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.