Are All Americans as Impressed by Bamenda as PCVs...?

For those of you just tuning now, this post is the second of a two-part series detailing my parents’ adventure in Cameroon. For all you dedicated readers, welcome back!

            In the end of my last post, our fearless team was set to brave the Bamenda-Yaoundé road to visit my post. In order to maximize convenience and minimize travel time we opted to hire a private car instead of dealing with the somewhat unpredictable public transportation system. So it was in comfort and style that we hit the road after a brief but wildly successful last trip to the bakery. And a casual tire change. And a pit stop to pick up some of our driver’s personal belongings. But such is life here in Cameroon, and my parents handled the delays quite well. The ride was fairly uneventful, other than a 10-minute delay at a checkpoint over an expired fire extinguisher. Also, it was on this drive that my parents got their first introduction to the frequency of Cameroonian ID checks. On this six-hour drive we were stopped and asked for ID no fewer that three separate times. At no point in this drive did we cross any sort of international border.

            The drive to Bamenda is both physically and emotionally taxing. For one, it is about two hours longer than it has any right to be. But more serious is the quality of the road, which deteriorates significantly about an hour and a half from Bamenda. The last stretch is an endurance trial and has certainly pushed me very close to my limit on multiple occasions. But if you push through, the journey is certainly worth it. Reaching Bamenda means all sorts of wonderful things: English speakers, a cool, mountainous climate, a (relatively) clean city, and stunning scenery. But all of these benefits feel a bit more pronounced if you’re accustomed to life in Cameroon. I wasn’t quite sure how it would stack up to a fresh pair of Americans.

            The following morning we headed into town for the first time. I was excited to show my parents Main Market and have them pick out pagne (patterned fabric) to bring to the tailor later that afternoon. Entering the fabric line of the market is a continually overwhelming experience and isn’t for the faint of heart. But my parents were able to successfully navigate the multitude of stalls and they both chose pretty decent prints. After a lingering lunch at the most foreigner-friendly restaurant in the region, we headed to the tailor so they could get measured. Luckily, both of my parents were fairly decisive in choosing patterns for their new clothing and Titus the tailor promised to expedite his work for them.

            The next day I decided to bring my parents to the primary school in my neighborhood where we just completed a waste management project. The teachers couldn’t have been more welcoming to them and I was glad that they were able to see a classroom in action-they’re a bit different from the classrooms my brother and I spent so much time in. My mom worked at a nursery school for many years when I was younger, so I think she enjoyed seeing the circus that passes for Nursery I around here.  

Later that day, we ventured a bit onto the Ring Road and headed to Ndawara Tea Estate. The hour-long drive is potentially even more stunning than that into Bamenda, and winds through tree-lined mountains before heading up into them. The area around the estate is entirely covered in waist-tall tea plants, all of which look immaculately trimmed. We were treated to a private tour of the tea nursery, which is already quite impressive. Picture thousands of baby tea plants at various stages of development and intensity of care. Ndawara Tea is distributed throughout Cameroon (and potentially abroad?), so the level of distribution is quite staggering. We were told that the estate includes 12,000 hectares of tea plants, most of which grows on the mountainsides.

            We spent a significant amount of our time in Bamenda greeting my friends and neighbors, many of whom had been looking forward to their visit for quite a while. Some of this greeting was informal and took place in passing, but many of my closer friends wanted to pay a formal visit or invite us to their homes for a meal. I’m not saying this to brag about the number of close friends I have here; I’m just trying to communicate the importance of “greeting” as a concept here. Just today, over two weeks after my parents left Cameroon, a neighbor chastised me for not allowing him to meet my parents. Today’s interaction included, I think I have spoken to this man fewer than 10 times.

            That being said, I was still touched by the number of people that wanted to stop by and meet my parents. We had more visitors in four days than I typically get in the course of a month. In the end, it was a much-appreciated reminder of the number of people that have become important to me over the past year and a half, and I’m glad that my parents were able to meet them. And even more glad that they played it cool when presented with an entirely unfamiliar (and slightly terrifying) glob of carbohydrates at my landlady’s house one evening. For all of you West African food lovers out there, it was pounded macabo. For everyone else, imagine a squishy grey mass served with a spicy black sauce.

            Before we knew it, my parents’ time in Bamenda had drawn to a close. They were able to fit in an impressive array of activities during their four days here and hopefully gain a bit insight into my life as a PCV. At the very least, they returned home with enough Cameroonian pottery and custom-made clothing to remind them of me for the next few months.

            Their last day in Cameroon was one likely of the more accurate Cameroonian experiences they could have had. It was a travel day, and we had to make it all the way back to Yaoundé. As my dad pointed out, we were able to get the difficult section of the road out of the way early, but that didn’t make the ride any shorter. The bus showed up nearly two hours late and wasn’t up to the “VIP quality” for which we had purchased tickets. This kind of thing happens enough that I wasn’t overly bothered, but our fellow passengers were not having it. They demanded a refund of the difference between VIP and non-VIP tickets. And miraculously, we all got it.  That’s 1,400 CFA (about $3) per person to justify the additional half-hour delay…maybe not quite worth it.

            After a much-deserved drink at the Yaoundé Hilton and a miraculous dinner of Chinese food (it was almost too wonderful to handle), it was time to say good-bye. Cameroon isn’t the easiest place to visit, and while my parents were sad to leave me, they were less sad to leave Cameroon. I’m beyond grateful that they were able to come get a glimpse of my life here. They handled all the curveballs that Cameroon threw at us with more grace than I would have in their place, and hopefully returned home with a better understanding of the country I live in and my place in it.

Trains, Planes, Automobiles...but actually.

The last few weeks were quite busy, and I spent the last few days digesting all of the activity and movement that they brought. As many of you are probably aware, my parents came out for a visit at the end of February. It was an incredible trip for all of us and I’m beyond grateful that they were able to come and get a glimpse of my life here. They deserve some serious props for making the trip-Cameroon can hardly be called “tourist-friendly”. My friend Anna’s mom (a journalist) coined the phrase “do-it-yourself-tourism” to describe her trip, which seems as accurate description as any.

            I spent much of the week before their arrival trying to make as many reservations as possible. The lack of a widespread credit card system lends itself to a more informal attitude, with a verbal commitment taking the place of a more binding deposit. Factor in the language barriers and questionable phone service, and it’s a wonder that anyone ever knew we were coming. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

            The obvious exception to the lack of credit card policy is the Yaoundé Hilton, where we booked a room for my parents’ night of arrival. I took advantage of the pool in the afternoon before they arrived and reveled in what may be the closest that Cameroon comes to American-style accommodations.

            Their flight arrived in customary Cameroonian style-in the middle of the night-so I hired a taxi to take me from the hotel to meet them. We arrived at the airport just before their flight was scheduled to land, and I was able to walk into the baggage claim area to greet them after they cleared customs. Soon enough I spotted a telltale bald head from across the room-they had arrived!

            Given the nearly 24-hour duration of their flight, both of my parents were in great spirits and we were quickly ready to head back to the hotel. I distinctly remember the drive from the airport to the rest of the city as being quite harrowing the first time I arrived, (18 months ago today!) but they took it in stride and remarked on the number of people still out and about so late in the evening. I think the comfort and appeal of Hilton came as a surprise to both my parents; I had spent so much time warning them to anticipate something of a challenge that the Hilton was completely unexpected.

            The next day we hit Yaoundé hard. After breakfast at the best bakery in Yaoundé (or maybe the country-I know what is important to my mom…) we reserved our train reservations for that night, ate Lebanese food, shopped at the artisanal market, and even found the South African wine store. I try to spend as little time in Yaoundé as possible, so we effectively maxed out my list of known activities. It’s an exhausting sprawling city filled with street vendors, too many taxis, and an often-oppressive heat.

             Luckily, we were off to Yaoundé’s Cameroonian opposite: N’Gaoundaba Ranch in the Adamawa region. In order to get there we had to take an overnight train to N’Gaoundere, the capital of the region. I had never taken the train before and was glad to be able to take my parents to part of the country that I had not yet explored. The train was pleasant enough: we had our own little stateroom with two sets of bunk beds and an attendant who came around to take our meal orders. It felt a little bit like how I’ve always imagined the cross-country train in America to be, although with more men praying outside before we took off.

            The Adamawa region is one of the three regions that make up the “Grand North” of Cameroon, and they apparently have a distinctly different feel than the rest of the country. This is only fitting, as the climate, culture, and primary religion are all different from those of “Grand South”, where I live. I would recommend against trying to apply logic to the fact that the Northwest Region (where I live) is distinctly in the Grand South-that will get you nowhere here.

            For all of you out there planning a trip to Cameroon in the coming months, I would highly recommend a few days at N’Gaoundaba Ranch. It is set a few kilometers off the main road, and is the ideal location for a relaxing few days. We went kayaking in the lake, rode horses (one of the more amusing hours of their entire stay), and played with the “guard dogs”. Our room was in a traditional “boukarou”, a thatched house.  There were few other guests-apparently business has dropped off with growing fear over Boko Haram. But we felt perfectly safe and enjoyed our time at the ranch immensely. One highlight came when we trekked over to the nearby village that used to host a PCV. We heard nothing but wonderful stories about this girl, and were even able to visit the “soy restaurant” that she had started with a few local women.

            My dad took our stay at the ranch as an opportunity to practice his French, and struck up a conversation with another guest during our first day there. His new friend was a resident of N’Gaoundere (the regional capital-the names can be a bit confusing) and invited us to come for a tour of the city as his guests. At this point I want to reiterate that I have been the recipient of incredible generosity during my time in Cameroon. People have shared their time, their homes, and their meals with me. But this man and his family took their role as hosts to an unbelievable level, starting with the car he sent for us in the morning, to the tour they gave us of their city, the meal they shared with us, but most significantly, the attitude they had to our presence. We could not have felt more welcome or made to feel more comfortable, and to that I am extremely grateful. There we were, in a city that none of us had ever been to, and we were lucky enough to find a family that wanted nothing but to show it off to us and make us feel at home. It was truly incredible. One of the stops on our tour was the “Laminou’s Palace”, the home of the traditional religious ruler. That too was a complex of thatched buildings and we were permitted inside for an informative tour.     

            After another overnight train ride, we were back in Yaoundé and set to head up to Bamenda to see my post. Despite the relative proximity between the two, there is no shortcut between N’Gaoundere and Bamenda-traveling between them requires going all the way back to Yaoundé.

In the style of apparently all major movies these days, I’m breaking our adventures into two parts. But you won’t have to wait until the next holiday season for Part II-I’ll try to have it up next week!