St. Louis Or Bust

And we're off. In the next few minutes I'll pack up my laptop, put it in the car, then start our drive to St. Louis. Next post--from St. Louis.

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

Yaoundé To Douala

I woke up early and thought that maybe Espresso House didn't open until 9 on Sunday because it was Sunday.  The other times I went it was already 9:30 or so, and for some reason they don't post their hours.  So I went.  And they open at 9 even on weekdays.  It's like Cameroonians don't wake up with coffee.  How odd.

Anyway, I had a bus at noon and needed to pack.  I picked up a couple of pastries from the pâtisserie by the Ideal and savored them.  Then packed and showered.  I was having a bit of a laundry crisis but I managed to find wearable stuff.  At about 10, I checked out and just as I got out the street, a cab was dropping off two men.  He charged CFA 1500 (US$3) to Centrale Voyages.  Traffic was heavy so he took a long cut that supposedly saved time.  But I had 2 hours till my bus left.  There is a restaurant at the bus station that has large bottles of Castel for CFA 600 (US$1.20).  The cheapest beer in Cameroon. I had one and read Le Zahir.  It was interesting because the character in that book gets hit by a motorcycle, just like I was.  His injuries are much more serious than mine.  All involved with my accident emerged in pretty good shape.

Then time came to load the bus.  At Guaranti Express, they tag you bags and they don't unload them at the end until they compare the tag numbers.  At Centrale Voyages, they just toss them on and trust you when you leave.

It was a 4 hour trip.  Again, we weren't stopped by police check points though I did see other vehicles stopped.  They must have some sort of arrangement with the police for these special buses.  They started out with a Celine Dion music video CD and then switched to a much more interesting local one.  I love African music videos.  I love the way they dance in them.

Things started looking familiar and soon we were there.  Several people asked me if I needed a taxi, but I knew where I was and I knew I was close, so I just walked to the Hotel Hila.  They remembered my name even.  I'm like a celebrity there. ;-)  I got a room for 2 nights and headed back downtown.  I decided I wanted pizza at the Mediterranée but then I realized that their pizza oven stops from 3 to 6.  Dammit!  The Ecobank ATM was down.  So I headed to the Bonanjo region with more banks and my usual internet cafe.  I got CFA 50000 (US$100) successfully.  The internet cafe guy told me the connection isn't good right now.  I was hungry.  I decided to check out the Café des Arts in this historic old building on the square with the post office.  It was very nice.  The menu du jour was salade aux carottes, osso bucco with tagliatelle or bar grillé, and fruit.  Bar is a fish and I wasn't in the mood for fish.  So I ordered the menu with osso bucco.  There was a slight misunderstanding--I wanted the menu du jour--all of it, and she thought I just wanted to the osso bucco.  But things turned out.  The menu was CFA 6000 (US$12) and the beers were a pricey CFA 2000 each.  But it was delicious and the atmosphere is nice.

The internet cafe was still having connection problems, so I just headed back to the hotel.  I picked up the latest The Economist on the way.  I saw an ambulant salesman selling small Christmas trees and an ambulant salesman selling mothballs from a big bucket of mothballs.  A man was buying some mothballs from him.  IT was the first time I've ever seen a guy selling mothballs.  You just never know what you're going to see in West Africa.  The surprises never stop.

Back in my room, I did a load of laundry and layed it out on a chair near the air conditioner.  I should be good enough to get back to Chicago.

I settled into the hotel bar to read The Economist and wait for the organist who came at 8:30.  I read the economist and listened to music until 10:30.  They have a small Christmas tree already and they had some French Christmas carols in their repertoire.

Thursday, December 11, 2008 8:08 Cameroon local time

Douala To Yaoundé

My last night in Douala before heading to Yaoundé was grand. I spent it in the bar of the Hotel Hila. The organist was there again. He plays organ for a number of singers who tag team each other. But each night, it seems, he does a sort of 20 minute be-bop set. Absolutely wonderful! Just a great way to spend 20 minutes. Maybe even better than 20 minutes with Mlle. X. I'm not sure--it's a close one. ;-) He starts playing around 8:30. Anyone in Douala would be well entertained with an evening at the bar at the Hotel Hila. Sexy hookers doing that slow enticing "check out my goods" walk, hot music, reasonably priced booze--it's a trip! Again, one waitress in particular, a very cute (but not so hot that she would become an insufferable high maintenance princess) girl, seemed to fall victim to the contagion of my happiness at the music of the organist. A couple of times one of the organist's overstimulated friends came up and rubbed a bill into his forehead and let it fall on the keyboard. The organist's girlfriend would go and move the bill and equalize his forehead. Everyone was grooving to that steaming hot be-bop. This night, it started with a 10 minute be-bop interpretation of Hello Dolly. I've never heard Hello Dolly done so well. Fanstastic! Simply simply wonderful!

But, alas, I needed to go to sleep. I got up the next morning and went to the Guaranti Express station a block to the south. My 9am bus was there and I got my stuff loaded, paying a guy CFA 500 (US$1) for his help. I got a seat and at about 9:20, we were off. Something odd happened on the trip--or rather didn't happen. There were no police check points. I don't know if it because it was raining, or because it was the Guaranti Express VIP bus, or because there just aren't check points between Douala and Yaoundé. But it was nice.

I arrived and asked a few taxi drivers for their prices to the Ideal Hotel. Nobody would go below CFA 2000 (US$4) so I took the first guy who had offered that. It was a bit far and I got to see a bit of the city. We eventually arrived and thankfully, they had a room. Their prices, however, had doubled since Lonely Planet went to press. I didn't question it too much since the prices in Lonely Planet really were in the "too good to be true" range. For CFA 15000 (US$30) I got a huge room with a bedroom, TV room, windowed sitting room (what I would call an engawa, but that's me), and a bathroom with even a bidet. There was no AC, but it seems the altitude of Yaoundé makes that pretty much unneeded.

I went across the street to Le Globus where I had a chicken and fries dish and a couple of beers. I had a nice view of Yaoundé. Yaoundé is built on a really hilly region. That means that the streets cannot be rectilinear. But it also means that the city is gorgeous. And the unique architecture makes it even more interesting. Yaoundé is much prettier than Douala. It's much nicer. And even though it's a smaller city, it has more stuff.

I explored a bit around my area and wound up going to a grocery store where I paid an unreal CFA 1950 (US$4) for a can of Pringles, CFA 1050 (US$2) for canned ravioli, and CFA 1000 (US$2) for a liter box of "wine" porting a picture of a bottle of red and a glass. OK, it's not wine. It's "cellar red". I knew a German in Bluefields, Nicaragua who maintained that, as Velveeta claims to be not cheese but rather a "cheese food product", that Miller Beer is not beer but rather a "beer food product". Well, by that criterion, this Vinoval cellar red is not a wine, but a "wine food product". And, the proof is in the ingredients. Yes, like all food products, this wine food product actually has an ingredient list. And here it is: "eau, alcool, extraits de vin rouge de France, arômes". Yes, that's right: water, alcohol, French wine extracts, and flavors. What in the hell are French wine extracts? At least I got the real Pringles. They also had Cracks for CFA 1800 (US$3.60) and if you have read my Ouagadougou posts you know that I had Cracks before and that while they look just like Pringles, they taste like cardboard because they are a Chinese knock-off made out of melamine and scrap newsprint.

Saturday, December 6, 2008 22:00 Cameroon 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

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

Calabar, Nigeria To Ekok, Cameroon

Morning came and I hadn't packed. Fortunately, I never really unpacked, so recovery wasn't too hard. Besides, they turned on the generator at 6am. So I was out the door at about 6:20. At 6:30 I reached the motor park and headed to the taxis bound for Ikom. The previous taxi had just left. Dammit! I just missed it. Oh well. It was just a 6 seater and it was still early so it would probably fill up pretty fast and it did. A bunch of drivers were gathered around a man in a tie preaching. It was just Jesus this, Jesus that over and over and over. A little after 7am, we were on the road. This is supposed to be a 3 hours trip. I was in the back seat with three women. It was the first time with three women. It was hard because they all had big butts, so there wasn't much room in the seats. I had to sort of scooch forward. It was uncomfortable, but what else is new?

We stopped for gas when we were all fueled up, the driver began to pray. This was the first time in my entire time in Africa that a driver stopped the car to pray. I looked down while he prayed. He kept going on and on. Every time he ended with "In Jesus' name" and the other passengers said Amen, I thought it was over, but then he's start another prayer. He did this over and over and the whole thing took close to five minutes. I don't know if all drivers in Nigeria pray like this or if he is a preacher in training. Finally, we were on the road. But the preaching didn't stop. Oh no, he kept going while he was driving as if he was rehearsing for a part time preacher spot.

The road is not wide and the people on the road pass when they shouldn't. They are almost suicidal. They may pray to the heavens, but they drive suicidally. Jesus doesn't save passengers from bad judgement of the driver and I would rather have a cautious driver than a pious one. I had more close calls from vehicles passing vehicles on this trip than any other trip in West Africa. It was downright scary.

But we made it to Ikom whole. We parked in the motor park and on the way in, I saw the signs on the cars saying they went to the border. So I knew just where to go.

I guy saw me and I told him I was going to Cameroon. He probably guessed that since not many white people show in Ikom with another destination in mind, unless they are going the other way, of course. He tried to take one of my bags but even when I tried to explain to him that I would rather carry 2 heavy bags for balance than one heavy bag requiring my back to work, he didn't listen. He said he would take me to the border for N500 (US$4). OK. But he led me to a private car near the taxis to the border, but there were other taxis to the border. I figured I would be better off with a taxi that already had people lined up than one with nobody lined up, so I asked them. But they said it would be N1000. Nope, I'll stick with the N500 guy. I put my bags into his car. They asked if I needed CFA and I said I did. They took me to a money changer and he was too busy with the previous client so I left. Then they took me to another money changer. We bargained a bit but he didn't offer a good rate. He said his rate would be better if I had larger bills, but €20 bills didn't bring a good rate. I was ripped off (what else is new?) but I accepted CFA 62000 for €100 in 5 €20 bills. Not a good deal--10% off the spot rate of 68800--but I would at least control my destiny for a while. Besides, I expect to lose 3% and this is only 7% more. Oh well. C'est la vie.

The man who agreed to take me into Cameroon said he would wait for 20 minutes and take me alone if nobody came, but when push came to shove, he just shunted me off to another car. I got into this old decrepit car and we headed to Cameroon. It's a few km to Cameroon. But we had to stop for fuel as is often the case.

We soon reached the first Nigerian checkpoint. I got out and gave my passport to the officers. They inspected the passport thoroughly. They asked for my yellow card. The officer said my vaccinations all expired in February and asked why I didn't renew my vaccinations. I explained that I received the shots in February and showed him that the expiration date was in another location. He bought that, but I'm sure he was just looking for a reason to give me a hard time and knew what was what. The only point of asking for your yellow book on your way out is to find an excuse to extract a bribe. He asked more questions about my visas and my trip and I provided all the answers he needed. He asked about Barack Obama and I told him that I voted for him through the mail. It was taking a long time and the other passengers in the car finally came over and watched. Finally, since all my paperwork was completely in order, he had no choice but to enter all my information into a ledger (which took a long time) and send me, and the other occupants, on out way. The main passenger in the car told me I was causing his schedule to slip, but I said it was Nigerian immigration--no other African country takes so long to process people at the border. No, he said, it was me. I figured he was angling for more money at the end of the trip.

Then a few minutes later, we stopped at another fuel station and backed up to a pump. The man in the passenger seat said he needed to pick up some petrol. OK, no problem. Can't take that long. But it did. The gas station attendant kept fishing empty 10 gallon jerricans out of the trunk and filling them and putting them back. There was like a neverending stream of these jerricans. Hmmm... Am I involved in some sort of gasoline smuggling operation? After about a half hour, we left. It still only about 11am.

We reached the second Nigerian checkpoint and again, I had to get out and show my passport. The first time it was 4 men armed with machine guns, but now it was a just a guy. He inspected my passport pages more with a longing than anything else. He stopped for 30 seconds looking at my Japanese entry sticker from a few years ago and rubbed his fingers across it lost in some dream world where he gets to do what I do. He looked at all my stamps and in the end, smiled and gave me my passport and wished me a good trip. I smiled and thanked him and went back to the car.

We drove some more and eventually got to within view of the gated bridge of the river that forms the border. I was almost out of this country. But we stopped short at some sort of post. The passenger guy got into an argument with what I guess was some plainclothed customs officer or something. They argued for about 10 minutes, then the passenger paid the officer N5 (US$4).

We went on a little further--like 20 meters--and came to the third of four Nigerian official stops. This is the one where I would receive my exit stamp. They asked me a bunch of questions about where I was and where I entered while I filled out a paper form with many of these same questions. One question made no sense to me. I was to provide "Evidence as Tourist". What the hell does that mean? Is it even English? I asked and the man said I should write the phone number of my travel agent and gave me the yellow book I got when I got my vaccinations. He pointed at the phone number of the Vancouver Coastal Travel Clinic and told me to enter that phone number. It was crazy, but I figured the best thing to do was to just comply. Finally after several minutes, the man gave my passport to a woman to enter all my information into a ledger. Then they gave me my passport back and I went across the street to the other side.
There, a man asked more of the same questions that I had been answering all along and entered my passport information into a ledger for the third time today. Then when he was done with that ledger, he got out another ledger and entered the information into that second ledger. Holy cow, the Nigerians make border crossings...interesting. That done, all that was left was to cross the bridge over the river. On the way to the car, the gas smuggler informed me that when we reached Ekok, I would buy him a beer. I could use one myself.

Immediately on the other side was Cameroonian immigration. The Cameroonians were a friendlier and chattier group. We talked about my trip, how Cameroon and Canada are the only countries with English and French both being official languages, and, of course, Barack Obama. One of the men then got a ledger. But instead of having columns for the information, he just writes it out longhand as a prose paragraph. He listed all the places I said I planned to visit and basically wrote out, in prose, a description of my passport information. It took quite a while. The gas smuggler was there watching the whole thing.

Finally, one last step--customs. They had already put all my stuff by the customs office. They interrupted a game of cards and asked me what was in each bag and I explained and they had me open each one and show the first few items. They were pretty satisfied and, frankly, anxious to return to their card game. And I was done.

Ekok is a pretty small place. Everything is pretty close. The ticket office for the cars to Mamfe and Kumba is right across the street. I went over. They wanted CFA 15000 (US$30) to take me to Kumba. Whoa! That seems high. How many people lined up for the car? One guy told me just 2 more and then another one corrected him and said I was the first. The first? This can take all day. It was noon and they said the trip to Kumba was about 6 hours. I don't like it at all. So I called an audible. I asked if there was a hotel. Yep. I left and headed down to the Boston Complex Resort Inn whose name sounds much more impressive than the CFA 3000 (US$6) rooms would suggest. There is a bare mattress with a pillow, no running water and the generator would only run from about 8:30 to 11--Ekok doesn't seem to have electricity. I took the room. I gave the guy CFA 5000 and we walked really slowly to another place where he could break the CFA 5000 note into change. What I could have walked in 60 seconds took about 3 minutes. Once at the place with the change, that guy had to go off and get change. Gee, these small towns are bad with liquidity.

Then off to find the gas smuggler. I entered the local bar whose name seems to be Risk Assurance--or is that the name of the previous business? We went to the back where there is a fan, but they had no juice. The gas smuggler offered a liter of gas to run the generator to turn the fan. The man brought me a beer and the smuggler a fruit juice. The beer was room temperature and I tried to stop him but he already opened the bottle. The smuggler and another guy yelled at the bartender and told him it was his error, but I agreed to drink it. It was warm, but still had some refreshing power. I got the whole lowdown on the smuggling operation which was kind of neat.

Then I headed off to my room to rest. The smuggler said he'd meet me at my hotel and have another beer.

I rested in my room until about 6pm. The smuggler didn't come so I figured I'd go out and arrange my transportation. I had, in the interim, asked random people about the cost to get to Kumba and the CFA 15000 is what it costs. So I headed over and asked what time I should arrive in the morning. They said about 7am--I should just come and leave my bags in the Boston Hotel and we'd get them on the way out. Now I was feeling a little easier. I headed back to the hotel to await the generator.

It got dark and no generator. I went out and asked. They said it would started at about 8 or 8:30. Man, that's a lot of time in the dark. I headed down the street and got a mylar bag with 25cl of red table wine. Then headed back to my room and read Veronika Décide de Mourir by my rechargeable lantern. Finally, after an hour, the generator came on and I tried to plug in my laptop. But no luck--the outlet wasn't powered. They said the outlets aren't connected. So I had to move my laptop to the lobby/bar where I typed up my blogs for 3 solid hours in front of an enraptured audience of three who were reading as I was typing.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008 23:50 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

Parakou To Malanville: It's Like Guinea-Conakry Again!

I got up and headed down to the gare routière near the traffic circle of the prefecture. I was quickly shepherded to the car to Malanville, the city right on the border with Niger. CFA 4500 (US$9) would get me to Malanville in a sept-place that would carry 9 people. I got there perhaps a bit late since there were still quite a few places to fill. If I had been an hour earlier, I probably could have gotten a previous sept-place. Oh well. It was about 8:30 and even when I'm early, we often wait until nine. I chatted with a woman named Martine who works for PAM which is the World Food Program. PAM is probably Programme d'Alimentation Mondiale, but that's just a guess. We were there a long time and Martine was as anxious to get on the road as I was. We finally left at 11:20am. I got a supremely uncomfortable back seat but it's better than the even worse front seats. The two people in the front seat were a big woman and a big man. But the driver objected and swapped the big man with a skinny man so he would better access to the stick. Then we were off. We didn't get very far when we stopped for gas as is usually the case.

The gas stations in Benin tend not to be the Western style gas stations but people on the side of the street with old bottles of Pastis and whatever other alcoholic beverages filled with gas sitting on a rickety table. Also, they usually have one or two large ~3 gallon spherical jugs. When we stopped, the gas man put a funnel in the gas tank and laid a cloth across the funnel. Then, he glugged 2 of the big jugs into the funnel. I'm not sure what this system is. Maybe it is tax free illegal smuggled gas from Nigeria, Benin's next door oil rich neighbor? It can't be too illegal because these gas stations abound and they are pretty damn unregulated--being nothing more than a wooden table and a dozen old liquor bottles and a couple of big jugs. They don't even have caps on the bottles usually. When you walk by one of these it always smells like gas.

The road between Parakou and Malanville has roughly two halves. The first is pocked with potholes. We were swerving and trying to pass trucks that were also swerving to avoid potholes that they could see but we couldn't. It was pretty bad in the back seat which is right over the rear axle. On top of that, the driver usually erred on the side of hitting a pothole on the passenger side to reduce his own level of discomfort. The air coming in wasn't refreshing at all, but hot. It was just like being back in Guinea-Conakry. Overcrowded, hot, uncomfortable, and miserable for 5 interminable hours. But that's the Africa I like. That's why I came.

We passed many many trucks overturned on the side of the road. I see trucks overturned from time to time, but there must have been half a dozen on this 300km stretch. Unbelievable.

Finally, we passed a police checkpoint and that marked the change in the road from potholed as hell to paved as heaven. We only had to slow down when passing stalled trucks with oncoming traffic. But after that it was smooth. The breeze from the window was still hot. The few times we stopped for a bathroom break or to let someone out, it was actually somewhat pleasant outside. But the wind was just hot.

The architecture started changing to the familiar architecture of Mali. I'm back in the Sahel. I'll try to blow through Niger pretty fast since the Sahel doesn't agree with me. Besides, I have one month till I board a plane to Accra. That's only 30 days to get through Niger, Nigeria, and Cameroon. And I need to get a visa in Lagos and avoid the Niger river delta area so I'll enter Cameroon from the north. I have to play it safe and pad some margin into my schedule and blowing through the Sahel seems like the most agreeable way to do that.

A little after 5pm we arrived. I got out and took a moto-taxi to the Rose des Sables hotel. It took a few tries to get a room in my price range. The first room he showed me was an air-conditioned bungalow. The second a fan cooled bungalow. Finally the third, a death-row inmate cell. I took the prison cell for CFA 7000 (US$14). Sadly they didn't have beer there so I had to walk to the other, more expensive hotel, to have a beer and a big bottle of water. I also had Sauté de Lapin à Provencial. Then I headed back to my hotel just up the street and got ready to wake up and head to Niger.

It will be good to be in Niamey because I need to get to the internet. My parents are probably starting to freak out since I haven't been online or made a withdrawal since the election.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 20:42 Benin local time

Abomey To Parakou Via Bohica

I left the Bar Vulcain at about 9am completely cured of my mild cold. The owner said I should go to Bohica and get the Confort lines bus. I would rather take a bus taxi, but he insisted that I couldn't get a bush taxi to Parakou at the gare routière in downtown Abomey. I didn't think I believed him but I also didn't scope it out the day before. I also didn't want to take a mototaxi 9 km away on a street with a bunch of speed bumps that they have between Abomey and Bohica. But I did anyway. The mototaxi was CFA 800 (US$1.60) and since I had my backpack on, I was a tad off balance and by the time we got their, my back muscles were pretty tired and sore. But we made it.

I had thought that Confort Lines was the only bus line there and that there was a chance it would be full because it from Cotonou. But, there are actually about 5 or 6 different bus companies. The prices seem to range from CFA 4000 to CFA 5500. I got the MJB bus which was CFA 4000. I waited and after about a half hour, it came. I got the last seat by the rear exit door which never quite closed properly. We left a little after 10am. There are a lot of speed bumps and some towns that can't afford real speed bumps set logs out to make the traffic slalom through the town. But other than that, the road is pretty good.

They gave away a free sachet of water, but it tasted pretty bad. About half way through at a stop I got a small bag of frozen chocolate milk from a guy with a bicycle with Fan brand frozen milk products in a cooler.

As we passed through Parakou, I saw the hotel I wanted to stay in--the Hotel les Canaris. After a few blocks we were at the station. It is nice that MJB Bus Lines has its station close to the hotel. There were moto-taxi guys there, but I was close enough to walk. I should have gotten a quote just to see how much they would have tried to charge me.

The Canaris had rooms. Nice rooms with a toilet with a seat a and shower with running water. Even a TV with 3 channels. Only CFA 6000 (US$12). I checked in and asked if their beer was cold. The man at the counter said yes, so I ordered a Castel. But when it came it wasn't that cold. Their drink menu has something I've never seen on a menu before--CFA 500 for a "verre cassé." They actually charge you a dollar if you break a glass. After finishing the warm beer, I headed out in quest for the 2 internet cafés shown on the Lonely Planet map. It was a long walk and I couldn't find either one. Also, of the three places that serve pizza, I couldn't find 2 and there was only one left--Le New Cigale. So I went up there. As I passed the last traffic circle to get there, there was an internet café but it was packed. So I just went to Le New Cigale and ordered a Quattre Fromages pizza (CFA 4500==US$9), a Salade Mexicaine (CFA 1800==US$3.60), and couple of small Castels. This time the beer was ice cold. The waitress tried to convince me to get a room there--only CFA 5000. But, I'm leaving the next day. Otherwise, if you want to stay in a place that has about 5 different pizzas ranging from $7 to $9 and beer that's almost frozen, and has an internet café close by, Le New Cigale seems like a pretty good place.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008 7:42 Benin local time

Porto Novo To Abomey

I got up late in Porto Novo and headed to the gare routière which is close to the Hotel Détente. I asked about the car to Abomey and they told me I have to show up 5am or 6am to get a car to Abomey. If I want to get to Abomey, I would have to go to Cotonou and get a car to Abomey there. OK. So I returned to the hotel, packed up, and headed out.

The car to Cotonou was a 6 person car, but since I was the first, I had the option of buying both front seat tickets for CFA 1400 instead of one for CFA 700. It would be more comfortable, we'd have one less person to wait for, and it's only US$1.40 more. Besides, these guys weren't charging me for my luggage. So I agreed. The wait wasn't that long except that the beggars all came up to me asking for money. I gave some to a few of them and then more came and I stopped. The beggars didn't stop. Finally, we drove away. About an hour later we were at the Marché Dantokpa in Cotonou. My fear was that I'd have to find another gare (Gare Misébo) for the cars to Abomey, but they had cars to Abomey right there. A guy led to me them and was delighted with the CFA 500 coin I gave him. Now I just had wait for one more person. And it was a long wait. About an hour.

I chatted with a guy named Benjamin for most of that hour. He is Beninois but lives in Port Harcourt Nigeria in the canteen for GE. It was fun to talk to him. He's a nice guy. He doesn't understand why white people do trips like this. He also doesn't my no sex in Africa policy. He thinks I should partake of the local ladies.

He was waiting for a friend coming from Abomey and his friend arrived so we said goodbye and then soon my car was ready to go. The road to Abomey is half bad and half under construction. It took about 3 hours to get there. Once there, I got a moto-taxi to go the hotel I chose--Vulcain. It's pretty basic. CFA 5500 (US$11) per night gets you a room with a concrete floor, shower with a bucket, a fan, mosquito net, and a desk. The toilet is a small room in another building with a 20cm x 20cm square hole in the floor. As it is a bar, I asked for a water and a beer, but it took a long time for them to come and when they did, they weren't very cold. So I went out to find another place. There is a place just to the north. I asked if he had cold beer. My suspicion was that the Vulcain people came here to get the beer and water so maybe it wouldn't be cold here either. I asked if I could touch the bottle. It was cold. So I stayed. I had a couple while an old man came and sat with me. He had these huge red glasses that didn't fit his face at all. I suspect they are a pair of old glasses donated by a woman to poor countries--probably not long after Sally Jesse Raphael went off the air. I didn't understand much of what he said, but we managed to communicate a little bit. He had a Coca-Cola. Three school girls--maybe late teens--were at a table behind me listening to our conversation. I suspect that not many white people wind up at this particular establishment. I noticed that there were a lot of school girls. They all wear these beige uniforms. Education seems to a priority in Abomey. Finally it was getting dark, so I headed to the restaurant of the Motel d'Abomey where I had chicken curry. I was the only customer for a while, but at the end, people started coming in. When I left, it was dark, so I kept a lookout for holes in the ground as I had seen a couple on the way over. I avoided them and made it back safely.

Saturday, November 8, 2008 10:12 Benin local time

Cotonou To Porto Novo And Porto Novo

On Thursday morning, I went out and headed down to the Marché Dantokpa. The taxis for Porto Novo are supposed to leave from there. I found the chaos that is their gare routiére and asked people where the cars are to Porto Novo. They are on a small street just at the intersection with the big street. I looked for a landmark so I'd see it again. It's just across the street from a 2 storey building with Heineken painted on the side. That'll be easy to find again.

So I headed back to my hotel and got a book and went to have one last pastry and coffee at Gerbe d'Or. The news was on and still the big news is Barack Obama. After an hour or so, I headed to a bookstore and got another Paulo Coehlo book, Veronika Décide de Mourir. Then back to the hotel. I packed and headed out.

It is a long hot walk from the Hotel de Crillon to the Marché Dantokpa. I stopped and got a sachet of water for CFA 25 (US$0.05). The salesgirl warned me that "c'est ne pas bien gelée" but it was good enough. I got to the cars. The cost to Porto Novo is CFA 700 (US$1.40) but they charged me CFA 1000 because of all my luggage. Fair enough. These cars are 5 person cars--2 in the front seat and 3 in the back. That means not a long wait. Whew! Only one more person. I got another sachet of water and it was colder. Now I was sitting in the car sucking down the water from a hole bit into the corner and by the time I finished we were ready to go.

The road to Porto Novo is slow and polluted with exhaust fumes. My eyes were stinging. It took about an hour and I arrived in Porto Novo at about noon. I wasn't sure where we were, but I got a moto-taxi and had it take me to the Hotel Détente. The driver had to ask someone and even with those direction, once I could see the sign obviously in front of us, the driver seemed to not see it. I wonder if he can't read. So I had to get the driver to turn around and go down the street with the Détente and even when we reached the building with the sign Détente, the driver passed it. But we made it and I gave him CFA 300 (US$0.60). The Détente had a room me. Whew!

The rooms there are OK. There is a private shower and a shared toilet. The shower dripped, but the faucet was broken so I had to fill a bucket from the sink. The light bulb for the room was red.

As the Détente is also a bar and I was hot, I got a small beer. Then I headed out to the Ethnographic Museum--the one thing I wanted to see in Porto Novo. Entrance is CFA 1000 (US$2) and I got a guide who is studying English. I had a bit of the sniffles--I caught a slight cold the day after the election as my defenses were weakened by my all nighter. So I was a bit tired--a bit too tired for a long tour. And a long tour it was. We started with the door to the place. He described several of the symbols found on the door. In more detail than I needed. Next we went to a wooden map of Benin that showed the cities and language groups. He went into detail on each language group and each city leaving no city or language group out. These were done in the hot sun. Finally, we got to go inside the building--but not before a detailed history of the building which was an orphanage, administrative building, and finally the museum. And not before he described two statues made of metal machine parts welded together showing a king and one of his wives who carries a spittoon because if someone gets a hold of the king's spit, it can be used to lay a voodoo curse on him. Inside, finally.

The museum is organized along the phases of life. There are 3 rooms and 2 halls. The first room is about pregnancy and birth. There was a mock up of a pregnant woman going to the Fa priest. The priest uses 8 pieces of these parts with a flat and a round side strung together. Essentially he generates a random byte by grabbing the middle and laying down the flat/round sided parts to generate 2 random nibbles. Each nibble has a name. There is a wall that shows the name of each nibble. He went through about 6 of them. He also enumerated several other reasons why one might consult a Fa priest trying to make sure he left nothing out. The pregnant woman has a lot of duties during the pregnancy including drinking a certain tea from a certain pot which she must at least do in the morning, though she make it at other times as well. She also has to wear a belt below the baby which prevents bad spirits from getting in. Each month she adds a link to the belt. Then there are things for the baby to wear when it comes out. Then there are some ceremonies--the naming ceremony 6 days later for a girl and days later for a boy, or something like that. Then 1 month after (though it used to 3 months in the past) the introduction to the sun and the moon to harmonize the baby with the vibrations. Apparently, kids who a re troublemakers are said to not be properly harmonize with the vibrations of the moon. Finally, a description of the early life of the child if he happens to be born to a blacksmith. There is a bellows and the kids would operate the bellows while the mother works on pottery because while the husband works on metal, the wife must work on earth. Done. Whew!

Now we went out into the hall where the discussion turned to initiation into a secret society. They had a bunch of masks. There are day masks for happy occasions an night masks for when times are tough. He described each mask. Some of the masks have whole outfits hanging off them like on for twins. He said that in south Benin, twins are considered as gods and explained all the things you have to do if you have twins and all the things you have to do if one twin dies. If a woman give birth to three sets of twins, she is regarded as a queen and has to respected.

Next we went into the marriage room. It has example gifts for the dowry, the tube men on their penises to protect them after their circumcision, a hunter's outfit. One of the dowry items is a white cloth used for the virginity check. If the virginity check turns out OK, the girl's family is sent a full jug of the local tipple. If not, they are sent a half full jug. At least, they are not sent their daughter. The virginity check is not used very often anymore. But the guide seems to think it is good because when it was used, there were fewer STDs. Or so he thinks. Then back into the hallway and to the death room that had a funeral shroud, a stretcher that they use to carry the dead around the village to let everyone know what happened. There were some items used to determine magincally the cause of death in young people (magic items--not CSI items). Back out into the hall where we saw a funeral drum. People whose parents died beat it, with their right hand if they lost a mother, left hand if they lost a father, and both hands if they have lost both. They have to beat it until the drum breaks.

Finally, there were some musical instruments. More masks. And then to the basement. How long with this go on? The basement had more masks. Finally it ended at a craftsman's shop where he had a loom and was making cloth for sale. I watched him a bit, but didn't buy anything. Then, as usual, this is the point where the guide tells me that he doesn't actually get paid--in this case because he is a trainee. So I tipped him and headed out. I went to the Java Promo. It was 3pm and I expected it to be virtually empty. Instead it was packed. In fact, I thought I stumbled into an event. The National Assembly is right across the street and some of the people had the air of being politicians. So I suspect the Java Promo is a place that politicians take visitors. It took them a while to notice me but finally I got a large Flag and a large bottle of water. And I just sat there thinking about stuff. Eventually I ordered a steak and mashed potato dish. After that, I went back to my hotel and took it easy for the rest of the night--trying to get rid of my sniffles.

Saturday, November 8, 2008 9:06 Benin local time