Welcome to Cameroon

My trip to Cameroon got off to an inauspicious start.

The morning of my departure the hot water in my hotel mysteriously failed.  I had greatly anticipated this last languid steam session – one whose memory I was counting on to sustain me through the cold bucket showers of my future.  I cried right there in my bathrobe….

Further complicating matters, I had woken up sick.  Drip down my throat, stuffy nose, coughing fits and even a low grade fever that left me alternately freezing and having menopausal hot flashes.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure of seeing me sick, I wither into a pathetic pile of “kicked puppy dog” sadness.  I confiscated my father’s cold pills, but given his uncertainty about which were the PM versions I was hesitant to take them until safely ensconced on my final plane. It was time to suck it up, Africa style.

The absolute last thing I wanted on my flight was a chatty seat companion, but despite all this “helping orphans” shit it appears karma and I are still at odds.  My seatmate just could not take the hint.  I gave one word answers, didn’t look up from my book and even coughed loudly and as grossly as possible to discourage further involvement.  Still he prattled on.  In the end, I faked sleep.  Even that only saw only a modicum of success.

After 10 hours of traveling with Chatty Chuck, I was exhausted and wholly uncommunicative upon arrival.  Enter Celestine, my new host.  Thankfully we went straight to the hotel and Celestine set out for water and snacks.  I, on the other hand, unceremoniously passed out before she even returned.  Nice to meet you.  Don’t mind this pile of dirty tissues.

The next morning we hopped a bus for Yaounde and my new home.  Still feeling feverish and generally exhausted, I remained surly most of the trip.  I had been told that Cameroon was much more urban and modern – that my time here would be more comfortable than in Uganda.

Lies. 

Yes, being a major city means there are more facilities within walking distance.  However, it also means it is louder, dirtier and harder to navigate. 

My accommodations here are rough.  The house is small and rundown, with a leaky tin ceiling insulated by cardboard.  The lot is small and cramped with neighbors, who are apparently less than pleased with the steady stream of international visitors Celestine attracts.

The pit toilets, I shudder just mentioning them.  They are located in front of, and downhill from, a literal pig pen.  While you never want to luxuriate in a pit toilet, this will put you in a rush. 

But wait there’s more.  You get to shower in the pit toilet too!  Yup, you “cleanse” yourself standing over a dank hole, in a tiny stall whose floor is always wet, listening to the squeals of the nearby pigs.  Prospective visitors, form an orderly line….

The house consists of a kitchen, communal room and three bedrooms.  Celestine lives here with her sister, Carol and her niece, Lilly.  When I arrived, there was also a twenty-something student from Canada researching the transfer of health information.  That meant that I was bunking up with Lilly and Carol.  I slept on the bed, while the two of them shared a foam mattress on the floor.  As if that wasn’t awkward enough, they also do not use the pit toilets at night.  Instead, they pee into a bucket IN THE ROOM.  That is the second worst way to wake up in Cameroon.

The first:  hearing the rustling and scratching of rats in the ceiling.  At first I tried to chalk the noise up to my room companions, but after hearing thumps one night I rolled over to see Lilly using her cell phone to peer under the bed.  Then a mouse scurried across the floor, up a plank leaning on the wall and into the ceiling.  Now, I have lived in Boston long enough to not screech the sight of mice.  However, laying in the dark and hearing them rustle from an unknown location….petrifying.  Guess who now sleeps with headphones…

On a positive note, the food here is much better.  Their staples include rice, beans and pap – a sweet, syrupy, corn flower yogurt.  The French influence means bread and pastries abound and their proximity to the ocean puts fish as a regular menu item.  Cameroon is also lusher than Northern Uganda, so fruit is more plentiful and varied.  Hooray!

Although initially horrified, I have started to settle in and readjust to African standards of hygiene.  For example, I have bed socks -- socks I only wear when I get into bed to protect my sheets from my perpetually dirty feet.  You adjust... 

 

However…I miss Uganda.  And you know – the first world.