Cameroon? You mean Camer-RUDE!

Douala was dirty, dark, and had absolutely nothing fun going on. When I land in other African countries, often I’m immediately enamored with the street life: the colorful painted storefronts, the street vendors, the interesting cars and other random regional idiosyncrasies. There was nothing here to marvel at. Douala had failed me. Or I had failed Douala.

Doin’ Douala
When you’re visiting all 193 countries on the planet, sooner or later you’re going to hit a dud. Cameroon was an absolute bust for me. But what makes a country awesome or awesomely bad? Beauty is always in the eye of the beholder; for example, I’ve read many a poor review on a country like Nauru, but that one just happened to be one of my all-time favorites. Go figure. I also admit that it’s totally possible that I could’ve simply “done” Cameroon wrong. Maybe I chose the wrong city, or should’ve ventured out to see nature, or spend time in a village. But you usually can’t go wrong in visiting a country’s main city for a day of exploring—there are usually at least a handful of parks, monuments, even malls or museums to keep you busy. But Douala had failed me. Or I had failed Douala.

I had a bad feeling when I saw TripAdvisor’s Top 15 Things to Do in Douala—it looked suspiciously thin. But hey, I kept an open mind, hopeful that Cameroon would offer up some unexpected surprises, like every new country usually does. This time? Not a single one.

Ramblin’ Tip: Pro tip: Always, always check the exchange rate before you touch down in a new country. Don’t count on airport WiFi being there to save you when you land. Do it at home, before you even pack your bag. 115 countries in, and I was still screwing this up. Never again.

Douala was hot. Stinking hot. And the sky? Not that “it’s about to rain” kind of gray—it was the “this sky is filthy” kind of gray. I’d left the sunny skies of Chad only to land in this oppressive, humid mess in Cameroon. The drive into town didn’t help. Douala felt dark, dirty, and completely lifeless.

In most African cities, I’m instantly captivated—whether it’s the colorful storefronts, the street vendors, or the oddball cars rolling by. There’s always some spark, some local charm to grab you. But here? Nothing. Not a damn thing to marvel at.

Does the Fun Ever Start?
We soon reached my hotel, and even that was a disappointment. The lady at the desk looked less than thrilled to see me, and even though I’d be staying two nights, she told me that it wasn’t enough time to launder my filthy clothes. I’d only packed one bag total—just one carry-on—for the entire three-week, 16-country trip, so I was depending on laundry service at least every five or six days, but it wouldn’t be happening here. She couldn’t have cared less and just gave me a blank stare. I realize I sound like a privileged prick here…I just needed some clean duds.

After resting a bit and checking Trip Advisor again to see if anything had changed (it hadn’t), so I hit the streets on foot, trying to salvage the day. . It was not a fun walk.

First off—and again, my fault—I took a wrong turn. Little did I know, I was walking away from the city. It took me only about 47 seconds to be completely drenched in sweat, as I baked in this humid oven of a town. The sidewalks were constructed with concrete “planks” that laid above some kind of drainage/irrigation system: a concrete trench about four feet deep that ran under the sidewalk. Problem was, many of these cement blocks were loose, broken, dislodged or completely missing, making it easy for me to fall right down into the aqueduct if I misstepped. Great, all I needed was cholera on this stop! I resorted to walking on the actual road, with cars whipping by uncomfortably close. Definitely not the safest stroll.

House Hunter
Unlike some of my previous African stops, people did not smile at me here. They did not look happy to see me, rather they looked like they would kick my ass at any given moment. I guess I’d be pissed if I had to live here too.

I stopped to take a picture of the only even close to interesting building I saw, which was completely across the street from me, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was actually more like a push. Startled, I turned to my right to see a man scowling at me. I don’t know French but am smart enough to figure out that what “Est-ce que c’est votre maison que vous photographiez?” meant: “Is that your house you’re taking photos of?” The question was rhetorical. I responded with some butchered response that included the words “Turiste, château clasique, tres bien,” before scooting the hell out of there. Man, Cameroon wasn’t winning any points. Just days earlier in Eritrea, strangers had been waving, smiling, inviting me into buildings to take pictures. It’s crazy how fast the vibe can flip.

Fine Dining
About 30 minutes into my walk, it hit me—I had definitely taken a wrong turn. The street turned into a desolate stretch of highway, with no one around except some guy bathing in the aqueduct. Time to get the hell out of here. I finally stumbled on an intersection with a LibyaOil gas station and a mini market. Desperate for some AC and a snack, I ducked inside. By this point, I was starving.

Here’s one of the few things I actually enjoyed during my time in Cameroon: gas station snacks. I found a banana-piña yogurt drink and a fruit cocktail soda—two of my absolute junk food weaknesses. I paired them with a pack of milk chocolate cookies, sat at a little table inside, and devoured it all while the cashier watched me with what can only be described as disgust.

The chocolate filling had melted, so instead of biting like a normal person, I was shoving whole cookies into my mouth to avoid a messy situation. Spoiler: I still ended up with melted chocolate all over my hands and face. Worse, I stood there sweating like a pig and inhaled the entire box in one go. Even I was disgusted with myself.

To balance my bad karma, I bought a cold bottle of water for the guy outside trying to sell me fake Nikes. Maybe that would turn things around for me. I wasn’t about to walk another three miles, though. Luckily, there was a cabbie getting gas as I was leaving, so I hired him to take me to the Cathedral—which turned out to be just up the street.

Back in the Swing of Things
Luckily, this stop put me back in the city, and after snapping a few photos of the church, I was now headed in the right direction. Things got a little more tolerable, as I passed the stadium and took pictures of the cool statue outside. The street got busier as I came upon casinos on both sides of the street, a fast food chicken joint that looked intriguing (except this fat ass still had an entire box of cookies in his stomach), and finally, the first decent establishment I’d encountered so far: Le Grenier bakery, where I stopped in for a water. What had caught my attention was the DJ spinning tunes right outside the entrance and giving shout outs on the microphone. There was a dancing Black Santa accompanying his show as well. How could I not patronize this business? Inside was a beautiful collection of French pastries—a few things that I really wanted to try—but couldn’t bare another bite of sweets. I figured I was probably already teetering on diabeetus. Instead, I sipped my water outside, while the DJ spun, Santa danced, and the Baptist church next door let out, filling the street with dozens of ladies dressed in their Sunday best, which meant really awesome, colorful African clothing and headscarves. I was finally feeling a decent vibe!

Wish I Could Stay Longer, but…
15 minutes later I continued down the street when I stumbled upon a guy hawking maps: big, colorful maps of Cameroon and Africa. Being the ramblin’ man that I am, it caught my attention, and although I didn’t wish to buy one, I certainly admired them. The guy kept coming down in price, from 5,000 CFA, all the way down to 1,000 CFA, so when he finally just asked me to buy him a Coke at the store, how could I say no? I wish Thomas would’ve let me snap a pic of him and his awesome map, but I respected his decision not to be photographed. But damn, Thomas, you coulda been famous!

I’d had enough. I flagged down a vacant cab and headed back to my hotel to spend the last two hours relaxing in bed. I’d had about all I could take of Cameroon this go-round, and was happy I’d made the decision to book a 7PM flight to Equatorial Guinea the same day. Often I hate to leave countries so quickly, but these eight hours was enough. I’d have to come back to Douala the next night anyway, for an overnight layover on the way to Gabon, so I was thrilled about that (sarcasm).

For the record, I do truly attempt to discover the good in every situation. In the case of Cameroon, I really did like my cab driver. After that first ride from the airport to my hotel, Takam made it a point to meet me at my hotel and the airport, three more times, for my trips in and out of Douala. Always there, right on time, with a smile. Perhaps he was overcharging me, and that’s why he was so enthusiastic about always being there for me, but nevertheless, he made my trip a little easier, and was even at my hotel at 7AM on Christmas morning for my final pickup. Takam was one of the few bright spots in the whole trip.

And now…the Rest of the (Insta)Story:

Second Opinion
I feel guilty for judging and reporting on Cameroon so poorly after just one afternoon in Douala. Maybe it’s not fair. I’d be remiss if I didn’t shout out my friend Prasanna, who on the contrary, had a fantastic time touring the country. Please read his very thorough report HERE. He definitely saw a lot more of Cameroon than I, and is therefore more qualified to speak on the country. His stories and photos are fantastic.

The Hits Keep Comin’
Since the publication of this article, I’ve been blessed with two additional wonderful run-ins with Cameroonians. Hopefully you hear the sarcasm in my voice.

In 2020, I was scammed out of $800, online, from someone in Cameroon. Full disclosure, it was totally my fault for wiring someone the money before I received the product. I should have known better – but what are the chances this would be a lad from Cameroon?

The second heartwarming experience involved a Cameroonian news website publishing the story of my experience in Douala. Only halfway through the article, they decided to add a little, how can I say, “embellishments?” They cited some info from the blog you just read, but then, took the liberty to add a little fiction, including this little ditty:

On the way back to my hotel, a pretty sexy girl named Vanessa approached me and insisted that I go home with her. I was surprised because I am fat and ugly and I don’t understand why such a beautiful girl would want me. Arrived at my hotel, she hurried to touch me and make love to me. Without knowing, I fell asleep after enjoying. When I woke up, the girl had already left and my backpack had disappeared with my valuables and my cash.

Holy sh*t, at first I was angry, but now I’m laughing. Someone (in Cameroon) must’ve taken much offense from my writings about their country, and wanted some vengeance. There was no “Vanessa”…no making love and woman at all! And thankfully, no robbery. And “fat and ugly?” Ouch! LOL! I’ve contacted the website and am seeking resolve, hopefully without getting attorneys involved. I’ll keep you updated. And hand to God, there was no “pretty girl named Vanessa” nor any love making happening in Cameroon whatsoever!