Mom and Mike Visit Cameroon: Part 4 -- Mike’s Favorite Day (From Limbe to Yaounde)

I might be the only Peace Corps volunteer in Cameroon who loves (not even just “likes”, or “doesn’t dislike”, but actually “enjoys”) public transportation in Cameroon.  There’s always so much to see outside the window and there’s always a chance to meet interesting people.  I never find it particularly uncomfortable, and I enjoy just listening to music and spacing out.

I pampered Mom and Mike for their first few days in Cameroon.  We started by "depo-ing" taxis (meaning to rent the whole taxi rather than squish in with x number of strangers picked up along the way).  We even took the train to Douala followed by a car to Buea, rather than the direct bus ride from Yaounde to Buea.  Talk about spoiled brats!  But honestly, it felt great to be luxurious and put us all at ease. (Plus the train gave us free chocolate croissants, so that was pretty awesome).

After Limbe however, the gloves came off.  It was time for the bus ride from Limbe to Yaounde – typically a 6 hour ride. There was really no other choice.  It was squish in this bus, or stay at this fabulous beach forever.

Sometimes, we get lucky – the bus is new, there’s air conditioning, the trip goes pretty fast.  This particular day was not one of those lucky ones: we got the oldest, slowest bus on the planet.  This bus was chugging along at a snails pace, as all the other cars and buses breezed past.  On top of that, the seats were particularly cramped.  This is never an issue for me – I am physically uncomfortable with too much legroom and would rather be squished and constricted to small places. (Call me weird, or whatever.  Ain't like I haven't heard it before!)  My brother – a rather tall dude whose legs were sore from hiking the tallest mountain in West Africa – was less than pleased with the seating arrangements.

He was also less than pleased with the extreme heat and humidity in the bus – actually, pretty much every Cameroonian passenger was also complaining about how much of a sweat-box it was.  Not only was there no air-conditioning, but none of the windows opened.  The only airflow in the bus came from the rooftop emergency exits and from the door, which kept slamming shut.  Luckily during our stop in Douala, the sweatiest city in the world, a man sitting next to me came back onto the bus with ice cream.  I asked him where he bought it, and instead of just showing me, he treated us each a refreshing cone.

Physical discomfort on the bus rides not only comes in the form of lack of legroom and ultra-sweatiness, but also from the lack of bathroom breaks.  I felt like a parent, warning Mom and Mike that they were not allowed to consume to many liquids, and they should be wary of things that might give them rumbly tummies – you never know how long the driver will go before stopping for a bathroom break, if he even stops at all.  Fortunately for me, I’ve had years of training for this.  Summer vacations with my Uncle Ron have trained me to endure 10 hours in a car without peeing.  (Thanks Uncle Ron!  I knew this would come in handy someday!)  It takes a delicate balance of hydrating yourself enough to make up for the liters of sweat pouring out of you, while staying dehydrated enough to not need a pit stop – a delicate balance, indeed.

All physical discomforts aside, Mom was quite enthralled by the on-bus live entertainment.  The ride started out with a pastor coming on to sing some prayers and pray for a safe journey.  Now, I’m kind of fuzzy on the details, and I’m sure if you talk to my mother, she’ll either set me straight or give you a completely different hyperbolized version of the story, but I think the pastor finished up the prayers and started selling cookies?  I’m not quite sure how the logistics were.  All I know is that he was selling multiple brands, and we got free samples.  Once he left, a few other salesmen popped in and out along the journey, selling everything from medications, toothbrushes, candies, and deals at a hotel in Yaounde.  Most of them advertised loudly and steadily for at least a solid half hour.  I, like my mother, usually find this quite entertaining.  Towards the end of the ride, most of the passengers around us were telling the salesmen to just shut their mouths. When I get tired of it, I just turn my iPod up at full blast to drown out their sales pitches, but for the most part, these live infomercials continue to be an amusing aspect of public transportation here in Cameroon.

We arrived in Yaounde around 6PM – two hours later than scheduled.  It was an 8-hour bus ride (and I have to admit, it was not the easiest trip), the sun was setting, and we still had another hour-long trip to get to Akono.

We lugged all seven bags (three of which were filled with candies and treats) down to the car park, and loaded ourselves into a crowded van.  We were the last passengers on the van, so we were unable to sit together – Mom and Mike near the back, and myself sharing the passenger seat with a woman named Rosalie (who later turned out to become a very wonderful friend and work partner and is actually on her way to visit as I type.)

By the time we arrived in Akono, we were the last passengers in the van, so the driver was kind enough to drive us directly to my house.  At long last, we were able to shower, pee, relax, and eat some delicious mac & cheese.

It was a tough day for my visitors, but I think it taught us all a valuable lesson: if Mike ever moves to Cameroon, he should definitely have his own car.