Where exactly is Cameroon?

It is sometimes referred to as the armpit of Africa, it’s in the bent of West-Africa a bit north of the equator.

Yaoundé, the capital with 3,5 million inhabitants, is spreading over 7 hills (could be more) and – ever heard of a city like that before? – could 7 hills be a bad omen? Chaos and confusion, traffic and pollution, inscrutable urban planning, bad waste management …

view from the Cathedral steps, Cathédrale de Notre Dame des Victoire

Most difficult city to get around: the streets have names or four-digit numbers, but you will hardly find any street signs. Even citizens confuse the streets: “Avenue de l’Indépendance”, or “Avenue Monseigneur Vogt”, who cares, the only person who really needs to know is me. My GPS is going wild, doesn’t know in which direction to point with me going round in circles. I’m concentrating on it so hard, I risk getting pickpocketed if it weren’t for two young ladies who start yelling and jumping in my direction slapping the wrong-doer’s hand off my backpack.

Early morning ride to learn my way to the Goethe-Institut.

It’s been here since 1961, a bit longer than the University of Cameroon. Later in the day traffic chaos breaks out and even sidewalks aren’t safe.

Walking down one of the >7 hills.

Public transport is NOT buses that run along certain routes, it’s yellow taxis, so old you wouldn’t even think Toyota (or whatever) has existed for so long, their parts being held together by the grace of providence, many of them with an alarming roundish crack where the front-seat passenger’s head would knock on in case of a hard stop. Seat belts, no, be happy if there is a handle to hold on to.  You have to use the taxi a lot to get a feeling for the (fair) fare. Wait at the side of the street, the taxi slows down, you say where you ‘re going and they take you or they just drive on. That is stressful and unpredictable. Don’t be too precise with your destination and neither too vague. I usually say “centre ville”, and then something like “ministère de …”. I walk a lot. If you agree on going “depot” they take you where you want to go, mostly without other passengers and you pay 5 – 10 times the “collective” fare. Make it clear from the start.

You go downtown mainly to shop for things you don’t find where you live. As to sightseeing, you’d be through in a day. There is a National Museum, you can’t take pictures in it, you can’t walk around it by yourself, and the second floor is history, which is basically when the President Mr. Paul Biya was young. He’s been president for about 36 years now.

There isn’t a “Musée Ethnographique des Peuples de la Forêt” but it would have been a good idea to have one instead of just advertising it on the internet and sending me around town through places where I didn’t dare take my camera or cell phone out.

Some days later, I was more successful

I found the “Musée de la Blackitude”, hidden in a corner of a nameless side street where no one goes

It was just one room, the entrance fee was 3 Goethe-Institut meals, I wasn’t allowed to take pictures but I had a warden, a museology student, a young man with couple of university degrees and a princess to guide me through the room explaining the artifacts  in fluent to fast french. That’s 4 to 1, guides to visitors. They made me feel like a star.

I also found the “Centre d’Artisanat” …

… which left me with a slight sense of inadequacy.

Now and then I enjoy something that could be considered a safe haven amidst big city frenzy: The sanctuary at Mont Fébé, where I heard the most wonderful polyphonic choir at a Sunday mass. I posted the video an FB, here unfortunately I can’t.

… and the Bois Sainte Anastasie, where of course, I wasn’t allowed to take pictures:

… so when I was told to cancel the pictures, I politely asked them to repeat this in English, which they couldn’t, and I quickly left, even though I was on my last legs already. That was kind of unladylike and also no one can always be a nice person.

It’s quite a relief to have these little oasis in this difficult city, this mind-blowing side by side of modernity and utter misery, which I didn’t have the courage yet to take pictures of.

One last word about food: Sauce Gombo (made of ladyfingers and rather viscous) with Cous Cous de Manioc, Ndolé with manioc en feuille de bananier, fried fish, meat in peanut sauce, all accompanied by cooking bananas (plantains), fried like french fries, or cooked.

Sauce Gombo with cous de manic (fu fu)

Ndolé

fried fish

peanut sauce

It’s all gluten free and cheaper than this. A good glass of French red wine goes with everything:

Cheers Gerburg