Monday, January 09, 2006
Old Year's Day. Parting shots at Cameroon:
Every year, Transparency International prepares a corruption index of countries and organizations. Just before our arrival in Cameroon, they judged its police force to be the most corrupt organization in the world. There is stiff competition for that dishonor. We were ticketed for eating bread while driving a vehicle. We were told that it was unsafe to have backpacks inside the vehicle. We were told dozens of false and vexing things about our factually unimpeachable documents. We were given an expensive and ludicrous parking ticket and we spent hours talking with the unscrupulous neon jacketed task force for road safety and pre-Christmas bribe collection.
As we walked through Yaounde, Sean asked me, "Do you ever look around and think that one out of every eight people here has AIDS and then try to guess which ones?" I wasn't thinking of that at the time; I was deciding whether or not I should buy a pair of second hand Chuck Taylor's from a roadside vendor. I confessed to guessing, generally, that especially skinny, unwell looking people are HIV+ and not thinking of the unobtrusive ones scattered throughout. The AIDS rate should be climbing by a few percentage points as we cross each new border. I hate remembering the staggering HIV prevalence while out at night with young fun-seeking people. I am also growing tired of hearing them say things like "We are going to die anyway. Nobody is afraid of AIDS" and "You don't eat a banana with the peel on it" in order to bolster a fatal nonchance.
We were looking for an internet café and having little luck. Sean spoke again, "This trip has gone on too long. It was not supposed to become life." Our estimate of six to eight months no longer seems realistic and this extended no-privacy festival can be draining for all of us. It is a credit to the people we meet and the places we visit that we are still making our way forward. We are now fuelled primarily by the friendliness of our hosts, the richness of our experiences with isolated native populations and the expectations and well wishing of our friends and supporters. We have no reliable way of gauging how useful the publicity that we provide has proven to the NGOs that we have attempted to help.
In Cameroon for the first time in more than one hundred and fifty days we stayed at a hotel with a star. It was recognized by a tourism authority; it had an air conditioner and a television. We watched music videos and the BBC for several hours and then slept in unprecedented comfort-the two of us who weren't sleeping on the floor. Naturally, there was no hot water. There is never hot water.
Every year, Transparency International prepares a corruption index of countries and organizations. Just before our arrival in Cameroon, they judged its police force to be the most corrupt organization in the world. There is stiff competition for that dishonor. We were ticketed for eating bread while driving a vehicle. We were told that it was unsafe to have backpacks inside the vehicle. We were told dozens of false and vexing things about our factually unimpeachable documents. We were given an expensive and ludicrous parking ticket and we spent hours talking with the unscrupulous neon jacketed task force for road safety and pre-Christmas bribe collection.
As we walked through Yaounde, Sean asked me, "Do you ever look around and think that one out of every eight people here has AIDS and then try to guess which ones?" I wasn't thinking of that at the time; I was deciding whether or not I should buy a pair of second hand Chuck Taylor's from a roadside vendor. I confessed to guessing, generally, that especially skinny, unwell looking people are HIV+ and not thinking of the unobtrusive ones scattered throughout. The AIDS rate should be climbing by a few percentage points as we cross each new border. I hate remembering the staggering HIV prevalence while out at night with young fun-seeking people. I am also growing tired of hearing them say things like "We are going to die anyway. Nobody is afraid of AIDS" and "You don't eat a banana with the peel on it" in order to bolster a fatal nonchance.
We were looking for an internet café and having little luck. Sean spoke again, "This trip has gone on too long. It was not supposed to become life." Our estimate of six to eight months no longer seems realistic and this extended no-privacy festival can be draining for all of us. It is a credit to the people we meet and the places we visit that we are still making our way forward. We are now fuelled primarily by the friendliness of our hosts, the richness of our experiences with isolated native populations and the expectations and well wishing of our friends and supporters. We have no reliable way of gauging how useful the publicity that we provide has proven to the NGOs that we have attempted to help.
In Cameroon for the first time in more than one hundred and fifty days we stayed at a hotel with a star. It was recognized by a tourism authority; it had an air conditioner and a television. We watched music videos and the BBC for several hours and then slept in unprecedented comfort-the two of us who weren't sleeping on the floor. Naturally, there was no hot water. There is never hot water.
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