Prior to departing from the USA, I had not been able to
connect with a porter I have used many times to help us thru and out of the
airport; this is not a good thing when you land in Douala after dark. Customs is a tricky place to get thru when
you are white & there are swarms of people waiting just outside to get at
your luggage or beg you for a few coins.
Even if you are inclined to help someone out in that place, the thought
quickly passes as you realize that it will only bring them in larger numbers
and increase the amount of danger you are already in the middle of.
As we stood there
waiting to see if our luggage had made it, a familiar voice called out my
name. A huge sense of relief overcame me
when I seen that it was the man I had been unable to contact. He no longer works at the airport, but was
there to pick up someone else. Truly a
God send! We collected our luggage to find that the Hotel bus had either not
came or left without us. With our 5
suitcases and 4 large carry-on bags, taking only one taxi would be impossible
and you should never separate in that situation. With this wonderful mans help we are able to
get 2 safe taxi drivers and he traveled with some of our bags in the second
taxi to the hotel. It costs money to
have him help you, but in this case, we could not have paid him enough.
We could not catch a plane north until Monday and Douala is
a place where you have the chance to do a little bit of gradual dealing with
the way of life here, the reality of where you are and the culture shock. When we first arrived there at the IBIS hotel
late in the evening, we were both severely dehydrated, tired and hungry, me I
was suffering from acute nicotine withdrawal as well. After getting our suitcases crammed into our
small hotel room, I told Steph that I was going outside for a smoke. While standing out there and realizing the
time, I remembered a store just down the street and since it was near closing
time, I decided to run there and get enough water for the night. We Americans
cannot drink the tap water, even in this pretty decent hotel. After getting the
water, I had another quick smoke and then headed back up to the room. I had taken our only room key and by then
Steph was terrified. Wondering what
could have happened to me, plus she had brushed her teeth & then wondered
if that might kill her. All things big
and small can be scary in Africa! By
this time we are about 30 hours into the travel, not to mention having gotten up many hours before leaving to try and
finish up everything before we left, and then very little rest on the trip here. We quickly showered and went to the hotel
restaurant to get a bite to eat before they closed. Navigating the French menu in a delirious
state was interesting.
While in Douala we had a look at the local goods hand-crafted
here in Cameroon, to get some idea of what we might bring our family and
friends back home. A former missionary
from here had connected us with a taxi driver to chauffer us around. There could be nothing like driving the
streets and an African buffet to prove to us that we have really arrived. Even I could not believe it when Steph ate
some of the things from that buffet.
Amazing what starvation can do to a person!
We flew to Garoua late Monday afternoon, arriving there well
after dark. An old friend picked us up
at the airport, which is no small feat given how much luggage we have and then
he hauled us to the hotel. I cannot
think of one good thing to say about that place except for we survived the
night and we were more than ready when he picked us up before daylight to take
us to the bus station the next morning.
The bus trip at best was suffocating and hot, with a Muslim
man standing in the aisle preaching in a foreign language for the first 2 hours
of the trip. We quietly celebrated when
he got off at one of the stops. No one
on this bus wanted the windows open and many of them sat there with sweaters
and hats on. All I can say is that if I
would have had one of those coats on me, it would have been soaking wet and
weighed 100 pounds. I cannot complain
about the smell, because I really don’t think we smelled too good ourselves. “A skunk smells their own odor first.” Even though we were really thirsty, we did
not dare to drink more than we had to have because we knew there would be no
bathroom stops.
While traveling you see many villages along the roadside, most
with similar yet distinctive building styles based on which tribe lives
there. It seems heavily populated and I
assume that it is because most of them must walk everywhere they go, so the
natural building spot is along the roadway.
Also I remind myself that we are in a land with little or no birth
control, and that, along with traveling early in the morning when many are
headed off to school this explains the large number of children we seen. In America we would not dream of letting our
kids walk this roadside. I would not
even want to drive let alone walk this route with all the buses, cars,
motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians and large trucks, let alone send my kids out
there. Yet somehow they survive. It is
the way of life and they adapt.
We got off the bus in Ngaoundere and I thought, oh great no
one is here to receive us. Certainly no
red carpet rolled out and no bands touting our arrival. Hippolyte a hospital worker that I have known
for many years now spots us and I am so happy that he is there. He summons the hospital truck and driver, and
finally we are headed for the mission station.
We first must make a trip thru town to pick up Hippolyte’s
wife who is shopping in the market. Now this is not a Super one or a Wal-Mart,
but streets and back alleys lined with stands that sell most anything. You can see fruits, vegetables, clothing,
shoes, cigarettes, medications, even a whole cow lying on a table in the mid
day sun. Those selling goods there are
trying to make a living on what they are able to sell. Other than food to be eaten, most of it is
unwanted, unused or rejected goods from other parts of the world. Everything is useful here. They would truly
build houses or insulate them with things we throw away every day. The streets are crowded and this village has
really grown up into a rural city since my last visit.
Finally we arrive at the mission station. The station is a 15-20 acre complex with many
small houses inside of a 10 foot high fence.
On my first visit, I thought that fence might be to keep the lions out,
but I later learned that it was to keep the locals out. The gates are open during the day, and anyone
can come inside. But when darkness falls
they are all locked protecting those who live inside a little. This is not at all to say that the people are
bad, but rather just that those who live inside these walls tend to have more
than those who live outside. It keeps
the honest people honest; I guess is how to best describe it.
We have been assigned a former missionaries place, so this
apartment comes with a few more accommodations than some places here at the
station. Besides a floor and a door,
small kitchen and a bathroom it has a few more extras. Most notably a washing machine, which it
seems a sin to use, but we are glad for it.
It is the dry season here and water is scarce. The local water company has been shutting off
the water most every day at various times.
You have no idea when it will go off, for how long or when it will come
back on. Don’t put off showering until morning because you may well regret that
choice.
One cannot help but see God’s hand in our travels. So many
places where things could have went wrong or where situations could have gone
bad. Somehow one feels closer to God in
Africa. You have no control over
anything and there are many times when one cannot do anything but pray. Whether it is for patience or to overcome an
obstacle or survive a life and death situation… all you can do is keep faith
that you will get through it. I am
reminded of the Pastors Ash Wednesday sermon, where the message was to, “shape
up, and exercise those spiritual muscles.” At the very least, I can report that we are
most certainly doing that!
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