The road north

Dr. Taguem Fah is a professor and just returned to Cameroon after spending a year at Northwestern University in Chicago as a Fulbright scholar. He established the N’Gaoundéré Research Center. I will teach classes at his center; Associate Director Brendan Schwartz (our next GC in N’Gaoundéré) will work there daily.

Together, Taguem and I drove north from Yaoundé via the East Province (click for a map). We left Yaoundé early last Wednesday morning to hit the dirt road into the east. The east is financially poor, but mineral-rich. The green is outstanding and the waterways are beautiful. We drove for nearly two hours without seeing one person. The next couple hours we sporadically viewed cattle in small herds led by one or two men with sticks. The road divided villages where people sat outside their homes and waved as we passed.


Homes in the East are constructed with sticks in a grid-like fashion with red clay-dirt solidifying the walls. Occasionally there is a white mortar finish. The houses are square (that surprised me) with palm thatched roofs and dirt floors. Some have doors. Every third village or town has a decent looking school. Many schools looked devastatingly horrible.

We crossed bridges and rivers where kids and moms alike bathed and washed their clothes. This is their water source. I saw a viper hanging dead on the side of the road next to a bunch of plantains. And wondered, what else is out there?

People walk everywhere. The elderly made it look more painful than I hope to ever imagine. People stared at me and, frankly, I stared back. All men had machetes. Both women and men had baskets woven from palm leaves that they wore like backpacks and stuffed with fruit, cloth, etc. Countless numbers of people carried water in buckets on their heads. Large and small tree branches were bundled and toted on heads as well. I can’t imagine the distance they are carried.

As we passed, I reflected on the culture of the East. I’ve been told that village Chiefs are not given power like in other regions. Instead, heads of families make all decisions. This makes community action difficult because each household works independently as opposed to being united by a chief-run community. Within their communities, there exists no infrastructure with which to work together. I began to list all the ways that I was trained as a leader, even in grade school: I led the class in clean up when I was 3, led the line at 5, chose teammates at 8, held school student government positions at 13, was a PEER mentor at 16, became a sports team captain at 17, mentored a child in college, and again sports. The list is endless. My parents, teachers, coaches, and friends have all been training me in leadership skills since I can remember. No one in the East, even if they have the innate skills, is given the chance to develop them as I was. What an amazing idea to have a leadership program. How can a society progress without those people who have the skills to work together, listen, debate, motivate, speak publicly, comprehend problems and seek the answer in a fair fashion. They understand how their community works, they have to initiate and lead development, but who can do it? Who can unite the masses? What a predicament.

The dirt piled along the side of the road coated my face like it does during the dry season. Each hour, three or more trucks passed carrying gravel for the road. Taguem told me the road is known as one of the worst roads in Cameroon, but that soon with the reconstruction it will be one of the best. Cement gutters were being put into place (this seems to be happening all over Cameroon). We slept in Bertoua at a Catholic mission, which is a huge training center for priests and nuns.


We awoke and continued to drive along the red dirt road, surrounded by green, with no secondary roads branching off. Taguem and I discussed the politics and social chasms of Cameroon; we shared ideas and time and time again frustrated each other with questions that we cannot answer. We came upon an accident. I could not figure out what had happened but a truck carrying furniture had lost most of its cargo. A 4-wheel drive car was turned around and another 18-wheeler carrying beer had lost half of its cargo. The area reeked of beer and the men cheered as we drove through. I believe they were all drunk. The road becomes worse here, with more potholes and bumps. We stopped and asked the police along the road if there were bandits ahead. They told us no problems had been reported and we should continue.

Two weeks ago, there was an uprising (very rare in Cameroon). The town had not received electrical power for four months, causing students to protest. Tear gas was used; two students were shot and killed. The power is now back on. Stories like this one are depressing because Cameroon is known for its peace-loving citizens. But everyone has a line. The second day we made it to Meiganga, a small Muslim town in the Adamaoua province.

The third day the road became horrible with potholes feet deep. Then, it began to rain. We feared the muddy roads becoming impassible. We came to a stopping point where suddenly there were lines of 18-wheeler trucks. Over thirty trucks easily blocked the road. Taguem took his Mercedes off road (no 4-wheel drive) and parked to investigate the situation. He reported that there was no road. I didn’t understand: how does a major road just end? People were all around. I got out of the car (trying to be inconspicuous and not cause a scene as “la blanche”). Literally, there was no road. It transformed into muddy wholes and ledges. A military car came with gun-carrying police. They tried to tow the trucks out of the mud and brought wooden planks to put down. It didn’t work. The chain snapped off every time. Three young men offered to help us. Taguem slowly drove through the mud. When we got stuck, the men pushed from all directions. Mud flew and people watched. Somehow, we got through and continued on our journey. We arrived in N’Gaoundéré that afternoon.