Unfortunately, I tend to have few authentic experiences. I have worked five times in the Canadian Arctic but formed no strong relationships. Otherwise, I have never worked, volunteered or rarely spent an extended period in any one place. As my travel is more destination-orientated, I don’t spend long anywhere. The exception is China where I have stayed with my girlfriend for three one-month periods.
Tours with local guides can be a great way to understand their culture. Where tours are required – North Korea, Tibet, Bhutan, Turkmenistan, Syria, Iran, Yemen, Libya, Algeria, South Sudan and Somalia – the guides are fluent English speakers and provide good opportunities for prolonged conversation. In other countries where guides are necessary to see certain sites, the same opportunities arise – in Djibouti and Eritrea, I had great experiences.
Interacting with strangers may not be part of their culture. Curiosity about others is key to any interaction. Being male may limit interactions with females, especially in India or Muslim countries where women do not interact with males outside their intimate sphere. Women travellers have a greater chance of authentic experiences.
I don’t mean to be arrogant, but many uneducated people have poor conversational ability and a limited worldview. Interactions may be limited to “Which country?”
However, I talk to everyone and have had many conversations lasting a few hours around the world. Did I get to understand their culture? Possibly in a limited way. Fortunately, English is the one common international language. I speak only English, and my brain is not wired for language. Having language conversational ability is necessary for even those limited encounters.
• CHINA During my three extended stays with my girlfriend, she worked and I went out daily to get lunch, wander around her small city or buy groceries. A group of men played cards at the same place every day and I spent hours kibbitzing their game. It is a fascinating variety of rummy with many types of complicated melds and is played by almost every one of China’s 1.4 billion people. It was a high-stakes game with 100RMB (about US$17) the bet on every hand.
Only once in three months did anyone ask me what I was doing in this nontouristic town or why I was in China. That conversation was limited to Google Translate and didn’t go anywhere. It was rare for any card player to even look at me. I believe that interacting with strangers is not part of Chinese culture. On my seven trips to China, I have had great interactions for short periods with English speakers. They all had a university education.
My travel experiences are most often with other travellers. I put myself out there to engage as many fellow travellers as possible. It is often amazing who you meet. Most travellers have an interesting story and can learn from their travel experiences or about their home culture. I have spent a few weeks with other travellers who are accepting of an older man.
HOW to INCREASE the CHANCE of AUTHENTIC EXPERIENCE
• Couchsurfing.com may be the best way to meet locals. Locals host to meet travellers or improve their English. Most already have English skills. CS is the main way to stay free in locals’ homes and share experiences, activities, and meals. Unfortunately, couchsurfing doesn’t work well for single older men. I rarely get accepted.
• Hitchhiking is generally safe and a great way to meet locals. It is surprising how often one is invited to stay with them and share meals.
• Work
WWOOFing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) gives room and board and gives local insights.
Work visas. These are available to anyone under 30 (35 in Canada), last 1-2 years in most countries and are a great way to spend extended periods in one place.
• Volunteering may be an excellent way to have authentic experiences. I have not volunteered. As a condition of my retirement, I gave up my medical license and can not work as a medical doctor anywhere.
• House sitting is a great inexpensive way to live in one culture for longer periods.
• Initiate conversations with everyone. You never know where the conversation will go.
• Travel like a nomad. Travelling alone, at a low cost and with no fixed itinerary gives many more chances to meet locals. Avoid hotels and stay in hostels where locals may also be staying. The staff are locals. Many hostels offer regular events and tours. Meet up with travellers who may integrate into other cultures in effective ways.
• Using public transport and walking enables up-close interactions. Travel like the locals. Transportation in most third-world countries is in shared vehicles. Walk as much as possible exploring different cities and neighborhoods.
• NEW ZEALAND CHRISTMAS 2008. To do the Lake Waikaremoana Great Walk, I used a shuttle to get from Wairoa to Te Urewera NP and the start of the hike. I hit if off with the Maori fellow, went to friends for some ganja, and then to his home to help load a truck with all the garbage that had accumulated over a few years. It was Christmas and they had invited all his extended family for Christmas. 40 years old, he had recently married a woman with 6 kids, there was a 9-month-old crawling around and she appeared ready to pop another any day. We drove the 50km back down to Wairoa to dump the garbage and then went to a sheep ranch to get the Christmas mutton. The dogs were amazing to watch bring in the sheep, 50 fat ones were cut out and with some difficulty, we moved them to one pen and then moved six into the killing pen. Each move seemed to take hours as the sheep freaked at all these big people trying to get them to move (the sheep wrangler, whose main command to the dogs was “fuck off boss” said each move would have taken a few minutes using the dogs. They eventually killed and butchered 4 sheep, something I had never seen before.
The next morning, I was driven to the start of the Waikaremoana Track, a 46 km trek, that required 4 days to complete. He picked me up on Christmas day to join his family and have Xmas dinner. He had prepared a hangi, a traditional Maori meal cooked over stones in baskets under leaves – it was the best Christmas in my 18 years of travel. It is usually the loneliest day of the year. After sleeping on his front lawn, he drove me back to Wairoa.
I had a lovely experience spending two full days with him and his wonderful kids. They were so generous and considerate. It seemed everyone, especially the children made an effort to individually interact with this stranger Experiencing a NZ Christmas with the hangi, the sheep ranch, the dogs, the unique foreman of the ranch, and butchering the sheep were all unique experiences I will never forget.
• TANA TORAJA Sulawesi Indonesia March 2015. The region is best known for its peculiar fascination with the dead. Life for the Torajans revolves around death and their days are spent earning the money to send away their dead properly in elaborate, brutal and captivating funeral rites. The 650,000 Christian Torajans live in the mountains and most are farmers. Islam never reached mountainous Toraja and today practices a fusion of animism and Protestant Christianity.
The local culture is among the world’s most unique and distinctive. That the people are genuinely welcoming of visitors makes it unmissable. Funerals are the area’s main tourist attraction.
I stayed in Rantepao first experiencing livestock day where water buffalo, cows, bulls, pigs, chickens and fighting cocks are bought and sold. The owner of my hotel phoned around and found a guide who knew where a funeral was. He spoke superb English and was keen to share his culture with strangers. We drove on his motorcycle for 1½ hours over a circuitous route of pavement, broken pavement, rocky roads, mud, and high clearance areas and walked a kilometre to the remote village of Mila.
The funeral was in full swing. This was the third and most auspicious day of the 4-day event. Several lavishly decorated temporary buildings had been constructed for guests around the family house. Four water buffalo lay dead in front of the house with their throats slit, the blood soaking the ground. A master of ceremonies made announcements over a loudspeaker and a professional videographer recorded all the events. Family members shook my hand and posed for pictures. Guests and relatives filed into the receiving hall past all the great-grandchildren in bright traditional outfits. A funeral singer and flute player accompanied each group. Gifts of betel nuts for the women and cigarettes for the men were distributed. Lines of serving girls brought in food for the guests. A big pig was carried in stretched out on a bamboo frame. People keep careful track of who brings what to ceremonies (gifts are announced to the funeral throngs over the loudspeaker) and an “offering” considered cheap is cause for shame. A water buffalo offering engenders the local joke at funerals when the animal is sacrificed “There goes another Toyota”.
Arru’ and I were invited into a small separate room and I was introduced to the family of the 90-year-old woman whose funeral I was attending: her son and his wife, 5 of their 7 children and several great-grandchildren. I gave them the carton of cigarettes I brought as a gift. Two of the sweetest 6 year-old-girls with eye makeup, traditional dresses and extravagant bead necklaces sat on my lap for pictures. One of the grandchildren, a 22-year-old beauty who had just graduated from university as a teacher served coffee, tea and sweets while flirting with me. I fell in love. The food consisted of rice, buffalo meat, pig blood and a vegetable mixture cooked in a bamboo tube. I was treated like the guest of honour. Everyone was happy and having a good time. Many other family members came by to introduce themselves and shake hands. After the meal, everyone took turns taking pictures with me. It was pleasantly surreal.
The water buffalo were skinned and butchered by professional butchers. Wheelbarrows carrying the sour, bright green rumen contents were dumped down the road. The pig was killed with a knife to the heart, butchered and the liver cooked over a small open fire. Meat not eaten today was distributed throughout the community.
The dead person had died 11 months previously, was embalmed with modern methods and had been in the family house since. Visitors are expected to sit, chat and have coffee with them. During the 11 months, she was merely considered “sick” and only considered “dead” now that her funeral was taking place. The funeral occurs 3 months to 2 years after death so that all the arrangements can be made. The temporary buildings had to be constructed, animals purchased for slaughter and family members spread all over Indonesia given time to make arrangements to come home.
The funeral itself occurs over 3-7 days depending on the social status of the dead person. This was a four-day affair. Day 1 starts at sundown when the coffin is moved from the south to the west side of the house signifying death and one water buffalo is sacrificed. Day 2 has a Christian funeral conducted by a priest in the church and buffalo fighting where pairs of bulls face off in an open field. A second water buffalo is sacrificed. Day 3, the day I was there, is when guests are received, several buffalo (representing men) depending on social status and pigs (representing women) are sacrificed. Everyone socializes and eats traditional food cooked in bamboo. The family receives pigs from family and friends and distributes gifts of money and in kind to everyone attending. Day 4 is the burial day with a church service and interment by the method most suited to social status and family preference. Nowadays, noble people are buried in stone graves (large rooms chiselled into limestone cliff faces). Other well-off people are buried in family mausoleums and others in rocky areas in above-ground graves. For practical purposes, good land is not used for cemeteries.
Funerals are about cementing relationships – between family, friends of the family and fellow villagers. All donate to the funeral (pigs are the common commodity) and the family then incurs a debt that is paid off in kind in the future. Food is provided and meat is distributed amongst the whole community. Class standing is demonstrated by the generosity of the individual. Sacrificing animals is necessary to accompany the dead spirit to the afterlife, showing respect for the end of life. Children and grandchildren show respect for their parents and grandparents by sacrificing and participating in the ceremonies.
We left the funeral and visited a “baby grave” for infants without teeth yet. They were considered pure and holy and animal sacrifice was not part of their funeral. A hole was carved in a live tree on the side facing away from where the family lived and the baby was placed standing in the hole, packed with palm leaves and covered with a palm leaf door. The belief was that the tree sap would nourish the baby like breast milk. The wife was never allowed to see the tree, killed a pig and mourned with family and fellow villagers. The tree I saw had at least 15 baby burials on all its sides.
We then went to a cave burial site near the town of Londa. Caves were used in the 14th and 15th centuries. When a person died, they were “embalmed” using natural herbal methods, wrapped in cloth and remained in the family home for the next 10-20 years. By then, only the skeleton remained. The bones were then placed in the caves in wood coffins in the shape of boats, buffalo or pigs. The coffins sat on wood frames suspended from the walls. Higher-class people were placed in higher positions in the cave than lower-class people on the floor. Dressed wood effigies of the dead were in “balconies” lining the cave walls. Today some of the coffins have fallen and most are in a state of rot. Skulls and random bones were scattered in niches on the walls or the floor depending on social class. After entering through a low tunnel, the side of the cave was open. I walked through the lower section to fields with stone graves scattered across a cliff face.
We then saw stone graves reserved for the nobility near the town of Lemo. On the way, we passed monolith fields – huge oddly shaped linear rocks stuck in the ground over an open area. This is where the funeral rituals of sacrifice occur before the stone grave burial. Twenty-four buffalo are sacrificed for these high-ranking funerals. The graves are large 10 cubic meter rooms carved into a towering, vertical limestone cliff closed with small doors. They are still used today and each room is reserved for one family. When the room is full of coffins, the doors are permanently sealed. Stone statues fill balconies cut into the cliff.
Above-ground graves line the base of the cliffs. A small building was full of coffins shaped like boats and water buffalo.
Beside above-ground graves, some well-off people are buried in elaborate mausoleums – small buildings with boat-shaped structures on top.
Funerals are very costly affairs for families. They sometimes save their entire lives for it. But they don’t bankrupt themselves. Torajans realize it is more important to educate their children to have successful lives and be well enough to continue future funeral ceremonies.
• KYRGYZSTAN/KAZAKHSTAN Border to Almaty November 2015. I had decided to cross into Kazakhstan in the far east. There was no public transport here and I “hitchhiked” (for a fee) on the desolate road in Kyrgyzstan to the remote border post. We passed no other vehicles on the hour-long drive. I was wondering how I would get to Almaty 280 km away – It looked like I would be sleeping outside at the border. After an hour, an SUV pulled up on the Kyrgyzstan side. The driver saw me immediately and waved. Marhabat was unbelievably generous. He was a physician in Almaty. We stopped for a lovely dinner. The vodka shots were frequent and he paid for the meal. We stopped at the large vegetable stands beside the road and loaded the roof rack with two banana boxes of tomatoes, large bags of red and green peppers, garlic and carrots. Making their delicious tomato/pepper sauce is a tradition in the country. We then stopped at his farm where he ran a lab researching vaccines. The couple living on the farm put on an unbelievable spread of bread, two varieties of sauce, two types of homemade jam, garlic pickles, pickled vegetables, endless milk tea and more vodka. It reminded me of the spreads put on by my farmer aunts when I was a child in Southern Saskatchewan. It was now 10 pm and Marlhabat drove me to the door of my dorm in Almaty.
I couldn’t believe my fortune. Not only did I traverse a seemingly impossible drive but I experienced Kazak generosity at its finest.
• CAMEROON RING ROAD February 2017. On my 5 1/2 month overland trip from Morocco to Cape Town we saw the Ring Road – 367 km of difficult red-earth in northwest Cameroon. We started and ended in Bamenda traversing some of the finest scenery in Africa, the verdant pasturelands of the Grassfields – not savannah, but hilly meadows between stands of hardwood forest and patches of shifting agriculture. Natural sites include waterfalls, volcanoes and nearly forty, crystal-clear crater lakes, many of them sacred, and at least one (Lake Nyos) potentially dangerous. Terraced farmlands of green and yellow valleys, tall grass, and red earth frequent the steep slopes rising to sharp mountains; the mountain soils, ploughed along the contours, sustain crops like coco-yams, maize and plantains. Cash crops, such as coffee and tea, grow at higher elevations and Fula herders graze their cattle in the pastures. Clouds of mist from wood and dung fires mark the location of villages speckled on the rugged terrain.
This is one of the greatest concentrations of fondons (traditional kingdoms) in Cameroon. Tourism is DIY here. Hiking and camping are options but always ask the local chief and bring some gifts. The crater lakes are supposed to be the homes of the spirits of the fons.
The best way to tour the Ring Road is with a vehicle. All the major towns, Bafut, Wum, Nkambe and Kumbo are accessible by public transport but this is infrequent past Wum and Weh. All these towns offer basic accommodations and food. Most of the interesting sites are off the main route. Camping, one of the Ring Road’s greatest pleasures, is problematic with public transport because of the difficulty of finding flat spaces that are not actively farmed.
The northern stretch between Nkambé and Wum had been completely impassable to vehicles due to collapsed bridges at Nyos and Weh. The road past Lake Nyos to Nkambé was almost non-existent with a high clearance 4×4 required, but in 2017, that part was graded and was now a “good” road. There are few directional signs. The scenery through this part is also not very exciting and villages are far apart if help is needed. Drivers at the Bamenda motor parks or the personnel at the Tourist Information Center can update you on road conditions.
Rain is a significant hazard as the red, clay-like mud makes travel virtually impossible in any vehicle (sticks like glue, slides like snot). One would have to wait a day or two for the road to dry. Travel in the dry season is thus best, but it can rain any time. Cycling is possible but any rain stops you dead in your tracks.
A large-scale map was required to follow the twisting village-dotted route. Whiskey was suggested to present to the fons (chiefs) if visiting any of the palaces. Our authentic experience was seeing the kingdoms.
Everyone in our 17-person group had a different plan to see the Ring Road. Anders from Denmark and Alice from Australia stayed at the Drill Ranch in Nigeria for a few days, an appropriate name for romantic times. Mufi went to Lagos to watch a football game. Soto and Bob stayed with the truck in Bamenda, as they had other priorities for the money (skydiving in Namibia, bungee jumping at Victoria Falls and a trip to New Zealand). Toby, a 19-year-old from Arun, Scotland was walking the Small Ring Road. Tammy and Andy, a couple from England and Blake from Ireland, easily the cheapest of the whole bunch, were using public transportation, camping and cooking along the way. They had huge packs with bulky sleeping pads and bags, one of the huge (30-pound) tour tents and add-hot-water noodles. They even bought diesel to be able to light fires. They hoped to get to Lake Nyos and camp for a day there. Tom, Julia, Chris (England) and Mark (Canada) had the most hair-brained idea. They wanted to buy motorcycles and resell them after the trip!! but ended up hiring motorcycles and drivers for 60,000 each, staying in hotels and eating in restaurants as they couldn’t carry camping stuff. They would have the least difficulty navigating any road.
Four of us rented a 4-Runner with the mandatory driver for 60,000/day. We were responsible for gas and food for the driver. He was camping with us and sleeping in the truck. Erasmus was a mechanic and driver, married with 3 children and turned out to be a great guy. He knew the area and was able to deal with any mechanical issues.
We planned on camping and eating in local eateries. We brought cereal and milk, bananas, bread and jam for breakfasts and mayonnaise, mustard, salt and pepper to make sandwiches for lunch. We took tents, bowls, cups and cutlery from the truck. We were the only four willing to spend money.
We did the Ring Road as a nearly-closed “U” missing the difficult and less interesting northern section. This had the best scenery, access to accommodation and food and saw most of the chiefdoms.
Day 1
Bafut (22km). Bafut was Muslim and the most powerful and largest of the traditional kingdoms. The fon, Abumbi II had 55 wives compared to his father’s 152 and was chosen from his father’s 199-odd offspring when his father died in 1971.
The main attraction in Bafut was a large red-brick complex. The sacred Achum dedicated to ancestors was the previous fon’s palace with a striking pyramidal thatched roof and shrine.
A bugler by the main gate announced the fon’s secret society and everyone scurried inside on pain of death if they set eyes on them. There are also strict rules about what may be touched.
The highlight was the museum. Topics ranged from the slave trade to Bafut ancestral spirits and beautifully carved sculptures.
We met Blake in Bafut. They had paid 1000 CFA to camp in someone’s yard the previous night and were about to board a share taxi. They had paid 2000 to visit the Bafut Palace and saved 500 by not seeing the museum. They bought no handicrafts and proudly announced that they had given 500 CFA for a tip.
The fon was born in 1951, ascended to the throne in 1968, was now 66 and had 22 wives, 14 inherited from his father and 8 new wives. Once king, you inherit everything.
The tour was given by one of the fon’s sons, a graduate in physics and one of 9 children of one of the new queens. He was unmarried and had little interest in becoming the fon as he didn’t feel ready for the responsibility. He would have to pay 1 million CFA (about 15,000€) to get married and join the Secret Society.
Outside the grounds, we saw the execution stones (last used in 1940 for having sex with one of the fon’s wives), the sacrifice tree (used yearly to sacrifice male and female virgins but now goats or chickens), two carved posts signifying the two tribes that had joined to form the Bafut kingdom, and the drum used to send messages in previous times. The fon didn’t meet with tourists. We had purchased a bottle of wine to present to him, but now we would get to drink it ourselves.
They live in compounds of separate buildings – one for the old queens and one for the new queens. They were preparing food outside the doors of their houses – I thought they were the servants. A huge stone had deep grinding grooves to prepare camwood, a ceremonial red dye. The fon’s compound contained his home and the palace, entered only by the fon, his secret society and the princesses once per year but never by the princes. The palace was almost 500 years old and one of the oldest buildings in West Africa. The wood walls and steps were original. Totems of animals and men supported the roof.
In the guide’s mother’s home, we were shown many handicrafts made by the queens and children – jewelry made from beads manufactured on-site, cowrie shell bracelets, carved wooden bowls, woven hot pads, woven bowls and carved coasters in an attractive pineapple holder, all good quality.
The museum was full of artifacts dating from the 1700s and interesting.
The road to Bafut was good pavement but past Bafut to Menchum Falls was a disaster: short sections of potholed pavement and mostly very rough dusty road. Big trucks had churned it to fine dust. Many massive holes could have swallowed the 4-Runner and required high-clearance vehicles. This was supposedly the good part of the road. We stopped for lunch of boiled eggs in baguettes bought in Bamenda and roasted corn. The locals complained that we had bought all the food! The road was so bad that the small Bafut villages had little fooda left. We bought water, the last three cans of sardines, some stale, white bread and a papaya.
Past Bafut, the vegetation grew increasingly dense as the road followed the Menchum River. At the end of the dry season, all fields across Cameroon were being burned and smoke obscured the mountains.
Several share vans passed the other way, packed with people and a full roof rack. One of Blake/Tammies/Andy’s would be to find space for 3 people and all their stuff. They couldn’t stop at the “sites” like Menchum Falls as they would need a new share van with space.
Menchum Falls. (50km from Bamenda, 30km north of Bafut and 20km south of Wum). 150m high. The falls come through a narrow chasm and fell in three large cascades. It had taken 3 hours to drive this short section of road. The road between Menchum Falls and Wum improved considerably.
Wum (70km) was a big town lining the road for a few kilometres. It had little to see. After Wum, public transport disappeared.
Weh had the last water. We were visited by most of the males from the village to inspect us. Everyone was related and they all looked the same. Muslim with good English, they herded cattle and grew maize. They told us about the motorcyclists that had raced by in the early afternoon, visited Lake Nyos and returned several hours later.
The road switchbacked into a pretty green broad valley with few people. The road deteriorated and it took two hours to get to Lake Nyos over several ridges.
Lake Nyos. (30 km from Weh) is a deep crater lake and the site of a mysterious natural gas eruption in 1986 when a suffocating carbon dioxide cloud billowed off its surface, rolled north down the valley and killed 3000 people. Scientists believe that a tremor or a reaction between the warmer surface waters and the cold carbon dioxide-saturated waters of the lake depths caused the huge release of gas. The nearly circular lake had impressive cliffs on the south shore and was now vented.
It was dusk and we camped. Dinner was sardine sandwiches, baked beans, chocolate and wine.
Day 2. The road was good at the beginning and end but deteriorated to a full-on 4×4 track over a pass in the middle. All fields had been burned ready for planting. The kids were very excited to see white people and a real vehicle. All adults had extremely dirty clothes and the kid’s clothes were in tatters. The mountains were nice with rocky bluffs.
Two kilometres before Fundong, we turned east to see the Fon of Kom, the head fon over 8 other local subfons. This was supposedly a great visit to a very old-fashioned palace with a medieval courtyard. The fon was old and spoke through an interpreter, liked booze as a present and required claps and low bowing but they didn’t offer a tour.
We had had a flat previously and the left rear tire was losing air so we left to get back to the road junction and drove on the flat tire. Both tires were loaded on a motorcycle and taken into Fundong for repair. We bought bread, tomatoes, avocados and an onion and had a delicious lunch at the junction.
The Small Ring Road was completely paved back to Bamenda so we returned to Bamenda, bought gas, and food and loaded a new tire into the back. After a good dinner at a restaurant in Bamenda, we camped 20 minutes outside of town under the porch of a school. The teachers around Bamenda had been on strike since November and the school was completely open and full of dust and dirt.
Erasmus said that because the Northwest state around Bamenda was English-speaking, it was constantly ignored by the national French government. It is also why the Bamenda area has always been the site of political unrest.
Day 3. We headed north to do the eastern section of the Ring Road. The road to Kumbo was potholed pavement alternating with rough dirt/gravel. Red dust covered everything within 50m of the road – these must be some of the dirtiest towns on earth. One of the tires fixed yesterday had a slow leak, so we stopped before Ndop, put the new tire on and fixed the damaged tire which became the spare. The tire guy did all the work with manual tools.
Takija was 10 km north of Kumbo on a dusty dirt road. This small village has the region’s largest cattle market every Friday. As luck would have it, it was Friday and we arrived at 11 am. Farmers selling cattle bring their small herds of 10-30 animals by walking them from as far as 50 km away in the morning and pay a tax of 500 CFA for each animal sold and bought. Most cattle arrived by 1 pm and were moved into a huge corral. The cattle were purchased, money changed hands without us ever seeing money (they all had a handful of coins) and all deals were brokered by the evening. Most of the buyers were Muslim. Prices varied from 230,000 to 400,000 CFA depending on the animal and time of the year.
Almost all of the cattle were noncastrated males each with a paint “brand” of the owner. There is no selective breeding as all the males are fertile and calves are born throughout the year. Some of the animals looked well fed but most were thin, and of the local breed – smaller long-horned animals with a hump. All were pastured and no hay was stored for lean times. Grown animals purchased were for slaughter in the area and small, immature animals would be taken back and fed through the rainy season. Because of the lack of refrigeration animals were slaughtered as needed. There were possibly 200 head of cattle up for sale on the day we were there but not all would be bought. The unsold animals would be trailed by foot to Bamenda or Douala where prices would be better. It all looked confusing as there were no small corrals or ways to keep animals apart. In November and December before the annual pre-Christmas festivals, the entire corralled areas could be full with as many as 2000 cattle.
Kumbo (2-3 hours from Bamenda) is on a plateau 2000m above sea level and is one of the largest towns in the Grassfields. It has accommodation, banks and two hospitals. A market was held weekly and once a year a spectacular horse race in November.
Banso Chiefdom. Part of the Nso linguistic group, it is one of the most powerful, equal to those of Bali and Bafut. The people arrived from northern Cameroon in 1384 and during a war, all the males were enslaved except one who became the fon in a line of 19 fons to this day. They were defeated by the Germans in 1906 and their fon was executed in Baminda, a bitter history that has never been reconciled. A predominately Catholic community, the Banso have traditions of not offering traditional office-holders your hand when greeting, crossing your legs while seated, drinking in their presence, or passing the traditional policeman on his left.
The palace had old and new sections, the latter Islamic and home of the fon. The visit started with a pictorial history of the fondom.
The present fon had ~150 wives, but many had died as several were inherited from the previous fon, and new ones were added so there may have been 50 now. The fon was not present and we toured a courtyard and the outer square with several totem building supports and door surrounds. We were asked for a donation – 500 CFA was not enough and we gave 1000. This was not the sophisticated tour given in Bafut. A cave half a km east was the resting place of old skulls from long-ago traditional feuds.
We went for lunch in Kumbo at the best restaurant in town but it had no menus and a limited selection of local food.
Elak was a detour off the Ring Road from Kumbo and the principal village of the Oku Fondom, renowned for witchcraft, traditional medicines and rich culture.
Elak is on the northern slopes of Mount Oku (3011m), the second-highest point in West Africa. The climb passed through steep farmland, then into the Kilum Forest (with the Ijim Forest constituting the largest remaining fragment of the montane forest that once covered much of the highlands) and was now subalpine grassland. The fon required a bottle of whiskey to get permission to climb.
The road here was very rough fine dirt passing through large fields and villages on the rolling plateau. Elak was large and had pavement so buildings were spared the fine covering of red dust.
On entering the small courtyard in front of the palace, we were greeted by the fon himself. A slightly overweight guy who appeared to be in his early 60s and had an imposing presence.
We chatted for about an hour and he showed us the magnificent carved thrones in a small enclosure off the courtyard where he viewed his subjects. They were covered in small, carved figures. He coughed a few times and the harsh, wet rattle sounded ominous (my guess was bronchiectasis). Even though he appeared outwardly healthy, I had concerns about his longevity. We took pictures of us with the fon in front of the throne area and waited for the palace guide to show us around. The buildings on the side of the courtyard all had magnificent carved totems, usually three figures, two human and one animal. The fon was concerned that the guide not see him on the day of the burial as it would be bad luck.
We met the guide in a small office and were given the price list. A general site visit of the mountain, lake and waterfall was 10,000 CFA per person. If we wanted to camp, we would have to pay 2 guards 5,000 each. There had been some robberies at the lake and they were there for our protection. The fee for seeing the palace museum was 2000 and a donation of 2500 per person was also expected. We balked at the steep prices and finally negotiated 5000CFA to cover the donation and a short visit to the lake in the morning. Our plans of camping were out.
The palace could not be visited and we were taken to the side to look down on the row of mud brick homes where the queens lived with their children. Two of the queens were on the path. One gave seductive looks and appeared to have not gotten it in a while. I would doubt that a man of his age and health was very sexually active. Being a queen was not so romantic after all.
The palace museum was not to be missed. It was full of the most fantastic carvings – elaborate stools, thrones decorated in cowrie shells, tables, masks and animals. Three small rooms had all the costumes of the secret societies, one royal and the other for lesser subjects – all had mesh veils making their faces invisible and amazing masks and headdresses. One appeared to be a suit of long woollen underwear decorated with red feathers. Another had an enormous one-meter-tall carving on top of his head. Many were covered in carved wooden decorations. The caretaker who showed us around erroneously said we could take photos, something I was sure was not allowed and Bruce and Andrew snapped shots furiously. The main guide appeared and said that no photos were allowed. After touring several small rooms, we were taken outside to see four small gift shops full of fantastic carvings. Prices were unbelievably cheap – stools were 35-65,000 and a magnificent coffee table was only 100,000. I dreamed of bringing a shipping crate up here as everything would bring 5-10x that price back home. We didn’t buy anything because of their size and weight. The postage home would be three times their purchase price. The Oku are the best carvers in the world.
The four who had been motorcycling the Ring Road appeared, all covered in thick red dust. They had continued around the north end of the Ring Road. One view was the best of their trip down from a pass onto a wide plain. At the multiple police checks, they had to show passports and give bribes averaging 1000 CFA per motorcycle. They planned to climb Mount Oku without paying the fees or taking the required guide. They had nothing but glowing reports of their wonderful experience – it sounded much more amazing than ours.
They had run into the three cheapos taking public transport who had hired motorcycles and drivers. It must have been difficult with their heavy packs.
Unable to camp at the lake, we stayed at the King David Hotel, owned by the fon and managed by the head guide. The simple rooms were 5000 per bed. In the small bar were two amazing older Cameroonians, one an educator and the other a farmer growing organic coffee and fish. Both were eloquent, intelligent and great conversationalists. They had been at the burial and explained many customs. Casket carriers are paid and perform at the funeral. They argued about the appropriateness of one of the casket-bearer’s wives entering the performance. Customs are deeply ingrained. I chatted with them both for several hours over many beers.
Day 4. The next morning, I expressed concerns about the fon’s health to the guide/hotel manager. He phoned him and Erasmus drove us to the palace to check him out. He was in the courtyard again, dressed casually in an American logoed sweatshirt. He had a couple of his wives fetch all his medical equipment from the palace while I waited in his office. They brought two automatic blood pressure cuffs, one of which worked, an abdominal waist belt/vibrator and a neck massager, but no stethoscope. I suggested we go to the hospital, the fon wanted to take a bath, I suggested it was not necessary and he changed his clothes. While waiting, one of his wives stood in the office doorway. She was poorly dressed in sweatpants and an old top. She said there were too many wives, about 50, and 300 children. I asked if she was happy and she quickly replied “no”.
The emergency at the hospital was a small dark room with no lights, an old couch and a small bed. I took his blood pressure. It was very high and he had run out of his meds two days previously. His chest was surprisingly clear (although the stethoscope was of bad quality) and I found some antibiotics for him in the pharmacy. The doctor arrived and we discussed the problems. Arrangements were made to see the doctor in Kumbo in 2 days.
Lake Oku on the western slope at 2200m, is a spectacular deep green encircled by a splendid dark forest. It is sacred so fishing and swimming are forbidden.
We stopped in front of a huge Baptist church under construction, checked with a guard who ensured we had paid for access to the lake and walked down a long flight of stone steps to the water’s edge. Camping would have been difficult as the only flat area was a small stone terrace in cleared trees beside the lake.
We stopped at a magnificent viewpoint over heavily furrowed fields and a large village far below. Hiking to climb the surrounding low mountains could have consumed several days.
The road descended steeply to the Bamendq/Kumbo highway passing some spectacular scenery including a long rock wall.
After Ndop, we took a dirt road to Foumban instead of the proposed mountainous route between Jakiri and Foumban. The road was rough dirt for 75 km. One hill was so sandy and rutted that a 4×4 was required. We stopped in one town for lunch, bought some stale French bread and had boiled egg and tomato sandwiches and pineapple. We ate on a spare table in the market. This town was completely French-speaking.
Foumban was 75 km to the SE of Jakari, the capital of the Bamoun people and the sultan’s seat. The Bamoun Empire dates from the 14th century with a lineage of 17 kings in the present dynasty. It had the most touristy feel of any town on the road. The road between Jakari and here was the most beautiful in the area, passing through the spectacular Mbam massif, palm tree plantations and striking Islamic villages. We didn’t take this road but one to the south.
Here, north and west Africa meet along with Islam and Christianity. Foumban is the national art capital. The religion, Shumon, is a combination of Christianity, Islam and animist. Around town are unusual effigies of bizarre figures full of nails and caricatured Africans.
The museum
Royal Palace. Built in 1917 by Sultan Njoya, it is an architectural achievement unique in Africa. It combines assorted elements of German baroque with pure Romanesque forms (like the German castle at Buéa). The approach is by a vast courtyard lined with rónier palms and was made entirely of locally made bricks supported by strong pillars. The walls were carried by arcades and embellished with balconies worked with intricately carved wood.
There is an impressive entrance hall, armoury and reception hall with its ceiling supported by 4 majestic columns. In the morning, the sultan holds court in the palace foyer. On Fridays at 1:30 pm, court musicians play for the sultan while brilliantly dressed subjects pay their respects and seek his advice.
The Sultan’s Museum inside the palace is one of the most interesting in Cameroon with bilingual guides. A private collection of memorabilia from the long line of kings has thrones decorated with beadwork and sculptures.
Village des Artisans is a major distribution centre for crafts and antiques from Cameroon and neighbouring countries, 2 km from the centre. Craftsmen from all over the country cast and beat metal and carve wood.
Musée des Arts et des Traditions Bamoun. Wooden plaques portray Bamoun history.
The first two choices of hotels in Foumban were closed and we stayed at the Hotel Pekassa de Karche – two rooms with double beds for 25,000 CFA each. I slept with Andrew and Bruce slept with Erasmus. Initially, there was no water, the rooms came with only one towel and they were out of towels. This is Africa. It was Saturday and the town was busy with multiple weddings and heavy traffic. In the busy main street, Erasmus rear-ended the car in front. Minimal damage was done but took another hour to clear up.
Between Kumbo and Lake Nyos.
Jakiri had a spectacular range of hills near the town. Hotel Trans Afrique has panoramic views of the Ndop Plains and Lake Bamendjing. North is the most heavily populated part of the Ring Road.
NDU, Cameroon’s largest tea plantation was begun by the British in the 1950s.
MBOT. A Chiefdom with a fon and palace.
The road to Nkambé continued at an elevation between 1500m and 2000m, with the population decreasing gradually until Nkambé.
Nkambe. On the NE side of the Ring Road, this large town has restaurants, bars and a few hotels. Daily buses link to Bamenda via Kumbo.
Other Ring Road experiences
Tammy, Andy and Blake took a share taxi and a private taxi as far as Wum. Share taxis usually seat four in the back seat, but they purchased the fourth seat. They hired mototaxis to take them to Lake Wum (which was just ok) and camped in a schoolyard in Wum. They then used mototaxis to Lake Nyos and onto Nkambe in one long day. From there they used a combination of share and private taxis to get to Kumbo where they stayed the night. They took a share taxi to Babungo (it took till 11 am to fill). It was then 13 km to Mbi Crater by mototaxis. This is a huge crater with great views from the high viewpoint but it was smoke obscured. It was then back to Babungo and then 9.7 km to Ndop and back to Baminda by share taxi on the same day. The total cost per person was 57,000 CFA each.
The motorcycle group stayed in hotels in Weh, Nkambe and Oku. They visited the Oku Fon’s museum. When we saw them in Oku, they looked like they had heavy makeup with raccoon eyes and dust-covered faces. Mark climbed Mt. Oku on the fourth day and attended a wonderful cultural event that evening while the others returned to Bamenda. They ate a huge amount of dust on the mototaxis. They were also stopped at every police check and had to pay bribes. It was hard on their backs and bums with so many hours on a motorcycle.
Toby took public transportation to Wum and hired a mototaxi to Lake Nyos. He then took mototaxis, walked to Fundong, rode a horse and visited a good tea plantation above Belo. He returned on his fourth day.
Trips from Bamenda
Bali. Of the region’s main chiefdoms – Bafut, Bali and Nso – only Bali Is not accessible by the Ring Road. A Chamba settlement, they are part of the Adamawa linguistic grouping and were founded relatively late, around 1830. Its history is a series of wars and conflicts, notably with the nearby fons of Bafut, and as recently as 2007, with the neighbouring Bawock. Only 20km west of Bamenda, it is a satisfying day’s excursion with beautiful scenery along the way. The Fon’s Palace, not so much to see, has the hope of having an audience with the Fon, a German-educated philosopher who is always keen to meet visitors. His palm wine is the best in the area. A sacred cave to see the skulls of Bali’s many warrior enemies and Torthung’s Tower of Babel, an incomplete 72-room palace prevented from happening by witchcraft and Forthung’s death.
Awing Crater and Mount Lefo. Off the Bafoussam road south of Bamenda, you can swim in the lake and climb Mount Lefo, at 2250m, the fourth highest mountain in Cameroon, a demanding day’s climb from Lake Awing. There are great views of the Bamenda plateau and crater lakes.
• IRAQ September 2022, On my 10-day self-drive through Iraq, I left Samarra late in the afternoon. It was dark and I tried to find a hotel but the closest was 100 km away in Tikrit. I saw a place across the highway with 4 guys sitting out front. It looked like a motel from a distance. They said it was safe to sleep on the grass and brought a carpet, pillow and blanket. It was only 7 pm so we sat and talked for 4 hours using Google Translate. They surprisingly described America as “sweet” but all would have preferred Saddam as this is Sunni Islam (the south is Shia). They didn’t know ISIS but called them da’esh and hated them. They were all exceptionally nice. We must have taken 50 photos with at least 30 guys over the evening. I finally got to sleep at 11 and slept well with my TR pad, sleep sheet, sleeping bag and eye shade.
In order of the nicest people I have met on all my travels have been Afghans, Syrians, Iranians and now these Sunni Muslims in Iraq. I find it odd that they are all Muslim and from countries with the greatest hardship.
• SOUTH SUDAN DINKA CATTLE CAMP April 2023. From Juba, the capital of South Sudan, we drove about 70 km north on a newly constructed road and passed Mundari, a cattle camp that virtually every tourist coining to South Sudan sees. We eventually turned east onto a footpath and drove cross-country 2-3 km to a Dinka camp.
On a bare hard-packed piece of ground was a camp with hundreds of white, big-horned cattle, most tied to stakes in the ground. There were also many goats, 2 donkeys and one dog.
I took many photos of the kids who all wanted to pose with their hands up mimicking their cattle’s long horns. Most were covered in grey dirt spread on themselves for fly protection. The Dinka people are very tall and slim, have no obesity, and are very proud and curious about us but not intrusive. They loved photos being taken and none shied away from a camera
I went to bed at 10 but there was so much noise from kids playing that I got up and had a lot of fun watching them play, sing, dance, jump in the air, run around and laugh. A common “game” was to place 10 little kids in a circle with their legs facing in, two would touch one little kid’s head and run around the circle with the first to touch his head again the winner. They loved to interact. Their favourite pastime is wrestling and I played a tug-of-war game with a 10-year-old and he won.
Day 2. I was up at 06:30 before sunrise to see the camp waking up. The night before there were only 5 small reed huts but they had set up tents and small cloth rectangles held up with branches with room only for one person. Everyone wanted to pose with their prize bull often adorned with cloths and tassels. Little kids were collecting dung, rolling it into balls and placing it into piles. Small clumps of grass were put on top and lit to make smudge pots. A few very young girls were pregnant.
Many young men had orange hair dyed with cow’s urine. There was a large cow’s horn made into a deep base trumpet. The young guys bummed cigarettes but I asked them to not smoke around the kids. Several older guys smoked pipes. An old lady came by wanting money to buy tobacco.
Relatively few people were in the camp as most had moved into town. The few here who didn’t leave had no family to stay with.
A crowd of 15 little kids watched me on my computer. The kids are very sweet and cute, covered in grey dirt and intensely curious but not intrusive. I didn’t see any in the river swimming.
We eventually left at 9:30 to return on the same road, unload the goat on the roof and reach Minkaman.
• MALINDI KENYA May 2023. I had tried to take the train from Nairobi to Mombasa but could not finish the transaction. That was a lucky break as flying to Lamu was a much better choice. On the flight, I sat next to a lovely woman from Malindi who ran a non-profit organization for women with urinary fistulas. She asked me to stay at her house in Malind on my way back from Lamu.
I was met at the airport by Habiba’s brother Lukman, taken to her house for dinner and stayed there with her brother and son. They were an extremely generous family. She lives in a giant 3 1/2-story house with a least 6 bedrooms each with an ensuite. I stayed in a separate suite on the roof with a kitchen and living room. A high wall surrounded the acre compound. It is the largest and most opulent house I have ever stayed in.
After dinner, we went to the new construction of a small hospital she was building as part of a project to repair fistulas. It was 4-stories and seemed to have everything – she designed it in her head and directed construction through her capable and wonderful brother.
Malindi (pop 120,000) is a town on Malindi Bay at the mouth of the Sabaki River 120 kilometres northeast of Mombasa. Tourism is the major industry in Malindi, a favourite of Italians. The majority of Malindi’s population is Muslim. It was the landing place of Vasco Da Gama in Kenya.
Day 2. was a relaxing day at Habiba’s house. It was Ramadan so they don’t eat or drink after 5 am till after 6 pm, but I was free to eat whenever I liked. We walked around the neighbourhood, truly out in the boondocks. Her house had only a few houses in the visible distance and a few closed/abandoned resorts. It was a short distance to the beach where many fishermen and boats were in the water at low tide. She bought several fish.
Day 3 was another quiet day. We went out for lunch at an expensive restaurant on the beach with a visiting gynecologist in Malindi to advise her on her hospital.
I went with Lukman shopping for dinner. On the way back we went to the three sites in Malindi – Malindi Museum, Vasco da Gama Pillar and the Ndoro Sculpture Garden,
We made meatloaf together plus mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. It is always difficult cooking in someone else’s kitchen with many missing ingredients and an oven that I wasn’t sure worked well.
Day 4. Lukman kindly drove me to Gedi to see the ruins and butterfly house. He took me back to the highway where I caught a mini-van (mutata) to Mombassa.
Habiba and her family were incredibly welcoming and generous. She is an intelligent and accomplished woman. I don’t think my experience was representative of average Kenyan life.