Ethnic Minority

"You need to see the Manager of Ethiopian Airways" said the airport official.
"What does he look like?" asked Joshua
"He is not black like...." (gestures towards her face) "But he is not white like him" (points at me). "He is middle".

I think being the ethnic minority may take some getting used to. I am not hard to spot that is for sure. In the last 2 days I can count on one hand the number of white people I have seen. Three. And one of those is me. Most of the locals don't glance twice at me. But some stare and some look me up and down. Others look at my shoes. I feel unnerved as I walk down the road with Joshua past staring groups of men and I am unsure if this edge-iness is warranted or I am just suffering a bout of culture shock. One thing is certain. Each time Joshua and I pass through the big iron gates into the hotel and close them behind us, I feel a sense of relief. Perhaps the 'big iron gates' reveal more than they hide.

The trip to the airport proved fruitless. My bag had still not arrived. As other angry passengers complained to the Ethiopian Airways Manager, I was compensated £45 for the inconvenience. Not enough to cover another night in a hotel but how could I ask for more when a mother was in tears because she was still waiting on the items in her suitcase which she wanted to put in her son's coffin in 2 days time?

The taxi back to the hotel was interesting. I opened the door and it almost came off in my hand. The interior was old and ripped and the windscreen had 3 huge cracks spread its entire length and a stone chip which had spidered out to the size of a dinner plate. I was certain that a bump in the road would see the whole thing cave in on us. One of the windscreen wipers was in the back seat. Of course.

The hotel Joshua and I have been staying at is nice. It is completely enclosed by high walls and gates and overlooks the industry of Douala port. Little lizards scurry round your feet as you sit on the terrace with the wind from the sea cooling your face. It feels like a little sanctuary amongst the rough and tumble of the city and I am always glad to come back to it. But I found out today from a well travelled German guest that this is not 'real Africa' but 'white man Africa'.
"It is clean, everything vorks, you have hot vater, you have air conditioning" she laughed dismissing any notion that this represented real Africa. I guess I still have the cockroaches to come.