Road Trip (to Bamenda)

So this morning we (actually, I) awaken to the sounds of the morning call to prayer from the various Mosques in the area (this is like 5am) and kind of stare aimlessly until like 8am or so. We realize there’s still no running water and still have a days worth of dishes and two bodies to wash.

So what did we (actually, Akilah) do? Fix breakfast. I had an omelet, and Akilah had more pasta. Afterwards we washed dishes with more of the stashed water, and then of course prepared bucket baths.

Once dressed we lock up and head to the bush taxi. All was fine, in terms of getting on, then next to us is seated a family. Now if you’re not used to what some bush taxi’s look like let me give you an idea. Think, minivans, specifically 7 passenger vans.

The taxi is full and ready to go. We’re squeezed on the back row with a father holding his son, and the mother holding a younger child. We were fine once we left, and we made it out of town safely. Somewhere along the way the younger child started crying and wouldn’t stop, so just at the point I turn my head to look over to see the child, out comes the. . .well the mother starts breastfeeding. Why I was embarrassed I don’t know, but I quickly turned my head to the window and left it there.

Just outside of town the Gendarme stopped us. I’m thinking, this is just a normal stop. Not. After noticing our driver was over there just a lil’ too long, one by one, a couple of the gentlemen get out and walk over to the group.

The father and mother decide to get out and stretch their legs; good idea. Hmph, let me give you a hint, never walk away from your space in a bush taxi. Somewhere along the line while everyone was coming back to the van, the people in the front moved to the back, taking our seats, and the father explained to Akilah, he told them he wanted to sit up front since he was getting out first. This of course meant that our seats were gone as well.

Whenever we get in a bush taxi we always make sure that the chargeur knows I’m too tall to sit in the front and take and end seat in the back. So now I’m forced to squeeze in the front row (made for two) with six other people and Akilah! Four facing, four. Let me tell you how very uncomfortable this is. VERY!

We make a stop in some town just before Foumbot, to drop off one of the culprits that stole our seat in the back (now, if you’re getting out before the people who you replaced, why did you move?). When that happens, naturally there are several other folks at stop to take her place, and a mother and child even plead with the driver to allow them to set up front with the two people that are already beside him.

In case I didn’t tell you. I don’t think those old 70’s records of how many people can fit in a VW van or something of that nature have any weight in Cameroon. At this point I counted and realized that there were now seventeen adults and three children packed in a seven – let me say it again SEVEN-passenger mini van. How?!

Despite my being squished because my back is towards the driver and the three additional adults and one child in the front and my legs are smothered between two gentlemen to my left, we seem to make it to Foumbot without any problem. Here we get out at the Gare and try to find another taxi going to Bafoussam.

We’re standing for like twenty minutes now. There was one taxi (car) that came up, but by the time the doors opened, there were like twelve folks scrambling for seven seats. Oh yeah, imagine an early 80’s model Subaru type car with four in the back and four in the front. That includes two in the drivers seat.

So we continue waiting, and do find out the van that just pulled up is going to Bafoussam so we move towards the van, but not in enough time, because there was just a swarm of folks that came from every direction and began crowding into the van. We’re still hanging in there trying to get into the van to get a seat, but when Akilah notices the men pushing women off (one of which fell to the ground), she figures there’s no need for us to be on there. So we wait.

Well after another ten minutes or so, a guy who noticed we were still standing there calls over to me asking if we were going to Bafoussam, I nod yes and motion that there’s two people he waves for us to come. (SIDEBAR: waving. The hand motion in the states we use to say goodbye, in Cameroon means come here.)

We whisked over to the van, and I just grabbed a seat. At this point I just take any seat, I’m not about to fight over where I should be sitting. Now were set, another twenty-minute ride and we’re in Bafoussam. We do get stopped twice by Gendarme, but they were routine, “Stop, okay you can go-type stops.”

Actually, one of the stops the officer noticed the driver didn’t have one sheet of paper, so he decides to check everyone’s identity cards. There are about three folks without it. He checks Akilah’s PC ID card and asks what her purpose. She informs him that she’s a volunteer. He doesn’t understand and asks again. So a gentleman in the back helps him out by repeating it slowly for him, syllable by syllable.

He says, “okay that’s what you’re doing here, but what about him?” He’s informed I’m here to visit her, and he asks, “To visit whom?” He looks at my U.S. passport and asks in French my purpose in Cameroon (synopsis), Akilah informs him I’m visiting her. So he looks at it, and then asks where my visa is, luckily I memorized the page it was on and directed him straight to it. He looks, nods and says its okay, as if I’ve now been cleared of being a potential spy in the country.

So we did make it to Bafoussam, and all was well. Stay tuned for more on the journey to Bamenda.