Travel to Cameroon

  Douala, Cameroon
Saturday, April 11, 2009

Today was a travel day. I worked in my room this morning on various projects and checked out of the hotel just before noon. Mr. Fiaboé picked me up in his pickup and we drove to the airport about 25 minutes a way. Since today was "Good Friday" there were a number of streets blocked off to enable processions of the cross, and we saw several of them: a man carrying a very large cross, followed a large crowd in brightly colored clothing.
 
We waited at the airport for Pierre who had picked up a DVD copy of the telecast from the station so I could review it later.
 
My flight was on Air Ivoire, one of the better West and Central African Airlines, but one that has suffered a noticeable decline in its service standards since the civil war. I wondered if it would be on or close to on time. I was the only passenger in the check-in area when I arrived, so things went pretty quickly. In spite of the fact that we had reconfirmed at their office a few days earlier, I wasn't on the printed passenger list. They finally found me on the computer somewhere so I could check in.
 
At the security checkpoint, the metal detector beeped as I went through, but rather than wand me or ask me to check my pockets or other similar actions, one of the two policemen at the security checkpoint hit me up for a "gift."
-You know it's the holidays" he began "Good Friday, Easter... You know how one celebrates those occasions, right?" he hinted. I knew where he was heading, but I didn't want to go there.
-The right way to celebrate religious holidays is with prayer" I told him with a straight face. 
-Yes, yes, of course, but after you pray...
He made the motion of tipping a bottle up straight.
-I'm convinced God doesn't want us to celebrate religious holidays by drinking a lot...
He didn't like this line of conversation and got right to the point.
-What do you have for me?
-I'm a pastor, I'll pray for you.
-Yes, pray for me, but what else do you have for me.
I joked to the other agent.
-Your friend will not be healthy. That's not the way to celebrate holidays.
The other agent laughed and agreed. That was my cue to pick up my things and walk into the departure lounge.
They let me go.
 
The flight was half an hour late arriving, not too bad. We were only about 10 passengers who embarked on the plane which had arrived from Abidjan. I had a window seat and had a good view of the rust-colored. dust-covered city of Lomé as we took off. After a certain altitude the cloud cover was solid, so I didn't see much on the 1 hour 45 min. flight until we arrived near Douala. The clouds broke as we approached and I could see the Wouri River estuary, where the country got its name. The first Europeans to visit here were Portuguese.

Descent to Douala

They found large shrimp in the mouth of the river, and named it Rio dos Camarões (Shrimp River). And Camarões became Cameroon.

We landed half an hour late and trudged through the entry formalities: a check of our Yellow Fever vaccination cards, then the immigration desk where our visas were checked. Then we shuffled into the baggage claim area.
 
They have two brand new baggage carousels in a baggage claim area that is much too small. This evening two flights arrived at nearly the same time: a Swiss flight from Zürich and our flight from Abidjan/Lomé. Two flights, two carousels: the Western thing to do would be to have luggage from one flight on one carousel and the luggage from the other flight on the other. But it's much more interesting and animated to mix the luggage from both flights on both carousels. This makes for much craning of necks, jumping up and down, jostling for position, pushing and shoving, sighs of exasperation and sometimes despair. When luggage is finally claimed it then has to be shown to the customs agents who choose at a whim some suitcases to be hand checked: placed on a table, opened, and rifled through searching for who knows what.
 
I tried my best strategy while pulling my suitcase, keep my head down, assume a bored expression and shuffle slowly past the agents while trying to look at once inoffensive, unobtrusive and as close to invisible as possible. This evening it worked. I was able to muddle by all the officials without being stopped or checked and I was out on the sidewalk and free!
 
Moïse Mabout was waiting for me. His car had broken down earlier in the day (the clutch gave out) so we were on our own. I suggested we take the shuttlebus to the Ibis: it's free and safe. It spite of my best efforts and vociferous complaints a porter pulled my suitcase out of our hands and lifted it over his head as we headed down to the carpark where the shuttle should be. But we found it had already left full of passengers. We took a decrepit taxi that rattled in an alarming number of places as we drove off. Moïse gave the appropriate tip to the porter before we left, but since I was a Westerner, he was expecting more, and let us know so in no uncertain terms. The driver waited, since the porter had done him a favor by bringing us to him, he waited to see if the porter would get any more. I finally told the driver to move on, and he did.
 
The frame of the taxi warped when we went around corners so that door and window seals opened and closed, and various other car parts came apart and back together. This didn't seem auspicious. Then the taxi driver took the wrong direction when we arrived at the main road. This was too much. I protested:
-The Ibis is the other direction!
-Yes, but I need to get change for a large bill.
-I hired you to take me to the hotel, please get change afterwards!
-Sorry, please be patient.
He wasn't going to change his mind. So off we drove, away from the hotel, the car shimmying and jerking as we went. At a filling station he was able to break a 10,000 Franc note into two 5,000 Franc notes, and then we turned around and started toward the hotel.
 
I was rather alarmed at the poor state of the vehicle; even by Cameroon standards it was bad.
-I think this car is about ready for the junk yard.
-It's because of the road; look at all the holes and rocks...
-I was commenting on the car not the road.
That statement elicited laughter from the driver and Moïse.
 
We made it in one piece to the hotel, and paid the taxi driver 4000 Francs. Moïse and I worked out our arrangements for the Sabbath tomorrow. Then he headed for home and I headed for my room for the night.