This is Africa

The 8 hour flight from Heathrow to Ethiopia was pretty smooth. I had expected to be the only white person onboard but that expectation was quickly quashed when I saw as many white faces as I did black. I ate, slept and watched a cheesy film about a man and a duck. Oh and about 4 hours into the flight, cruising at 37,000 feet and in a fairly deep sleep, my jaws involuntarily clamped together and almost bit half my tongue off. I awoke startled and thought we had crashed. Perhaps the malerone had kicked in.

After an easy flight from Ethiopia to Douala, I stepped onto Cameroon soil for the first time. Immediately I was hit by the heat. A humid kind of heat which had me sweating quicky. I passed through border controls unquestioned and made my way to the chaos of the baggage collection area. Amongst a sea of black faces my white face must have stood out like a sore thumb. Within seconds I was approached by boys trying to help me find my bags. Of course they were after money and they were persistent but I politely and firmly declined their offers.

As people jostled for position around the conveyor belt, and the smell of African sweat filled my nostrils, I happened to notice the lines of African boys peering down on proceedings from the balcony above. It was as if they were watching an opera. Opera de la baggage arrival. Some of them were calling out "pssssst pssssst". I did not understand what could be so interesting about the arrival of baggage and their stares and noises made me nervous.

After what seemed like a thousand bags had courted the carousel, the conveyer belt stopped and an official said "c'est fini". My bag had not arrived. I began to panic. Apart from a tooth brush, my camera, some hand soap and some money, I didn't have much else. On top of that, I could not see Joshua my contact from the orphanage and I had no local currency. Just to add to it all, I couldn't remember the name of my hotel. I wanted to get back on the plane and go home.

15 minutes later I was more relaxed. I had completed paperwork to report my bag as missing and I had met Joshua. Joshua runs the orphanage in Cameroon. I had been communicating with him for several weeks before flying out and I was relieved and happy to see him at that very moment. Joshua and I left the airport with the instruction to come back tomorrow to get my bag. Not the greatest start to my trip.

That first view of Africa from the back of a car window will be one that I will remember for a long time. I was struck by how many people were at the sides of the road. I saw kids playing outside shanty towns, men sat at tables in front of delapidated buildings and other men sleeping in the dirt or lying across motorcycles. No-one seemed to have anything to do. The roads were full of beat up old cars including many taxis with serious cracks in their windscreens as if a cow had landed on them. I doubt one of them would pass an M.O.T. in the UK and they probably all need to replace their horns they use them that much. I was also struck by the number of roadside sellers selling just about everything - drinks, watches, belts, shoes, phone accessories, dog collars, eggs, monkey nuts. One man was even holding out a puppy by the scruff of its neck to the passing traffic.

As we neared the hotel I wondered if Douala is like all African cities. It has a feeling of extremes. Amongst the poor people on the side of the road walk business people in suits. Amongst the dirty buildings with broken signs sit glossy banks and phone shops and amongst a population of black people is one white man feeling nervous, unsure and without his bag. That afternoon, as if to prove this is a land of contrast, it rained. Hard. And I got wet. Very. My first day in Africa had given me many surprises. I was sure there were more to come.