gerburgkamm

The real adventure starts when you can’t find even the most ramshackle taxi to take you where you want to go and you entrust your life and well being to a motor-taxi. While going over rough and tough I began to understand why you “ride” a motorcycle. I grabbed the poor driver by his sides, leaned forward toward his right ear and said in textbook French: “Veuillez conduir un peu plus lentement!” After which – to my dismay – he turned round at full speed and said something that I interpreted as “don’t worry!”.

Then I limited myself to short expressions like “doucement!” or “attention enfant!” “chien à droite!” “sable sur la route” … just in case …

A few young men with a rowing boat took us to where the Lobé river, the same one that leads to  the forest village, plunges directly into the Atlantic Ocean (Chutes de la Lobé). It’s a unique environment of great mythological and spiritual value to the autochthonous peoples as well as of naturalistic value for all of us, ideal habitat for prawns, too. World Heritage! (either nominated or already on the list).

Kribi Town sightseeing: The lighthouse, German legacy and still operative, from where the indigenous population was evacuated to Limbe after the outbreak of WW1 when the allied forces from France, Belgium and Britain invaded the German colony Cameroon. There is St. Joseph’s Church where by the end of the 19th century the newly arrived missionaries didn’t last longer than a year before being buried on its premises. There is a fantastic fish market with all kinds of fish that I had never seen or heard of before. Unfortunately I lost all my fish market pictures while I tried to transfer them to the computer.

You see huge modern adds right next to someone doing his laundry in a very traditional way.

You see an add for a clinic that offers general health care, and care during pregnancy, childbirth, vaccination, ultrasound, x-ray, gynecology, treatment for venereal diseases, family planning and the irresistibile offer of circumcisions for 5000 CFA roughly 7€.

I didn’t take pictures of what I would consider the best scenes, on a market, near a mosque, people started looking at me as if they didn’t appreciate someone walking around with a camera so I made do with a couple of unspectacular photos without running into trouble.

And then it was bye-bye Kribi. The bus ride to Yaoundé wasn’t without trouble with police harassing mini-buses in general and foreign passengers in particular.

Waiting for the bus someone falls asleep on top of his merchandise. A little boy befriends me and takes a picture of me.

It is not easy to take one of those buses. There is always a lot of confusion and in the end more people get on the bus than you would imagine. I never found out where they put the little pig in the basket.

The buses don’t stop for toileting but for police checks, yes. I always have a weird feeling when men are singled out and taken away …

… but all’s well that ends well.

From Douala to Kribi: public transport again, a couple of hours, it’s raining, I don’t drink, near Edea there is an old German bridge over the Sanaga river, you see it through the window, amazing, it’s still operative (quality!).

On the way lots of trucks loaded with huge trunks of precious wood. Is Cameroon trying to do its best to destroy the rain forest? Cameroon or who? The wood is being shipped to China (huge amount), Belgium (a lot), Italy (3rd place), with Germany being in a modest “also ran category”.  The rest of the trip: apart from police and military roadblocks and checks, uneventful.

The beach is nice

picturesque, even in the rainy season

Take a canoe ride up the Lobe river: silence, just the soft splashing of the oars dipping into the almost still water, an occasional chirping of a bird, no crocks, no snakes (maybe)

A walk through the forest and then you are there: a camp with huts made of natural building material and corrugated metal, plastic buckets, plastic sheets, iron pots. And people: if you respect them, you call them Baka, but if you want to be understood by a guide who takes you there, you call them Pygmies. And then Baka might not even be the correct name. In that area there are the Bagyeli people, but again, it’s difficult to know.

They are hunter-gatherers, nomads or semi-nomadic people, the forest provides everything they need.

What you get to see are poor, marginalized, showcase indigenous people that sit and wait for visitors in order to pose for money, to tell them stories about their supposed lifestyle. You see malnourished children with big bellies, skin diseases, faded hair and a disorderly village with huts in need of repair and plastic waste all over.

The father let me hold the baby!!!!!!! It feels the same as any other baby, they are all tiny.

That’s when I would have liked to become a hunter-gatherer, when I saw dozens of these little plastic bags on the forest ground around the village.