Yaoundé for Beginners

Yaoundé for Beginners

Yaounde is Cameroon's political capital. Almost every Cameroonian whether educated or not knows of Yaoundé either by name or physically. To a few, Yaounde is Cameroon. No doubt stories are recounted daily of first experiences and thoughts of Yaounde.

I recall the 80s and 90s back in the hinterlands of  Mbengwi, Momo Division, N.W region of Cameroon. We grew up imagining Yaounde to be Paradise. Some of the elders that left the village in those days to Yaoundé for greener pastures upon return were automatically nicknamed "Nini reu Yaoundé", " Mama, Aunty, Uncle etc reu Yaounde" meaning Uncle from Yaoundé.

We grew up with the impression that grass does not grow in Yaounde, that all the roads are tarred, streets lighted, storeyed buildings everywhere and simply put, Yaounde in our minds was an Eldorado where money circulates like rainfall and life is just so full of merriment.

We dreamt of the day one family relative will come and take us to Yaounde. The few fortunate kids that successfully went probably for Sumner holidays and came back became stars in the village. We will gather around them to listen to stories about Yaounde. They told us about street lights, tarred roads, storeyed buildings, many cars, spaghetti etc. The attention we paid listening to such could be mistaken for a TV watching session in an uncivilised village. 

Street life in Yaounde

The apex was when these kids spoke French. We will giggle and laugh out loud hearing strange words like "Bonjour", " Ca Va" "Merci". Some of us excitingly ran back home to repeat the words to the hearing of our parents before they slipped of our minds.

That was then. As time went on, things changed so too our impressions. Yaounde soon became a mirage. The Yaounde we had in mind was far from the Yaounde on the ground. In fact, many who later had their own opportunity to also visit Yaounde had their hopes dashed to the wall.

Travelling to Yaoundé, the first worry is with communication. You leave the village thinking French is the lone language in Yaounde. In the bus you take every passenger for a Francophone especially when the lone language of communication you hear is French. You seat there deaf and dumb. Then suddenly somebody answers a phone call and you hear pidgin. Automatically a breeze of relief flows over your body. Anxiety and curiosity grows in you as a feeling of wanting to also be identified as an anglophone grips you. You want to start a conversation. Sooner you realise those who had been speaking French are now speaking English and Pidgin. You now feel confident that you can't get missing in Yaoundé as God has made available for you those to help you find your way out.

Life in Yaounde runs on the fast lane. You greet people and they don't even answer. They don't have the culture of greeting like you will get up in the village and greet the whole quarter. If you don't know how to trace your way, sorry you will be stranded there. In Bamenda for example, a taxi driver upon sensing that you are lost can quench his engine, come out to give you his listening attention and help you find your way. In Yaoundé, a cab driver has at most 5 seconds to listen to you.

Recently I boarded a public transport mini bus from Yassa in Douala to Yaounde. First, passengers are packed in the worn out mini bus like rice in a pot. There are shabby looking boys at the road junction whose daily job is to hunt for passengers to load  buses or private cars and from every passenger, they have a financial commission to gain. For this reason, the scramble for passengers is often more than that which the colonial masters had for Africa. You hear them persuasively convincing you "Yaounde deux place" meaning two seats left but when you get in, you find yourself being the first passenger.

Here, it's like morals are for those who schooled in boarding schools. Both driver and passengers plus park boys are rude. You abuse me, I abuse you. You see a toddler telling an elder "Va la bas" meaning "Get away". Speed too is another issue. One is compelled to quietly seat in the bus and be making his last prayers as the driver speeds off like lightening. The worst is along the way, you come across accident scenes that would've pricked the driver's mind, far from that.

Upon arrival, the park boys are always quick to identify who is new. They quickly rush to assist you  get a taxi to your next destination but sorry, they are out for business not charity. That's how my journey ended at Mvan and I had to take a taxi to Arcacias. The guy was quick to help me saying it'll cost 1000frs which I accepted to pay, after all when there's money on you, your interest becomes reaching your destination. From the fare, you have the impression that its a long distance. Being always vigilant, I read all what transpired with my eyes. He stopped a taxi, discussed with the driver, took 500 from him and I still added him 100 to thank him for helping me. Not up to 15 minutes drive, I arrived my destination. My fare was to be at most 500 but since its their game, they gained from my ignorance.

From Arcadias, I trekked to Biyemassi. Take note this was neither my first nor second time of being to Yaounde. I've been here severally. Biyemassi is more of Bamenda/Buea than Yaounde. Don't bother speaking French. From roadside vendors to hawkers, bike riders etc, almost everybody speaks pidgin. So, it's an Anglophone inhabited community. If you leave your village to Yaounde and pick up residence in Biyemassi, sorry you may return to the village after ten years and still not be able to speak French, to the surprise of all, like one that goes to America and comes back after ten years with no change in accent.

As night fell, I moved round looking for where to lodge. Having done initial findings, I went straight to a motel that had been recommended to me for its affordable price.

At the reception, as I was booking my room to pass the night, a man (highly suspected to be married with children) entered with a young girl. The girl, looking like a ram that was going to be sacrificed wass directed by show of hand to stand at an obscured corner, away from public view. Then the man asked for a room for one hour and was told it'll cost 2500Frs. He protested with the justification that he's a regular customer and has been taking the rooms for 2000Frs. The receptionist told him all the rooms for the price he wanted are occupied. The man asked, how much time is left for one to be free? The receptionist opened her record books for verification and gave the reply, 30 minutes.

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