Into Cameroon, and after doing my now standard routine of buying a local SIM card, the fading sunlight saw me pitch up in a rather unpreposessing roadside spot (basically in a bush). For all my technical knowhow, I wasn't able to get the SIM card working, but it wasn't until the next day that I found out why.
I was in the Anglophone region of Cameroon, and there were ongoing protests by people in the region about how they have been marginalised by the Francophone dominated government. The president, a man with a skin even thinner than Donald Trump's, got upset about some of the mean things that people had been writing about him and cut off the internet to the entire region (and also for good measure created a new offence of spreading lies online punishable by 20 years in prison, which everyone in the country was informed about via a menacing text message). This had the effect of not just silencing all online communication, but it was crippling many businesses in the area, and meant that most of the ATMs in Bamenda were out of order. The two that were working had huge queues, and it took me 2.5 hours to get any money out, by which time I was extremely cross in a very British way because people here do not respect queues the way they should!
From Bamenda I went off to drive around the Northern Highlands, a picturesque part of the country (in some ways not too dissimilar from the highlands of Scotland). The roads went from tarmac to piste to other, and I took a couple of pathetic, low speed tumbles as is my trademark. The highlight of the trip would have been Lake Oku, a volcanic lake surrounded by pretty green forests, but there was no way to get close to it so I had to press on. I stopped off for a bit of food in what was a surprisingly busy hillside village; it transpired that I had stumbled into the funeral of a well liked union official and the whole place was out drinking. I was almost immediately targeted by a rather tipsy local woman who wasted no time in telling me that she was the boss of the nearby medical centre, and then propositioned me (before excusing herself to go and wee behind the bar). In that small window of opportunity I got talking to another guy about where I might find to stay nearby (it was now dark) and used that as my escape route.
I drove into Ndop (past a crashed minibus that I later found out killed three people), found a hotel and caught up with my new friend for a drink. It was the kind of place that makes Evolution in Wellingborough look like Mahiki but was better after a few beers, even with my new friend spending the evening telling me that he didn't really like spending time with girls, how he liked being with friends, and then touching my leg. Not sure what the attitude is to homosexuality in Cameroon, but if it is anything like some of the other countries here then I can imagine it being pretty tough. The highlight the next day was the big match: Africa Cup of Nations 2017 - tournament favourites Senegal vs ragged underdogs Cameroon. It was a closely fought match with Cameroon playing their hearts out, living up to their name The Indomitable Lions. After full time and extra time saw the teams tied, it went to penalties. As an England fan my heart obviously sank, but Cameroon's keeper (and undoubtedly one of the key reasons they were still in contention) pulled off a great save to send them into the semi-finals. Needless to say the crowd went wild, and it has to be said they did it with a lot more style than England fans (from what I can remember that is - it's been a while...), with spontaneous dancing, music cranked up to 11 and lots of huge smiles. Despite wanting an early night my friend dragged me back to Ndop's party central, as it turned out so he could try and set me up with his somewhat formidable female friend. I faked a phonecall and escaped on a moto-taxi.
Itching to get moving again (and not just to escape my friend/local pimp who was still trying to hook me up the next morning) I headed towards the coast, stopping in to the gigantic Chefferie (village Chief's compound) in Bandjoun en route. Having ducked into francophone Cameroon for a brief moment and been permitted internet access, I was immediately robbed of it again once I hit the anglophone town of Limbe. A nice enough place, with a primate sanctuary run by the same people as Drill Ranch in Nigeria, the real reason for visiting was to suss out whether I was going to climb Mt Cameroon. At 4095 metres, it is the tallest mountain in West Africa and the second highest in Africa, and a good excuse for me to get some decent exercise in. Umming an ahhing a bit, I decided I may as well go to Buea to talk to the trekking company there...
Turns out I didn't take too much persuading. Everyone at the company was so nice that despite the price being a lot higher than the guidebook said (Lonely Planet pretty out of date yet again) I signed up for the four day trek. As it was too late to start that day, they even let me sleep on the floor of the office! We did some shopping for food, and also for a new pair of trousers for me. With limited options available, I paid 30p for a pair of lightweight green trousers - women's size 18R. Was actually a very comfortable fit.
The first day was tough. Buea is at around 1000m above sea level and the route up to the first camp (well, actually camp two but the first place we would sleep) is steep. Trekking up through forest, then savannah, and finally scrambling up volcanic rock, the main reason I wasn't complaining or pulling pathetic faces was that the guides with me were carrying packs that I could barely lift. The pack Julius (the assistant/porter) was carrying must have been 30kg and yet despite setting off after us he soon caught us up. Hardcore. We were soon above the clouds, giving some really spectacular views. After about 8 hours of trekking we made it to 2800 metres and to the campsite (so just over a vertical mile climbed), where I sat down and rubbed my calves but Daniel (the guide) and Julius cracked straight on with cooking up a storm. Day two was slightly less steep and a mere 1300 metres or so to the summit, but by this time the altitude was starting to make things a bit harder. With plenty of stopping Daniel and I made it to the summit just before midday (Julius cut around the side and I can't say I blame him) where the howling wind meant just 10 minutes or so to enjoy the view before heading on back down the other side. Daniel had said that the day would be 11 hours of trekking, with 23km to cover. I thought that this was just a guide's trick - make it sound really bad, prepare the tourists for the worst and then reveal that it isn't so bad after all, but it turns out it wasn't, and the rest of the day was a serious drain on my very limited reserves of stamina. At the lunchbreak, after several hours of striding down steep gravel slopes, picking our way across lava fields and then marching through savannah I could barely move. It took me about ten minutes before I could even bring myself to eat the bread and chocolate spread lunch (though partly that was due to me getting really sick of it by that point). I perked up again after the break and after hiking down past volcanic craters and across a barren but beautiful lunar like landscape, we made it down to the forest camp at Mann's Spring (2440m) slightly ahead of time.
We were pitched up next to a team of researchers who were looking at pollination, but the main focus for the evening for everyone was the Cameroon - Ghana semi-final match. With no tv signal (and internet blocked even if there was reception), we fell back on the good old BBC world service to keep us up to date. Cameroon were again starting as underdogs (8 of their most high profile players had refused the call up for the tournament), but after what sounded like an exciting game they took a 1-0 lead in the 71st minute. The tension was palpable in the forest for the remaining 20 minutes, then when Cameroon scored again in the 92nd minute in a counter attacking move the forest erupted in cheers. Cameroon would now be facing Egypt in the final!
The next day was almost entirely forest trekking, which meant at least a pleasant amount of shade. We stopped in at Crater Lake (the only waterhole in the area during dry season) in an attempt to see some elephants, but like Wetherspoons clientele elephants either drink early in the morning or late at night so we only saw evidence of their presence rather than any in the flesh. We kept up a good pace for the day (with an occasional pick me up from sachets of the surprisingly tasty 'Cafe-Rhum' whisky), and rather than stop at the final camp pressed on for the finish line. We made it before dark, but it then took two hours and four taxis to get back to base. I could have walked it quicker...
I stuck around in Buea for a festival, though this was then postponed due to the funeral of a local bigwig. I went to that instead though, and it was pretty good (I even got a plate of bushmeat stew - antelope not monkey, it was legit!), and spent a fair amount of time with Daniel's family (wife and two kids) who live next door to the office. The kids were lovely, and very interested in the gadgets I have, with the result that I have a huge number of photos taken by them of the office and surrounding area, with several ones of me from a variety of unflattering angles that won't be seeing the light of day...
Without a clear view of what to do next, and with no easy way to do research in the connectivity dead zone of the anglophone Northwest, I headed to Douala for some planning (and maybe just a bit of a rest). I got a spotless room in a Catholic Mission and lucked out when I found out they were showing the football and were providing beer and food for free! Egypt took an early lead, making for tense viewing until Cameroon equalised in the 60th minute, but when they smashed in an 88th minute goal to take the lead everyone went wild, and when the whistle went there was dancing and singing all round. Going into the tournament everyone was expecting the worst, so to lift the cup was an even sweeter victory.
The rest of the time in Douala was spent eating nice food, and poking around on the internet trying to work out a plan. The only incident of note was when a couple of local punks tried to steal my wallet and phone. Walking down the road, I noticed one guy in front slow down just as another approached from behind. They both went for my pockets (credit to them, they were quick) but I grabbed hold of one of them and we had a bit of a dust up. I was helped by the fact that I was wearing my rather tight Cameroon football top so there wasn't anything for him to grab hold of, and when after a few seconds of scuffling I ended the impasse with a headbutt to the face he dropped my wallet and keys and disappeared. By this time his friend was over the road, trying to make out that he had nothing to do with any of it, but when I started after him he took to his heels. I kicked off my flip flops (turns out they are not good footwear for chasing people) and sprinted after him barefoot, liberally doprring the C-Bomb as I went. Luckily he tired before I did and he dropped my phone. By this time plenty of people in the street had seen what was going on and had come to my aid. I had loads of people ask me if I was ok and if anything was stolen, and one guy even bought me my flop-flops! For 15 minutes I felt like a bit of a local celebrity...
After Douala was Yaounde, a nice enough place but it was predominantly just a visa run. This time it was the Protestant church playing host, and I camped up for the best part of a week outside the rectory (or equivalent). Again, it was all pretty uneventful, though on the way in I did experience one of the more disturbing episodes of my trip. As I was riding along the main road into Yaounde, I caught sight of what at first glance looked like an animal by the side of the road. However, as I got closer I saw that it was actually a naked, dead man. What was most shocking though was the way that people nearby reacted. A hundred yards or so down the road, a team of guys was unloading a lorry. I rode up and asked if they knew about the guy and they just shrugged and said "he's dead". I then rode into the nearest village and stopped off at the police station. I asked if they knew there was a dead guy lying in the road and they just waved me off and said "we've called someone", then went back to talking amongst themselves. It was shocking different the situation was dealt with compared to the UK, where there would be police, tents, cordons and all sorts within minutes, especially if the circumstances were as bizarre as that.
The visas were expensive but largely problem free, and once I had them sorted I hit the road again. I had thought of heading for the Lobeke National Park in the South East corner of the country, but decided that I would go for the Nouabale-Ndoki national park in Congo instead, and after a long drive where the roads turned from smooth tarmac to single track logging roads (with a few fun encounters with heavily laden trucks thundering the other way) I hit the border.
I was in the Anglophone region of Cameroon, and there were ongoing protests by people in the region about how they have been marginalised by the Francophone dominated government. The president, a man with a skin even thinner than Donald Trump's, got upset about some of the mean things that people had been writing about him and cut off the internet to the entire region (and also for good measure created a new offence of spreading lies online punishable by 20 years in prison, which everyone in the country was informed about via a menacing text message). This had the effect of not just silencing all online communication, but it was crippling many businesses in the area, and meant that most of the ATMs in Bamenda were out of order. The two that were working had huge queues, and it took me 2.5 hours to get any money out, by which time I was extremely cross in a very British way because people here do not respect queues the way they should!
From Bamenda I went off to drive around the Northern Highlands, a picturesque part of the country (in some ways not too dissimilar from the highlands of Scotland). The roads went from tarmac to piste to other, and I took a couple of pathetic, low speed tumbles as is my trademark. The highlight of the trip would have been Lake Oku, a volcanic lake surrounded by pretty green forests, but there was no way to get close to it so I had to press on. I stopped off for a bit of food in what was a surprisingly busy hillside village; it transpired that I had stumbled into the funeral of a well liked union official and the whole place was out drinking. I was almost immediately targeted by a rather tipsy local woman who wasted no time in telling me that she was the boss of the nearby medical centre, and then propositioned me (before excusing herself to go and wee behind the bar). In that small window of opportunity I got talking to another guy about where I might find to stay nearby (it was now dark) and used that as my escape route.
I drove into Ndop (past a crashed minibus that I later found out killed three people), found a hotel and caught up with my new friend for a drink. It was the kind of place that makes Evolution in Wellingborough look like Mahiki but was better after a few beers, even with my new friend spending the evening telling me that he didn't really like spending time with girls, how he liked being with friends, and then touching my leg. Not sure what the attitude is to homosexuality in Cameroon, but if it is anything like some of the other countries here then I can imagine it being pretty tough. The highlight the next day was the big match: Africa Cup of Nations 2017 - tournament favourites Senegal vs ragged underdogs Cameroon. It was a closely fought match with Cameroon playing their hearts out, living up to their name The Indomitable Lions. After full time and extra time saw the teams tied, it went to penalties. As an England fan my heart obviously sank, but Cameroon's keeper (and undoubtedly one of the key reasons they were still in contention) pulled off a great save to send them into the semi-finals. Needless to say the crowd went wild, and it has to be said they did it with a lot more style than England fans (from what I can remember that is - it's been a while...), with spontaneous dancing, music cranked up to 11 and lots of huge smiles. Despite wanting an early night my friend dragged me back to Ndop's party central, as it turned out so he could try and set me up with his somewhat formidable female friend. I faked a phonecall and escaped on a moto-taxi.
Itching to get moving again (and not just to escape my friend/local pimp who was still trying to hook me up the next morning) I headed towards the coast, stopping in to the gigantic Chefferie (village Chief's compound) in Bandjoun en route. Having ducked into francophone Cameroon for a brief moment and been permitted internet access, I was immediately robbed of it again once I hit the anglophone town of Limbe. A nice enough place, with a primate sanctuary run by the same people as Drill Ranch in Nigeria, the real reason for visiting was to suss out whether I was going to climb Mt Cameroon. At 4095 metres, it is the tallest mountain in West Africa and the second highest in Africa, and a good excuse for me to get some decent exercise in. Umming an ahhing a bit, I decided I may as well go to Buea to talk to the trekking company there...
Turns out I didn't take too much persuading. Everyone at the company was so nice that despite the price being a lot higher than the guidebook said (Lonely Planet pretty out of date yet again) I signed up for the four day trek. As it was too late to start that day, they even let me sleep on the floor of the office! We did some shopping for food, and also for a new pair of trousers for me. With limited options available, I paid 30p for a pair of lightweight green trousers - women's size 18R. Was actually a very comfortable fit.
The first day was tough. Buea is at around 1000m above sea level and the route up to the first camp (well, actually camp two but the first place we would sleep) is steep. Trekking up through forest, then savannah, and finally scrambling up volcanic rock, the main reason I wasn't complaining or pulling pathetic faces was that the guides with me were carrying packs that I could barely lift. The pack Julius (the assistant/porter) was carrying must have been 30kg and yet despite setting off after us he soon caught us up. Hardcore. We were soon above the clouds, giving some really spectacular views. After about 8 hours of trekking we made it to 2800 metres and to the campsite (so just over a vertical mile climbed), where I sat down and rubbed my calves but Daniel (the guide) and Julius cracked straight on with cooking up a storm. Day two was slightly less steep and a mere 1300 metres or so to the summit, but by this time the altitude was starting to make things a bit harder. With plenty of stopping Daniel and I made it to the summit just before midday (Julius cut around the side and I can't say I blame him) where the howling wind meant just 10 minutes or so to enjoy the view before heading on back down the other side. Daniel had said that the day would be 11 hours of trekking, with 23km to cover. I thought that this was just a guide's trick - make it sound really bad, prepare the tourists for the worst and then reveal that it isn't so bad after all, but it turns out it wasn't, and the rest of the day was a serious drain on my very limited reserves of stamina. At the lunchbreak, after several hours of striding down steep gravel slopes, picking our way across lava fields and then marching through savannah I could barely move. It took me about ten minutes before I could even bring myself to eat the bread and chocolate spread lunch (though partly that was due to me getting really sick of it by that point). I perked up again after the break and after hiking down past volcanic craters and across a barren but beautiful lunar like landscape, we made it down to the forest camp at Mann's Spring (2440m) slightly ahead of time.
We were pitched up next to a team of researchers who were looking at pollination, but the main focus for the evening for everyone was the Cameroon - Ghana semi-final match. With no tv signal (and internet blocked even if there was reception), we fell back on the good old BBC world service to keep us up to date. Cameroon were again starting as underdogs (8 of their most high profile players had refused the call up for the tournament), but after what sounded like an exciting game they took a 1-0 lead in the 71st minute. The tension was palpable in the forest for the remaining 20 minutes, then when Cameroon scored again in the 92nd minute in a counter attacking move the forest erupted in cheers. Cameroon would now be facing Egypt in the final!
The next day was almost entirely forest trekking, which meant at least a pleasant amount of shade. We stopped in at Crater Lake (the only waterhole in the area during dry season) in an attempt to see some elephants, but like Wetherspoons clientele elephants either drink early in the morning or late at night so we only saw evidence of their presence rather than any in the flesh. We kept up a good pace for the day (with an occasional pick me up from sachets of the surprisingly tasty 'Cafe-Rhum' whisky), and rather than stop at the final camp pressed on for the finish line. We made it before dark, but it then took two hours and four taxis to get back to base. I could have walked it quicker...
I stuck around in Buea for a festival, though this was then postponed due to the funeral of a local bigwig. I went to that instead though, and it was pretty good (I even got a plate of bushmeat stew - antelope not monkey, it was legit!), and spent a fair amount of time with Daniel's family (wife and two kids) who live next door to the office. The kids were lovely, and very interested in the gadgets I have, with the result that I have a huge number of photos taken by them of the office and surrounding area, with several ones of me from a variety of unflattering angles that won't be seeing the light of day...
Without a clear view of what to do next, and with no easy way to do research in the connectivity dead zone of the anglophone Northwest, I headed to Douala for some planning (and maybe just a bit of a rest). I got a spotless room in a Catholic Mission and lucked out when I found out they were showing the football and were providing beer and food for free! Egypt took an early lead, making for tense viewing until Cameroon equalised in the 60th minute, but when they smashed in an 88th minute goal to take the lead everyone went wild, and when the whistle went there was dancing and singing all round. Going into the tournament everyone was expecting the worst, so to lift the cup was an even sweeter victory.
The rest of the time in Douala was spent eating nice food, and poking around on the internet trying to work out a plan. The only incident of note was when a couple of local punks tried to steal my wallet and phone. Walking down the road, I noticed one guy in front slow down just as another approached from behind. They both went for my pockets (credit to them, they were quick) but I grabbed hold of one of them and we had a bit of a dust up. I was helped by the fact that I was wearing my rather tight Cameroon football top so there wasn't anything for him to grab hold of, and when after a few seconds of scuffling I ended the impasse with a headbutt to the face he dropped my wallet and keys and disappeared. By this time his friend was over the road, trying to make out that he had nothing to do with any of it, but when I started after him he took to his heels. I kicked off my flip flops (turns out they are not good footwear for chasing people) and sprinted after him barefoot, liberally doprring the C-Bomb as I went. Luckily he tired before I did and he dropped my phone. By this time plenty of people in the street had seen what was going on and had come to my aid. I had loads of people ask me if I was ok and if anything was stolen, and one guy even bought me my flop-flops! For 15 minutes I felt like a bit of a local celebrity...
After Douala was Yaounde, a nice enough place but it was predominantly just a visa run. This time it was the Protestant church playing host, and I camped up for the best part of a week outside the rectory (or equivalent). Again, it was all pretty uneventful, though on the way in I did experience one of the more disturbing episodes of my trip. As I was riding along the main road into Yaounde, I caught sight of what at first glance looked like an animal by the side of the road. However, as I got closer I saw that it was actually a naked, dead man. What was most shocking though was the way that people nearby reacted. A hundred yards or so down the road, a team of guys was unloading a lorry. I rode up and asked if they knew about the guy and they just shrugged and said "he's dead". I then rode into the nearest village and stopped off at the police station. I asked if they knew there was a dead guy lying in the road and they just waved me off and said "we've called someone", then went back to talking amongst themselves. It was shocking different the situation was dealt with compared to the UK, where there would be police, tents, cordons and all sorts within minutes, especially if the circumstances were as bizarre as that.
The visas were expensive but largely problem free, and once I had them sorted I hit the road again. I had thought of heading for the Lobeke National Park in the South East corner of the country, but decided that I would go for the Nouabale-Ndoki national park in Congo instead, and after a long drive where the roads turned from smooth tarmac to single track logging roads (with a few fun encounters with heavily laden trucks thundering the other way) I hit the border.
