New Year on the Equator

New Year's Eve finds us in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea. While it's only a 15-minute flight from our home base in Cameroon, it's very different from the life we've grown into back in Yaounde.

• Split personality: The capital is located on the island of Bioko, separated from the larger chunk of the country wedged between Gabon and Cameroon on Africa's mainland.

• Se habla espanol: Equatorial Guinea is the only Spanish-speaking country in Africa. (I'm not going to get into it about the former Spanish Sahara -- there's not much time left in the year.)  EG has a decidedly Spanish colonial feel to it - witness the cathedral downtown, a stone's throw from the President's palace.  We have decided that we like Spanish much better than French.

• No bumps: We're staying near the Embassy, which lies along a highway that follows the northern shoreline. Steve's morning run was completely flat, a stark contrast from the hills he finds on every outing in Yaounde. Make no mistake - geologically Bioko is part of the range of mountains that includes Mount Cameroon back home. Pico Basile looms over Malabo, but we've barely been able to see it because of the dusty haze the dry season has brought. Here's a better picture someone else took:

• Black gold: There's oil in them thar waters. It's not quite OPEC worthy, but the influx of money results in a per capita income of $37,000 (unevenly distributed, make no mistake) and a lot of sparkling new buildings being built both on the island and in the mainland provinces.

The opportunity came up for a short-term assignment here, and we decided to make a family outing of it. Life is slow here -- enough to drive you crazy, some would say -- but we're together, exploring a new place. Today we took an auto tour of an oil facility, sparkling new buildings in a Malabo II that will replace the current city, and the sleepy capital descended from colonial days. We ended it with a mad rush through Martinez Brothers grocery store to get a bottle of champagne.

We won't be missing much outside at the stroke of midnight. Equatorial Guinea has an auto curfew on major holidays, including New Year's Day, and after 10 pm tonight no cars are allowed on the roads. I'm not quite clear on what happens if you are out, and how you get home, but I hear that most people ring in the New Year with their families. Here, we've put the Girls to sleep one last time, finishing Stuart Little, and we're going to watch a video or two before we wake each other up, sip champagne, and go to bed.

A lesson: no matter where you go, after a while New Year's Eve is the same the world over!

[Footnote: though Equatorial Guinea is the closest of several Guineas to the Equator, we're a few degrees north. The Equator does run through Gabon and Sao Tome.]

The Boss's Chicken

One of the first dishes I tasted here is probably as typical Cameroonian as there is: Poulet Director General.

It's as delicious as it looks in the recipe and the photo.

Everyone has his or her own version. This is Chantale's.

Poulet D.G.

Ingredients

• 1 whole chicken, about 3 pounds, or chicken breasts
• 5 to 6 medium ripe plaintains
• 6 medium tomatoes, chopped
• 1 large onion, divided and chopped
• 1 tbsp bouillon cube
• 3 cloves garlic, chopped
• fresh basil, parsely, celery, chopped and divided
• vegetable oil for deep frying
• 2 tbsp olive oil or vegetable oil
• black pepper as desired
• 1 tbsp salt

1. Wash chicken then cut into small pieces.
2. Cook chicken pieces with half of the onions, half of the spices, 1 tsp salt, and pepper in 1 cup water.
3. Heat the oil with medium high heat. 
4. Meanwhile cut plantains in 1-1/2 inch rounded pieces, then deep fry in the oil. Cook by a small amount at a time, about 10 minutes or until each portion is dark brown. Set aside
5. When the chicken is done (15 to 20 minutes) drain, reserving the stock.
6. Heat 2 tbsp oil and sauté chicken until browned on all sides. Remove from heat. Set aside.
7. Add leftover onions, garlic to the pan. Sauté until soft. Add leftover spices. Sauté for one minute. Add tomatoes. Cook tomatoes until water is absorbed. Add the chicken liquid, bouillon cube, and black pepper. Cook 2 to 3 minutes. Return chicken and plantains to the pan. Cook 1 more minute.

Poulet D.G. is ready.  Bon appetit.   

On Trail in Cameroon

The Yaoundé Hash House Harriers completed something like their 680th run last weekend. We paid for it. But we got our money’s worth. 

The YHHH meets Saturdays at 3:30 p.m. or so in front of the Yaoundé Hilton in downtown. The general plan is to pile into cars, drive to the designated start place, get out, and hash. We arrived a little early, and wandered into a newly opened store, Stop & Shop. Intrigued by the use of the Obama “Big O” logo in the banner they stretch across every street in le centre, we had to see what a real-live “American store” sold. 

Lots of things Made in China. 

We returned to find most of the Hash already piled into cars, and waiting impatiently for us. Ideally, we’d like to think they didn’t want us to miss the fun, but we were driving a vehicle that could take at least four more hashers, and space was tight. We squeezed five in, but that left two carloads relegated to hailing taxis and joining in our convoy to Nkalan-Bisson (completely phonetic), a suburb west of the city. 

And we hashed. The ritual is refreshingly familiar around the world: about 30 of us circled for introductions and instructions, and then we took to a trail marked by shredded paper in hopes of finding beer at the end. Markings guide the runners along the trail in hopes of making it to the end where beer awaits. The Yaoundé Hash is officiated in French, which allows me to answer a question I've pondered for sometime: In English, the runners yell "On-on!" when they are on the true trail. Comment dit-on en français?

The answer. "On-on!"

The trail itself was somewhat disastrous. A good trail keeps the faster and slower runners together, but this is best accomplished by design and creativity, not by instilling fear in the pack. And within minutes we were afraid we’d never make it back if we didn’t stick together. We ran up and down every hill in the area, into people’s yards, up the side of a hill on a kilometer-long false trail ... two hours worth of trail. I was impressed, though: the hares hacked through the brush with a machete, clearing a path halfway up a giant hill - all for a false trail. At one point, I found myself clutching a sheer face for rock, while two hashers below encouraged me to keep looking for the trail up there. Huffing my way up another hill, I cursed, “It sucks to be old." I mean, you figure what goes up must come down, right? 

Returning to the starting parking lot, we stretched a little, paid 1,000 francs (just over 2 dollars), and enjoyed a beverage of choice (beer!) as we changed into less smelly clothes and  recapped the day’s run. The sun set on us as we celebrated and sang “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and parted ways until next time.