Settled in Buea, recounting yesterday

I don’t even know where to begin. Hopefully the pictures I take (in the future because I am waiting for a little while before I whip out the touristy camera). I was shell shocked yesterday so I wouldn't have known what to write even if I had a chance.

Yesterday was the scariest day of my life. I arrived in Douala at 5:30 am and was prepared for the worst, as my Cameroon book (and one German student studying ere in Buea named Dan) had warned me that Douala airport was FULL of men trying to make money by helping tourists with their bag- whether the tourists wanted help or not. So I identified myself as a very likely target and was right, because at baggage claim they kept asking me to tell them which bag was mine. I didn’t I grabbed them when they came by me and didn’t say anything to the men in advance. I tried to keep them with me but they picked them up when I had to set them down to pull out my passport (which I still have, by the way, so I’m doing better than I expected). I ended up having to give them some money right before I got in the cab.
The most amazing thing was when I walked into the baggage claim area, braced for the worst and then I heard my name being yelled from a balcony overlooking the area with passengers looking for their bags. I looked up and there was a SUPER happy tall Cameroonian man wearing a yellow AIESEC shirt and a floppy yellow fishing hat. He knew who I was immediately because I was one of the two white people in the arena. The other was a 50 year old man.

I was finally greeted beyond baggage claim by this AIESECer Fils, another AIESEC intern (still with me now, one day later) from Germany named Laura, and another Cameroonian AIESECer named Eric. Eric will be the president of AIESEC Cameroon on July 1st. They were very friendly, they gave me hugs, helped me exchange my money (just 100 euros for Cameroonian money and I don’t think it will run out any time soon.)
I will try to make this really concise so as not to waste my readers’ time, but especially so as to make it to the internet Café to send this before it gets too dark.

When I got into the cab we started driving towards the AIESEC MC office (Member Committee office, ours in an office in NYC) and unloaded my stuff. On the drive I realized how rough Cameroon really is. I think that I had imagined it would be only just a bit rougher than Costa Rica, which is the worst poverty I’ve ever seen. Third world is so much worse than you see in National Geographic, or that you see on the TV or in movies. Having it all around you, knowing that the very cab you are riding in is held together by duct tape and already has a flat tire, smelling the unfiltered air filled with black diesel smoke, and seeing kids and teens and adults all around you living in conditions Americans woudn’t deem fit to house chickens, its overwhelming.

Surprisingly, I am feeling very at home, and am as long as I’m with an AIESECer.
After showing pictures of AIESEC members in Douala, Yaoundé, and Buea, the guys took Laura and to the restaurant apparently they’d taken Laura the day before. It was called sixieme place, (we were in francophone Cameroon then). We had amazingly good food called “plat avocat” which was super oily pasta and vinegar, sugar, and avocado.

I ate it all and for the rest of the day my stomach was kind of in turmoil but I had a lot more pressing things to think about.

Like my impending death. Jk. But not really (Mary, I’ll tell you about her in a minute would say that joke just qualified me as a true Cameroonian.) So after chilling a bit and talking and sharing more laughs and pictures at the office Fils got us SIM cards so we could make local calls and then took us to the taxi. He went with us in the taxi o the pace where we were meeting a car to take us the hour to Buea. When we got there fast French-speaking Cameroonian men wouldn’t let us (Laura and I) go to Buea “unprotected” They kept trying to get into the car, but Fils didn’t like that idea and took us to a van instead, that would take us to Buea. Our bags were tied to the top (thanks God not the one with my lap top because it was raining steadily. Laura told me once we got in that she noticed the van’s flat tire.
If the van had been used in the US it would have been in fine shape, it wasn’t too old (probably from the 80’s) but it was the most beaten up piece of machinery I have ever seen “function”. But it did, because w got here and we’re alive, and all the Cameroonians on the rid I am about to describe when un-phased. Because it’s the rainy season the road (mud and clay with intermittent pavement and no attempt at lines) was wrought with deep puddles. Whenever the driver couldn’t avoid the holes we would be tilted to the point that I cannot believe the baggage on top didn’t slide off. Every time he slowed down and then tried to speed up, (which was often because the traffic operates like bumper cars in Douala- no stop signs, lines, sidewalks, or police),I was positive the van was going to die. On the trip I saw 3 broken down vans that looked like they were in better shape than ours. I honesty have no idea how I am still alive. There was a little man sitting next to me on the floor or the van and we may have easily been 3 over capacity. The trip that should have taken 1 hour and due to the condition of the van and the weather-induced ruts and mud, it took us 2-and-a-half hours. Somehow I did fall asleep because I was so exhausted.
When we got to the stop everybody piled out and Laura and I stayed under an umbrella with some nice Cameroonian women as they sold plantains and peanuts. A boy walked by us saying “white man, white man”. So when the AIESECers from Buea showed up (Mary, VP ICX and Theo, Outgoing LCP) we were elated but quickly realized that our wait was due to a miscommunication and they’d actually been waiting for us for more than an hour.

They were jokey, in fact Theo is sort of this quirky sarcastic… very emblematic of Cameroonian humor Cameroonian humor is more abundant than poverty. EVERYONE smiles even when you’re killing their hopes by refusing to buy a toothbrush or a pair of flip flops or a bag of peanuts from them.

As soon as we got settled in Buea I started feeling at home. I have to go now but I will add more because this just covers 4-5 hours of my time here and there are many more stories, probably ones my mom would like more than this.

Don’t worry mom I am completely safe and will explain in an email.

From New York to Casablanca

I woke up in Hebron yesterday, my immediate family and some Mass McDermotts- Aunt Cathy, Seamus, Aunt Laurie, Meg, James, and last but not least, Nana, had all arrived Friday for Lily's graduation and grad party preparations. The house was abuzz with cleaning and planning and people running errands. I had gone out the night before to say good-bye to all my friends and hadn't gone to sleep until 2:40am. I was pretty groggy and certainly would have liked to leisurely hang out/help out, but I had to finish packing my carry-on. To my knowledge, besides a toothbrush there is nothing I mistakenly forgot. Knock on wood (that was for you, my un-superstitious boyfriend).

Good-byes weren't bad but mom dad and I all got a bit emotional. Laurent (who had agreed to drive me to JFK and thus had come up Thursday night,) was a bastion of support and positivity. The entire ride down was really enjoyable and I didn't worry or get anxious at all. We made great time which turned out to be crucial because the plane boarded an hour and twenty minutes before I thought it would. I did have enough time to eat, but I only waited at the gate for twenty minutes if that.

Ok, now cutting to the chase. I think the people employed by Royal Air Morac are some of the nicest I've interacted with of all my travels. Here comes the first of many more heinous generalizations. I think that when you ask an American a question that you suspect is stupid, there’s a good chance you’ll be made to feel as if the answer is obvious, how didn’t you know? In my trip thus far I have not found a single of my ridiculous questions towards airport and airline staff to be received as such. They are all so accommodating and friendly.

Here's a great example. I was told in JFK that I would need another boarding pass for my flight to Douala from Casablanca. After what would have been considered in the US as an unacceptably long wait to get through a swine flu scan and security check, the passengers fresh off the tarmac were brought to another terminal if they were in transit. I was told that at this terminal I would be able to go to check-in for Royal Air Morac. So once here I followed signs to check-in (the first language here is Arabic, the second French, and the third English, all of which are on signs THANK GOD!) and ended up sort of mis-placed on the second floor. I was SO tired that I kind of fell asleep with my eyes open while waiting in line (sort-of) on a couch. Then I decided I was in the wrong place and got up and walked out. Sketchy American. I wandered to another Royal Air Maroc office that did not feel like a check in at all. I asked "Is this check-in?"

"No maam, where are you going?"

“Douala”

“So you are waiting for the 12:20am flight?”

“Yes”

“Please have a seat; I need to get you checked in to your hotel.”
I sat down because I didn’t want to make a scene/fool of myself when I told him that I hadn’t paid for a hotel room nor did I have any hopes or intentions of leaving the airport before my flight. When he had processed one really beautiful African mother and her two kids, it was my turn.

“I am going to get you your voucher maam, it’s a long wait and these accommodations are gratuite (that means free, or compliments of…) par Royal Air Morac”.
I looked at him incredulously. I don’t know if US airlines do this, but I think not. I guess that might be because there are very few instances of scheduled 20 hour lay-overs. Either way, I was really impressed with the service of Royal Air Morac (as well as the plane food) and will love them forever, for getting me out of that airport (although it was clean and very efficient with exception to security check-in). I am looking forward to my free dinner as I slept through the complimentary lunch.

As far as who I’m travelling with, there are several potentially French or Canadian or general expatriate white people going to Douala (I overheard them talking en francias  ) and the rest are very wealthy-looking Africans who have Americanized kids (SO cute) and may be going to stay with their families for the summer (just a guess though).

I really love what the women wear- I see bright goldenrod color in every fabric, but in addition to that it seems that the sky is the limit. Some dresses are sari-esque but some are just shifts that are sort of tied on. The most defining thing about their outfits is that they are so color-coordinating. Their pants are made of a full color taken from one present in the ornately patterned fabric of the over-dress. Then whatever fabric was used for the pants is also worn as a head wrap. Everything is edged with intricate stitch-work and sequins or beads that match the over-dress. They must have a different three-piece ensemble for every day of the week. Nothing about their ensemble is neatly buttoned or zipped but instead tied and wound and folded. Getting dressed is a cultural thing, I couldn’t just wear what they wear- it’s a skill, something you learn over time. But I am determined to at some point try that stuff on because it is beautiful, and probably really comfortable.

So far the coolest thing I’ve seen is this really voluptuous African lady with a tiny less-than-one-year-old tied to her back. The kid’s head hangs at a weird angle but he or she is definitely securely tied on there. It is flattened to her back with his or her legs and arms splayed out like a tree frog. The only reason I don’t think I’d do that with my own kids some day is that it might hurt your boobs, as the cloth supporting the weight of this kid under his or her butt is all anchored on the woman chest. Ouch!

This sadly may be the most verbose of all my blogs (and you’re thinking, why is that a bad thing?) because I am trying to kill time and thus I’ve gone really in-depth with descriptions of a pretty uneventful (yet exciting) day.
Right now I am chilling out on the bed in my hotel room. I took a nice shower, am getting ready to go eat some Moroccan food and then come back and watch TV in French. I love Africa so far!

Welcome to Kate's Blog!

Hey reader, thanks so much for checking this out, and even if you can't stand reading this all the way through I appreciate you swinging by! I probably wouldn't read a blog religiously either, so I understand. But for those of you who do want to see just how frizzy my hair can get in the wettest region of the world in its wet season, or if you for whatever reason are curious in the people, culture, and natural wonders of Cameroon, do keep an eye out for the upcoming photographic masterpieces posted in this blog. Depending on how busy I am during my stay from June 29th to August 24th I may even journal a bit. Peace.