Accra Again: Lost Luggage Day II

I recharged my phone overnight and got out my new SIM card.  Then I remembered something.  I have to unlock my phone.  I need a code I got from AT&T before I left.  Dammit.  That means I need to go to the internet cafe first.  I went to the busy internet cafe and with a little sleuthing found my unlock code in my email.  Then I popped my old SIM card and put the new one in, and voilà.  It asked for the passcode and I entered it.  I stepped outside and tried to place a call.  The first time you try to call, it registers the SIM so you have to redial.  But when it registered me, it told me I had only GH¢0.50.  That's like 3 minutes.  Busy Internet sells credit, but not this early in the morning.  Fortunately, I'm near Nkrumah Circle and I saw people selling credit.  I bought GH¢2 of credit from a guy.  His girlfriend was there, and she asked I'd buy her some credit too.  Sorry.

I called my airport plus extension and finally got a guy.  He said he'd look into it and call me back.  It was very loud with all the traffic, so I went back to my hotel room where I called again and explained the urgency of the situation--I'm leaving for the US the next day and need my baggage.  I got his name, Moses Glago.  He said he would visit the Virgin Nigeria office and get them to help.  I asked if I should be there too to answer any questions that might arise.  He said he didn't mind but it wasn't necessary.  So I walked back to Osu to wait for the call from Moses.

I had a beer at Venus in the Byblos Hotel.  Then out on the street met a guy (who says his artist name is a rather uncreative Black Africa) try to sell me paintings.  I told him I wouldn't buy anything but could look.  He tried to ask GH¢28.  I reminded him that I said I wasn't going to buy anything.  Then he gave me a painting for free and suggested I give him a donation (the left arm buffs the right arm, the right arm buffs the left arm, he kept saying).  I said that asking for a donation for a free item is the same as selling it and I wasn't going to buy anything.  Finally after about 5 minutes of this BS, I just gave him his painting back and left.

I got another GH¢1 of Tigo time, a Time magazine at Koala, and got a cab to the airport.  I found Moses.  Had he been to the Virgin Nigeria office? Not yet.  He had me write out a more detailed description.  Another guy with lost luggage asked for their phone number and they gave him the bad one so I gave him the good one.  I tried to go to the Virgin office, but it was closed and the security people told me to wait or come back later.  I went back down and peppered another guy with questions about the whole process.  My bags were not even in their system.  They didn't even know where they were.  They were not being tracked.  I said I want phone calls to be made and my bags located.  Another woman came in on the same 2 flights the same night.  Same story with them.

I went to Aerostar and had a beer while waiting for Moses to call.  He didn't so I went back and asked more questions.  The guy said they don't call.  They just use the email system.  I figured all I could do was wait and left.  A guy outside, Stephen, reminded me that I should go to the Virgin Nigeria office again.

Up I went.  There I met Olivia.  I explained the whole thing to her--Moses was supposed to talk with her (he didn't), I was leaving for the US the next day, the whole process in Douala was manual even down to handwritten boarding passes and my bags were not even in their system.  Then she did what the Aviance people would not.  She got out her phone and address book and started calling.  Of course, the first guy she called was Moses and made him come up and they had a brief exchange in their native language.  Within 5 minutes, a Virgin Nigerian employee had gone to an underground cage where baggage is kept and found both my bags and neither of them was slated to move anywhere anytime.  There was an hour to the next flight from Lagos and they would get my bags on that flight.

If I hadn't talked with Olivia, I would not have been able to return to the United States with my bags.  The Aviance people were worthless.  Worse that worthless.  They lied to me, deceived me, and made me waste my time.  If the girl who told me my bags would be on the next flight wouldn't have lied, and would have said that they weren't even in the system, I would have gone to the Virgin Nigeria office a day sooner and gotten my bags on the previous evening's flight.  Instead I was wasting my entire day--my last full day in West Africa--there and the frickin' airport because that stupid idiot girl lied to me.  I'm eternally grateful to Olivia.

I waited in the internet cafe at the airport and then heard the annoucement that my flight landed.  I tried to get in the back door to get my bags while there were on the carousel, but it would have cost a GH¢10 dash.  Dammit!  I tried with another guy but he couldn't get me in either.  In the end, the only thing I could do was wait at Aviance.  There was a new woman and I told her I wanted my luggage and that the girl who was there at the desk yesterday had lied to me about the luggage being on the flight.  Then I saw the girl who lied was there in another chair.

I sat down to wait.  A guy sat next to me--he was the guy who I gave the better phone number to.  He thanked me.  Then after about a half hour, my luggage came.  They have a customs officer right there in the room and I cleared customs.  He didn't look at anything of mine--just the other guy.  I just had to sign a ledger with information about my luggage.

Then I got a cab for GH¢5 back to the hotel.  Since it was late and I didn't much money left, I just ate at a local Chinese place up on Nkrumah Circle so I didn't have to spend GH¢6 on cabs to and from Osu.  The power at my hotel went out just as I was leaving and it went out at the CHinese place just as I was finishing up my meal.  So I avoided the bulk of the problems with the power outages.  Though, Ghana had had pretty reliable power until then.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008 8:51 Chicago local time

Accra Again: Dealing With Lost Luggage

My luggage was lost and they told me to call them around noon.  It was late morning so I decided to start already.  There is one difference between Douala and Accra--in Douala, there are plenty of businesses where you can use a phone to call people and pay by the minute.  Accra doesn't have many of these.  The sun had come out and I was still wearing the same shirt I wore on the plane and all night long.  I finally found a box.  But the number wasn't working.

I decided to try another box.  It took a long time to find one.  Again, the number wasn't working.  Ugh!  This sucks!  I went to M&J Travel which is near Osu and asked them if they could help.  All they would do is give me the number to Virgin Nigeria.  They remembered me.  When I was there, they thought McCain was going to win, but I had been monitoring fivethirtyeight.com, so I said the race was still leaning pretty heavily in Obama's favor.  She noted that in fact, Obama did win.

I walked back to the hotel.  There is a prepaid card pay phone at the hotel.  I asked where I can get a prepaid card.  "Oh, that phone doesn't work."  (Of course not, this is Africa.)  There is another one there on the desk.  "That one doesn't work either."  But the clerk offered to let me use a cell phone, but I'd have to get some MTN credits.  OK, that shouldn't be too hard.  But it was.  Usually, you don't have to walk more than half a block to find someone selling credits.  But I walked all over. I found another prepaid card phone outside a hotel.  I went in and asked a hotel employee if they sell card.  No, he said, check the gas station across the street.  I went across the street.  Do you sell Ghana Telecom prepaid cards? No, go down the street.  I was hot, sweaty and getting frustrated.  I found 2 guys out side a business that sells MTN credit, but it was closed (it was Saturday, after all).  They directed to another business, but it was also closed.  I wandered around some more, then finally found what I was looking for.

There are 2 ways to get time on your phone.  You can buy little scratch off cards and enter the number.  Or you can find people with credit on the phone and they can transfer some of their credit to another phone number--for a fee of course.  So these two women were there sitting under an umbrella with a sign showing how much it costs to transfer how much credit from their phone to mine.  I gave them the phone number of the desk clerk's phone and got about GH¢2 worth of time--about 15 minutes.

Then back to the hotel.  The phone number I was given is still out of service.  I couldn't get a human at the Virgin Nigeria office despite trying a few times.  Then the desk clerk called the airport.  From that we got the number to the bag reclaim desk.  So I now I had that number.  I called and explained my situation.  Then my time ran out.

An African couple came.  The man is a big guy.  He asked how I'm doing.  Not so well.  He and his wife live in Miami, but he is a chief (Nana) in Cape Coast and was here to do chief stuff.  He is also a travel agent.  He offered to help and gave some advice.  The most helpful piece of advice was to get a SIM card for my AT&T cell phone.  He said I should do everything through the hotel clerk, so I gave the hotel clerk GH¢5 to get me a SIM card.  He said I should go to the airport (I already decided I had no choice but to do that) and get names and if I needed help he knew people there who could help me.  But he had to run because he had chief stuff to do.

So I headed to the airport (GH¢5).  I went to the Aviance counter where they handle lost bags.  The first thing I did was ask for the phone number.  She gave it to me but it was the same phone number I already had.  "That's your phone number?" "Yes." "I tried it--it doesn't work." "I know." "You know it doesn't work?" "Yes." "But that's your phone number?" "Yes." I stood there aghast.  "Why does your office have a phone number that doesn't work?" "It usually works, but there's a problem this weekend." The girl checked her computer.  She told me that my bags were going to be in the flight tonight.  I asked for her name.  She wouldn't tell me.  That should have been a red flag--she didn't want to held accountable for the information she gave me.  I would find out why later.

I went to Aerostar, a bar/restaurant near the airport.  I got a Star beer.  It's nice there--outdoor but shaded.  And reasonably priced unlike the places inside the airport.  Just GH¢2 for a big bottle of beer.

Then I got a cab to Danquah Circle in Osu for GH¢5.  I walked down to Ryan's Pub and a beer while watching Everton play Manchester City.  Finally I was hungry.  Ravi who I met at the airport in Douala recommended Indian Heritage as the best Indian food in Accra and it was pretty close to Ryan's Irish pub, so I went there.  But they open at 6:30.  So I went to a bar across the street, Honey Road, and ordered a beer.  Then this crazy guy who might be the owner or might just be the husband of one employee and the father of another one sat at my table.

He was talking crazy.  Asking me all types of weird questions.  Like "Kunta Kinte: what color is he?" "Black." Easy enough.  "Who was the first man on the moon?" "Neil Armstrong." "Wrong!" he asserted and said some Russian name.  "Stevie Wonder: What color is he?" "Black." "Where was Kunta Kinte from?" "The Gambia" "No--from Africa."  "Who took him to America: black men or white men?" "White men." It went on like this for about a half hour.  He was extremely offended that I didn't know Kofi Annan was from Ghana.  He asserted that there are no scientists born in America.  Naturally we talked about Obama.  Finally, 6:30 rolled around and I was anxious to end this craziness with this meaningless questions.

The Indian Heritage was good.  I got a spinach like dish recommended by Ravi and samosas and rice and a garlic naan and a chicken dish.  Yummy.  I couldn't even finish it all.  They did something funny with the bill.  They left the chicken dish off and then had me pay for it in cash downstairs.  How odd, but I went along.  Then they help me get a cab (it's a bit off the main drag so not many cabs come by) and for GH¢4, I got back to my room.  I fell asleep until the desk clerk called and told me I should come and pick up my new SIM card.  So I did.  Then I went back to my room, exhausted since I didn't sleep the previous night, and died on the bed.

Monday, December 15, 2008 8:03 Ghana local time

Douala To Accra Via Lagos

I got up early on my last day, Thursday the 11th, to go to Delice.  They had pain aux raisins but no chausson aux pommes.  So I had a lighter breakfast than I expected.

Time was low, so I returned to my hotel and packed.  I still had an hour, so I went out in search of a close internet cafe.  They were all either closed, or had no connection.  Then I found one that was open and while I was reaching for my money to buy some time, several square blocks, including theirs, lost power.  I just got a moto-taxi back to the hotel.

The cab to the airport cost me CFA 3000.  Not bad.  Lonely Planet said CFA 2500 and CFA 3000 at night, so I didn't get reamed too bad.  On the way, we passed a bar called the Barak Obama.  I'm not sure if they misspelled his name for copyright and legal reason or if they just didn't know to spell it.  Interesting, either way.  Barack Obama sure has captured the popular imagination in Africa.

The way the airport works in Douala is that the cabs don't take you right to the departure doors like at most airports.  Rather, the drop you off by a bunch of men who grab your stuff and charge CFA 300 per bag to take your bags up to the departure area.  Whatever.  I had fun by having only a CFA 5000 bill to pay the guy and made him run all over looking for change.  I was pretty early, and it's fun to make people work for their money when they provide a service I don't really want anyway.

I got there and this guy told me that my plastic weaved bag has to be wrapped.  I said I'd get it wrapped if Virgin Nigeria told me to wrap it.  He told me would wrap it and he started.  I asked him combien ça coûte?  3000 Francs.  C'est fou! I said.  D'accord, 2500 Francs.  Non, c'est fou.  But he kept wrapping.  Pour quoi vouz continuez à emballer quand nous n'avons pas une marché?  Je ne peux pas payer sans une marché.  Another employee in a yellow reflective vest was watching this with an interested look.  The guy kept wrapping.  I kept telling him stuff like "je ne payer une prix folle.  Vous douvez negocier une prix avant vous faisez le travaille." But he kept going.  When he finished, he asked for CFA 2500.  Non!  J'ai dit que je ne payer pas 2500.  Mais vous avez continué.  Je ne comprend pas pour quoi vous prefere à faire le travaille avant negocier une prix.  Je pense que c'est fou." I told him I'd give him CFA 500.  The yellow vested employee was enjoying watching this.  The wrapper wasn't happy at all.  He asked for 2500 again.  I reached down and touched the tape. "C'est combien?  50 Francs?" and then I touched the plastic sheet thing we put around the bag and asked "Et ça, c'est combien?  50 Francs aussi?" He was looking angry and just looking around.  "500 Francs, c'est ne pas bon," he said.  I reminded him again the price he stated was crazy and he should have stopped and negotiated a deal with me but he didn't.  Finally, I upped it to CFA 1000.  He just kept looking around with this disgusted look.  He did that for a couple of minutes.  I held the CFA 1000 in my hand ready for him to take it.  "Est-ce que vous gaspillez votre temps ici?" I asked since he wasn't doing anything--just looking around waited for me to cave in, I suppose.  Then after another couple of minutes, he finally wandered off.  I'm not sure what he was going to do.  He refused my money and walked away.  The yellow vested guy eventually left too since the show was over.  A guy from India was watching as was a Chinese girl.  But their French apparently wasn't up to being able to enjoy the spectacle as fully as the guy in the yellow vest.

After about 5 minutes, the wrapper guy came back. I renewed the offer of CFA 1000.  He took it and left.  The yellow vested guy came back a few minutes later as well and asked if I paid the guy.  I told him I had.  Then I asked "normallement, c'est combien?" He said CFA 1000--exactly what I paid.  Not bad.

I was the first to get my boarding pass.  The system was totally manual.  My boarding pass was hand written.  My seat assignment was done with stickers.  The luggage tags were written out by hand as well.  Hmmm...  I hope my luggage makes it with this hand written stuff...

I went through security and had to pay a CFA 10000 (US$20) departure tax.  Then I needed to fill out a departure form and hand it to immigration.  Security was fairly high.

The guy from India, Ravi, and the Chinese girl and I hung out together for the next three hours as we waited for the plane to take off.  He knows Africa pretty well since he is here with sales for agricultural equipment.  We talked about African economics and development and culture.  There was an Africa guy listening to us who was probably interested in our opinions of Africa even if they weren't terribly optimistic.  They, after all, have enormous culturally based problems to overcome.

We boarded the plane and it wasn't long before we were in Lagos.  Near the end of the flight, they handed out the Nigerian immigration form.  They said that even if you transit, you need to fill it out.  However, as soon as I landed, I went to the Virgin Nigeria transfer desk and got a boarding pass for the next flight and that flight was right there in the terminal, so there was no need for me to go through Nigerian customs.

I had been worried that we might not make it in time for the next flight, but it turns out that the plane to Accra is the plane I was on, so our delay was its delay.  I got on, again through pretty high security.  They were smart and gave us our Ghanian immigration forms as we boarded so most people would have them filled out even before we took off.  The plane started to back up.  Then it started to go forward again.  Hmmm....  Wrong way.  The pilot announced that there was a problem with something.  We waited about 20 minutes and then 2 white men in yellow vests came into the cockpit.  Another 20 minutes elapsed and the pilot announced that they were going to deplane.

I asked the check in girl if there was a bar a restaurant in the terminal.  She said there was, but it was only going to take 10 minutes--that they were just recycling the air in the cabin.  Well, the security to get on the plane was high, so the board process would be at least another 30 minutes.  So off I headed.  Lagos has a pretty nice bar in that terminal.  I asked if I could pay for a beer in Euros and ordered a Star.  While I was fishing out a bill, a guy next to me whipped out a N500 note and plopped it down.  So he bought it for me.  He is a South African white guy (2/3 of the people in the bar were white) who works on an offshore drilling rig.  We chatted and he asked if I wanted another beer.  I said I better go check the status of my flight.  No line up.  I asked the girl who told me 10 minutes.  This time she said there was a problem getting at the part.  So it's safe to have another beer?  She recommended a coffee--strong and black.  Hmmm.... This sounds like it's going to take a while.  Beer #2.  More chatting with Basel.  Then Basel had his flight so he left.  I went back to the same girl.  She was there with another guy and they were joking and having fun.  I asked for an update.  The plane was going to be replaced by a plane still in the air coming from Abuja.  It was 10pm.  She said we'd take off at 11pm.  The man said no way.  I agreed with the man.  He said we was a mechanical engineer and there was no way we'd be off by 11.  I said I was an electrical engineer and I agreed with the mechanical engineer.  The girl said she had a degree in engineering technology.  Then she and the guy started negotiating a bet.  But I laid out a timeline and convinced her we wouldn't make it.  I apologized to the mechanical engineer for ruining his sure bet.

Since I now knew we had time, I decided to whip out the laptop over a third beer.  The bar there has free WiFi.  So I was on the finally on internet for a while.

At about 11:15 I headed back to the plane. Almost everyone was boarded.  My timing was perfect.  I caught the tail end of the boarding process.  The flight was short.  Virgin Nigeria has one particular food-this sort of ground beef wrapped in a spiral of pastry that comes in a long white box with a goofy hinge.  It's horrible.  I wouldn't feed it to a dog.  But that was my meal on the second leg.

We landed and I went through immigration.  After I got through, the officer called me back and took my passport again.  I'm not sure why.  But there were no problems.  I waited for my luggage.  But it didn't come.  Crap!  And it was past midnight already.

I filled out a form at the lost luggage area.  Then headed out to get a cab.

As soon as I left, a guy asked if I wanted a cab.  Yep.  I told him where I was going--the Date Hotel.  GH¢15.  GH¢15?!  That's ridiculous.  He said it's a fixed price and could show me.  He reached into a car and grabbed a piece of paper.  I told him that having a piece of paper isn't a fixed price list unless it's posted in the vehicle.  OK, how much would you pay?  GH¢2000.  They didn't like that.  So I left.  A little further out are the real taxi cabs--the yellow ones with numbers.  One of them offered to take me for GH¢7.  No way--too high.  I said I would just spend the night there in the airport and turned around.  He called me back.  Again I started at GH¢2.  We finally got to GH¢5 from me and GH¢6 from them.  I stood firm until they gave in.  So I went for GH¢5.  Later I would ask my hotel desk clerk and a couple from the US I would meet at Ryan's Irish pub and they would tell me that GH¢5 or 6 is about right.  Gee, I'm getting better at this negotiating thing.

But, the Date was full.  I looked at their calendar and pointed at the circle around the 12 and said that it was me.  He apologized.  I got out and headed north.  Now it was close to 1am.  There I was walking in Adabraka at 1am.  I passed the Niagara Hotel and they had rooms, but the price was too high.  He agreed to come down from US$55 to US$30 since it was already 1am.  Still too high.  I left to go to the Busy Internet cafe.  I had apparently left my book there at the Niagara and the desk guy followed me in a cab to return it to me.  Very nice of him.  The cab took me to the Busy Internet cafe and then it had to take the desk guy back to the Niagara.  They charged me GH¢4 for that.  Oh well.

I was on the internet all night.  Then at 6am I left.  I tried a few other hotels but they were booked up as well.  It turns out I did the right thing my just going to the internet cafe.  Finally, I went to the President Hotel and just left my laptop there behind the desk while I headed out to Osu.  I was hot and sweaty and knew Frankie's would have AC, cold water, and pastries.  I walked there and got a bit lost, but not too lost.  It was too early for pastries.  But the water was refreshing and the coffee wasn't bad.  I was feeling better already.

I left and walked through Osu and found a guy who tried to sell me these bracelets with my name on them in African colors.  I decided to pick up a couple.  He had me write the names.  It's an interesting process watching them put the name in.  They made a misspelling and had to back track.  I went off for a while. When I returned, there was another misspelling, so they had to fix that.  Then about a half hour later I returned and picked them up.  Only GH¢5 for both of them.  Not bad.  Other vendors tried to get me to buy stuff.  But they weren't successful.

What was I doing while the bracelet guys were misspelling names?  That the topic of my next post.

Monday, December 15, 7:12 Ghana local time

Limbe To Douala: Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, But More Awkward Than Hard

[[I'll call my fling girl "Mlle. X" since she has a job at a high profile restaurant in Douala and want to avoid making her identifiable as much as possible.]]

It was already about 8:30 am when I woke up. Mlle. X was still asleep after her late night dancing.

I took a shower and brushed my teeth and then went out to ask the desk clerk how to get to Yaoundé. She said there is one bus each day and it leaves at 9am. Hmmm.... Too late for that one. But there are plenty of bush taxis all day long to Douala and I can get a bus to Yaoundé from there. I went back to the room. I hadn't unpacked too much. So it didn't take much to pack. I was waiting for the inevitable. Mlle. X would wake up and ask me what I was doing. Then it happened.

I sat on the bed and told her I was going to go to Yaoundé today. She didn't seem too surprised. I asked her if she planned on going to work today. She said she understood what I was saying--that I was breaking up with her. "Je comprend. Tu me monque" is what I think she said. I don't know the the term "monquer" but I assume it means "to dump". "Desolé" was all I could say. I didn't explain. She didn't need an explanation. I'm sure she knew she had overplayed her hand was half expecting this. We pretended that it wasn't really a break up but that I was just going on my way and that we'd meet again. She gave me her number for when I return to Douala--my flight which leaves from there. I said I would call. I won't. She said she either works in the afternoon or the evening at her restaurant. They have good food so I'll go back--but not when she's there. I had brought her to Limbe from Douala, so it's only fair that I pay to get her back. I gave her CFA 10000 which is just enough to cover the whole trip for the two of them back to downtown Douala. She wanted more. OK, breakfast is fair game. I tacked on CFA 5000. That was her golden parachute.

She tried to get me to stay longer and we could all go to the Mile 4 station together, but I declined. I wanted this ending to be short. We headed out. She got Michelle and we bisoused goodbye. Then off to the reception where they called a taxi for me. While waiting for the taxi, she got me to buy a cup of coffee for each of us and an omelette for her. The master of the kitchen was there--the guy to whom I confessed last night that I was going to dump her today. He seemed interested in our interaction knowing remembering what I had said. He knew I was exasperated with her and he knew that she lost a second night here in Limbe would would be forced to give up her fantasy as a princess and return to her mundane life as a waitress as day earlier that she had hoped. He seemed happy that this princess was getting her comeupance.
The taxi arrived. We hugged and I left. Whew! It's over. The value of what I was taking from her in our "arrangement" was diminishing while the value of what she was expecting from me was increasing. It was time to cut my losses.

The taxi took me to the station and it wasn't long before we left. We got snagged by a couple of checkpoints. At one, they wanted to unload a woman way at the back of the van so about 6 or 7 people had to pile out to let her out. They questioned her for a few minutes, then let her back on. I had to show my passport to a guy. When all was in order, he asked for my yellow book to see if he could extract a payment from an irregularity in that. But, no. My papers are all in order. A second checkpoint guy flipped through about 10 pages of my passport and gave up before finding the Cameroonian visa and just handed it back to me. these Cameroonian checkpoints are insane.

Finally, we made it to Bonaberi. I couldn't get a mototaxi for CFA 1000 so I had to pay CFA 1500. In fact, the guy sort of deserved the extra since we had to deal with a big parade (why a big parade on a Thursday?). The moto-taxi rides are too much fun. It's definitely for those with a death-wish. He got me to my hotel. I checked into the Hila again. They were happy to see me. They seem to be impressed by my ability to get a super hot chick to my room. And she shows up wearing the uniform of her high profile restaurant, so they know she's not a hooker. Actually it's rather nice to have the men (and women) at the desk so impressed by my conquest.
I got a ticket for Yaoundé for the next morning. I was expecting to pay CFA 7500 (US$15) for the luxury bus, but it was only CFA 6000 (US$12). So tomorrow afternoon, I'll be in Yaoundé. Yaoundé is the capital, but it's cheaper by the prices in Lonely Planet. It also has museums. Douala doesn't have anything really. I got a pizza, a plate of hummous, and a couple of beers at the Mediterranean restaurant while I watched that same parade we passed go by again. Then off to the internet and then back home.

Whew! What a couple of days. I'm so glad it's over.

Thursday, December 4, 20:26 Cameroon local time

Douala To Limbe And The Insufferable High Maintenance African Princess From Hell

[[I'll call my fling girl "Mlle. X" since she has a job at a high profile restaurant in Douala and want to avoid making her identifiable as much as possible.]]

My watch went off at 6. I was too tired so I turned it off and went back to sleep. Then my Mlle. X's cell phone started to go off. It went off a few times and she finally answered it. Her sister was downstairs. I was a bit surprised that even knowing her sister was downstairs, that she initiated a little romp. Oh well--I guess the sister has to wait. ;-) But it was a good excuse to be quick.

The thing about this fling is that I take what I want from her and she takes what she wants from me. It's selfish me and selfish her. A mutually beneficial arrangement based on nothing you normally want to base a relationship on. It isn't even a "relationship". I won't call it anything more than a "tacit arrangement". We've been at this a few days and already she's brought up the subject of marriage. Like I want to seal our "arrangement" with marriage. Sheesh! Does she think she's that special just because she's hot?

Anyway, we showered and headed out. We took a car to the Bonaberi station. It's tough to take a car there because the traffic jam is continuous due to major road construction. The trip to Bonaberi was CFA 4000 (US$8). But the tickets on a bus to Limbe was only CFA 1300 or CFA 3900 for three. And we were the last ones. So that meant we were on the road almost immediately. It's about a 90 minute ride to Limbe. I had to show my passport through the window at a checkpoint. These Cameroonian checkpoints are more annoying than in any other West African nation.

Finally we arrived. Then, Mlle. X started turning into the simply high maintenance girl I knew her to be into the insufferable high maintenance princess from hell. I suggested the most recommended hotel in the Lonely Planet--the Park Miramar Hotel. But it's in the city and doesn't have a private beach. She wanted a private beach. The taxi driver recommended the Seme Beach hotel. It's way out of the city--a CFA 5000 (US$10) taxi ride. OK, I knew this trip would be pricy, and I had decided to just sort of bite the bullet. We took the long trip out there. It is on the other side of the Cameroonian refinery. There's one stretch that has dozens of tanker trucks lined up to get fuel to take to gas stations. Fascinating. At least I'm getting to see this. We reached the hotel and it was full! I did not expect that--it's a Wednesday in the low season.

Now the guy who recommended this place and charged US$10 to take us there, agreed to charge us only CFA 3000 (US$6) to take us back to the hotel I wanted to stay in. On top of this exorbitant cost, there is police checkpoint between Limbe and this hotel and the police at this particular checkpoint are especially bad at wasting time. I went from being in an OK mood to starting to not be happy at all. I saw this little excursion as a total waste of money. We made it back to the Park Miramar and they had 2 rooms for CFA 15000 (US$30) each--one for Michelle and one for Mlle X and me. We were all hungry and Mlle. X knew just where she wanted to go--for fish at the shore of the city. We piled back into the cab and off we went. The cab driver was, for some reason, staying with us. At least he didn't eat with us. We got three fishes with hot sauce and cassava root strings and some fried plantains. I got a beer that wasn't cold and the girls got Malta non-alcoholic beer beverages. One of the benefits of a high maintenance girl, I suppose, is that she commands the staff around. And she's a waitress herself so I was a bit surprised at her treatment of them. But I got another beer than was quite a bit colder.
The fish was really good. We ate it African style--with our right hands. It was fun. I chatted with Michelle a bit with about the same success as Mlle. X. A photographer came over. He's one of those guys who takes a picture and then prints it out. Each picture costs CFA 1000 (US$2) so it is one of those things that you normally get one and you're done. But what Mlle. X wanted to do was live like a princess. She thinks that because I'm rich relative to her, that I'm OK with just throwing money away. And it seems she is happy to make deals with the driver and the photographer feeding me only bits and pieces of the information. She got 4 pictures--one of which she rejected because she found it too blurry.

Soon, she was off with the driver negotiating something. Her is her plan: we would go back to our hotel, change, and then go back to the Seme Beach hotel where we could gain entry to the beach for CFA 1000 each. He would take us there and back for CFA 3000 (US$6). The then asked if we could stay for another day. I told her that I had to go to the ATM and if I could make a withdrawal successfully, we could stay another day. After all, we weren't going to be there long. The driver came and we headed to the car--with the photographer. She said he was going to come with us and take 3 more pictures (for CFA 3000). My withdrawal worked and she was happy. I changed into the African outfit she bought me (the change from the CFA 20000 I gave her had "fallen from her pocket" in the market--she also got me a towel).

So it was back to the beach--the three of us in the back seat and the photographer in the front seat. Again, we got stopped at that same stupid police checkpoint. It took about 10 minutes to get through--the driver kept getting out to talk to the police officer. Then we got to the Seme Beach hotel. I was prepared to pay for 3 CFA 1000 entrances. Except, it wasn't 1000; it was CFA 1500. And they didn't want to charge us for 3, but for 4--the photographer wouldn't get in free like the driver would. I balked. Nope--no more then CFA 3000. I let Mlle. X do the talking. She is used to getting what she wants and managed again to charm the guard into letting us in for CFA 3000.

It was Mlle. X's 4th time in Limbe and Michelle's first time ever in Limbe. They were living a little fantasy. The beach at Seme Beach is very nice. It's far away from the refinery and there is no smell or anything. The beach is volcanic black sand and the terrain is mountainous with palm trees--very pretty. The photographer started taking pictures. The girls were doing sexy poses in their bathing suits and the photographer was having a good time. I didn't want to go out into the water. I tend to be paranoid about my passport and money belt. Passport is required in Cameroon. The police checkpoints check it constantly. Eventually, Michelle attracted the attention of a guy and the girls and the guy and the photographer were frolicking in the deeper water while I was enjoying the scenery and playing in the shallower water feeling the waves carry away the sand under my feet seeing how long I can stand before there wasn't enough sand to keep my balance. After about an hour, I headed up to the bar to have a beer. The driver came with me. We discussed my favorite topic in Cameroon--police checkpoints. I explained how it works in America--you get through immigration at the airport or the border, then there are no police checkpoints except the occasional drunk driving checkpoint. Other than going through those on a Friday or Saturday night, I've never been through a police checkpoint in the United States. He was amazed. Then he asked me to help him fill out a visa application. What is this? Why is everyone who wants to come to America too fricking lazy to fill out the application themselves? Time was getting late. We went back out to the beach and now Mlle. X had attracted the attention of another guy. Whatever.

The girls were taking a long time to come in and the photographer and the driver were starting to get agitated. Finally, they came in. It was just starting to get dark. We passed an accident scene--a taxi and a truck carrying lumber. We stopped and got out to gawk. The police were there with tape measures making an extraordinarily thorough drawing of the scene. We got back in.

When we arrived, Mlle X told me to pay the driver CFA 3500 (US$7). He then finally left. But the photographer was still there. He plugged in his little photo printer and she selected 5 pictures: 2 with me and three of her and Michelle in sexy poses. I knew exactly what was up. She was asking for pictures of me to try to keep me happy and she was printing off the sexy pictures for a less transient boyfriend. But I wasn't happy. I kept asking how much this was going to cost and she kept shushing me. This was I pretty much decided that the second night in Limbe was not going to happen. I would finish out the day and then give her a little golden parachute in the morning to get home, then I would bugger out.

We went back to the room while the photos printed. I told her I would pay for three--not 5. That she can't just change the terms on me like that. She begged me to just pay it. We went back out. The photographer is in the enviable position of being perfectly bilingual. He found himself taking orders from the French speaking woman and finding that the English speaking man wasn't interested in paying so much. She we all moved to a more discreet location. I told him that she told me that he would take three pictures at Seme Beach and that would be it and that was all I agreed to pay. And I told him that I think he heard her tell me that. He said he did but that she promised him that they would just go to the beach, take some pictures, and then he could return to the beach in town with the grilled fish restaurants where he could make a lot more money. But instead of letting him go back, she frolicked in the water for three hours. I understood his point. She in an insufferable high maintenance princess, after all. She screwed him over just as much as me. There were a lot of people eating there in the hotel terrace and our negotiations were starting to embarrass Mlle. X who didn't understand what the photographer and I were saying. This was coupled witht the fact that one of the customers there knows her from her waitressing job. The 8 pictures were CFA 8000 (US$16). Too expensive. I said I wanted the digital files. We finally agreed on CFA 10000 (US$20) for the photos for her and all the digital ones for me. We plugged his card into my laptop and copied them over. Then Mlle. X said she wanted one more photo. She said she would pay me back if I gave him CFA 1000. Yeah right. Fuck! I gave him CFA 1000 and he went home to print it out. He came back an hour later and gave them the picture. She said it was the wrong picture and that is was another one she wanted. She asked for CFA 200 for him--I presume for the taxi. Well atleast Princess X is asking for smaller amounts. She also wanted to call her mom and asked for CFA 2000 (US$4) for credits on the phone because she was out of credit. She received a call from a guy who I assume is one of her lovers. She tried to hide the fact, but she couldn't.

The hotel restaurant is recommended by Lonely Planet but the photographer recommended a place called Bamboo which was much cheaper. I wasn't hungry yet, but was getting hungry. The Park Miramar is in the middle of a botanical garden so it isn't on the main drag and you con pretty much only get a taxi by calling one. She called our driver who was with us most of the day. He would come in an hour--in the mean time, I had a Castel and the girls had pineapple juice. Then they set to work on my trying to convince me to marry Mlle. X. I explained that we only met like 5 days ago and that wasn't enough time to decide if a partner is right for you (actually it is enough to know if a partner isn't and I knew that pretty early on).

Finally, the taxi man came and for another CFA 1000 (US$2) we headed to Bamboo. It is a place with loud music and a pretty limited menu. Mlle. X wanted spaghetti. But Bamboo didn't have spaghetti. Michelle ordered chicken with plaintain chips. I ordered steak with French fries. Since they didn't have spaghetti, Mlle. decided she would eat back at the hotel. It took a while for out food to come. Mlle. X was getting impatient because the hotel restaurant would close soon. She decided to order--pork with rice. But they were out of rice, so she canceled the order. Our food finally came. I let Mlle. X eat off my plate. Greasy fries, a typical African steak. She ate a bit. Then we paid and left. Limbe is a small town so there isn't much circulation of taxis. We headed down to a bigger intersection. They were a bit afraid but I said it was a small town so it was perfectly safe. I spoke a bit too soon as a drunk guy came up to me and said that if I wasn't planning on having both of the girls tonight that he needed one. This was in English so they didn't understand. I told him that they are free people and I don't own them and if he has something to ask them that he should address them directly. He staggered off. Along the way we stopped in a couple of restaurants but they were all just closing. Then at the big intersection by the King William hotel and a huge tree covered in Christmas lights, we hailed a couple of moto-taxis. They took around to 2 restaurants that they thought might be open but they weren't. Finally someone said the the Park Miramar stays open pretty late. So we went back. The moto-taxis were CFA 500 each. Mlle. X told me to pay and I did and then she came and berated them for charging so much which was totally bizarre.

Anyway, we went in and Mlle. X ordered a nice fish dish in peanut sauce with a salad and rice. It was far nicer than what Michelle or I ate. I ordered a glass of wine for CFA 1000, but it didn't sure didn't taste like a $2 glass of wine. I'm sure it was one of those cheap mylar bag brands. Mlle. X tasted it and ordered one to have with her meal. Her meal finally came and she didn't drink the wine--just gave it to me. So while Michelle and I had mediocre meals, Mlle. X managed to finesse herself a gourmet dish.

Then off to bed. She and Michelle went first. I still had her glass of wine. The two people working there asked me some question. I don't remember what. I went over to their table and explained the insufferability of the high maintenance princess from hell that she was. I told them that she thinks we're staying one more day, but that I was leaving tomorrow and they will have to leave too since I am their funding source.

Mlle. X came to get me. We went to sleep. We were asleep for a while when Michelle called her. They wanted to go back to Seme Beach and go dancing. They didn't need money from me--I guess the men they met at the beach arranged to pay for their evening out. Mlle. X asked for my permission to go. I frankly didn't care anymore and I just wanted her to go so I could type up my blog in peace. I just made her leave the key. She left. I waited a few minutes, then flipped on BBC World on the TV and got out my computer and started typing furiously. Boy there was a lot to remember and type. What an eventful couple of days.

I exhausted myself and put my computer back and went back to sleep. Eventually, Mlle. X returned home and knocked at the door. I let her in and we fell asleep.

Thursday, December 4, 20:14 Cameroon local time

Tuesday In Douala: Lost Credit Card Panic

Well, I guess my Tuesday started at midnight. My fling girl came around that time. She went out and got some food and came back. I agreed to left her bring her sister since I frankly don't have much to talk about with her anyway. Then we went to sleep.

We woke up and yadda yadda yadda... She wasn't happy with my wardrobe and I gave her some money to buy me some clothes. Then she left and I headed out to see if I get a ticket to Limbe from one of the bus stations a block or so from the Hotel Hila.

Well, the Lonely Planet says there are buses to Limbe, but apparently, there aren't at this time of year. I asked what company goes to Limbe and they said I had to go to the station at Bonaberi to get to Limbe. Damn, that's like 5km away. I hailed a moto-taxi and for CFA 1000 (US$2) I took the long ride to Bonaberi through construction zone traffic that rivals that in Seattle. When I got there, there were no big comfortable buses. Only bus taxi mini-buses. A set of people with one bus company tried to charge me CFA 7500 to get tickets today to get a bus that would leave at 8am. But I didn't quite understand their system by which they would guarantee it would leave at 8am and they were sort of evasive. I left and headed to the exit of the bus station area. There were a bunch of moto-taxis there at the exit. As I walked toward it, a guy asked me where I was going. I said I was going to get a moto-taxi. He followed me. I went up to a moto-taxi and then this guy started negotiating for me. Oh well. I waited for them to finish. CFA 1500 to my hotel. I said I came here from my hotel for CFA 1000 and wouldn't pay more than that. The moto-taxi driver agreed. I hopped on. Then the man who negotiated the CFA 1500 asked for a tip. I looked at him funny and asked "pour quoi?" as we took off? Why should I tip a guy who negotiated a 50% worse price than I negotiated when I was going to negotiate it anyway?

I was tired and hungry and decided to have pizza for lunch at the Mediterranee. I had a couple of beers and bought the lastest Newsweek from their in-store newstand. Then I went to the internet. On the way I stopped by the pharmacy since I needed another box of Savarine (the anti-malarial) and another box of condoms. The woman working there tried to sell me some sort of sexual enhancement drug, but I declined.

Then on the way back, I decided to stop off at the SGBC bank ATM and take out a dose of cash in anticipation of my trip to Limbe. I opened my wallet. My ATM and credit cards weren't there. Panic! Did my fling take my cards while I was sleeping? She must have. I walked quickly toward the hotel. OK, I can do this. I have enough money to survive until I can arrange something. I need to cancel my cards, though and I don't have the phone numbers. How could this happen? I slept light to make sure I woke up if she went through my stuff. When did she do it? When I was in the shower? Or when I was asleep?

Then I realized that my wallet was really light--all my other random cards weren't there. Hmmm.... Wait, I remembered something. When I was preparing for her first night over, I did a lot of rearranging. I remember rearranging my wallet. And I remember taking stuff from my wallet and telling myself that my wallet was totally stealable now and I would just lose a few dollars. Did I take my credit cards out and put them with the other random cards? I don't remember doing that. But maybe. I was cautiously optimistic and hopeful. I made it home. I was sweating. I looked in the first place I remember putting the stack of cards. Not there. Dammit! I looked in some more obvious places. Nothing. Then finally, I found the stack of cards at the bottom of a bag of clothes. I pulled them out. And there they were--my ATM and credit cards. Whew! All is well.

I took a moto-taxi to the bank and got some money out and then moto-taxi'ed back to the hotel.
I needed some relaxation after that stressful situation. I went to the bar of the Hila. At about 8:30, they start to play music. They have an organist and a couple of singers. I was sitting there writing my journal when the organist started this great upbeat music. I got into the groove. He was really happy that I was grooving and kept the upbeat music going. The two waitresses saw I was enjoying the music and it made them happy as well. After a lively 15 minute medley of good music--some which I recognized and some which I didn't he ended. I led the applause. Then he started playing for the singers. They got scattered applause but nothing like the organ solo that everyone enjoyed.

Then I went back to the room and waited for my fling.

Thursday, December 4, 2008 1:02 Cameroon local time

Monday In Douala: A Haircut Disaster

Well, I woke up early. In fact, I never really even slept. How can I sleep? Twelve hours earlier, I had not even the wisp of a faint idea that I would have an intimate experience with a very attractive woman. Now it has happened. Oh sure, the Hila Hotel is crawling with hookers, but I never even considered one of them. They can wear really short skirts (and they do) but far far more attractive than a short skirt is a real job. And my paramour has a real job. It's not an economic transaction--it's a fling.

Once again, I headed to the Delices for coffee and pastry breakfast in air conditioned comfort. After my nice breakfast, I bought another Paulo Coehlo book, Le Zahir. Then off to see what the Chinese Restaurant has to offer. Their soups and appies are expensive--nothing less that CFA 3000 (US$6). Oh well. I'll just have lunch today. Then I got my favorite--mabo tofu. I think they called it spicy tofu in English and Fromage Chinoise Piquante in French. But I recognized the Chinese characters. However when the mabo tofu came, I didn't recognize it. It was tofu, it was spicy, but it wasn't mabo tofu. It wasn't brown and the tofu wasn't the soft kind. It was tasty, but not quite what I wanted.

Then I headed back to the hotel and spent some time unclogging my failing air conditioner of ice. I had done laundry in the morning and the humidity, I presume, froze it all up. Now it was getting late. And I wanted a haircut. There is a place right next door to the hotel called Ballard Coiffure. I went there. It's almost literally a hole in the wall. The whole shop is about 4 square meters. Not encouraging, but how bad can it be. Then I saw the scissors--sewing scissors and not barber scissors. OK, not encouraging, but Africans can do a lot with a little. I asked how much. CFA 2500 (US$5).

I sort of explained what I wanted and then the guy started cutting my hair. But his technique was all weird. He didn't wet my hair. He fluffed it with a comb and started cutting off the parts of my hair that stick out. OK, not exactly what I call expert. Then he combed my hair on my forehead and before I could stop him made some really weird cut. I was getting exasperated. I asked him if he didn't to get my hair wet? Oh no. That wouldn't do. It wouldn't? Whenever I get a haircut, they always wet my hair. He was cutting in a weird way--he was using only his left hand and having difficulty orienting the scissors.

I told him that whenever I get a hair cut that the barber always grabs a chunk of hair between his fingers and pulls up a certain distance from my head and then cuts it flush with his fingers. Ah ha! He pretended he knew what I was saying. But he wasn't pulling my hair to the same distance and he was just sort of picking random points and not methodically moving along my head. And half the time he was cutting flush with his fingers above the fingers and half the time he was cutting below his fingers.

It was a total disaster! Complete and total. He was trying, but he definitely did not know the first thing about how to cut white hair. My hair looked like a horror movie mop. I reached into my pocket and got out CFA 2500. I gave it to him. He wanted to try to fix it. His buddy who speaks better English tried to explain it would just take some time. No. He doesn't know what he's doing--enough time is NOT the solution. They tried to convince me to sit a bit longer so they could fix it. No. I gotta go. It's past 4:30pm and I need to find someone who can fix this disaster. It was the first time I ever left in the middle of a haircut because it was just turning out disastrous.

I went to the lobby and asked the desk man for a recommendation for someone who could fix it. He didn't know but he felt sorry for me. He suggested that I go to the Akwa Palace hotel which is the top hotel in Douala--hence the top hotel in Cameroon. If anyone can hook up a white guy with a hairdresser who can fix a white hair disaster, it was them. I hailed a mototaxi and CFA 200 later I was at the Akwa Palace. They didn't have an answer for me but suggested I try the Parfait Jardin hotel.

I went there. I explained my situation to the desk man. "I just got a haircut from a guy who doesn't know how to cut straight hair." He looked at my hair, smiled, and said "yes, I can see that." He sent me down the street and I went down. There was Elite Coiffure. I entered. The girl at the counter said they could fix it. There is one hairdresser there. He was with another customer and he was really slow--just shortening the hair of a guy with almost no hair to begin with. My stress levels were getting really high. I planned to meet my fling girl and I needed this fixed.

I explained with the help of the desk girl what I needed--a repair job. I explained that I needed him to deal with the parts that were too short because the previous guy screwed up and just needed him to work with it and make something passable. He started. First thing he did was to wet my hair. That's a good sign. In the end, he did an OK job. He didn't quite know what to do with the back of my head. He tried to get my skin to blend into my hair and had a hard time. He spent a lot of time working details. Maybe if your hair is going to be short and not really move, the details are important, but I just brush and go and I ride around on moto-taxis and stuff like that. Millimeter precision is not what I'm after. It turned out about as well as it could though. An American hairdresser would have done a better job from just simply knowing how white hair works. But it was OK. This one only cost CFA 5000 (US$10). I tipped the guy CFA 500. So it was only double the disastrous haircut.

Then I moto-taxi'd back and unwound in the hotel bar with a beer and glass of red wine while I journaled and pondered my day and the day previous and the day to come.

Monday, December 1, 2008 22:27 Cameroon local time

Kumba To Douala: Stressed Over ATMs

I got up at about 7:30 and headed out to find the SGBC or the Cameroonian branch of the Societe General. I asked the receptionist but she didn't know. I walked down the main drag and didn't see it. A moto-taxi guy asked me where I was going and I told him I was looking for the SGBC bank and he sent me down further. It wasn't there. No banks seemed to have an ATM. I walked back the the moto-taxi driver was still there. He asked if I found it and I said no. He told me to hop and he'd take me someone who would know. We went there and he gave some directions, but when we arrived, it was not the SGBC. He asked another guy and finally this guy said there is no SGBC in Kumba--only in Limbe. They seemed to never have heard of this huge French bank here and maybe this guy thought it was a Limbe bank and not one of the biggest banks in the world. I got off the bike, thanked them, and headed back to the hotel. Along the way I say the Mondiale Express bus station and I stopped in to get a ticket to Douala. CFA 2000 (US$4). I got a ticket and went back to get my luggage.

When I arrived at the bus station, the bus was being loaded. I got my stuff on and found a seat in the back. This is a 5-across bus. That means about 6 rows of people carrying 5 people per row. There was a lot of confusion but after a short prayer and sermon, we took off. The first fifteen minutes of the bus ride was dedicated to getting people change because there wasn't enough change when they bought the tickets. It seems like Kumba sized cities in Cameroon have a bit of liquidity crisis as well.

Then things got fun. The conductor, once he got the change handed out, started telling us he has products for sale and he would use the next two hours talking about his products. But to get us into the mood of listening to him, he hand a buch of candies (he called the bon-bons though he was speaking in English) and he would ask trivia questions. The first one to call out an answer would get a bon-bon. I resolved to get one but no more than one bon-bon. The first question: who is the President of America. Half the bus shouted Bush and half shouted Obama. I'm not sure which he regarded at the correct answer. Then it went into Cameroonian geography and politics so I had no chance. Then to history. I figured I'd count to 4 after each question and if nobody had an answer, I'd shout out my answer. What was the immediate cause of WWI? A kid shouted out "the assassination of Arch-duke Franz Ferdinand". He got a bon-bon. Where? Sarajevo. Bon-bons were flying all over. The crowd was having a rollicking good time. Who ended slavery? Apparently they think the answer is William Wilberforce who was certainly influential in British abolition, but cannot be said to have ended slavery. Next category--arithmetic. What is seven and a half divided by a half? I counted--4...3...2...1... and the shouted out fifteen. Yay! I got a bon-bon. I was happy and done. The next question got no bon-bon--what is the square root of 1? Nobody answered plus or minus one. So no bon-bons. A few simple arithmetic problems and then to biology. I had thought biology would be pretty easy too, but it was all scientific names of Cameroonian cash crops. In chemistry I was pretty impressed that someone knew the formula for hydrogen peroxide. After a few seconds I was about to shout out "H two O two" when a local beat me to it. A few other chemical formulae for Cameroonian exports. Then onto religion. I didn't stand a chance on this. The shortest verse in the Bible? Who knows? Jesus's last words on the cross? Who knows? Now into general knowledge. The first question was pretty interesting. What is the weight of a bag of cement? 50kg? No. Lots of guesses. I guessed his trick. He asked for weight which is force and they were giving mass. He wanted an answer in Newtons, not kilograms. Eventually he said no bon-bons and explained what he was after and I was right. But he used 10 m/s² instead of 9.81 m/s² to say 500N. Next question: name of the only persons to reject the law of gravity? This one had me stumped. Not the astronauts--they didn't reject or violate it. I came up with the answer just as he said it though--Jesus Christ. One man disputed that. He said it wasn't scientifically proven. The conductor said it was the General Knowledge category and not the Science category.

Finally, the bon-bons were gone. Then he whipped out some toothpaste and started talking about it. After that, some soap that causes you to lose weight, then some oil and some tea, and some crystals of something. The woman next to me was buying everything. This guy made a killing selling this overpriced Chinese stuff doing his home-shopping show.

A couple time he got interrupted by police check points. The guy next to me looked Tuareg or something. He showed his ID card to the first police and got hauled off the bus--not an easy feat when the corridor is filled with fold-down seats all filled. After several minutes he came back. The second checkpoint was worse for this guy and some of the other passengers. This time, the police took everyone who papers weren't in order and made them get their bags. The only exception was a mute woman who looked really panicked and could make sounds but couldn't talk. The officer threatened to arrest her because her papers were expired but she tried to explain in sign language and sounds her situation. The officer finally told her to get back on the bus, but they kept a few people back which meant we got finish up the journey in relative comfort.

At about 1:30pm we arrived in the Bonabéri motor park about 5km north of Douala. I hired a moto-taxi to take me to the Hotel Hila for CFA 1000 (US$2). It was along trip. When we arrived, the lobby was packed. Holy crap--I don't need this. But they had a room. Whew! I shelled out 3 of my last 4 CFA 500 notes and deposited my stuff. Then I hailed a moto-taxi for CFA 300 (US$0.60) to the SGBC in the main drag. We got there. I tried my ATM card. My heart was pounding. I was out of money and I don't even know if my parents are reachable. They'll be going to Egypt pretty soon and I don't know when. Already? If I need cash through Western Union, can I get it?

My card didn't work. Dammit! OK, all is not lost. Lonely Planet says SGBC is the most reliable but also mentions Ecobank which never works for me. But it was a block away. I entered my card. Made a selection. My heart was pounding. Then the sound. The beautiful magical sound of a machine counting money. I can breath again.

I had not only money, but source of money. Relieved, I headed another block to the Mediterranean Restaurant where I got 2 draft beers and a pizza. The best meal I've had in days and days. I got a copy of Newsweek and just relaxed. It was nice to relax. I really need some relaxation after the past few days.

Thursday, November 27, 17:30 Cameroon local time

Ekok To Kumba: Yes, It Is As Bad As You Think With Names Like That

As I wind up my trip, I wonder if I'll have any experiences to match the grueling journey from Koundara to Labé in Guinea-Conakry. This day, I got my answer. If you want hardship, West Africa rarely fails to disappoint.

I got up just before the first light and packed everything up so it would be easy to grab and go. Then I headed from the Boston Complex Resort Inn to the transportation area. No cars to Kumba this morning--just to Mamfe which is closer. I was the first guy and since there was time, we just drove down to the Boston and I got my stuff and we loaded it into the trunk. Then we returned and waited.

And waited. The way it seems to work is that once they get 2 people, they leave because they know that there are people along the way who need rides and they want some empty spots for them as well. But there seemed to be little prospect of a second person. At 7am, the driver said that if I pay for 2 seats, we'll go now. I said I'd wait until 8am. If no one showed up by then I'd bite the bullet and buy 2 CFA 7000 (US$14) tickets so we could start. I wanted to get to Douala this day and we can't wait until 10 or 11 or noon. I was a bit worried about the car. There was a tire with a sort of aneurysm or bubble and the steel threads were showing already. I watched as the Africans all ate their meaty breakfast and I got some cookies in a tube. I haven't eaten properly in a long time and as soon as I get to an ATM that works, I plan to have a good proper meal.

Well, 8am came. So I kept my word. I paid CFA 14000 (US$28) to go to Mamfe. We left at 8. As soon as we left Ekok, there was a checkpoint--one of many many. The man looked at my passport. Again, he could not believe that I was the person in the picture. I explained that the picture in 8 years old and I weighed 107 kg back then. He was a bit pudgy himself and asked what I did to lose all that weight. I changed my diet. Sorry, no magic bullet. He finally convinced himself that it was me and we went on our way.

Wow! The roads in Cameroon are by far the most rutted roads I've been on in West Africa. Some of the ruts are like 10 feet deep. It feels like being in the first car of a rollercoaster going over that first drop in some places. It's pretty hilly too. Just amazing. However, as bad as the road is, it was not at all unpleasant. The road has never been paved so all the ruts are smooth. It's a sort of undulating rutted road. No sharp angles. Just smoothness. At some places the road was so bad that they had side roads through the forest. At one point a guy with a toll stopped us and demanded CFA 500 (US$1). The driver apparently pays him CFA 500 every day. I have no idea what the guy's authority is to collect a toll.

We had to drop off a foam mattress and then we picked up some people. But the road never let up. It was just fantastically undulating for the four solid hours it took to traverse the 61 km (36 miles)--an average speed of 9 mph.

But we made it to Mamfe at noon. As soon as we got there, there was a minibus ready to go to Douala via Kumba. Perfect! It is CFA 8000 (US$16) to Douala. They said it would take about 6 or 7 hours putting me there in early evening--possibly even with some daylight. That's 4 or 5 to Kumba and 2 to Duoala from Kumba. And I was the last one in the minibus--the whose arrival meant we could leave. And at 12:20, we started out. Our first stop was to put some air into the driver side rear tire. A man with an air compressor tried to fill it, but the compressor conked out on him so he had to jack up the mini-bus to fill the tire.

The road was much better than the previous road, but still pretty bad. It is unpaved so there are no hard concrete or blacktop edges, but lots of rocks and grooves created by rain. So it's not a fast trip. About forty minutes into the ride, we stopped. The minibus would not go forward. We were broken down.

Some of us got off and went and sat on the porch of this family that gave us oranges and chairs. I sat with a geography teacher who kept flagging down school kids and asking them if they had work books and the names of their geography teachers to find out if he could sell his geography workbooks here.

Some people were unhappy about the breakdown. One old guy said it is the exact same bus that brought him to Mamfe and it broke down then as well. They called for a mechanic who showed up an hour later around 2pm. He replaced a disc in the clutch and an hour later, at 3pm, we all piled back in.

At the bottom of one hill we all had to pile out again and walk up the hill because it's too steep for a loaded bus. I was first to top even with my heavy laptop. One old woman took really long and even went to the bathroom after and the driver yelled at her for delaying us.

Between 4 and 5 pm we had two 20 minute breakdowns. The first was some problem with the engine. It required that they take out the passenger's side seat to get at the engine. They also filled the radiator with water from a local stream. The second one was to tie or bins something near where the driver's side axle meets the tire. These three breakdowns added 2:40 to our trip. So instead of reaching Kumba at approximately 4:20 or 5:20, I expected to get there between 7:00 and 8:00.

The nice thing about the breakdowns is that my butt doesn't get so sore. I was on a hard fold down bench. There were 4 across but it wasn't super tight. Still I had my laptop case in my lap and that also restricted my movement. We let one guy off. Then at 7pm, we stopped at a village--I suppose for a food and bathroom break. Not Kumba. We picked up a passenger. It was now dark. I don't like being on the road after dark. The geography teacher said we weren't even close to Kumba. Oh man. This isn't good. But, twenty minutes later we got back in.
Eight pm rolled around and we found ourselves no just in dark, but in fog. But it only lasted about 10 minutes and soon we were in clear air again.

Nine pm? Still on the road and boy was my butt hurting. Fortunately, we stopped to unload some bags of green oranges and I got to stand for a while.

Ten pm. Man, will this trip never end? Finally at about 10:30, we pulled into Kumba. A ten hour trip for approximately 200 km or 120 miles of road. The geography teacher told me there was a bank with an ATM in Kumba and he tried to get a moto-taxi for 100 CFA (US$0.20) to the Kanton Hotel. The moto-taxi guy said CFA 200. I'm not about to quibble over a damn quarter at 10:30 at night so I took it. Once we were on the road he pretended like he didn't know where it was exactly and then just realized where it was and asked for CFA 100 more. He said it's a little bit far. I rolled my eyes and said OK. Whitey can take another 20 cent hit to his fraud budget. We got there about 90 seconds after we left the station. "This is a far?" "A little bit far." "Really?!?! Your concept of a little bit far is very different from mine" I told him as I handed over the 60 cents in CFA coins.

I approached the hotel and a man ran out to tell me it was full already. But I could stay across the street at the Tavern Hotel. No problem. I walked across the street. (I should have asked the taxi-moto if he would take me to the Tavern Hotel and how much it would cost--200 francs?) They had AC and fan rooms. I just needed a fan. CFA 7000 (US$14). She filled out the form and asked me how many nights. I said it depends. If there is an SGBC bank in Kumba with an ATM I would stay two nights. I asked if there was one. She said yes. I asked if it had an ATM. She said yes. So I told her two nights. I stashed my stuff and came down and got a beer to take up to my room (it IS the Tavern Hotel, after all). Then I typed for a couple of hours until I died from exhaustion.

Thursday, November 27, 16:45 Cameroon local time

Maradi, Niger To Kano, Nigeria: A Hard Fall And A Collision With A Motorcycle

Well, the day started out fine enough. But I was headed to Nigeria--a country reputed for being hard. Would I conquer Nigeria? Or would Nigeria conquer me? The short answer: after one day, Nigeria has me in a headlock and choked off my oxygen supply.

I woke up and paid my CFA 6500 (US$13) hotel bill. Then for CFA 200, a moto-taxi to the autogare. I got there about 7am and after some shuffling between different cars that seemed more promising, I got a car for CFA 5000. They took me to a man who was willing to change Euros to Naira. I gave him €100 (five 20's) and got 14400 Naira. The internet rate was 14700 so I was pretty happy with the rate. But I was relying on faith that I could find an ATM in Kano. I knew about the one at the Hotel Central, at least. There must be more.

At 7:30, we were off with 8 people. At about 8:30, we reached the border. I got my exit stamp without any problem. The official copied a bunch of information from my passport into a ledger. There weren't any columns, just comma separated fields over 2 lines. I got my Nigerienne exit stamp. Then back into the car for a while until we reached the Nigerian border. I was looking forward to this. First was immigration. I went in and got a blue sheet to fill out. It asked all the typical questions. The only one that worried me was the address in Nigeria. I forget the name of the hotel and I didn't have my Lonely Planet. The only thing I remembered was that there was a Hotel Central that has an ATM that takes Visa. Then on the back of the blue sheet, the officer wrote out the names of fields like "Date of Issue" and "Place of Issue" with the information on my passport. Not the most efficient operation. He gave me my stamp. I was wondering if I'd have to pay a dash. But no. He didn't ask for money.

So immigration was relatively painless. So far so good. Next we went to the customs building. A guy saw me and called me into the customs area. He sat down and asked for my vaccination form. I produced it. This is a usual trick--if you can't produce it they don't refuse you entry but rather they request a dash. But mine was in order. So I went back out the car. This was painless.

Just as I was getting in, another guy snagged me. He brought me back into the building and led me upstairs to an office labeled the SSS office. He had me fill out another form with much of the same information as the blue form. But we wanted exact dates I'd be in the various cities I'd go to. After some explanation he agreed to let me just list the cities. I was wondering if he was fishing for a dash. When I finished, he took my passport and inspected the visa carefully asking me questions about it that were printed right on the visa in my passport. Then he flipped to the picture and details page. He looked at the picture. He looked at me. He looked at the picture. Then he looked at me again. "I don't think this is you." I explained that 8 years ago I weighed 235 lbs and now I'm about 150 lbs. I tried to push my cheeks forward to look more like the picture. "It doesn't look like you at all." Actually, I'm a bit flattered. I look much better now than I did then. Much better. He didn't say that exactly, but I'm sure he agreed as well. The driver of the car was there too. He asked the driver if he thought it was me. They chatted for a bit in their native language. I was getting nervous. I was actually afraid something like this would happen since I look so different now. People have commented on it before, but nobody has ever thought it wasn't me. And this is a government guy, so he has to thing it's me. Otherwise, who knows what might happen. Finally, he decided that it looked enough like me that he wouldn't treat it as a fake passport. His final question was about my goal. I said it was just tourism. He didn't buy it. But I told him that I had some money saved and just wanted to see West Africa. Finally, he handed me my passport.

We headed back downstairs and when we got to the lobby about to leave the building to go to the car, another guy called me into his section. A currency declaration form. I had to fill it out and then I counted my currency out. I had a bit less than when I went through the customs in Guinea when they stole my money. I counted out my euros (320), dollars (only 23), and CFA (30000). He eventually told me I could approximate. I guess they are only interested in amounts over $5000 since I had to check a box to that effect. That done, we headed out to the car. I got in. Was somebody going to come? Whew! Nobody else came. That whole thing must have taken 20 minutes. I felt sorry for the Nigerians in the car who just had to wait while all this happened. The nice thing is that they never asked for a dash. I did the whole border procedure without paying a cent.

Then it was a 4 hour ride to Kano. My right but cheek was on the thick wire that forms the outline of the seat cushion. It was painful as hell. There was no room to shift because there were 3 other big guys in the back seat. I just had to endure it. No choice.

Finally, we arrived and I found myself is chaotic moto-park that seemed to have no exit. Finally, I saw traffic and headed that way. I had no idea where I was. As I was leaving a man on a moto-taxi asked me if I needed to go somewhere. I asked if he knew La Mirage Motel. He didn't, and he didn't really even speak English. But there was a sort of moto-taxi dispatcher who knew and explained to the young man where it was. The price would be 200 Naira. It was a long way. And anyone who had ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle with a heavy backpack knows how uncomfortable that is. Pretty damn uncomfortable. As we got closer, the young man started asking locals for the hotel, except he had the name all wrong. Even after I corrected him on the pronunciation he continued to get the name wrong. But I was there to say the name and they all knew it. After about a ten minute ride where my waist muscles were literally shaking because of trying to hold my backpack on (prompting one guy to ask me if I was cold, even), we made it. I practically fell of the back of the motorcycle. My muscles were completely fatigued. The driver wanted 300 Naira and I was just happy to be there so I didn't argue. I just paid it. I went in. Lonely Planet put their prices at 1300 Naira (US$11) to 2500 Naira (US$20). It's gone up a bit. The cheapest rooms are 2000 Niara (US$18) but there weren't available. The next cheapest was 2800 Naira (US$23). That's more than I wanted to pay, but oh well. The room is pretty nice if a little unsecure looking. There is fan, AC, TV, and minifridge--though the power comes and goes. There is a private bath and toilet and they even provide a towel and toilet paper. But it's more than I want to pay.

So I'm in a new country with a new currency and task #1 after finding a room is finding an ATM. Fortunately, Murtala Mohammed street is filled with just about every Nigerian bank in existence. I headed down that way.

Along the way, I slipped on a slanted wooden plank covered in sand. I fell and I fell hard. I banged my right knee and got scraped pretty bad all along my right arm. But no time for that now.

I tried a bunch of ATMs. They either didn't work by giving some error message indicating they were unable to connect to something or they just said "No Useful App". I looked for the Central Hotel which is supposed to have a Visa ATM in its lobby, but when I found it after getting a little lost, it was under full renovations.

Semi-defeated I headed home. I figured I'd wait a little while and try later. Meanwhile, I had to clean up my bloody arm and hand. It stung a bit, but I got it all cleaned. It was sore and I needed a little rest.

Then at about 3:30, I headed out again. I hit the same ATMs that sort of worked. But still no luck. I popped into the Friends Internet Cafe and Bakery where I paid 250 Naira for an hour of internet time. I checked email, facebook, and some other stuff. Then, as it was going to get dark soon, I started to head home. At the roundabout at Murtala Mohammad and Bompai, I wanted to get from the north side of the street to the south side and then from the east to the west to get to the GTBank which said it couldn't access the issuer or switch (whatever than means). I got across the west bound lanes and to the median strip. Then there was a lull in the east bound traffic--about 3 lanes wide. I started going across. About half way, a wave of moto-taxis came around circle. I went a little further but they were coming fast. One was headed right for me.
I froze. I watched to my right as it came. It didn't look as if it was going to miss me but rather hit me dead on in my right side. I was frozen just watching it come right at me. I watched for about a second. Then, impact, dead on. For the next, what I think, was 3 seconds, I felt myself carried along by the front of the motorcycle thinking something along the lines of "I can't believe this is happening, I can't believe this is happening, I can't believe this is happening." Then there were I was on the ground, the driver was on the ground, a passenger was on the ground, the bike was on the ground, and various parts were scattered about.

The passenger in a Muslim style outfit got up and come over to me and led me to the side of the road and sat me down. Then he went over and helped the driver over. The people hanging out on the corner came over and gawked. The passenger brought the driver over. I apologized taking all the blame. The driver had a bloody lip and spit blood every ten seconds or so. But nothing else seemed out of line. He never said a word. The Muslim passenger did all the talking. They were about both about 25. After establishing that we all had nothing seriously wrong, he went and retrieved the headlight and a part for starting the motorcycle. I went out and retrieved the headlight casing which was pretty much a loss. I apologized again. I had no idea what was going to happen. But we were all pretty much OK. There was some minor damage to the bike. I asked how much it would cost to repair the bike. The Muslim pointed at the headlight and the casing. He said about 1500 Naira for one and 1600 Naira for the other. And about 500 to reattach the starter lever thing. And 500 Naira for the driver's lip. Finaly he said 2000 Naira for the bike and 500 for the lip so 2500 Naira. I pulled out a €20 bill and said that it was about 2800. The kids around there told him it was 2900. He seemed happy with it. But then I went into my dwindling Naira stash and pulled out 2 500 Naira notes and gave them to him as well. He seemed happy. Everyone tried to shepherd me off after I did that. I guess they realized that I thought I had more leverage than I thought and they wanted to save me from myself. In the end I got off pretty cheap money-wise: €20 and 1000 Naira (US$8). I assume it was my fault for being in the intersection, but what responsibility does a motorcycle have to not hit a pedestrian head on? It was a bit costly and I certainly got bruised and scraped.
I limped home. It was already dark by the time I got back. I wanted a Star beer because I'm collecting the back label of the Star beers from the Anglophone countries. My hotel bar only had Gulder so I went next door. There was no light. I had wanted to write into my journal, but that wasn't going to happen. I got my 60cl Star for 200 Naira (US$1.80). After that, I went to the restaurant of my hotel and got a meal very reminiscent of the meals I had on the Comanav ferry from Timbuktu to Gao for 400 Naira (US$3.60) though I think they overcharged me--it was supposed to be 300 Naira (US$2.70).

After that, I limped back to my room and watched a horrible movie called Camp Rock. Then a horrible movie about trailer trash flight attendants came on and I was watching it when the channel starting changing on its own and eventually turned into a soccer match commentated in Arabic.

Eventually I just turned off the TV. But I kept turning options over in my head. I was in the position where I have to call audibles. It's second down and long, and I got sacked hard.
I was panicked. I turned out the lights but kept turning on the lights to check things in the Lonely Planet. I did that until past 3am. I kept doing it. I couldn't find a comfortable position, either. I was pretty battered and bruised. My two incidents but pretty tender sections on my right arm and left arm respectively. I was pretty sore where the bike parts impacted my right side--especially where my rib cage broke off the headlight and where my right leg hit the frame.
So that was my first day in Nigeria.

Sunday, November 16, 2008 19:48 Nigerian local time

Niamey To Maradi: With One Tragic Loss :-( And Now I Hate Niger Even More!

I got up bright and early--both my iPod and watch alarms set to 3:30am. I snoozed a couple of times and got up, brushed my teeth, did the last minute packing and headed out to see the night watchman. He was sleeping in the lobby and woke up as I approached. We went out and turned right and went a block or so to a relatively major intersection. Then we waited. After about 5 minutes a cab came. The driver offered to take me for CFA 1000 (US$2). Oh well, I'm used to getting dinged when I'm white and have beaucoup baggages. I tipped the nightwatchman CFA 500 as well. So the taxi ride that would have been CFA 3000 from the driver the night before who offered to CFA 1500--CFA 500 of which was a tip and with a little more time could have been CFA 500 only. Not bad. I'm learning.

I got to the SNTV station which was already chaos. I had no idea what was going on. After a while, the baggage enregistrement guy came and everyone flocked up to him. He takes the tickets one by one and copies a bunch of information off the ticket onto as many luggage tags as the ticket holder needs. It is not an efficient process. My bus was supposed to leave at 5:30 and it was 5:15. I didn't know what to do. I got two tags eventually. Then a baggage handler took my bags and requested CFA 500. There are three doors--one labeled International Lines and two labeled National Lines. A bunch of Bamako-bound people went through the National Lines door. It was getting close to 5:30 and I kept trying to get out to where the buses where but they kept telling me I couldn't go through this door. The whole thing is chaotic as hell. Finally someone told me our bus leaves at 6 and I should wait at the middle door. I waited and time ticked off. I had no idea what was going on. Finally at 6, they told me that I had to go through the door marked International Lines to get to my bus and that it had boarded long before. So I went through and got a seat in the very back.

At 6:30 we left. The trip is supposed to be about 9 hours. I had my laptop on the seat next to me. Everything was fine until 10am. Then we hit a massive pothole and I went flying. My laptop case flew too and landed on the worst corner it could land on--the corner where I keep my iPod. I gathered up the laptop case and kept it restrained the rest of the trip which wasn't easy. From 10:00 to 11:30 we were offroading at highway speeds in the bus and my butt felt like the hammer of a pile driver. From 11:30 to the end, it wasn't offroading so much but still we hit a big pothole that knocked us all around about once a minute for large stretches of time. Fortunately, there were also large stretches of time where it was pretty smooth and my butt could recover. We kept stopping for stuff, but it wasn't as bad as on the way to Niamey. At 4pm, we stopped at a town before Maradi and the bus had a hard time leaving. It reversed and then went forward and seemed to get out whatever bind it was in. We headed down the road and, after about a minute, started smelling something burning. We stopped. Oh boy, I thought. Another breakdown story for my blog. But alas, they figured out the problem soon enough and we headed away and the burning smell went away. So nothing good like our flat tire on the way to Segou. Oh well.

It was interesting watching the architecture change. The cylindrical buildings that dominate the more western regions turn into sort of bulbous buildings--maybe 4 or 5 meters in diameter at the center. The conical roofs start to become more rounded and instead of ending in a cone point end in a sort of cylinder--like the top of the Capitol building where all the grass is bound together. Also, these bulbous buildings also have smaller grass caps. Sort of like yarmulkes but shaped more like those wide cone straw Vietnamese hats. They are perhaps 2 meters in diameter and cover the bulbous buildings sometimes on top, sometimes cocked to the side. There are plenty of the square flat roofed buildings with the drain spouts as well as there in the Sahel.

At about 5pm, we arrived in Maradi. It looked like they have an ATM that takes Visa. I didn't see one in Niamey. Would they have one in Maradi but not Niamey? Oh well, too late now. The hotel I wanted to stay at is just down the road from the bus station. I got my stuff--happy it was in fact there--and headed down to the hotel. There were a few other French people and I wanted to get to the hotel before them just in case. The place had 3 rooms left--room '4', room 'F' and room 'H'. They showed me the nice room--room '4'--with the private bathroom first. Not bad, but 16500 CFA and I don't to shell out $33 for a room in this town. So I had them show me a room with the shared bath for CFA 6500 (US$13). Room 'F'. Definitely not as nice, but I'll just be here over night and will get the hell to Nigeria tomorrow morning. It looked good and I took it. The guy gave me the key and left. I looked at the key--not what I expected. It was the head of the key. The key part was broken off in the lock. I called him back. He tried to show me that I can lock it from inside and it would be locked. "Peut-on utiliser un tournevis?" "Non!" he assured me. I got out my Swiss Army knife and pulled out the screwdriver part and locked the door like he showed me. Then I opened it with the screwdriver of the Swiss Army knife. He acted like this was a shocking revelation. "C'est ne pas sûr" I said and we switched to the other room with the shared toilets--room 'H'. That room seemed good for a while, but then I noticed that the door knob was attached to a piece of wood that wasn't properly nailed to the door. I locked it and tried to open the door despite it being locked. Easy! Dammit! This place has cheap rooms, but they might as well have neon signs saying "Bienvenue Voleurs".

Oh well, I'll deal with it. I opened my laptop case. OK--this was going to be scary. My laptop took a hard spill and landed on the corner where I keep my iPod. My heart pounded. I took my iPod out. The touch screen was shattered down at the bottom where the button is. Fuck! I hate fucking Niger and its fucking potholes roads and the fucking SNTV that takes the potholes at highway speeds. It turns on but in recovery mode. Next I took out my laptop. Whew! No problems there. The iPod wants to be connected to iTunes and I connected it. iTunes said the iPod was in recovery mode. I clicked the recovery button. But I'm not connected to the damn internet so it can't do anything other than complain that it's not connected to the internet. I have one month left in Africa. I have iTunes, so I can listen to all the songs I downloaded from iTunes because iTunes vouched for them when I moved my iPod management from my desktop which is now in storage to my laptop. But the CDs I loaded into iTunes by myself are gone. That means no ABBA. No ABBA. Let that sink in. No ABBA. For a whole month. No ABBA. I don't know if I can survive. I have a playlist of downloaded songs I listen to and ABBA Gold. I alternate between them. Now, no ABBA Gold. Screw you, SNTV! Screw you Apple!

The hotel has a bar--though nobody is in it. Apparently this region of Niger is pretty strict Muslim territory. Bars are as welcome here as in Salt Lake City. There is one bar described as hedonistic and I wanted to check it out. But I can't lock my door, I'm just going to stay here with my laptop and my journal in their bar. Those are my 2 of my 4 irreplaceables. The third is my iPod--but they can have that now. And I always have my ultimate irreplaceable on me--my passport.

The bar has small Heinekens for CFA 1000 (US$2) and half liter Bière Nigers for CFA 700 (US$1.40). So I went cheap. At least it's cold.

So that was my day. One iPod down. But I'm close to the border with Nigeria and I'll quit this awful Niger. Tomorrow I'll be in Kano. They will have ATMs and I'll get Naira and spend a couple of days there loading up on it. Then I'll head to Lagos to get my Cameroonian visa. After that, I'll go to a few places in Nigerian and get to Cameroon. Then, I just gotta make sure I'm at the airport in time for my flight to Ghana. On a horrible day like today, I really look forward to Ghana and Chicago and home. In Ghana I'll shop for all the stuff I wanted to buy all along. I'll do that in the morning and in the evening I'll go to Ryan's Irish Pub.

Friday, November 14, 2008 18:48 Niger local time

Malanville, Benin To Niamey, Niger: Another Test Of My Patience

I got up and enjoyed the coolness of Malanville. I even had to turn my fan down. And to think they wanted to charge me an extra CFA 10000 for AC. I stayed in bed for a while waiting for the light to appear and soon it did. I left.

As soon as I left the Rose des Sables, there was a guy with a scooter and a heavy winter coat. It's nice and cool, but not heavy winter coat weather. He turned around when he saw me. He said he could get me to Gaya, Niger for CFA 2000 which is twice the price in Lonely Planet. I told him I could walk it. He offered CFA 1500. I looked at his scooter and said it was too small. I would rather walk. I started on my way in the nice cool air. OK, CFA 1000. I got on. He went pretty slow and when he got to the downtown Malanville, he passed me off to a guy with a bigger motorcycle and got CFA 400 from him. The new guy took me a ways to the exit visa place. They were just starting to operate. I was the first exit visa and they had to unpack their stuff. They had me fill out a sheet with all the usual questions. I had made sure I packed a Bic in my pocket, of course. Always have a Bic for customs. I filled out the sheet and they looked it over carefully filling in my hotel last night and expected hotel this night (I had to look up Chez Tatayi in the Lonely Planet to answer that one). Then I got my stamp. Back onto the motorcycle to cross a big bridge. As soon as we got across, that was Niger. Again, another sheet to fill in. The woman checked it carefully against everything I had and then gave me my entry stamp. Back onto the motorcycle. It's a long way from the bridge to the gare routière. The whole thing is walkable if you have a lot of time, but I'm a guy who considers pretty long distances walkable and I'd basically say this is not walkable.

At the gare routière, they had minibuses but no sept-places. That didn't please me particularly. I want a sept-place. Sept-places always blow by minibuses on the road. And minibuses take longer to fill up. But it was before 8am. The trip would be about 6 hours and I figured even if we leave at 11, that's an hour and a half of daylight to search for a hotel. The only thing I was apprehensive of--Lonely Planet says that hotel rooms are hard to find in Niamey and you had better make your reservations well in advance. Hmmmm....

The men and boys controlling the vehicle told me that I could have the front seat for CFA 500. I had already paid CFA 4100 (US$8.20) for a ticket so I didn't want to pay extra for the front seat. I waited for the women in the back to finish eating because their food was on the fold down seat and went to find a seat. But the floor of the minibus was filled with junk, the spare tire, and all sorts of mechanical stuff. I turned around and gave them CFA 500 and got in the front seat.

I was nervous about getting to Niamey before the sun goes down. At 9am when the car started moving, I felt better. At 9:05 when I realized that they only moved it to a shadier place, I felt worse. Every beggar in Gaya was coming up to me and asking for money. I explained that I didn't have enough coins and turned them all away. At 10am we still have no air of leaving. Nor at 11. Finally, at noon, we left. Gee, that would put us in Niamey at 5 or 6 and that's not much daylight. I hate searching for places in the night. Once the sun goes down, things get a lot harder to find. A block from the gare routière, I saw a bus station that advertised daily buses to Niamey at 8:30am. Damn. That would have gotten me to Niamey in much better time. The big buses are faster because they have big double wheels and glide over potholes whereas the minibuses have to pick through them.

The road sucked. More potholes that you can imagine and we were competing for road space with scores of slow-moving trucks carrying cargo to Niger and coming back empty (I presume). We often got stuck behind trucks that were also trying to avoid all the same potholes. It isn't often that there is enough unpocked straightaway that we could pass them.

And Niger sure has more than its share of police checkpoints. As soon as you pass the Douanes (they spell it in English as Custums), there is a Gendarmerie checkpoint. Or a Syndicat check-point. We even got stopped for a while at a toll gate by a policeman. Then there are the bathroom breaks, prayer breaks (yes, Niger is very Muslim), and some breaks that I didn't understand at all. It sucks. I had to show my passport twice.

A guy in the seat behind me ascertained that I was American and then started asking me to help him get to America. I am starting to get annoyed by this request so I told him he needed to apply for a visa. He wanted me to go to the embassy with him. I told him that I can get into the section for American citizens but not to the foreign citizens' section. Every time we stopped he came and pressed me to take him to America. "America good" he kept repeating. Over and over--"America good". And he puts his face really close to mine which annoyed the hell out of me. He was pretty serious until I got exasperated and told him that it is hard to find a good job in America and if he didn't want to apply for a visa by himself I didn't know how he could find a job. Then he just started telling me to try to fit him into my laptop case.

Soon the road got a lot better, but it was already mid-afternoon and the sun wasn't high. Every stupid stop at the Gendarmerie or the Douanes or the Syndicat or whatever took time off the available sunlight. I was getting stressed. We passed a speed controlled giraffe crossing and I looked for giraffes, but didn't see any.

Finally, at a little after 6pm, we rolled into a gare routière in Niamey. The sun was low.

We were at the Wadata Autogare. That means were we just a block from the Chez Tatayi. A taxi driver asked where I wanted to go. I told him the Chez Tatayi. He said it was about 2km away. Ha! I know that one. I still remember the taxi driver at the station in Sevaré trying to charge me CFA 1000 to take me next door. I showed the map. Other people also said the Tatayi was just a small ways away. The "America good" guy called them to ask if they had a room and said he'd meet me there at 7. What the hell, OK. He probably wants to try to convince me to go to the embassy with him. So with the last bit if daylight, I headed out. After about 2 minutes I saw an internet café and realized that I was probably on the wrong street. A compass check proved it. It only took 2 minutes, but already it was only half as light. I turned around and walked 2 minutes down the correct street. It had to be there somewhere, but I didn't see it. Now it was dark. Dammit! Four wasted hours waiting for that damned minibus to leave. I asked some men outside a bookstore. They pointed at a building and said it used to be that building, but now it has moved. It is now next to the Grand Hôtel. I'd have to take a taxi. Niamey has a shared taxi system and I had baggage. So I would need a deplacement--French for a taxi for just yourself. I went closer to the Wadata station since it should have taxis. It was dark and I couldn't see into the cabs to see if they were empty--for a deplacement you need an empty one. Finally, one came by. CFA1500 for a deplacement. OK. It is a long way to the Grand Hôtel rond-pont. But we made it. And they had a room for me. It was a bit more than I want to pay, but I won't spend much time in Niamey.

I went across the street and got a refreshing bottled water (CFA 500) and then the tourist information center which is right across the street from Chez Tatayi has an inexpensive little bar. I told the hotel people waiting out in front to send the guy over to the bar if he came. I had 2 Flags which were so cold they even had ice on the bottle. Then a guide came up and started trying to sell me batiks and tours to see giraffes and hippos. He had large batiks and wanted CFA 10000. I got him down to CFA 3000 on one I liked and eventually bought it. The "America Good" man never showed up.

Thursday, November 13, 2008 6:51 Niger local time