From the WEST to the EAST :: 10 for 10!!

This is 3 out of 3 posts.
(very very VERY much delayed)

Click HERE to journey from the beginning.

As previously mentioned: 

I would like to this blog post and the previous 2 as not only a memoir for me but also as a guide for future travelers to the regions that we went to. I also hope to inspire those on the couch reading to take the big leap and JUST DO IT: TRAVEL. The memories you make are worth the jump!

Although I was only on the road for two weeks, it was a great reminder that traveling is not easy. It requires serious patience, flexibility, street smarts, and a good sense of humor. Most importantly, it reminded me that you don’t travel just to see things; you travel for the relationships you make along the way which actually end up becoming more than half the story you remember. Like they say,

 "Life is not about the destination, it’s about the journey."

 

The West and the East in Short:

People:  Cute baby boy in the crammed van to Foumban, Abdul, Pidgin Mami, Seraph’s Family, Basil, Walid, Nanoch, Oliver and the rest of Guillaume's family, the Pianist at the Cabaret and the sweet muslim ladies that we shared our travels with on the way back.

Places/Things: Foumban, Fumbot, Bandjoun, Yaoundé, Bertoua, Belabo, Doume and Douala. 

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After a failed attempted to leave Kumbo the evening before, we pulled in to the taxi/bus park at 6am, as they suggested the previous night. We were the first ones there and remained the only passengers for a good two hours. After another man finally came we decided, ‘hey, maybe we should go get another cup of coffee – doesn’t look like the car will be leaving anytime soon’. So, we gave our number to the man who ‘fills taxis’ and told him to ‘flash us’ (calling so that it rings but then hanging up before anyone answers as to avoid spending money on a call) when the taxi van was getting full. We went back to the famous coffee shop adjacent to our old hostel and enjoyed are actual last breakfast of coffee, avocado salad, homemade bread (possibly even wheat bread) and an omelet. Even after all of this, we didn’t receive a phone call from the taxi park. We decided to go back anyway and see what was happening. Sure enough, when we arrived, a handful of passengers had come to go to Foumban but instead of filling the car and sending people on their way, they decided to wait even longer to take more passengers so that they could fill a 19 passenger van instead of a 7 passenger car. At last, the van, which was 3,000fcfa/6$, left at 1130am. After about an hour or less, we had our first flat tire in a small village/town called Bangouran.

Sweet little boy that I was playing peek-a-boo with!

We arrived after about 4-5hours to a dusty and pretty hot/humid Foumbon. Upon our arrival, we jumped into a taxi and found a hostel that was not only cheap – but close to down town. We didn’t have much time here, meaning there was no time to waste! We dropped off our bags and hopped on a moto-bike to head towards the market. We had read about a museum and a palace so we were wandering around looking for those as we went through the market. I was getting mixed feelings walking through Foumbon. I felt like we were getting some serious stares and I’m not sure if they were all that welcoming. But, then we always had the sweet mamis calling to us from their market stall asking us to buy their tomatoes or onions or whatever they were selling. Then, we stumbled upon a building. At first I thought it was a mosque, then I thought it was the museum, then I decided to get a bit closer so I could read the sign. As we approached the entrance to read a sign on the gate, I noticed three men dressed in Muslim attire sitting just inside the gate giving us pretty bad looks. The sign didn’t give any information so before entering in the gate, because for some reason it just didn’t look like a good idea, I asked the three men if it was the museum. They proceeded to tell me that it was a mosque and women were not allowed to enter. They were not the friendliest bunch but I understand, Foumbon is a pretty big ‘tourist destination’ in Cameroon.

We continued strolling around the streets and ended up next to stores selling arts, crafts and small souvenir types of things. In one store, we met Abdul, an outgoing, almost overly friendly young man who took it upon himself to be our personal escort and tour guide. He was excited to meet ‘white Cameroonians’ as he called us since we were so animate in telling him how we were NOT tourist and we lived in Buea. He took us to the palace which has a museum inside. It was 2,500fcfa ($5) for each of us and personally, I was not all that impressed with the place. The museum was very interesting that is for sure, but the tour of the palace consisted of opening a door, standing in once place and viewing the ‘living room’ of the Fon and then exiting. 

Palace of Foumban

Beautiful design outside the palace

Abdul had a car so he drove us around and brought us to a restaurant for dinner! This was were Abdul first confessed his love for me. You shouldn’t be shocked, I wasn’t. This is a regular routine in Cameroon. I don’t know what it is but all white women just must be simply irresistible to the men here. LOL – not! I let him down gently, don’t worry. Abdul then dropped us off at our hotel. We thought about going out to see the nightlight, but thankfully we decided not to because shortly after our decision, it started to rain!

In the morning we started our day bright and early with fabric shopping in the market that we went to the previous day. 

Typical busy market scene

Then Abdul picked us up and brought us to Marche Artisanal (art market)! This was a market about 3 blocks long that had nearly every single artifact/souvenir you could find in Cameroon. Masks, brass figurines, wooden statues, objects made of cowrie shells, carved bones and so so much more. After bargaining and getting numerous good deals, Megan nearly bought the entire street. I was on a budget (and had been to Cameroon years ago) so I wasn’t able to get too much. 

One section of the street

Finally, it was time for us to say goodbye to Abdul and Foumbon. As we reached our hotel to grab our bags and head to the bus park, the wind picked up. The trees started to sway and street businesses started to take cover. We tried to flag down a moto bike (fastest transport) to come get our bags and bring us, but he refused so that he could take shelter…he also knew what was coming. We all knew what was coming. A serious wicked storm.

Kids selling on the street

We finally found a taxi and only spent a short amount of time in the rain and after about 30min of waiting at the bus park we were on our way to the next city and the next region – BAFOUSSAM in the WEST!

It was still light outside when we reached Bafoussam, but not for long. Practically 20min out of the city, torrential down pour struck again! As we got out luggage off of the roof of the vehicle (which was luckily covered by a tarp) everyone ran under a small awning for shelter until the rains dissipated. 20min past and it was still raining significantly hard. Megan and I noticed a bar across the street. The seats looked cozy and it would get us out of the windy rain so we made a run for it!

A friend in Buea, Seraph, was kind enough to give us the contact numbers of his family (sisters and in-laws) who lived in the city so that we would be able to be shown around and hosted by them. Megan called to let them know we arrived safely and they gave us directions to take a taxi or moto bike to their house. As the rain let up, we finished our drink and headed out into the dark night. We rested a bit and then we were offered to be taken out to a local popular ‘hot spot’ to get some drinks and some ‘bonny fish’. Bonny fish sounds like its full of bones (which it is but that’s not the name) but bonny is actually how they say ‘burning’ with their cute Cameroonian accents. The fish is grilled fish which can be found on the streets in every city, village or town in Cameroon. Well, not everywhere but nearly everywhere.

The fish, was not the greatest in the world, and I’m pretty sure Megan got sick because of it, but it was such a sweet gesture. The family was so welcoming and talkative and overall fun to be around. Seraph never told us, but he had twins in the family – younger brother and sister! They just loved to dance, so we all enjoyed the atmosphere with a few rounds of drinks and then doubled up on the back of several moto bikes and headed home.

During dinner, we had a discussion about Cameroonian food and Megan and I both brought up Condreh which is a dish neither Megan nor I had tried and its traditional of the West Region. Well, we were in luck! His sister offered to cook it for us the following day!! We had a pretty busy schedule visiting surrounding villages and chiefdoms but we were sure to make time for chop (food).

After a very common Cameroonian breakfast consisting of hot tea and white bread which you dip into the tea, we headed off into the city center to locate the bus park. We found a bus that went directly to Foumbot which was said to have a market just for pottery! We were 2 girls with hiking backpacks full and on a budget – we didn’t really plan ahead thinking about how we would transport this pottery but we wanted pottery. We arrived in the small and quaint town of Foumbot before noon. The rain had finally given us a break and we were able to enjoy Foubot’s balmy weather as we wandered around looking for the market. We asked a few locals for directions and finally found ourselves at the market. The normal harassment had begun, “Whiteman!!” “Whiteman give me money”, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary or anything as scary as Douala and Yaounde markets. We asked more and more shop where the pottery was and finally we had found it.

I’m certain the ‘Cameroon tourist book’ we read from was out of date because their pottery market was actually two shop stalls that had a few bowls, pots and vases. Nothing special. Nothing special at all. Neither of us bought anything and instead we enjoyed the market. Soon we made out way back to the bus park, escorted by a Police officer who was intrigued seeing “two whiteman women” in his village. We jammed into a small car and made our way back to Bafoussam. Direct from Bafoussam, after eating an egg omelet with fake cheese and avocado on the street, we found a moto bike that took us to Bandjoun which was said to have one of the best chiefferies in all of the West region!

The palace was sort of off the beaten track so our bike driver agreed to wait for us so that we wouldn’t be stranded when out visit was over. In addition to me always have such high expectations of people and places, the experience we had in Bafut is just second to none leaving this chieffery somehow mediocre. I will say that the efforts put into the Museum were amazing, but unfortunately while we were there the power was out so we had to walk through it with a flashlight! Our tour guide seemed like he had a million and one other things to be doing besides giving us the tour we had paid for so that was a bit annoying. But no doubt, it was worth stopping to see. 

Entrance to the Palace of Bandjoun

Inside palace grounds

Inside the palace

Neat interesting walls of a crafter's workshop.

The workshop itself

When we reached Bafoussam we didn’t have too much time before we had to head to Yaounde but there is always time to eat! Condreh was ready and waiting for us! The oily…

It seemed like we had barely spent any time in Bafoussam and it was already time for us to hit the road again. The two of us, with out two massive backpacks, hopped onto an extremely old and scary moto bike with a man who clearly wasn’t experience enough to drive us…but we went along with him anyways because we didn’t have any time to waste. As Megan went to the ticket counter I watched our luggage and tried to find us a place to sit and wait. The line for tickets was long and the sun was hot.

A little boy kept asking me for money because he had ‘helped carry our bags from the bike’. Generally, you should tip these guys a little bit of money – its their only way to make a living. These young boys hang out around bus parks all day and all night trying to make 20cents off a passenger for carrier his/her bag however far they needed it to be carried. But, what got me with this young boy was when he refused the amount I gave him and then he told me that he wanted more money because I was white. That was enough for me. I didn’t give him a dime, or should I say franc (that is the Cameroonian currency). A couple of hours passed and several buses filled up to go to Yaounde but there must have been a long list of people because non of the buses were our own. As dusk began to approach, our bus number was finally called. Megan jumped on to save our seats as I watched where our luggage was stored away. There are so many benefits of traveling with another person – you can split nearly every bill (private transport, hotel, etc) and its safer! Traveling alone can be one hell of an experience and really make you jump out of your comfort zone, but bringing along a buddy can yield the same results and make things a bit easier on your wallet and your stress level. Because when you get lost, you are lost together instead of alone!

4 hours later, at about 940pm we finally made it to Yaounde, and for once, it wasn’t raining!! Basil, a good friend who is the brother of another good friend who took me to my first Cameroonian football (aka soccer) game back in September, directed us to where he booked our hostel and met us when we arrived. He took us out to a bar/cabaret/club called “Quebec” which was directly next door to out hostel. As soon as we arrived at the hostel, can you guess what happened? It started raining, again!

My friend Walid, who lives in Ngaoundere whome I’ve visited twice at this point, was down in Yaounde on a business trip. We saw Walid for a second but he wasn’t able to stay for too long. With Basil was his elder brother whom I had met on several occasions. We really had a great time in Yaounde, as always, the night-light is just off the richter scale in Cameroon!

The subsequent morning we woke up and headed towards Avenue Kennedy which we were told had “everything you could ever want” when it come to clothes and shoes. I didn’t find what I was looking for so we headed to Marche Central. 

Marche Central

Come to think of it, neither Megan nor I even knew what we were even ‘looking’ for so we just meandered around the circular shaped market. Some years ago, the original Marche Central was burned down (by accidnet0 so they built a new concrete one. We didn’t want to waste too much time in Yaounde so before noon we were checked out of the hostel and on our way to once again, the bus park. As Megan was arranging out tickets to go to Bertoua, the capital of the East region, I was in charge of getting our extra souvenirs mailed back to Buea for our friend to pick up. Megan had simply bought way too much to carry – and I had a few things that I didn’t mind getting off my back as well.

Look closely, what you shall see is dead rats, one holding a cigaret and the display is supposed to be advertising for rat poison. It is a moving display, in a wheelbarrow which a man pushes around the city.

The road from Yaounde to Bertoua was absolutely wonderful! It apparently had been done by the Chinese in the last couple of years. Back in the day it would take a bus 8 or more hours to commute between the two cities.The second we stepped off of our 5 hours bus ride, we felt the winds pick up. The sky was getting dark very quickly. Megan and I both knew we didn’t have much time to get on a moto bike, find a hotel and take shelter!

Awesome highway from Douala to Bertoua

We managed to find a taxi which was much better because seconds after we threw our luggage in the truck, the rain hit! Our first hotel was a no go – the prices were much too high, 30$ a night!? No way! So we moved along to the hotel which our driver recommended. This one was still not as cheap as we hoped, but due to the rain, the increasing price of our taxi the longer we made him drive around and pure exhaustion, we decided to just take it!

The rain never stopped that night so we got a good nights rest and even started to take my ‘rastas’ out of my hair.

The routine for Megan and I was simply to mosey and roam around the town. We had certain things we wanted to do, see and explore, but for the most part – we drifted like two carefree gypsies. We quickly discovered the most popular things to eat for breakfast was an oily omelet with ‘pear salad’. Pear salad is avocado cut into pieces with diced tomatoes and onions mixed together with about half a cup of condensed milk. Had we known condensed milk was about to be poured onto our pear salad, we would have prevented it but learned our lesson. Megan and I both got marriage proposals during our breakfast which was taken at a perfect time – it began raining. Just as the men were getting to be a bit too annoying for my silence, the sun began to shine so Megan and I bailed as quickly as possible.

We knew we wanted to go to the Dja Reserve so we asked around to see what ministry would be the best one to go to – tourism or forest. Most people said the tourism office. After we found a moto bike that knew where it was and also agreed on the price (these are both difficult things to do, especially as a white person – they always want more money, and they always tell you they know where the location is because they just want your money). We quickly found out that, no this driver does not know where he is going and as expected when he finally did find the place, he was demanding more money, money which of course we did not pay. The tourism office was pretty much useless and told us to go to the Ministry of the Forest. Instead of just sending us on our way, the man insisted that he came alone meaning we had to pay for his transport both ways. We met with the Delegate of that region and explained what we were looking to do. After a throughout conversation with the Delegate, countless questions and much debate between the 2 of us – Megan and I made the executive decision not to go to the Dja Reserve on this trip. Our major reasons were this: 1) wet season was already amongst us and going to a rain forest meant even more rain; 2) we weren’t prepared for rain, both of us idiotically forgot even our rain jackets, 3) The price was expensive and we didn’t have enough time to make it worth it. On the bright side, it gave us more time in Bertoua!

Finally, we went back to out hotel and we were able to meet up with two friends of a friend in Buea. Guillaume in Buea was born and raised in the East region but spent some of his life abroad and the other part in Cameroon. He had cousins in Bertoua, Nanoch and Oliver, who both turned out to be awesome people. Nanoch was this little crazy ball of energy that you couldn’t help but laugh with and get excited about things with. She was so kind and helpful always trying to accommodate us and make sure we were ok. We stayed at her house the following two days while we were in Bertoua.

Later that afternoon Nanoch headed to the marked to get some food so that she could prepare Ndoumba! Which is yet another dish neither Megan nor I had tried.  While she was shopping and cooking Megan and I relaxed at her house and then went to find a salon where I could take the rest of my rastas out of my hair. 

Getting rastas out - not only painful physically, but painful to watch half my haif fall out.

We made it back to the house with not much time to spare before the feasting began! Ndoumba was amazing and so simple to cook!

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Ndoumba

Ingredients:

Fresh fish (any type really and the amount you want for the amount of people you want to serve)

Tomatoes

Onions

Peppers (jalapenos, red/yellow, whatever you like)

Seasoning (optional)

Banana Tree Leaves (or any other massive leaf)

Directions:

Chop up the peppers, onions, tomatoes and put them all inside of a giant banana tree leaf. Also put the fish inside with the veggies. Sinch up the top of the leaf with a strip of banana leaf and put about 1 ½ inches of water on the bottom of a pot and boil for about 20 min or until the fish is fully cooked.

Personally, if I make this dish I will add other veggies like broccoli! I would also add seasoning like salt pepper and even lemon juice for flavoring but hers was pretty basic. Even butter sounds nice with it.

Traditionally its served with boiled plantains but as a side you could do anything from mashed potatoes to wild rice to a nice healthy side salad.

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That night, Oliver and Nanoch took us out to a local cabaret, which is like a bar/club where there is live music and lots of dancing. The music was great!! I even gave one of the main member 5,000fcfa ($10) and then he played Richard Bona at my request. At one point of the night, while everyone was fully enjoying themselves and dancing all over the entire place, one man was ridiculously drunk and literally dancing with a beer bottle balanced on his head. It was HILARIOUS!!

We didn’t stay out too long because we had an itinerary the next day. About 80km or 1 ½ hours Northwest of Bertoua is a nice little town called Belabo. That’s where we headed in the morning via bush van. Once we got there, we found a moto bike driver who knew exactly where we were going and what out purpose was -- The Sanaga Yong Chimpanzee Rescue Center – which was another 25km down a tiny windy road at a village called Nanga Eboko.

When we first hopped on the moto bike, we didn’t realize it was so far so we were trying to talk the driver down on the price that he gave. He was actually one of the rare honest drivers who gave us the correct price at the start and didn’t try to rip us off. We discussed a lot on the bike about the location and he just kept telling me, “c’est loin, c’est en brusse” which translates to “it’s far, its in the bush”. The road was just like a four-wheeler trail and all along the way were huge swarms of gorgeous butterflies covering the path and flying all around us. 

A wider part of the road to the Chimp place.

By the time we reached the Chimp Center Megan and I realized where we were – in the middle of a majestic rain forest, actually. We went to check in with one of the guards who explained how the place works. There is no entrance fee but they accept donations. He was going to walk us around to see all the different families of chips and then we would be on our way back to Belabo and then Bertoua. 

Chimps hanging out looking at the weird humans.

 All of the chimps had names which all of the workers knew. One alpha male, who was clearly exerting his masculinity, began throwing rocks and sticks at me and Megan (mostly Megan haha). He was getting so territorial and angry that we were around he was grabbing whatever he could get his hands on and trying to throw them through the fence. A couple rocks hit megan – in the leg and the head. His name was Chalo.

Nanoch had arranged for the four of us to go to her and Guillaume’s (our friend from Buea) village called Doume about 1 hour (or less) Southwest of Bertoua. Her mother and father had a house there and they prepared and epic meal for us. We tried so many new foods and our bellies left so full we could barely waddle out of the house! Her family was so welcoming and talkative, African hospitality is second to none.

On the menu starting from the way back was: male goat, chicken biyok (locally raised chicken that pretty much hangs out around the yard and wonders the neighborhood), Kwem (traditional dish of the East and South regions of Cameroon. It’s a stew like dish made mostly from cassava leaves) then in the front from left to right is mantiok (aka cassava), ntouba (pretty much a mashed potato version of plantains), and lastly, dengue (plantains that have been boiled then mashed then balled up and fried).

 Like I said, we were S T U F F E D.

Once we made it back to Bertoua, we all just crashed. On our final day in Bertoua, Oliver rented a moto bike from one of his friends and gave us a little bike tour around the city. To be honest, it was nothing special but I always love seeing new places so I appreciated the change of pace. Two photos of the city are below.

First lawn mower I have seen in Cameroon. Most of the time people
'bush wack' meaning - using machetes to chop the grass down.

We thought about going to visit this traditional Pygmy village but then we realized it was unauthentic and very touristic so it was something we didn’t really want to support. Instead, we headed back early to Yaounde where we took another bus to Douala and then a small crammed car to Buea. All in all we were in transit for about 12 hours that day.

On the ride from Bertoua to Yaounde, I thought of a little saying or quote that generalizes something in Cameroon and surly many parts of Africa:

Public Transport -- where someone else's kid becomes your problem.

I say this because of the communistic attitude. Its not a bad thing, its just an observation. I remember one time a mother literally handed me her child without asking anything and she simply said “Take her, I’m tired” so I held the baby girl and she slept on me for the rest of the drive. I had a friend get vomited on by a kid and on the way back of this specific journey the mom who was sitting next to me bought one seat and was sitting with two of her kids – I’m guessing 4 and 6. They were clearly crammed and uncomfortable and talking up half of my seat so I just picked on up and laid him across me so that the two of them could be somewhat comfortable for the ride and sleep a little bit.

And there ends the epic journey throughout Cameroon. Oh, and I almost forgot one of the most important things!! One major accomplishment for both Megan and I! Something we were able to celebrate together and something else I was able to cross off my bucket list!!

We traveled to 10 out of 10 regions in Cameroon!!

I’d like to leave you all with a very catchy and popular song in Cameroon:

Mani Bella – Je suis pala pala (pala pala is slang for crazy)