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.