kar0ling

Twelve hours in transit. Shorter, I suppose, than it might have been, but not at all the day we'd planned. Kara and I began our journey to the north with a bus ride to the south hoping to catch the train for N'Gaoundéré at 18:00. Turns out at Guarantee/Garanti bus lines, there's no guarantee of being on time. Our plan was for all this to occur in one day. Emmanuel, who tried unsuccessfully to book tickets for us a day early, reported the bus should leave at 8:00. Accordingly, we arrived at 7:30. Our tickets (printed out by a real computer on professional-looking ticket paper) read departure 9:00 am. Cheered by the sight of a big coach to travel on, rather than the smaller Coaster buses, we were less happy to see the bus leave the park shortly after 8, but supposed that filling up gas before leaving was a good portent. Unfortunately the bus didn't return to the park until 9:30...but it was washed. Given we're now half an hour behind schedule, one would think loadin...

Elsie took me out to Mbingo for the day to see the scenery, greet some CMFers and see the hospital. Unfortunately, it was rainy and overcast with great, thick, low clouds covering the hills, so the panorama she was so eager to show me was hidden. Nevertheless, the green hills were very impressive. Take away the zinc-roofed, mud-walled houses and one might think it were Ireland. Certainly not the picture of Africa I’ve ever drawn in my mind’s eye. The hospital. I avoid hospitals and doctors as much as possible in Canada, but I was curious to see the place I’d heard so much about here. The most interesting thing about the tour was probably the fact that I wandered around the entire hospital with a guide who is neither medical personnel nor a hospital worker, nor even a resident on the compound. She has been around enough to know what she’s talking about, of course, but I was struck by how utterly forbidden—indeed, impossible—this scenario would be in North America. The place was pretty q...

Cameroonians like to apply the word “prompt” to start times. You’d think I’d have learned already to take it with a grain of salt. It’s not to say I’m always on time; in fact, I can’t say I’ve shown up to many events on time—if any. In my defense, however, I can’t say many events I’ve been to have started on time either. On the way up to Bamenda, the bus stopped in Melong to allow patrons to get out, move around, and buy food from the multitudinous vendors at the roadside selling soya, pistaches, plantains, groundnuts, sweet drinks, bread, pineapples, etc. “15 minutes ONLY!” the driver yelled. Some 30 minutes after the bus had stopped, the driver returned to the vehicle and the wise ones who waited re-embarked the bus. I was not one of the wise ones.

Roadside attractions: a pool table. A framework suggestive of a small roof-shelter surrounded the entertainment zone but no roof was in evidence. A number of players were assembled, though, and enjoying a good game of billiards.

In the taxi ride back from Mbingo the other day, the radio was on. A number of panellists were discussing what it takes to be successful. It was a rather apposite discussion given the conversation Elsie had just had with the man next to her in the backseat. This man felt Cameroonian university graduates weren’t doing enough to help their countrymen. Some of the commentators made wise remarks, others were not so helpful. One woman dismissed a fellow critic’s remark as “bush folly,” an insult which says a lot about people’s perspectives. She followed up with the very insightful analogy: “If you’re a lizard in Africa, don’t expect to be a crocodile in America.” In other words, changing your exterior circumstances doesn’t change who you are. It’s good advice, not only for Africans who think life will be perfect in North America, but also for North Americans who think “becoming a missionary” will make them into “super Christians.”