Douala - life amid the chaos

In need of a good shower after a couple of days with only buckets of water we departed for Douala.  Suzanne was keen to experience the big city for the first time in many years.  After the first hour from Kribi to Edea, we joined the main road from Yaounde for a journey that is hard work.  The bendy single track road is busy with slow-moving lorries and the occasional fast-moving lunatic which kept Mbella, our driver, on his guard all the way.  At one point as he waited patiently to get past two slow lorries, a maniac overtook all of us on a bend at high speed tooting his horn and hoping for the best.  He avoided a head on collision but the wrecks on the side of the road show others were not so lucky.  As Dad says when he sees such driving, “he must have been in a hurry to get to his accident”.

Benskin drivers waiting for customers

The tension of the journey lowers on reaching the outskirts of Douala but the welcome to the city is unpleasant.  The last few miles are through the huge and growing manic shanty town suburb of Village, which is not an apt name.  As the one lane each way traffic slows down, all of a sudden there are four cars abreast going into town as yellow shared taxis compete with each other to gain a few metres.  The mushrooming number of cheap Chinese made motor cycles adds to the chaos and pollution.  The only way for young men to make money here is operating motor-cycle taxis carrying as many as three other people and their goods.  The bike-taxis are known as “benskins” because when you fall off you burn (pronounced “ben” locally) your skin.  There is even a Benskin ward at the local hospital!  In the road-side dust a huge informal market goes on and behind the wooden shacks sit hunched together next to some foul-smelling streams.  There is no planning, no infrastructure and lots of pollution from the overloaded lorries.

We were relieved to arrive at Bisi’s flat on Saturday morning with its hot water, air-con, satellite TV and access to European style restaurants and supermarkets.  But Sunday brought a power cut from 9am to 730pm followed by six further cuts which rather disrupted the evening.  However Africa is rather less reliant than Europe on power and life continues pretty much as normal.  We walked for an hour in the morning in the sapping heat and humidity and I showed Suzanne the market in the neighbouring poor suburb of New Bell where you can buy pretty much anything.  Judging by some of the looks of surprise, they don’t get too many white female visitors. 

Samuel Eto'o mural, New Bell's national hero

An evening drive around the centre of town to buy our supper completed Su’s tour of Douala.  It is hot, humid, crowded, mostly poor and not very pretty but it is the beating heart of Cameroon, very much alive even in the darkness of a Sunday power cut.

Douala - the Armpit of Africa

I'm not sure whether the nickname the "Armpit of Africa" derives from Douala's geographical position (where the arm of west Africa leaves the main body of the continent) or whether it relates to the 100% humidity which makes it feel like one is living in an armpit. Cameroon's largest city, port and economic capital is over-crowded and decaying, but above all full of life.

Cathedral, Douala

I spent three days visiting family and friends in Douala. Its a growing city mainly because of migration from rural areas which has led to new suburbs growing up as the city spreads. It is fascinating to see the different environments in which people live: I stayed with my sister Bisi in up-market Bonapriso where richer locals and ex-pats can sample cosmopolitan restaurants but walking distance away is poor New Bell, home of the rags-to-riches national hero, footballer Samuel Eto'o Fils. My brother Penda lives in industrial Bonaberi across the huge estuary of the river Wouri, where everyone seems to be selling something unless they are in one of the many roadside bars consuming the beer products of Brasseries du Cameroun and the local favourite Guinness, which has a brewery here (one of only five outside the British Isles). The administrative centre Bonanjo contains colonial buildings, banks and offices around the corner from the hotels and smarter shops of Akwa.

Place du Government

Nightlife abounds everywhere - Cameroon is almost as well known for its music and beer consumption as for football - but perhaps the most memorable part is the traffic. My friend Marshall drove me around the city after dark, hooting with laughter and passing comments out of the window at other drivers while expertly navigating between huge potholes. Meanwhile motorbikes pass the cars and the many yellow shared-taxis on both sides in both directions as they evade the huge puddles that can be a foot deep and cars appear at strange angles at major junctions in the absence of traffic lights. However despite the chaos it seems to work and we got across the city and back in surprisingly little time. But this was Sunday evening and the weekday rush hour is another matter...