The road to Belo

It is 7.30 in the morning. I am sat in the corner of a makeshift hut in Douala bus yard. Rain is hammering down on the corrugated iron roof like heavy fists on an African drum. Water runs down the walls and down the trunk of the tree that the hut has been built around but overhead is dry. I am eating noodle omlette with Joshua and drinking hot coffee. My first coffee since landing in Africa. Around our feet chickens and chicks race to eat our crumbs and then flap their wings and squak cartoon style when the old man shoos them away with his broom. Flies buzz around our heads as they try to land on us, our food and then us again. Across the way from me a lady is asleep on the table. I have learned that Africans can sleep anywhere, anytime.

Outside in the yard people run for cover to avoid getting wet or put up their umbrellas. The sellers gather their goods in from the rain or make a shelter for their stall as the turkeys disappear under the buses. As I sip my coffee and watch everything that is happening around me, I have to pinch myself to ensure this is not a dream. Here I am, a solitary white man surrounded by black Africans, eating in their huts, riding on their buses and living in their country. I look and feel completely out of place. But I feel privileged to experience another culture in such a pure way. You wouldn't find this in a Thomas Cook brochure.

At 9.45am we boarded the bus for Belo. The bus I would have got 2 days ago had my luggage arrived when I did. The bus ride was long (7 hours) but interesting. Early into the journey we seemed to stop every few miles for roadside sellers to sell us things through the windows. Everything was on offer - bananas, mandarins, monkey nuts, dried fish, plantin, toothpaste, toothbrushes, bread and water. I was amazed at how easily the sellers could balance such large baskets of goods on their heads. One man was practically balancing the entire contents of a chemist.

The toilet stop offered me a new experience. It was a small, dimly lit concrete room that stunk of urine. There was no toilet. There wasn't even a hole in the floor. It was just a room. So I pee'd up against the wall and got charged 100 African francs for the pleasure.

Towards the end of the trip a smartly dressed man boarded the bus and introduced himself as an evangelist priest. He said a prayer to which people responded "Amen" enthusiastically. Then his sales pitch began about a natural wonder drug called 'See Sammy'. In African-French accented English, he spoke of its merits:

"Eef you have a problem like a colonary problem then you take See Sammy, eef you have a condition like a bad heart or you liver is bad you take See Sammy. For many years native Indians know about See Sammy and it's spesh-ee-al properties. You may do sport and feel you energy is low, then take See Sammy. For many people who have a problem to remember many things then they take See Sammy. If you do study and must be bright then take See Sammy. See Sammy is used by white man to put on bread. Eef you have a problem like a cancer then you take See Sammy. See Sammy can stop divorce......"

By this point I was intrigued, sceptical and baffled. What was this See Sammy wonder drug that the Priest claimed could do all these things and did the people believe him? How come I had never heard of it before? And could it really cure cancer? Really?

As the priest handed this amazing natural drug to people on the bus, Joshua searched for his money to buy some. Once in his hand I asked to see it. It was a pack of small brown seeds. There on the front in big letters, just above everything it could cure, was the word 'Sesame'.

It turned out that the bus did not take us all the way to Belo but only as far as Bamenda which is a big city 45 minutes from Belo. Getting off the bus in Bamenda I had that feeling once again of being completely out of place. The city was a hive of activity. People were everywhere. They were riding motorcycles, sat in taxis, buying from stalls, sitting in bars, chatting, walking, eating and drinking. Loud African music blasted out from giant speakers and taxis honked their horns every few seconds. There was no sense of order, just a chaotic pattern of movement and activity.

Joshua told me we needed to get a taxi for the last leg of the trip. Over here, people share cabs so Joshua paid for one extra seat to give us some more room. This I was very grateful for having being holed up on a bus for 7 hours. What I didn't realise was that 'one extra seat' meant we had 7 people in our cab instead of 8. Yep, you read that right. 4 seater taxis don't go anywhere with less than 8 people. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw 4 people in the front (1 being the driver) and 3 in the back. The driver was practically hanging out of the window.

It was dark when we got to Belo. After getting out of the taxi, we had a walk down a mud track to the volunteer house. I followed Joshua blindly with my backpack on, grateful that the climate was cool. After 15 minutes of walking we were there and I was shaking the hands of my 2 new housemates - Roberto from Spain and Phil from the UK. I had finally made it to my new home for the next 2.5 months. I was tired, relieved and happy.