20 April. Still not used to all the attention, we sat on our Landlord’s stoep chatting to all the locals and the immigration officer who informed me that my visa had expired. He kept on hinting for a gift. It was not his lucky day. Still unable to exchange any currency, he ended up buying us a coke and bread, which I gratefully gulped down.
By 10h00, George, our landlord brought his truck around and our baggage was thrown in the back, a gospel tape was put in the tape deck and off we sped on a very dusty road. In the following hour, two snakes sailed across the road.
Finding someone to exchange money was turning into a mission so we gave George $10 to cover his costs before being able to exchange some Euros. Armed with local currency, we took a motorbike to the motor park, got lucky and within 15 minutes, we were on our way to Bimenda. 4 People in the front and 4 in the back.
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| Colourful plakkies everywhere |
The famous Ring Road lay ahead. Unfortunately, all we saw was dust and darkness. The windows were kept open (maybe because the boot was already open) and red dust followed us everywhere. By the time we finally made it to Bimenda at 21h15, we were covered in red dust and the driver took a towel and dusted us and the luggage. Alan, myself and our 4 backpacks shared a motorbike and the driver to the International hotel, who surprisingly offered us accommodation. I took the longest shower of my life, trying in vain to get the red dust off myself and my clothes.
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| The famous red dust |
We were starving. Being in the car with 7 other people made sleeping impossible since falling asleep could mean knocking your fellow passenger unconscious with your head going through the potholes. Since there was no space, drinking and eating was also impossible. 12 hours in a taxi without stopping had taken its toll.
21 April. A visit to the Immigration Office confirmed my suspicion about the immigration officer in Dumbo’s hints for a gift. Al bought tickets for the bus and was chuffed to mention we had booked seats and would be leaving at 13h30. Ye right!
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| How to capture a tall woman |
Comes15h00 and all the passengers booked on 3 busses are put on one bus. Fights were inevitable. The guy who booked seat 11 on one of the three busses looked forlornly at the lady sitting in his seat. She in turn glares at me, since we were both booked on different busses on seat 16. 30 Minutes later the driver hit a speed bump and everyone flew in the air, mobiles and loud verbal abuses included. Luckily for us, we had a mayor or two with us going to a conference and the driver slowed down.
As we “rescued” more and more people stranded along the road and the breathing space inside the already overloaded bus got less and less, several more fights broke out. Alan and I joined the “you won’t go to heaven” chant if the bus driver refused to rescue any more people. We finally arrived in Buea at 23h30 where we had to use a 20 liter water drum as a bath plug and the rubbish basket as a table since the only electric plug was above the basin.
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| We used our 20 liter water can as a bathplug |
23 April: We were slogging down the street by 7h00, big 85l backpacks filled with 6l of water on our backs, small backpacks filled with 3l of water in front, expecting to start the hike by 7h30, as arranged the previous day. By 09h00, our official hike started at upper farm, where were cheered on by prisoners chanting 'put a bit more effort in the hiking'.
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| The official start of the hike |
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| A huge fig tree |
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| The magic tree |
24 April: We only left the hut by 7h30 and after a steep uphill reached hut 3. The temperature dropped and whilst Alan and I were putting on our layers, the porters decided not to escort us to the summit. Although it was not as steep as the first bit, Alan was starting to show strain. Francis pointed out a rock to me and I was instructed to go ahead, which I did, thinking I could set up the GPS, cameras and flag before they arrive.
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| Catching my breath |
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| The 1999 crater |
25 April: I was not the only one awake by 4h00 and Francis our porter entertained us with his gospel songs while making a fire. After burning the rubbish we picked up, we were off by 7h00. 5 Minutes of forest was followed by
Mt
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| Last stretch through a forest |
I immediately started washing my day pack and then I had to abandon the mission to go and look for an ATM machine, a trip we repeated three times because I kept on forgetting things at the hotel. Then it was off to the Fako Fast Ferry to buy our tickets. We were pleasantly surprised to see a picture of the boat and to hear it was only CFA 30000 to Calabar and that we had to be there by 3 am.
The rest of the afternoon was spent washing and trying to dry our clothes and recharging everything. I could not stop staring at
26 April: Getting to the harbour that time of morning was a bit scary so we didn’t haggle too much about the overpriced motorbike ride to the harbour. The Ferry Service was very efficient. Our passports were taken, our tickets stamped, baggage searched (till they reached all the wet laundry and abandoned any further searches) and chucked in a truck before we were also chucked in busses.
A lack of sleep made everyone grumpy and several arguments broke out. One guy carrying fish was told to get rid of it before entering the bus. Another guy who complained about the delay and mentioned time and money was informed by the wise elderly that he could, since he has the money, take a flight, but that at the last flight, the passengers were stuck on the plane for 10 hours waiting without any water.
Listening to all the bantering, I was happy to be where I was, squashed in or not. Finally the bus moved to the wharf and we waited for another hour listening to some heated conversations before being allowed on the boat.
We finally left
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