From South West to the Extreme North of Cameroon

Cameroonian girl

No...its not a plane. Its a bus

From cool Buea it was balmy Limbe first, and then after exiting the South West province I was back in stuffy Douala which lies in the Littoral province of Cameroon. The city is humid, hot and generally uncomfortable and it’s no surprise it’s often called the “armpit of Africa”. I wasn't planning on spending too much time in Douala but had to find an alternate way up to the extreme north region of Cameroon since the flight to Maroua was cancelled.

I though that if I could make my way to Yaoundé, the capital of the country I could perhaps take a train to cross into the Adamawa province from where I could take the road further up into the North and then from there to the Extreme North province.

Selling manioc baton wrapped
in leaves

Garoua bus station 

It was the 21st day of December, a Saturday, and because it was a weekend so close to the holidays, getting a seat on a bus to Yaoundé was difficult. I had to get to Yaoundé on time so as to catch the solitary train to Ngaoundere around six in the evening which was going to be equally difficult. I figured since I had no chance of catching the train, there was no point in me hurrying to Yaoundé. I planned to spend the night in Douala and catch the early morning bus to Yaoundé. After much looking around I found a local catholic mission that agreed to house me for a night.

Because of the holiday rush I had to make sure I planned my travel from Yaoundé to Garoua, the capital of the north province, ahead of time so I rushed to the CamAir Co. office at the airport which was the only place in Douala that I could purchase the ticket. Even then there was just one lady at the counter who was serving a multitude of customers and it took a long time for her to attend all of us. I wonder if CamAir Co. would be better off having more staff in situations like this, especially since they don't do online bookings and the city offices are closed on Saturday and Sundays. Perhaps this lack of empathy is not surprising since it's the only domestic carrier in Cameroon and I should know better the effect of low supply and high demand having worked in Supply Chain as my first full time job.


Millet farm on the way to Mokolo

Huts made of stone and thatched huts

The next morning I got myself on one of the best bus services in Cameroon heading to Yaoundé. The bus was impressive with AC, a TV, extra large see through windows and a hostess on board to serve drinks and a small sandwich. It was certainly a huge step-up from the regular bush-taxis although at 8000 FCFA (~$18) a little expensive for Cameroon’s lower-middle class and poor.

Bus stop

The ubiquitous water sachet

The vegetation along the way from Douala to Yaoundé looked very similar to Liberia and that was one of the main reason I decided to head north rather than going straight to the jungles in the remote south east part of the country. I figured that I needed a change in scenery to better appreciate the jungles when I would return from the North…I wasn't going to be back south for at least another week though.

True to their reputation CamAir Co. delayed the flight for 6 hours for no good reason and instead of reaching Garoua around 8:30pm I ended up reaching at 1am. I figured there was no point trying to find a hotel late that night so I found a quite little place to pull out my sleeping bag and hunkered down for the night as I saw the other passengers being picked up by family and friends. I fell asleep praying I won’t be kicked out by the airport security.

Dry river bed

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The airport security didn’t interrupt my sleep but I did wake up at some ungodly hour to smear mosquito repellent before dozing off again. I woke up again to some noises and noticed the cleaning staff…the morning had arrived. The scene at the airport was a contrast to the one the previous night. Gone was the crowd replaced by just handful janitors; the whole place looked deserted and the early morning sun rays encroached on darkness from the night. It was time to wake up, freshen up in the restroom, packed my backpack, and hit the road to the Marché central (city center) to find a transport to take me north.

Cotton farm


Garoua was such a contrast to the region I was coming from. It was hotter, drier, and heavy with Islamic influence. I had no intention in hanging around in Garoua. At the Marché, I was hoping to catch a bus going to Maroua but got on one going directly to Mokolo which was a even better because it was the destination I had wanted to go after Maroua.

My bus through rural north Cameroon

Hausa man

A couple hours later at one of the stops I saw vendors selling surgeons masks and I wondered why; soon I was to realize the reason. Right after that stop, the bus left the asphalt road and for the next 4 hours we passed through a bumpy dusty track through the remote rural heart of northern Cameroon. The road passed through mountains, dry river beds, mud houses with thatched roofs and small cotton farms; fantastic rustic scenery but very dusty.

Mokolo

Sunset in Mokolo

Upon arriving in Mokolo I was met by Martin and Kamini who where friends of Eric, a guy I had met at the bus stop at Garoua. Eric had assured me that that he had friends in Mokolo who would help me arranging my trip to Rhumsiki.

African dinner

Candlelight dinner with Kamini

By the time I arrived in Mokolo I was feeling sick; it was that horrible feeling right before a common cold. Kamini suggested I stay in his house for the night and get some rest. Kamini’s mom prepared a simple but delicious meal of baked beans and sweet potatoes. Belly full we made a few quick plans for the next morning and it was time to call it a day.