The Journey Home

Debarking the mountain changed the plans yet again (not sure that I’m ever going to feel inspired enough to make “plans” again after everything just falls through) and I ended up at the beach. This was a different beach though, Limbe, it’s not far from the mountain and the sand is a very dark brown from the volcanic rock of Mt. Cameroun. Like Buea, where Mt. Cameroon is located, Limbe is also Anglophone which was probably the best thing we had going for us at that point…. (my legs hurt so much I could barely walk and we had run out of money). The highlight of the trip was when we found a forgotten 5000 CFA note in my beachbag which basically doubled our combined monies and financed a much needed ice-cream sundae later. Our bankcards inexplicably stopped working, so we couldn’t get any more money until the banks actually opened so we had to wait it out.

We visited the beach via a really nice hotel and were thinking things were pretty spiffy, there was a pretty international crowd there. Then a certain something would remind you that you were indeed in Cameroon. Two favorite signs: the first requested that guests not urinate in the dressing rooms and the second advised guests against drinking water from the bathroom tap because of cholera… Oh yeah, that’s what going on right now.

En route back to Yaounde (where the train up North leaves from) we had to pass through Douala, or “the armpit of Africa” as my guidebook so casually refers to it, apparently both because of its humid climate and general reputation. The lady sprawled over half my ribcage in the bush taxi stopped texting on her Miley Cirus cell phone to ask me, “Why are you breathing like that? Do you have asthma?” No psycho, it’s because I can’t get any oxygen in my lungs with you on top of me! I’m not getting back in another bush taxi anytime soon.

The train left late and broke down and I got sick on that leg of the voyage, so when we got into Ngoundere, 18 hours after departing, I pretty much slept for the next 18 hours. (Recovered in time for New Years, no worries). Paul and Chantal Biya even sent me a personalized text message wishing me a happy new year, pretty impressive.

Although my favorite New Years wishes came from a card left on my doorstep by one of my quatrieme students, Bienvenue. His name literally means “welcome” in French and he said he wanted to welcome me back home which I thought was very sweet. The English teacher in me was less than pleased as the card was a) written in French and b) written on the back of the notes he had taken in Monday’s English class…