I think I found my dad's 1982 Toyota Tercel stationwagon!

(Written by: Joel) So my first experience in Cameroon was a car accident. In my taxi from the airport, we hit a van in front of us at maybe 5-10 mph. You know, a little love tap. Apparently here, that signal is more of a “MOVE IT” similar to a honking the horn in Chicago. Honking your horn, on the other hand, communicates that I will be where you currently are in less than 3 seconds, so I advise you move out of the way. In fact our main contact Laure was in the cab with me, and she didn’t even notice. Horns are generally used more or less non-stop, and since there are no traffic rules or cops to enforce them, horns tend to be the only thing that lets other drivers know where you are (we’ve driven on sidewalks, through gas stations, etc so it’s important to let other people know you’re about to mow them down). Luckily since then, we haven’t hit anything, other than one motorcycle, and that driver only got a little cranky. Mike continues to ask if he can drive, but I think I’m quite okay with using the driver supplied for us.

Our driver’s name is Martin. He’s quite the expert at weaving through traffic, and the key is apparently to plan on hitting the other vehicles, including motorcycles. When they flinch, you can continue on your merry way. I think the biggest hurdle he has to overcome is the car he is driving has a horn that sounds like the Mr. Roger’s train whistle. It just isn’t very intimidating. I think we might send him a new horn that plays the Dukes of Hazzard when we get back home. This same car doesn’t have seat belt buckles (but really great seat belts), so I am unfortunately going to have to break my promise to my mom to always wear my seatbelt.

We’re staying in a beautiful house, owned by a friend of Laure’s named Andre. Fortunately for us, it’s not in the ex-pat area of Douala, so we get to see the real city. There’s a family living next door in roof-less house which was abandoned mid-construction 30 years ago when the French left. I think seeing that in the morning really puts life in perspective and adds quite a bit of incentive to do well on the project. By any standards of Cameroon, we’re living in the lap of luxury. We’ve got air-conditioning, a cook, our own rooms, and some internet access (though painfully slow and rather shaky).

We used to have one shower with hot water, but Mike and I forgot to turn off the hot water heater, so there was a minor explosion. We ended up breaking the only hot water heater in the house (and there are 4 bathrooms)! While I hate cold showers, I have to admit that it really speeds up getting ready in the morning.

Food here consists of a lot of fish, fruit some chicken and a little bit of vegetables. I interesting is that since nothing is processed, there tends to be quite a bit of bones. Not a big deal, but what’s different is I think you eat less because you get sick t’s weird how you notice certain things. One thing that has beenof picking out bones. ‘Yeah, I’m a little hungry, but maybe I’ll just have some rice or bread or something’.

Cereal is pretty uncommon around here, so when we asked for some, they didn’t give us any bowls to eat it in. We ended up using tea cups, and I think the tea added a little extra flavor.

Something that is pretty neat, but somewhat cheesy for me to take pictures of, is the way people here carry stuff on their heads. It’s amazing. They carry anything: wood, shoes, sandwiches, nuts, fruit, sunglasses, a display case for watches, dustpans. It’s actually incredibly impressive.

On Wednesday we tried to get our clothes cleaned. Our driver ended up taking us to a drycleaner, where we were told our total for 4 lbs. of clothes would be $68 USD! When we asked to get our clothes back, they just took them! Our driver then explained “Don’t worry, when we get back they will be very clean.” “It better come back in an f’ing platinum box for that price.” They didn’t seem to understand that response. It took a phone call to Laure to get them to release our clothes. People here assume that all white people are rich, so when we complain that it’s too expensive, they think we don’t understand the service will be good, or that we are overestimating the cost in USD. When we finally convince them that it really is too expensive they often look at us incredulously. You would think that prices here would be next to free, but this city is actually quite expensive. Gas, sodas, liquor, clothes and food are about the same price as the US or sometimes significantly more expensive. We probably spend about the same here as in Chicago, except we don’t have rent. I don’t know how anyone gets by here on $1,000/yr.

Friday I got my hair cut, and while that sounds somewhat trivial,
it’s a little unnerving waiting in line for a half hour while everyone else is getting a complete shave. Am I going to have any hair left
after this? I also noticed the barber didn’t have any scissors, and when he started to cut the top with the clippers (essentially combing my hair with a clipper), I was sufficiently afraid. All fears aside though, it came out pretty well.

Friday night was pretty cool too. Andre, our host, took us out to Orange Metallic, a local club here. The clubbing rules here are different. First, it’s like 80% women. Second, the super-huge bouncer that normally gets his ‘roid-rage on when you show up with a bunch of guys was happy to let us through without standing in any form of line. Lastly, a

nd I think this is probably the largest difference; a majority of the women are hookers. So for the first time in my life, a hooker tried to get me to agree to an equitable exchange. Stephanie was a lovely young woman, but, well, a bit aggressive. I tried to explain that I really didn’t want her services; I told her that I was with my boss, Laure; I tried to dodge by saying my friends need to help me get home, etc. She was having none of it. Again, I had to ask Laure to kindly help me, which was quite embarrassing. Luckily, I was the only one with a camera, so there isn’t any photographic evidence.