Ello Govna’

That is not what he is but that is what he will be called. His real name and the name of the community in which he serves as not the Governor are inconsequential (and probably unwise to mention here, for the interweb is everywhere, even in the bush).

The fact that he was so intent on mentioning this point more than once compels me to start with it: He studied in the United States (California to be exact) for twenty years. That’s right folks, TWENTY YEARS. Which in Cameroon makes him a Bushfalla. Yes, that means what you think it means. As such he is well educated, well spoken and was more than appropriately excited to offer us barbeque sauce which he insisted would still be good even though it was expired.

When asked to do a survey he insisted that he should not because his brain was ‘different’, meaning that it was more advanced than the common Cameroonian. However, after a bit of prodding by Alexa he conceded. As it turns out she may have been better off surveying Hugo Chavez given The Govna’’s apparent disdain for her and our project coupled with his reluctance to reveal any semblance of truth about his community.

As the meeting drew to a close, and he finished his Guinness smooth, The Govna’ insisted that he drive us into town to get a taxi. At that we hopped into his mid-sized silver SUV (the only automatic we’ve seen since we landed in Cameroon) and raced down the road. On the way we stopped by a ‘friends house’. It turns out this friend may very well be the Willy Wonka of Cameroon, albeit richer, greedier and he doesn’t actually make chocolate bars. What he does do is process the cocoa for use in chocolate bars, this along with the fact that he owns the Mondial bus industry here makes him by far the richest man we’ve met. The Govna’ was beaming at the idea that he should introduce this man to us as his friend, establishing himself as filthy rich adjacent.

Further down the road we run into the not so uncommon sight of a line of trucks being held up at a road block. At this The Govna’ made a point to stop his own vehicle (in the middle of the road) and bellow and rant like nothing I’ve ever seen out of a man his age. Screaming at the men to move these cars to the police station, they knew how he felt about blocking the roads. It was not until he felt he had thoroughly demonstrated his local prowess to us that we moved along.

Not long after, however, we passed a corner leading into Fiango. This corner, as far as I and anyone else I have asked knows, is always populated with ocada man (the motorcycle taxi drivers). They are young, and they are loud. Yes that is true. But they truly weren’t doing any harm, and they are always there.

The Govna’ was having none of it.

He rolled down his window for the second time, in as dramatic a fashion that an automatic window can be lowered, and began to bellow once again as he continued to drive directly into the path of the young men. Had they not moved, we would have surely run them over. The Govna’ even threatened to get out of his car, hop onto one of the bikes and move it himself. I would have liked to see him try.

Why is this man so out of touch? Why is he so angry? Why is he so intent on embarrassing and harassing people? Did studying in the United States instill in him some sense that he is entitled to act like a pompous windbag?

His intentions that night were obvious and we were not impressed, although I’m sure he thinks we were. When we got out we all smiled our sly, practiced smiles, shook hands and thanked him more than once.

We entered a cab and each of us released a long, exasperated sigh. The day was over, whatever note it had ended on no longer mattered. We were on our way home to a cup of tea and a phenomenal meal prepared by our dear friend Miriam.

One laugh from her can quite literally change our moods instantaneously. It’s always deep and honest, a welcome contrast The Govna’.

The Govna’ was more than insistent that we meet with him for dinner involving, of course, the aforementioned barbeque sauce. Our ability to decline gracefully is improving everyday.