Tomorrow we depart for the http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Cameroon_Race_of_Hope. I'm going with Brad and Pedro, and while we're all in it for the adventure, fairly put, none of us is ready for this kind of challenge. And yet we try.
It's really hard to find out about the Race of Hope. It definitely starts and ends in Buea, in the shadow of Mt. Cameroon, the highest peak in Central Africa. And there's definitely a change in elevation, since the course runs an unimproved trail from the town to the summit at 4095 meters. (The current exchange rate is about 3.1 feet to the meter.) But reports differ on how long the race is: anywhere between 38 and 42 km (the standard length for a marathon). I also hear that while the race for the seniors (age 18-40) definitely goes to the top, the veterans (that's me, folks) and the juniors sometimes do, and sometimes don't.
For example, in the 2006 edition, documented in Volcanic Sprint, it was only at the start that the juniors were told their race would only go halfway up the mountain and back. That has to affect your training... but it's better than learning the opposite: that your race is twice as long as you'd planned!
My goal is to get to the top. Unfortunately, my longest training run has only been 18 miles, with nowhere near the grade change. Time is irrelevant here: the course record is about 4:15, testament to the hellish rise to the peak, even if the race is a full marathon length. And with such a change in altitude, the temperature can vary up to 25C from start to the midpoint. And yet we try. After all, this could be the last time the race reaches all the way to the sky...
First, though, we have to get there. We will leave Yaounde at midday, and drive like a collective bat out of hell across Cameroon, hoping to arrive by nightfall. This not only gets us there before roadways go truly insane, but also gives us time to find the race officials who have promised to hold our shirts and race bibs for us. Not to jinx anything, but organization has not always been one of the event's high points. We're taking an American flag, since our very presence only to the international flavor of the event. Unfortunately, we couldn't be in town earlier for the week long Festival of Hope, but with any luck we'll have enough left that we can celebrate a little after we cross the finish line.
It will be a glorious run, though the first time I've lined up for a race that I wasn't positive I would finish. It will hurt, stories will be told, legends made. What's the worst that could happen?
18 February 2010
06 February 2010
Running Tour of Yaoundé
In preparation for the Mt. Cameroon Race of Hope on February 20, I thought it good to try some long runs over elevation. Last weekend, I got to see a bit of the city I call home, and got a good bit of mileage in, thought the hills pale in comparison to the summit of West Africa's highest peak. Here's the route: Let me tell you what I saw.
I'd met up with several friends from the Embassy where I work, including two Marine Guards, but the last few weeks I'd been a few minutes late. Why? Anyone who's run with me knows I'm usually late anyway, but I was giving them a headstart: I ran to the Marine House to meet the group, and one guy drove himself there. Still, late is late, and I tried to take a new, shorter route to the Embassy. Shortly before Mile 1, I caught up with two young men who were determined not to let the old guy pass them. I was more determined, and smiled to myself as I beat them to the corner where I turned left. True, they might have been running for ten miles or so, but it all evens out.
Mile 1.75 - I got to the Embassy at about 0635; the last time I was late, I did 10 push-ups (tough Marines!). This time, though, no one was waiting. I hung out until 0645, then continued on, alone.
Mile 2.25 - Rond Point Bastos, the traffic circle, is the center of recreation in this part of town, with many cars parked here for easy access to the scenic run, jog or walk up Mt. Febe. On Friday nights, it's the center of a mob exercise scene that still amazes me. I turn left and head up Mt. Febe.
Mile 3 - Le Presidence is on the right, and while runners stream back and forth along the Febe road, no one broaches the dour looking guards on the road to the head of state's house. There's always an early morning soccer game on the baked clay field to the right, and always women selling fruit and palm oil roadside.
Mile 3.5 - Mt. Febe Hotel is government owned and operated. It overlooks the valley below, and on a clear day must provide quite a view of the capital. If you switch to the terrain map, you'll see that we're getting higher here, and the going is tough for about two miles, past a military installation, a Maltese monastery, and some really ritzy apartments.
Mile 4 - the top of Mt. Febe. It's a good little haul up here, and the most surprising thing is that there are exercise schools puffing their way through calisthenics and group chants in the roadway at the top of this hill. They share the road with passers-through on foot, but there's still auto traffic here, as well, and everyone seems to get along. That is, the pedestrians get out of the cars' way.
Mile 5 - What goes up must come down, and the going is fast and easy for the next few miles. The road continues paved, and it's easy to zone out and lose yourself in the yawning view of the Febe valley beneath you. You quickly pick out the Embassy, the Congressional Palace, and the cars streaming below. Turning right at the fork, we enter an undeveloped quartier, Febe City, which has a single unpaved road, little commerce, ramshackle homes and churchs, and stoop sitters waving unimpressedly at a sole jogger streaking down, then back up, their main street.
Mile 7- 8 - It's downhill again, and we're now heading into Mbankolo, which is a random hopscotch of homes and convenience shops along a pitted roadway. Traffic is heavier here, and I'm always alert to dodge mototaxis, the motorcycles that ferry passengers up and down these hills. Sometimes we're vying for the same patch of level asphalt and, even if I'm right morally, I just don't want to get hit.
Mile 8.5 - back at the Embassy, but nowhere near done running. I reverse course and head back to Mbankolo.
Mile 9.5 - This is the best we can do for hills around here: the Mbankolo radio towers. Taking a quick left at the heart of Mbankolo, I climb the road that wraps around a hill hosting two military radio installations. I choose to go only to the higher peak, rather than both. The switchbacks you see on the map are now paved in cement, making the return downhill bonejarring. I sprint by a fellow runner; he quickly overtakes me and I see him dart ahead of me around each hairpin turn as we climb. At the top, there are two more exercise schools doing fairly dangerous stretches and group jumps. I run to the end of the driveway, under gleaming antennas... and spot a path going down through the forest on the other side! I later learn that the local Hash recently ran up that trail! Indeed, as I descend I notice the remnants of shreddie from a past Hash run. Skies are darkening quickly, and though the antennas loom over the city, I can't see a thing through low cloud cover. I take the downhill as quickly as I can, leaving my pacer behind.
Mile 12 - I'm now retracing my earlier route through Mbankolo, but I've always wondered if there's a shortcut around the hotel. I turn right and drop down a steep hill into a construction site. Wandering around, I'm caught by the first rainstorm in two months - it's the dry season until March. The rain feels good, but it doesn't change the fact that the road I'm on does not go through! I forge past a sign that implores, in red spray paint on jersey wall, CHANTIER INTERDITE! I do not know what this means, so I continue on, into a construction site. Everyone's friendly enough, so I guess I'm not chantier-ing too much.
Mile 13 - I have screwed up, but I forge on. I am on Hole 8 of Mt. Febe's golf course. This is the only golf course in town, and during the dry season the lush greens turn to a dead brown. The upside, I understand, is that the course plays MUCH faster. The downside is that you can't smoke.
Mile 14 - I add a mile by running on the Parcours Vita, an exercise path with stations for various liftings and strainings. The loop begins with yet another steep downhill, followed by an incline that passes the pull up bar and a residence incongruously thrown into the middle of a park. At the top, I pause to attempt a balance beam, but my legs are getting a little shredded by this point and it takes me two tries to run the course.
Mile 15.5 - I return to the Febe road, and join up with two others who are running down hill, opening their stride to reap gravity's reward: unearned speed. Once we are knitted, I realize that, at least at first, I'm pacing them, keeping them from dropping back, and matching anyone who tries to kick. And we start to reel in a runner about 50 meters ahead of us. But after we return through the Presidence circle, our rabbit decides today is a bad day to be caught, so he speeds up, bustling down hill. I try to catch him, then the others join in, but at the bottom of the hill, the leader pulls up and turns to run back up the hill. I had fallen off by then, but we three chasers do a little mutual acknowledgement. I chat with one who says he's a police trainee (or that he's under arrest - the French escapes me) before I jog the final stretch homeward.
Mile 17 - At the Rond Point Bastos, I use the lampposts as an interval guide, and catch up to my police cadet friend, then pass him. At Mile 18, I stop at Socropole, a bakery across from Cameroon's Grand Mosque, and brave an angry cashier for 1.5 liters of water, and I gulp two-thirds of it immediately. By this time it's after 9 am, and the temperature's easily back up to the 80s, even after the earlier showers. It's almost downhill from here, and easy as long as I dodge the missing sections of the sidewalk that runs over the open sewer along the Lower Bastos road. Turning left to climb the hill home, I pass a herd of goats on their way to market. This is not that unusual, though for the life of me I don't know where they're coming from.
Mile 18 - I'm home, and I feel like I'm marginally prepared for the Race. Yeah, sure, the race is up to 8 miles longer, and sure I've only climbed one-fifth as much as I will in Buea, but this time all I want to do is finish. And maybe take a camera, document the run. The way this is going, the journey is so much more important than the destination ... or the time.
I'd met up with several friends from the Embassy where I work, including two Marine Guards, but the last few weeks I'd been a few minutes late. Why? Anyone who's run with me knows I'm usually late anyway, but I was giving them a headstart: I ran to the Marine House to meet the group, and one guy drove himself there. Still, late is late, and I tried to take a new, shorter route to the Embassy. Shortly before Mile 1, I caught up with two young men who were determined not to let the old guy pass them. I was more determined, and smiled to myself as I beat them to the corner where I turned left. True, they might have been running for ten miles or so, but it all evens out.
Mile 1.75 - I got to the Embassy at about 0635; the last time I was late, I did 10 push-ups (tough Marines!). This time, though, no one was waiting. I hung out until 0645, then continued on, alone.
Mile 2.25 - Rond Point Bastos, the traffic circle, is the center of recreation in this part of town, with many cars parked here for easy access to the scenic run, jog or walk up Mt. Febe. On Friday nights, it's the center of a mob exercise scene that still amazes me. I turn left and head up Mt. Febe.
Mile 3 - Le Presidence is on the right, and while runners stream back and forth along the Febe road, no one broaches the dour looking guards on the road to the head of state's house. There's always an early morning soccer game on the baked clay field to the right, and always women selling fruit and palm oil roadside.
Mile 3.5 - Mt. Febe Hotel is government owned and operated. It overlooks the valley below, and on a clear day must provide quite a view of the capital. If you switch to the terrain map, you'll see that we're getting higher here, and the going is tough for about two miles, past a military installation, a Maltese monastery, and some really ritzy apartments.
Mile 4 - the top of Mt. Febe. It's a good little haul up here, and the most surprising thing is that there are exercise schools puffing their way through calisthenics and group chants in the roadway at the top of this hill. They share the road with passers-through on foot, but there's still auto traffic here, as well, and everyone seems to get along. That is, the pedestrians get out of the cars' way.
Mile 5 - What goes up must come down, and the going is fast and easy for the next few miles. The road continues paved, and it's easy to zone out and lose yourself in the yawning view of the Febe valley beneath you. You quickly pick out the Embassy, the Congressional Palace, and the cars streaming below. Turning right at the fork, we enter an undeveloped quartier, Febe City, which has a single unpaved road, little commerce, ramshackle homes and churchs, and stoop sitters waving unimpressedly at a sole jogger streaking down, then back up, their main street.
Mile 7- 8 - It's downhill again, and we're now heading into Mbankolo, which is a random hopscotch of homes and convenience shops along a pitted roadway. Traffic is heavier here, and I'm always alert to dodge mototaxis, the motorcycles that ferry passengers up and down these hills. Sometimes we're vying for the same patch of level asphalt and, even if I'm right morally, I just don't want to get hit.
Mile 8.5 - back at the Embassy, but nowhere near done running. I reverse course and head back to Mbankolo.
Mile 9.5 - This is the best we can do for hills around here: the Mbankolo radio towers. Taking a quick left at the heart of Mbankolo, I climb the road that wraps around a hill hosting two military radio installations. I choose to go only to the higher peak, rather than both. The switchbacks you see on the map are now paved in cement, making the return downhill bonejarring. I sprint by a fellow runner; he quickly overtakes me and I see him dart ahead of me around each hairpin turn as we climb. At the top, there are two more exercise schools doing fairly dangerous stretches and group jumps. I run to the end of the driveway, under gleaming antennas... and spot a path going down through the forest on the other side! I later learn that the local Hash recently ran up that trail! Indeed, as I descend I notice the remnants of shreddie from a past Hash run. Skies are darkening quickly, and though the antennas loom over the city, I can't see a thing through low cloud cover. I take the downhill as quickly as I can, leaving my pacer behind.
Mile 12 - I'm now retracing my earlier route through Mbankolo, but I've always wondered if there's a shortcut around the hotel. I turn right and drop down a steep hill into a construction site. Wandering around, I'm caught by the first rainstorm in two months - it's the dry season until March. The rain feels good, but it doesn't change the fact that the road I'm on does not go through! I forge past a sign that implores, in red spray paint on jersey wall, CHANTIER INTERDITE! I do not know what this means, so I continue on, into a construction site. Everyone's friendly enough, so I guess I'm not chantier-ing too much.
Mile 13 - I have screwed up, but I forge on. I am on Hole 8 of Mt. Febe's golf course. This is the only golf course in town, and during the dry season the lush greens turn to a dead brown. The upside, I understand, is that the course plays MUCH faster. The downside is that you can't smoke.
Mile 14 - I add a mile by running on the Parcours Vita, an exercise path with stations for various liftings and strainings. The loop begins with yet another steep downhill, followed by an incline that passes the pull up bar and a residence incongruously thrown into the middle of a park. At the top, I pause to attempt a balance beam, but my legs are getting a little shredded by this point and it takes me two tries to run the course.
Mile 15.5 - I return to the Febe road, and join up with two others who are running down hill, opening their stride to reap gravity's reward: unearned speed. Once we are knitted, I realize that, at least at first, I'm pacing them, keeping them from dropping back, and matching anyone who tries to kick. And we start to reel in a runner about 50 meters ahead of us. But after we return through the Presidence circle, our rabbit decides today is a bad day to be caught, so he speeds up, bustling down hill. I try to catch him, then the others join in, but at the bottom of the hill, the leader pulls up and turns to run back up the hill. I had fallen off by then, but we three chasers do a little mutual acknowledgement. I chat with one who says he's a police trainee (or that he's under arrest - the French escapes me) before I jog the final stretch homeward.
Mile 17 - At the Rond Point Bastos, I use the lampposts as an interval guide, and catch up to my police cadet friend, then pass him. At Mile 18, I stop at Socropole, a bakery across from Cameroon's Grand Mosque, and brave an angry cashier for 1.5 liters of water, and I gulp two-thirds of it immediately. By this time it's after 9 am, and the temperature's easily back up to the 80s, even after the earlier showers. It's almost downhill from here, and easy as long as I dodge the missing sections of the sidewalk that runs over the open sewer along the Lower Bastos road. Turning left to climb the hill home, I pass a herd of goats on their way to market. This is not that unusual, though for the life of me I don't know where they're coming from.
Mile 18 - I'm home, and I feel like I'm marginally prepared for the Race. Yeah, sure, the race is up to 8 miles longer, and sure I've only climbed one-fifth as much as I will in Buea, but this time all I want to do is finish. And maybe take a camera, document the run. The way this is going, the journey is so much more important than the destination ... or the time.
02 February 2010
A Desparated Consumer
Shopping can be a pasttime or even an art form in the United States. Specialized, exclusive boutiques, majestic shopping malls - now that’s entertainment.
But that’s only shopping for clothes and furniture and things you don’t really need. You can sit on the floor trust me. Grocery shopping - hunting and gathering - is fun, but if you don’t do it, you will fall down and stop moving. Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s make a run at making it an experience - but any place that’s willing to get rid of you if you buy fifteen items or fewer is not fun.
More so when you shop in Cameroon. We’ve established a small circle of supermarkets where we can get seriously food. We have the large, open-air markets, especially Mokolo, the largest in Yaounde, but it’s not practical to do several days’ worth of shopping where you have to lug your catch back home on foot. It’s more lively, more exotic, but sometimes you just need to get some milk and move on.
Enter Mahima, a mini-chain of supermarkets. We call the two here New Mahima and Old Mahima. I have never been in New Mahima because I never decide that I need something until 12:50 on Sunday afternoon, and most supermarket closely fast and firm at 1 pm on the Lord’s Day. Old Mahima is adequately stocked, though buying fruit is laborious. They seem to weigh it piece by piece. Pavilion Vert is less complete, and less frilly. That sharp smell of bloody meat controls the back half of the supermarket, encouraging you to settle on whatever’s in your basket and get out.
I finally made it to Casino, an affiliate of a European market conglomerate. It was somehow reassuring to enter the store, once I braved the parking lot, which has only one access point, marked “EXIT.” There was variety. There were frivolous things, like cookies and frozen pizzas. I found items that resembled familiar ones back home, like a reasonable substitute for disposable diapers. Electronic scanners at the registers.
Mahima would be the Safeway or Giant of Cameroon. Pavilion Vert is like a Magruder’s. And Casino is like a dreamy Trader Joe’s or Whole Food. Forget comfort food. I’ll take the shopping experience when I need something to calm me down.
17 January 2010
Fantasy
Until someone tells me otherwise, we believe that we have the only fantasy (American) football league in Cameroon. When Fatimah went to Bamenda last month, she found the suitable trophy for such a worthy endeavor. I want to share the award ceremony to the Bastos Ballhawks, who dominated our league and won our hearts.
03 January 2010
This Olympic Moment
In 2000, Eric "the Eel" Moussambani heroically entered the 100-meter freestyle competition as a member of the Equatorial Guinean contingent in the Sydney Olympics. He did not win, but he made a point.
The connection: he practiced at the Hotel Bahia's pool.
Witness the Eel's two minutes of glory for yourself.
The unflattering postscript: he never made it back to the Olympics, and he did not enjoy fame and adoration back home.
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