Treking about Cameroon
We complain about
travel in America. We complain and we
really, really shouldn't. You don't know
pain. You know not suffering.
You guys remember
that time I had my host family kids stay with me? Well when I took them back down south we all
had to ride on the train. Since I was
buying their way, I bought us all second class tickets. In the future, I'll choose jumping into a
bear pit over this option. It is an
overnight train that is a minimum of 12 hours.
Do you know how second class works?
They just sell as many tickets as possible. I'm not convinced there is any sort of limit. We pushed and shoved our way through the
eight second class cars looking for anywhere we could find space. All the seats were taken. People were laying on the floors
beneath. Even the connectors between
cars were full. There was only standing
room in the aisles. Some lovely humans
scrunched up and provided we four with a single seat. I gave it to the kids and sat on our luggage
in the aisle being pushed around every five minutes by someone trying to get
by. This went on for half past eternity
before I gave up. I left those children
and paid some exorbitant fee to whomever and was allowed entry into the dining
car where I slept on a table. I came
here to live the life of Africans. The
contract was a little fuzzy on which sort of Africans and I've since decided it
doesn't include second class ones.
Point is that I felt
some weird sort of uncomfort in the luxury of the States. I was picked up from the airport in a car and
had my own seat! ALL MINE! I'm pretty sure I fidgeted in it the whole
way not knowing what to do with myself.
Driving around on my own left me with the constant compulsion to pull
over and try to pick people up. Here a
car ride means four people in the front and four in the back. At least.
This does not count children who are non-entities and can be shovel
anywhere. Yes, in trunks, but not so
often. You just pray you don't get the
bitch sit and have to share with the driver.
I'll say truly that this is the one time I find myself ok with
malnutrition.
We'll toss out the
full 24 hours I spent in airports and planes to get back to Africa. Sure I didn't sleep a wink either way. On the way home it was complete glee that
kept me up (plus a desire to watch every film I'd never heard of before). On the way back it was the anxiety of
"Why the hell did I get on this plane?
I know exactly what's waiting for me this time!". No, it was that train ride. I paid for the sleeper car to share with
three other Cameroonians; price doesn't matter for some things even if I still
barely slept. I had to be up by 4:30 to
make sure I caught my stop. Then pile
into a car per above instructions for a couple hours. Then hire a couple of motorcycles (loaded
with 100 plus pounds of baggage) and another hour. Oh and don't forget we aren't exactly on
freeways. Yes, some of it was
paved--pothole ridden naturally--but the majority wasn't. It's dry season so basically the entirety of
this affair involved eating dust and gaining that special layer of Africa I'll
be keeping for the next year. It
protects against the tireless sun.
Airplane, train, car, motorcycle.
I actually could add a boat into the trek if I wanted. I don't.
I've learned a lot
about myself living here. One of those
things is that if I'm ever going to work in Africa again, they are providing me
with a goddamn car.
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