After a seven hour layover in the Paris airport we boarded our plan for Douala. I was surprised by how nice the plane was. If I’d been asked to guess whether the plan from the US to France or from France to Cameroon would be nicer, I would have guessed the former every time—not so. We had our own private movie screen with optional videogames, as well as a gourmet meal and all of the wine or beer you can drink (amazingly I abstained, however I don’t recommend it). By the time we landed in Douala we were all very tired. The customs line was very confusing, and we were called as a group to move up because the Schlaudeckers had little-ones with them; however when we got to the processing point, we then had to wait while Jeff, Liz and the kids went through. This young Cameroonian guy then started yelling at us that we cannot just cut in the line, and had to wait like everyone else. We tried to explain why we were standing there, but eventually decided that there was no convincing him. We did end up cutting through rather fast, but this made no difference as the baggage claim area was a bit of a nightmare. I had never acutely desired to speak French before, but did then. It would have been nice to have a more effective way of communicating “No, I really don’t want help with my bags, or a taxi, or a prostitute, or life advice” than just waving my hand and saying “Merci no.” Oh well. Hannah, the Pediatrics resident, did not get any of her luggage, which was sad, but everything else came through. I waited with the carts of luggage while Vincent and Silas, the Cameroonians who greeted us, went to get the car. I was promptly surrounded by a group of young men who tried to explain to me that I needed to give them 20 euros, and some ‘dollas’ to them so that they could provide me with “airport security” I tried to explain that I did not have any cash, and all of our financial issues were being handled by Vincent. This was, of course, a complete lie, which the youth no doubt realized, however it was not really a refutable lie, short of him mugging me directly for the money I claimed to not have, which was a challenge I’m fairly sure he was willing to accept. I wanted to explain to the youth the apparent contradiction of threatening to protect me, but Vincent returned at that time, and I merely pointed and said “talk to him” and then walked down the stairs with our bags. We went to the “Guest House” which is a mission Hostel in Duouala. It was very nice, had hot water, electricity, and an air conditioner. I slept very well. We breakfasted with Doug, a Urologist from Connecticut who is going to Mbingo with us. Mary and I took a quick walk around Douala before leaving for Mbingo. Douala is very crowded, and there are many street vendors. We went to a bookshop, and I pointed at a French-English dictionary, and said “Pigin-Anglais?” The kindly book owner responded “No, we don’t have Pigin dictionaries—I thought about letting you torture yourself, but I speak English”
The trip to Mbingo took about six hours. It is a beautiful countryside. At every village a group of people run up to the car sticking various wares into the windows for you to buy. We couldn’t buy anything because we were poor due to being very rich (only had 5 and 10 thousand Frank notes, which no one could change).
The hospital in Mbingo is very nice. There is in the constant smell of body odor and urine, however that is to be expected when in rooms with several very sick people. Our homes are quite luxurious—our own bathroom, shower, kitchen, internet. Kinda’ makes me feel guilty, but not enough to move into a tent.
Mbingo has its own residency programs in Internal Medicine and Surgery. They do all of the outpatient work, and we help out with in hospitalized patients. So far it is fun.
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