I would love to say that Cameroon realized the mothering role which we were hoping from her and embraced us with a big warm blanket and allowed us to suckle on her teat for a few days to gain a bit of strength, before burping us gently and sending us out into the big bad world of West Africa. I'd love to say this, but, alas, it didn't. Instead, we found oursleves huddled on the step of a shoddy backpackers in Yaoundé at 3.30 am being attacked by mosquitos and reeling over the ten police checks which had been imposed on us in the preceeding eight hours of travel. Whilst there were weakened attempts at offering us the respite we were needing: an unexpectedly easy Nigerian visa, an eye poppingly well stocked 24 hour bakery just down the road in Yaoundé, fresh seafood in Limbé on the coast and the opportunity to summit the iposing Mount Cameroon; these really masked the slight disappointment I found with Cameroon and its people.
Yet it all started so well. At least once per tropical travels, I find the need to mistakenly buy a bunch of plantains thinking they are bananas. This usually incurs the pointing and laughing of local people as I try to peel back the solid skin and bite into the raw fruit inside. Cameroon was no different: on a bus break from the border I set about my thankless fruit task and the people stood around and laughed. yet then, something completely unexpected happened: someone disappered off into the market and brought me back a real bunch of bananas, declining my offer of money. The Cameroonians appeared so confident and open compared to the Congolese and Angolans and on this evidence, incredibly generous. Alas, this was to be one of the few occasions of Cameroonian hospitality. There seemed so much on offer in the country, yet no matter how hard I tried, I found I could not warm to its people. Money was on everyone's minds and the pinnacle came in a shared taxi when a fellow passenger asked me to pay her for getting out onto the pavement so that I could get out! It wasn't said with a hint of cheekiness or even hope, just a full expectation that I would pay her.
The few days towards the end, particularly the ascent of Mount Cameroon, were splendid and the Cameoonian guides and porters were excellent with a touch of sarcastic humour I don't usually relate with Africa. Walking through hills overflowing with long grasses took me right back to the Yorkshire Dales (though, thankfully, walking through the ash laden lava flows of the 2000 eruptions did not resemble Ribblesdale, beautiful though they were), as did the stiff breezes and need for woolly jumpers when we reached the summit (4090m). My gorging of all the seafood I could find in Limbé also went a long way to appeasing the
I hope I am wrong. I was only there a matter of days and so please, please don't judge a country just on what I write. Perhaps it is a telling sign of places to come which have had much more contact with tourists, without doubt there was and element of rural/urban differences with people much more welcoming and genuine in the rural areas, or perhaps we expected too much from our haven.
Yet it all started so well. At least once per tropical travels, I find the need to mistakenly buy a bunch of plantains thinking they are bananas. This usually incurs the pointing and laughing of local people as I try to peel back the solid skin and bite into the raw fruit inside. Cameroon was no different: on a bus break from the border I set about my thankless fruit task and the people stood around and laughed. yet then, something completely unexpected happened: someone disappered off into the market and brought me back a real bunch of bananas, declining my offer of money. The Cameroonians appeared so confident and open compared to the Congolese and Angolans and on this evidence, incredibly generous. Alas, this was to be one of the few occasions of Cameroonian hospitality. There seemed so much on offer in the country, yet no matter how hard I tried, I found I could not warm to its people. Money was on everyone's minds and the pinnacle came in a shared taxi when a fellow passenger asked me to pay her for getting out onto the pavement so that I could get out! It wasn't said with a hint of cheekiness or even hope, just a full expectation that I would pay her.
The few days towards the end, particularly the ascent of Mount Cameroon, were splendid and the Cameoonian guides and porters were excellent with a touch of sarcastic humour I don't usually relate with Africa. Walking through hills overflowing with long grasses took me right back to the Yorkshire Dales (though, thankfully, walking through the ash laden lava flows of the 2000 eruptions did not resemble Ribblesdale, beautiful though they were), as did the stiff breezes and need for woolly jumpers when we reached the summit (4090m). My gorging of all the seafood I could find in Limbé also went a long way to appeasing the
I hope I am wrong. I was only there a matter of days and so please, please don't judge a country just on what I write. Perhaps it is a telling sign of places to come which have had much more contact with tourists, without doubt there was and element of rural/urban differences with people much more welcoming and genuine in the rural areas, or perhaps we expected too much from our haven.
