Togo is a quick 1.5 hour flight from Cameroon. Like going from San Francisco to Los Angeles. But when you live out in a rural area in Africa, the plane flight becomes the easiest thing.
I was lucky because Mercy needed to buy food because PRTC was hosting a conference next week. So I got a ride into Bambui in the truck. Of course, right at 9am when we were going to leave, a woman from one of our women's groups came to pay off their micro-loan. That was a great thing, but it delayed the trip by half an hour. We got to Bambui and I tried to find change because I only had a 5,000 CFA bill and a small bit of pocket change. I could not give the taxi guy a 5,000 bill. Of course, no one had change. This is a perennial problem here. When I am not annoyed by it, it is hilarious. Literally no one in this country ever seems to have change. Not shop owners, not people on the street, not taxi drivers, no one. Fortunately, I checked my pockets and had just enough change to make it to Bamenda. Phew!
So, I got a taxi to the Amour Mezam office in Bamenda. I needed to get there in the morning so I could get a decent seat on the night bus to Douala. I managed to get an okay seat, but I was surprised how many tickets had already been sold, more than 12 hours before departure time. I was also able to get change at Amour Mezam, thank my lucky stars. But now I had twelve hours to kill and. . . Food poisoning. The night before I was making eggs and a couple of them were rotten (ugh!) and some of one of the bad ones got into the eggs I ate. I felt awful all day.
I spent most of the day in Internet cafés biding my time. I went to the chemist to get something to help me feel better and I spent a couple of hours helping Mr. Fon print some photos he had taken with my camera. But since my stomache hurt so much, I couldn't even pass time by eating lunch or a snack.
Finally, they opened the bus doors around 9:30pm and we all piled on. There was some big ruckus as we were trying to leave. They were yelling in a mix of pidgen and blurry French so I didn't really catch what was happening, but by 10:15pm we actually pulled out of the bus park and everyone, including me, promptly fell asleep. The bus ride was fairly uneventful and had the requisite stop halfway. We were there for about an hour, which was much longer than usual, but I didn't even get off the bus, so I don't know why that took so long. We arrived in Douala at 5:00am — pretty good time. I thought I'd just get off the bus and, what? Geez, it was still pitch dark out and I am in a city I've never been in before and all I know is that a trip to the airport ought to cost around 1,500 or so.
Several people told me to NOT take a taxi from the street but wait a few minutes, because good taxis (not "bandits") would arrive and come into the bus park. Sure enough one guy showed and then was followed by several others and the other people from the bus actually got into these taxis, so I took my chances. I saw some whole side of Douala — the airport was a long ways away — seemed awfully shabby. I think I expected better, but who knows what part of the city I saw. Amour Mezam's park was clearly on the outskirts on one side while the airport was on the outskirts on the opposite side.
I got to the airport around 6am and it was all dark. I thought it was closed, but the doors were open and there were some people there already lined up — I shortly discovered that there was an Air Ivoire flight that left first thing. My flight, of course, was not until 3:30pm. So, I found a bench and tried to sleep a bit more. That worked for an hour, then they turned on the lights and started washing the floor with some loud machine!
Did I mention how filthy the bus is? No? Well, it is filthy so now I was filthy. And, after making this mistake on the train ride to and from N'Gaoundèrè, this time I packed a toothbrush in my carry-on backpack. So I went down to the bathroom in the hopes of washing up a bit. Much to my amazement, here in an international airport, the women's bathroom had no water in the sinks. In fact, the faucets were actually disconnected. . . Will wonders never cease? Not in Africa, I am sure.
I had a coke at one of the two bars in the airport, walked through the one shop which was the size of my bedroom, sat outside and watched the baggage handlers for awhile, ate a salad at the second bar (my stomache was feeling better) and read an entire magazine until, yippee! It was 1:00pm and I could check in.
I checked-in, that went as expected. But then when I went passed one woman official who checked my passport and gave me a card to fill out. I passed some shops and went to the next official person I saw, but he told me I needed to go to a woman in a booth. Where? Oh, okay, there. Found the woman, filled out the card. Then she said I had to go back and pay the airport exit tax (oh crap, I forgot that foreign airports often charge this tax and I have almost no money left on me. . .). Where? Where? Another official woman who was standing at the doorway walked me back and pointed to the booth where I was supposed to have gotten my stamp. Sure enough, it's 10,000 CFA which was my money to get home. Thank goodness I saw an ATM in the airport lobby. I pay the tax and head back to the woman in the booth who sends me back to the man at the door who now lets me through to the security check.
Another bit of time to wait — only a couple of hours — a breeze for me now! Then a woman sticks her head into the lounge where we are sitting (about 20 of us) and says, "Air Tchad flight 260 to Lomé, follow me." We get up and follow her as she walks downstairs, outside and ambles over to a waiting airplane. All very casual. When we arrive in Togo and have to find our way to the right door of the airport without any escort, I think back appreciatively on her leading us!
The plane ride was fine — very few people on the plane, nice smooth ride and landing, came in on time. When we arrived, I was standing in line filling out the requisite card when a guy came by and said, "do you need a visa?" and I said, "yes, I do." So he pointed to the Visa booth and told me to go over there. That was another adventure. He asked for 15,000 CFA (but these are *West* African CFA, not *Central* African CFA, which although they are equivalent in value are actually different bills). I told him I only had Euros and he said, "okay, then 30 Euros" and I said, "no way, that's worth 50,000 CFA." So he said, "go outside and change money and come back." I was a bit incredulous, but I walked outside, passed baggage claim, past customs and security and went to change money. Luckily, I ran into my friend who had money on him, so I didn't have to change money at the exhorbitant rates they charge at the airport. I walked back through baggage claim to the Visa booth and he gave me a new form to fill out. When I gave that back to him he asked me the address I was staying at and I told him I didn't know the exact adress, because it was a friend's house. He told me to go back out because he needed the exact address. So out I went.
Now I retell this whole adventure with the Visa office because what really cracked me up was that, having finally gotten my Visa and retrieved my bag, I had to have both of my bags x-rayed as I was *leaving* the airport. I had walked by that machine several times and no one had given it a second thought. I could have just walked out and walked right into Togo (of course, I wouldn't have had my passport or Visa, but. . .) and now they need to x-ray my bag. Iy yi yi!
just another child of God 