nigeria and northern Cameroon.
Scrubbed clean,
J&BoB
