February, 2012: The Analogue Years (Prelude), Ho Chi Minh City+Cần Thơ

This is the year Kodak file for bankrupcy protection. Like a once-rich family in decline, it has to sell off its many patents to survive bankrupcy. I remember those years before I got my first digital camera. Going on a trip would mean packing the SLR camera, rolls of film and the cmaera cleaning kit. When you are clearing security, you worried if the X-ray machine would expose the film, even though the sign on the machine says it wouldn't.

When taking a picture, you wouldn't know how the picture would turn out. So every frame on the film was precious, you got to get all the focusing and apertune and shutter speed right. Then you got to get the rolls of exposed film safely home. If it's a long trip, that could be quite a few rolls. And when you got home, you eagerly wait for the pictures to come back from the processing shop. Things sure are a lot different in these days of digital camera.

Back in 2004, when I was still in my "analogue years" (those years of film camera), I took one of my longest trip. An 'operation' involving all sea-land-and-air transport. Flying into Hanoi, I took the Reunification Express down the lenght of Vietnam to Ho Ch Minh. From HCMC, I took a boat trip down the Mekong to the Mekong Delta. I then followed the Mekong into Cambodia, and a bus took us all the way to Phnom Penh and then Siem Riep.

It was during the Mekong Delta trip when we stop for a night in a small town of Châu Đốc. The hotel back then had no airconditioning, a mosquito net hang over my bed, and the was no TV. With nothing to do after dinner, I went for a stroll on the street. While taking a picture of a street paddler selling inflated rubber toys from his bicycle, I was approached by two young Vietnamese kids: a teenage boy and a girl.
They asked if I am a foreigner (my camera and my glasses probably gave me away), and wanted to practise their English with me. As with teenagers of their age (I knew later that they were then both 14), the boy was more shy than the girl. The girl was articulated and was asking most of the questions. At the end of our little English 'sparing session', I took a picture of Lan and Tan on their bicycle (then still the people's choice for transport.)

Those were the analogue years, but there was already hotmail then. We exchanged email addresses and parted ways. Over the years, we chatted on YM, and always talked about meeting up. But never did. Then along came budget airlines...and Facebook, and opportunity presented itself this week. And I was once again back in HCMC and the Mekong delta.
Lan is now a university student in HCMC and Tan, a medical student in the Mekong delta city of Can Tho.
And so with this trip, and a recently-purchased photo scanner, begins The Analogue Years blogs.

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December, 2011: Douala, Cameroon; T'was the week before Christmas

It was the Saturday before X'mas. I went back on the street again, hoping to feel some of the festive mood. The best place to feel it is the many markets on the streets of Douala. These aren't permanent structure like markets in Singapore. They are gathering of mobile stalls, selling anythings from lingeries to X'mas trees. This being the last weekend before X'mas, the trees were the hottest items in the market. The larger version of the trees were also on display on the street.

As I was strolling through the market, one young Cameroonian man approaches me. Unlike in Nigeria, the thugs here speaks French, so whatever threats they were spewing, I couldn't understand a single word of it. I guess he was making a point that the street was under his protection, and I should be paying something to him to guarantee my safe passage pass his turf of less then 100m. I made this guess because he was seen harassing some ladies who parked their car right at the end of 'his street'. The ladies ignored him, so probably he really is just a small time crook. When he was making his 'demand' at me, the vendors and some old guys having a drink by the road looked on annoyed. I gave me confidence that I could walk down 'his street' without giving shit about him. I did have to go round him, but insisted on not turning back.

After the market, I continued down the Boulevard de la Liberte. Surprising, one of the busiest street in all of Cameroon, it was a rather short one. Very soon, I reached the end, and could see the container cranes of Douala port, and some cows grazing by the road.
Well, to be fair, before the street comes to its abrupt end, there were quite a fair bit to see.
There was the church, which was at the time having a wedding. Right opposite the church is a cemetary, one of the tombstone has a statute of a grim-looking Jesus nailed to a large cross.
Beside the church, an open compound was open to some artistes, who were painting on their wall murals.
Of course, there are pubs and restaurant. Usually it's barbequed meat and grilled fish restaurant and Senegalese cuisine restaurant (which I think meant Halal restaurant as the Senegalese are largely muslim.)
There was the Akwa Palace, the most prestigous hotel on the street, but already showing her age.
The next day, I got the company driver to drive me to the Douala Train Station. Like many railway here in Africa, passanger train services are very limited. Although freight trains are still running. In fact, from the office, I could see the freights trains on the track by the port warehouses.
On my way to work each days, I could also see railway tracks by the road, but never one did I see an engine and trains roaring pass.
I asked around about the passenger train that was supposed (according to the Camrail website) to be running between Douala and Yaoude, but none of the Cameroonian engineers knew about it. The Chinese engineers simply advise me to take the long distance bus should there be a need for it. In fact, the driver had to stop a few times along the way to ask about the "mystical" Douala Railway station. Including this roadside ratten furniture stall, as one man wearing a shirt proclaiming his asset walked by.
When we finally found it, what I got was a quiet, clean, airy, large station. The ticketing office was lighted up, but there were no queue and no one attending to the ticket windows.

I found two armed soldiers in their green uniform and asked about train ticket. They waved for a police guard to come in from the car park outside. The police, in blue, told me the only service on Sunday had left in the early morming. But he assured me the Douala-Yaounde service is running as advertised, and I should just come around about 6 in the morning to buy a ticket if I am interested in travelling on it. He eagerly showed me the platform below.
There was a small old red engine on display in the station. Having had a bad experience with the railway police in Nigeria, I was careful to ask for permission before taking its picture. As expected, the police told me I would need a permit for that. Well, he could grant me a permit right there and then if I can pay him 2000CFA Franc (about 3 Euro). When I showed scant interest in the picture, he promptly brought the fee down to 1000CFA Franc. I decided not to get into bribing him, so declined. But I did took show pictures discreetly with my cellphone when he was not looking on.

Knowing my work here in Cameroon would be done by the end of the week. It was a feeling of mission accomplished when I took the pictures of the Douala station, though I will not have a chance to get on a train.
So, the following Friday I took my flight home. And after a brief transit in Johanesburg, was back on the shore of Singapore in time for X'mas.

December, 2011: Douala, Cameroun

Before I went to West Africa, I was familiar with Nigeria and Cameroon only because of their national football teams. The Nigerian team is the Super Eagles, and the Cameroon one, Les Lions Indomptables. Both were great teams during the 1990s, featuring in quite a few of the finals during that, and subsequent, decade. But, things seem to have taken a downward slide in recent years for both teams. Both didn't even make it into the finals of the African Cup of Nations.

I arrive in Douala in Cameroon from Lagos in Nigeria. Both are not the capital city of their respective countries (the honour goes to Abuja in Nigeria, and Yaounde in Cameroon), but both are the industrial and commercial centre. Both are port cities near the water: the Wouri River for Douala, and the Atlantic Ocean in the case of Lagos.

I arrived in Douala on a Saturday. And the next day, walking the street of Boulevard de la Liberte, the busiest street in Douala, it was quite obvious the Cameroon observe the Sunday rest day rather strictly. This is similar to the Nigerian in Lagos.
But here, the similarity stops. Nigeria is a ex-British colony. Cameroon was a German colony, which then ends up on the laps of the French and British after Germany's defeat in the 1st World War. But the influence of the French is stronger here, judging by the ratio of French newspapers to English ones found on the magazine stalls.

Here, French is spoken more than English. The menu are largely in French. Having taken 1 term of French in the University, I have always thought of French as a more 'flowery' language than English. Every time the French teacher, a petite French woman usually in a sundress, speaks, it was always in a sing-song manner.

This difference in the languages spoken seems to have influence the mannerism of the people. The more straitlaced English, combined with the warrior tribal traditional of the Nigerian in Lagos gave the English they spoke there a coarser edge. Many times, I have encountered Nigerian ending their sentence with a "do you understand what I am saying!!!", as if I am too dim to understand a point they are making, when I perfectly understood what they were saying. While the French the Cameoon spoke gave them a gentler mannerism. Even the men, most of those I encountered at least, can be describe as 'soft-spoken'.
The difference doesn't end in the language and mannerism. The Cameroonians seems to be enjoying life better than the Nigerian. Of course, the rich Nigerians can be seen flauting their wealth in Lagos, but the Cameroonians, rich and poor, seems to be taking live much easier. The Nigeria poor in Lagos can easily be seen trying hard to make a living in Lagos. On the road, young men are paddling all sorts of goods to driver trapped in the traffic jam. I hardly see such street paddlers on the streets of Douala. In fact, even in what looks like the poorer part of the city, it is easy to see simple pubs (some operating out of dilapidated huts, with tables right by the pavement) starting business in the early evening, with male clients drinking beer from the bottles and chatting up the ladies. And the music blasted from the stereo in the pub. On TV too, there are a lot of singing and dancing.
In Lagos, I always find it strange that it is rather difficult to find children and women on the road. The streets here seems to be far to tough for the women and children. But, here in Douala, women and kids weave in and out of the traffic with the men.
And one difference that I found to my liking, is the food in Cameroon. The French probably did a better job of passing on their culinary skill then the British.
At the end of a day of dusty road, pothots and traffic jam, there is always good food to look forward to in the restaurant near the hotels.
And if all fails, the Cameroonians, like the Vietnamese and Cambodians (all past French colony subjects) can do really good pastries.
I kind of suspect thatwhat is considered a beautiful woman is considerably different in Nigeria and Cameroon. In Douala, the waitresses are mostly slim and tall, and squeezed into a white blouse and black pencil skirt, the color scheme of a Frenchmaid.

December, 2011: Nigeria, Cameroon, Benin, Gabon and South Africa

When I flew out from Lagos to Cameroon, I didn't know that within 2 weeks I would end up in 5 different countries in Africa, and this on my first trip to the Continent.
West Africa seems to have a concentration of small to tiny nations: Benin, Congo (not to be confused with the Republic of Congo), Togo, Gabon, Seira Leone, etc.

The flight out of Nigeria was delayed for about 2 hours. An Arik Airlines plane was parked at my gate when it should be a Nigeria Airways one. I was actually prepared for that, so was not feeling too frustrated about it. This is an airline where the technicians and engineers could go on strike and ground the entire fleet, so I was glad just to be on the flight out the same days.
As I walk the tarmac out to the plane (there is no airbridge), I saw "Our Lady of Perpetual Help" on the livery of the Arik aircraft. No sure if the passengers would feel safer when their lives are left partly in the hands of the Virgin Mary.
The interesting things flying out from an African airport is seeing the many airlines that you didn't even know exist. And most of these African airlines had logos in bold colors: Green, red and yellow seems to be the favourites.
As the plane was ascending to cruising height, I could see the roads were in a tidy grid: there is method in their madness, it seems.
When flying from Nigeria to Cameroon, I didn't realize there would be a stopover at neighboring Benin. Actually Nigeria itself have a city called Benin, but the stopover was at the Republic of Benin, home of the dark art of Voodoo.
As the plane goes for the touchdown, I could see a long stretch of sandy beach beside the runway, behind the treeline. The city also came into sight, with the dusty roads and a large traffic island.
Only when I saw the airport signs in French did I realized that I was out of Anglophone Nigeria.
The "Welcome to Benin" sign confirmed my doubt. We are now in Francophone Benin. In fact, the Pope was right here on this runway about a month ago.
The sandy coast is also known as Slave Coast, because back when the slave trade was doing a roaring business here in West Africa, slaves were shipped off these coast.
I could hear the flight attendants saying "free seatings" as the passengers from Benin boarded the plane. I was curious how the passengers are like for flight within Africa. Actually, most of them looks like royalty in the traditional attires and flashing their jewelries.
Then, before long, the plane was again getting down from it's cruising height. The lagoon of Cameroon appearing outside the window. The River Wouri flow out into these lagoons.

The Wouri River was once named Rio dos Camarões ("River of Prawns") by the Portuguese explorers. The Camaroes gave the country her name.Then, barely two weeks later, on the way from Cameroon to Johanesburg, there was another stopover. Again I thought it was another airport in Cameroon. It was dark by the time we landed on the runway, but from the logo on the airport service vans, I realize I was in Libreville, which was in Gabon. Gabon is the co-host of the 2012 Africa Cup of Nations, with another tiny state of Equatorial Guinea. Tiny, but rich, because of the oil found in their territories.
After Gabon, I flew into Johanesburg for my transit back home. I was hoping to take pictures of the Johanesburg suburb during the approach, but it was early in the morning and the only view outside were the cityscape.

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December, 2011: Lagos, 9Ja 4

Everyday as I commuted between the island and mainland Lagos, the scenery outside the window changes. As you approaches Lagos Island, you see the Marina club and the gleaming office towers. In the other direction, old buildings and slums.

These bridges connect, at the same time divide.
This divide is between the north and the south, between the Christians and the Muslims, and between the have and have-not.
It's not unusual to see big new luxury European SUVs out on the streets in Lagos, then again, poverty is visible all around you.
By the time I left, it was 2 weeks from X'mas. The X'mas lighting were up. Not in the scale of Orchard Road, but enough to light up a short stretch of the road outside the Zenith Bank.
For a country where NEPA (Nigeria Electric Power Authority) can also mean No Electric Power Again (HDB = Highly Dangerous Building? :)), I wonder how much diesel go into the standby generator that powers all these lights.
It's not that uncommon to find mosques and churches standing side-by-side, but the religion split within the country is always on the news. Unity takes much effort.
This festering religious divide boiled over during Xmas, when the terrorist group Boko Haram started bombing churches in the Muslim-majority north.
Then came New Year, when fuel subsidies were withdrawn by the federal government.
The resource curse is quite evident here. While hugh ships ply the waterway before the office bringing out the petrolum resource of Nigeria, not every citizen is benefitting from it.
Nigeria produces oil, but has no adequate refinery facilities. What money that had pour into building such facilities were squandered away by corrupted officials. While Singapore, a tiny island with no natural resource had an entire isalnd (Jurong Island) to handle oil refining for the Shells and BP. If the African do have an "enduring admiration" for LKY (if this article in The New African suugests), that could be the reason.
But, the author should get these facts right: LKY was never the first President, nor was Singapore a fishing village by the time LKY took over.

As I left on an Air Nigeria plane, I wish Nigeria and her people well. And to the beseiged President, I say Goodluck Jonathan, Good Luck.