The Road to Bamenda (March 6, 2010)

It is 7 a.m. when the phone rings. It is Menge, our host/coordinator. We need to be downstairs by 7:45, to get to the bus depot early for our trip to Bamenda. We get downstairs for a quick breakfast for Dave. I am not having any. There was an Immodium tablet last night and another one this morning. I only have two sips of water. This is going to be a long trip.

After emotional goodbyes with 3 of our group who are off to the Far North, we are ready to leave (past 8 – getting used to African time), Menge hails three cabs into which we cram with our suitcases. Yes, that right, 4 suitcases as 2 carry-on bags will go in the VSO car and the umbrella, unfortunately, was forgotten at the hotel. Off we go to the bus station – nothing like you would expect back home. Here there is a large parking lot where several old buses are lined up and vendors and travellers alike mix to buy tickets, load luggage, buy some food…. We manage to get in the bus, where we wait, and wait. Vendors come in and out of the bus selling books, peanuts, cassava and other things. The driver will not leave until the bus is full.

This bus has 70 seats. Picture a regular bus but instead of 2 seats on each side, there is a 3 – 2 combination. The seats feel like they are about 10” wide. We squeeze in. What we don’t know yet, (should have guessed) is that the bus has no suspension to speak of. In one set of three seats, there are 2 women, one with one child and one with three. Yep, 2 adults, 4 children in three seats. One little tyke ended up sitting on his mother’s bag down in the aisle. All the children on the bus were amazingly well behaved – you hardly hear a ‘peep’ from them.

At the back of the bus are six seats – I am supposed to squeeze in there. In actuality, Dave couldn’t fit in any seat so he ended up spending the whole trip standing of sitting in a stairwell to the back door. I took his seat. And the road is really bumpy. He is a bit stiff today.

Finally, at about 9:30, off we go. The bus rumbles and bumps out of the station. We have to go back the way we came to get out of the city. On the outskirts, the bus stops. One passenger picks up a case which someone brings on a motor bike. Off we go again.

We roll along for another several minutes when the bus stops. This time, it is for people to purchase food items and water from the vendors, mostly by hanging out the windows. That takes a few minutes. Off we go again.

The bus stops again: a checkpoint. In comes a tall man in military gear. We watch as he heads right to the back of the bus where we are all sitting. A bit nervously (almost holding our breath), we take out our ids – and he checks them one by one, and then proceeds down the bus to check all 70 passengers. Two of them are asked to leave the bus – their papers are not in order. We wait. Not sure what happens but a few minutes later and return to their seats. It is clear some negotiations occurred. Off we go again.

At about 12:30, we finally stop for the one break. Everyone lines up at the toilets (50 CFA); some of the more adventurous ones head for the nearby vendors where you can buy all sorts of fruit, sweets, drinks and meat. Off we go again.

Only half the trip left and now. We reach Bafoussam, the capital of West province. There is major road construction and we need to detour. Not just any detour, but one riddled with potholes that are big enough to swallow a VW Beetle! Our bus struggles through, sometimes hitting huge potholes and I prayed we would not roll over the incline was so steep. After what felt like hours, off we go.

I must say that the scenery is really beautiful. Coming out of the rainforests to agricultural lands to mountainous terrain, it was impressive.

After going for a while longer Menge announces – 1 more hour to Bamenda. We cheer. I take out the water. I am safe now, I can drink all I want. But I am learning about African time, so I take it slow. I am getting hungry; the two buns we brought and now ate are far gone and I have a bruise on my left side where the arm of the seat I was in keeps poking every time we hit a pothole.

Finally we reach the outskirts of Bamenda - relief. The end is in sight. The bus stops to someone to get off. No big deal, we are soon back on the road. The bus stops again. The driver needs to fill up with gas before getting to the station. Fair enough, that will only take a few minutes. Well, not really. You see, they are pumping the gas by hand! Off we go.

We finally arrive at the bus station at 5:30. Like the one in Yaounde, it is a sea of people and activity. Menge ever arranges for a van to take us all to the hotel. The only thing that is moving now is the arm that is lifting a chilled beer to our thirsty mouth.

And then I realize, this is my home for the next two years.