Next morning my tight legs just about carry me to a six-place shared taxi to Douala, former capital of British Cameroon until independence and unification with the French-speaking east. Its 24km from the Atlantic, a port on the Wouri River.
I sit for a while in the administrative heart of Bonanjo district, on a slab of concrete under the shade of a large tree, watching the car washers scoop up buckets of water from the fountain surrounding the first world war memorial; colonial buildings behind.
I do on Christmas day what I have always done on Christmas day: hang around watching films on TV until its time for food – the “national fish” of capitaine for mains.
I do on Christmas day what I have always done on Christmas day: hang around watching films on TV until its time for food – the “national fish” of capitaine for mains.
Douala’s colonial heart
A taxi, and half English half French takes me to the depot of a coach company on Boulevard de l’Union. The 254km path to Yaounde follows route nationale 3 to Edea, then north through the sporadic verdant green hills to the capital. I take the inland detour to visit the Gabonese embassy; moving on always first in my mind.
