Snuggly tucked underneath the voluptuous bump of West Africa and above the slightly hopeful equatorial belt; Cameroon claims bragging rights of being central Africa’s change purse of diversity. Through an anthropologist’s eye, you would be struck by the more than 250 distinct tribes, all struggling to hang on to their unique customs and native dialects. An entrepreneur would be more enthusiastic about the strategic coastline and motto of peace, lending to limitless possibilities of imports and exports, which leads into the varied landscape and the agricultural potential of cash crops as varied as cotton, coffee, and cacao. Perusing thru an ecologist’s lens, you would be struck by the number of complex ecosystems, spilling over the frontiers of a country roughly the size of Nevada.
The Grand South, or the seven lower regions, one of which I am an inhabitant, range from Humid Lowland Rainforests to Grassland Plateaus. However the Grand North opens up into the gradually expanding sahelian sash. The capitol of the Adamaoua region, Ngoundéré, resting well above sea level on a distinct plateau, is consistently forested, gradually plunging onto level, scrub shrubs, and shade campaigns of peripheral neem trees. However, my dear anthropologist, the nation of Islam has burgeoned in between the mango trees and roaming herds of graminoid macerating cattle, giving way to geometrically appealing, polygamous compounds of four wives to one husband, who share responsibilities in the cultivation of edible millet and exportable cotton.
Call to prayer five times a day and denial of alcohol are made up for in the vices of sweet tea, consumed even at the apex of the blazing sun’s victory, and greasy flanks of grass fed bovines.
The Feast of the Ram supplants the annual festive holiday cheer of Christian Christmas. Arriving in a fellow volunteer’s village; our status of white strangers granted us the privilege of observing the morning communal prayer, all the village men, barefoot and kneeling on prayer mats, facing locally the nipple of Ngoundéré Mountain and obscurely; Mecca. Never have my bare ankles felt so obscene, as I tried in vain to be as inconspicuous as possible throughout the reading of the Koran, and what I can only assume was a reference to the narrowly avoided infanticide of Abraham’s first born son, Ishmael.
My camera battery refused to document the subsequent, slaughtering of fully grown rams at the chef’s compound, but the taste of piping hot liver, as the skin was expertly removed from the still warm host’s body, is still lingering metallic on my omnivorous tongue.
Garoua, the capitol of the North Province is known for being the birthplace of Cameroon’s first president, Ahmadou Ahidjo, and its resident hippos, floating amiably in the bend of the Bénoué River, at the entrance of town. However, Maroua, the capitol of the Extreme North Province is probably the favorite child of all the northerly cities. A clean and well shaded city, it strategically serves as a base for exploring some or Cameroon’s most developed touristic attractions. Waza Wildlife Park, provides a day safari experience, the viewing possibilities fluctuate throughout the year, dry season being the best for megafauna clustered around watering holes. Two months into the dry season, there was still too high of a water frequency throughout the park to witness this phenomena, but not all was lost, as we were still fortunate enough to see giraffes, several species of antelopes, warthogs, ostriches and a multitude of other bird species including dull flocks of Guinea fowl, egrets, spoonbills, heron rookeries, various birds of prey, vultures and aerodynamically, impossible Marabos. Elusive elephants and lions were only evident from their tracks and scats.
All these experiences culminate into unprecedented touristic possibilities, but whether it is a blessing or a curse, tourism is still highly underdeveloped in Cameroon, which probably helps locals to hang on to their culture and pride, but also inhibits traveling on a shoe string budget and creates endless pathways for corruption and unclear regulations.
The bizarre, landscape and refuge of Rhumsiki, an hour and half motorcycle ride into the bush, provided us, as the sole tourists during peak season, with a choice of four hotels, and a multitude of local children selling crafts or offering guide services. So, it will be interesting to see how tourism unfolds in the wake of impending globalization. For better or worse, Peace Corps volunteers could certainly be useful in censuring and creation of sustainable opportunities for artisans and entrepreneurs alike. Personally, I am a fan of anything that promotes conservation of culture and ecosystems, especially when it effectively concerns the country of my current residence.
The Grand South, or the seven lower regions, one of which I am an inhabitant, range from Humid Lowland Rainforests to Grassland Plateaus. However the Grand North opens up into the gradually expanding sahelian sash. The capitol of the Adamaoua region, Ngoundéré, resting well above sea level on a distinct plateau, is consistently forested, gradually plunging onto level, scrub shrubs, and shade campaigns of peripheral neem trees. However, my dear anthropologist, the nation of Islam has burgeoned in between the mango trees and roaming herds of graminoid macerating cattle, giving way to geometrically appealing, polygamous compounds of four wives to one husband, who share responsibilities in the cultivation of edible millet and exportable cotton.
Call to prayer five times a day and denial of alcohol are made up for in the vices of sweet tea, consumed even at the apex of the blazing sun’s victory, and greasy flanks of grass fed bovines.
The Feast of the Ram supplants the annual festive holiday cheer of Christian Christmas. Arriving in a fellow volunteer’s village; our status of white strangers granted us the privilege of observing the morning communal prayer, all the village men, barefoot and kneeling on prayer mats, facing locally the nipple of Ngoundéré Mountain and obscurely; Mecca. Never have my bare ankles felt so obscene, as I tried in vain to be as inconspicuous as possible throughout the reading of the Koran, and what I can only assume was a reference to the narrowly avoided infanticide of Abraham’s first born son, Ishmael.
My camera battery refused to document the subsequent, slaughtering of fully grown rams at the chef’s compound, but the taste of piping hot liver, as the skin was expertly removed from the still warm host’s body, is still lingering metallic on my omnivorous tongue.
Garoua, the capitol of the North Province is known for being the birthplace of Cameroon’s first president, Ahmadou Ahidjo, and its resident hippos, floating amiably in the bend of the Bénoué River, at the entrance of town. However, Maroua, the capitol of the Extreme North Province is probably the favorite child of all the northerly cities. A clean and well shaded city, it strategically serves as a base for exploring some or Cameroon’s most developed touristic attractions. Waza Wildlife Park, provides a day safari experience, the viewing possibilities fluctuate throughout the year, dry season being the best for megafauna clustered around watering holes. Two months into the dry season, there was still too high of a water frequency throughout the park to witness this phenomena, but not all was lost, as we were still fortunate enough to see giraffes, several species of antelopes, warthogs, ostriches and a multitude of other bird species including dull flocks of Guinea fowl, egrets, spoonbills, heron rookeries, various birds of prey, vultures and aerodynamically, impossible Marabos. Elusive elephants and lions were only evident from their tracks and scats.
All these experiences culminate into unprecedented touristic possibilities, but whether it is a blessing or a curse, tourism is still highly underdeveloped in Cameroon, which probably helps locals to hang on to their culture and pride, but also inhibits traveling on a shoe string budget and creates endless pathways for corruption and unclear regulations.
The bizarre, landscape and refuge of Rhumsiki, an hour and half motorcycle ride into the bush, provided us, as the sole tourists during peak season, with a choice of four hotels, and a multitude of local children selling crafts or offering guide services. So, it will be interesting to see how tourism unfolds in the wake of impending globalization. For better or worse, Peace Corps volunteers could certainly be useful in censuring and creation of sustainable opportunities for artisans and entrepreneurs alike. Personally, I am a fan of anything that promotes conservation of culture and ecosystems, especially when it effectively concerns the country of my current residence.
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