As part of its effort to scare us in reducing the risks we take, the Embassy’s security office shares a monthly blotter of crimes in the Republic of Cameroon. Among our welcome materials were cautionary tales of: a Burkinabe man slain by his Cameroonian girlfriend, a Rwandan student found several days after her semester had ended... permanently, and a Cameroonian who killed her boyfriend after she found him messin’ around. The Cameroonian Navy killed a handful of pirates (ever notice how pirates are not quite as much fun when they are not "from the Caribbean"?) And a band of highway robbers shook down a group of Spanish tourists on a bus up north. But, aside from gruesome car accidents, there were at least five cases of old-style street justice: crowd runs down robbers, beats them to death. My lesson: as long as I don't mess around, these people have my back.
It’s Friday night, and all’s quiet chez Royster. The Embassy closes early on Friday afternoon: Working a little longer the rest of the week gives us a slightly longer weekend. I used my extra time to play with the girls, Fatimah enjoyed hers at Mahima, one of the larger supermarkets here. Make no mistake: it’s expensive to live in the big city. I think it’s the combination of the difficulty of getting things here and the risk sellers take of finding anyone who will buy their wares. But, whatever, Fatimah came home with a $10 block of cheese. We’ll work though it, but we definitely will be using the Cost of Living Allowance available to those of us serving in Cameroon.
The city seems like just that: a large, poorly planned city that lurches forward on its inertia. And bad driving. But it never seems like we’re in Africa! There are some sights at time: impossibly green hills disappearing into angry gray clouds, lizards lazily resting on perpendicular walls, multicolored prints sewn into dresses, shirts, and ill-advised Bermuda shorts.
We walked to a pizza joint. Pizza Roma is wedged into a building propped up over the Bastos Crossroads, where three busy streets meet without benefit of sign or light. I’m amazed that everyone seems to negotiate the intersection by luck, patience or strength of will. I’ve only seen one accident there, and people were more annoyed by the fact of the collision than the actual damage. And we saw our second Hummer tonight. Someone’s saving what they make from that $10 cheese.
Saturday turned out to be a great day, though our days in Cameroon have generally been pleasant. I slipped out of the house early for a run. Back home, I showered, at with the Girls, and then we were out the door to visit the Mefou Gorilla Preserve, south of Yaoundé. The preserve’s mission is to rescue animals from the bushmeat industry -- bushmeat being the flesh of gorillas and other primates. The preserve has rescued a few dozen animals, and has even bred a few babies. We were safe, on the other side of sturdy fences, and I can’t say we’ll ever be that close to baboons, gorilla or chimpanzees again. We heard the apes’ calls and whoops as rain pattered on green bananas splayed into a canopy overhead. For a moment, we thought, we had a glimpse of our romantic vision of Africa.
Then a band of gorillas beat the crap out of an ape who'd stolen some bananas.
One of the first dishes I tasted here is probably as typical Cameroonian as there is: Poulet Director General.