Human life somehow seems to be less valuable here in Douala, Cameroon.  The scenario: It is after midnight. My two friends and I have just gone out to dinner on the “Street of Joy” in Douala. This is the neighborhood with open clubs, bars and brothels. People are out partying on a Saturday night, and we went to a favorite restaurant. The owner comes from the same village as my professor-friend, and they all speak in their North West language. They get chicken. I have brought my own vegan Indian food- Tasty Bites- in an aluminum pouch from Stockholm, which they warm up, and serve to me with mustard and spicy sauce for the crispy plantains.  We sit inside, with the sliding glass door only partially opened; metal bars on the windows. Outside, it is a festival atmosphere of drinking, and relaxing. Every night is like this in this part of town, with Afro-beat music, and fish frying on the streets; bright green and pink rooms, and plastic table cloths. Women with colorful hairdos, and men, macho and strong.  We head back to the hotel, in the university vehicle. Heavy rain, of course.

We are making a left, U-turn, and suddenly I feel a startling crash into the rear of our car. My neck gets a jolt, and I hate that, because of my series of neck operations, but worse is seeing a motorcyclist spun out on the side of the road. The man is very injured and being  pulled off the road. He was driving too fast, and rammed right into us. Then quickly, some angry guys come to our car and start yelling in Cameroonian French. They pull the poor man’s trashed motorcycle to the side of the road, with his motorcycle umbrella in tatters. (Most people have wide umbrellas to cover their motorcycles in Douala). The injured man has vomited, and is moving his arms, but I can’t see much: it is very dark and rainy. He’s looks nearly dead.  There are no police, no ambulance, no insurance claims, no exchange of phone numbers. The group of men around the injured man are shouting and my friends are also on the side of the road.  I remain in the car: I will not be any help in this situation. In the end, my friends found the injured man a taxi, and gave 10000 CFA (which is about $20, but a lot of money to people here) to one of the bystanders who promised to take the suffering man to the hospital.  I walk back to the hotel, and only later do I find out that the injured man’s motorcycle still worked, and he had someone drive him away on it.  The guy who was supposed to take him to the hospital took the cash and disappeared. The motorcycle victim nearly died, and his life may be forever changed after this night; a normal night in Douala.

10-Day lockdown in Ambazonia. 

The kidnappings are getting worse.  I don’t dare to go to Buea this time. Last year, I was here and I stayed in Buea, but was under lockdown in the Mountain Hotel for a few days, after I heard shots fired near the university. This time, I decided to stay in Douala, which is safe. I just don’t want to be kidnapped.  The fathers of two of my friends were kidnapped.  The other day two university professors from Bamenda were abducted. A biology professor from Buea was kidnapped and held for ransom. Another professor was shot and killed. One of my students visited his village and found that the Amba boys (which they are called) had burned everything down, and tied up a man to a tree for stealing a water jug.  It’s vicious. it’s lawless. Where I used to do field work, is now desolate, and abandoned. Tomorrow, a 10-day lockdown will begin. Every Monday is a “ghost town” day, but this time, because of something that happened at a prison, it has been increased to 10 days. This means that everyone today is buying food, and preparing for their home prison sentences. The lucky ones have generators, so they can watch TV when the electricity is intermittently shut off. It seems that televisions are always on in Cameroon. Most people don’t have refrigerators or enough money to buy 10 days of food.  The hardships on the people of the South West and North West regions are incalculable. Thousands have fled to Nigeria. Thousands more have left for Douala or Yaoundé. One of my students is living in a small home in Douala with 10 kids and 5 adults. The villages are empty, and there are not many safe spots left in the cities of Buea or Bamenda. Every day, people get threatening messages on WhatsApp. I am sharing one here, from a rebel leader threatening anyone attending the university.  80-90 university students were kidnapped and a typical ransom is 1 million CFA. People say I would be worth much more as a foreigner, maybe 10 million. Classes are often cancelled, and it is a wonder that the university is functioning at all. The professors are in a rough position. If they leave, they will be thought of as Amazonian sympathizers, and persecuted by the Cameroonian government forces.  And if they stay, they are thought of as government workers, and persecuted by the freedom fighters.  The economy has stagnated, and people suffer. The only possible bright side is that exploitation of the environment has halted, and there may be less poaching and deforestation as a result of the crisis.  They call it “the crisis”. I call it a guerilla civil war. 

I came here to head a workshop in scientific writing, and avian malaria research, for the incredible students who have been working with me for 3 years now. From this project, at least 5 PhD students and 5 Master students will obtain their degrees.  They are now the world’s experts on forest mosquitoes, and avian malaria in the region. We have worked together for weeks at a time in difficult conditions in the rainforest. We have endured the collapse of the project due to the conflict, and now we are writing articles and more grant proposals.  I come to Cameroon to be with these incredibly generous, enthusiastic, gracious friends.  I fear for them. I know that at some point, based on statistical reality, one of them will be abducted. The war will get worse.

Since the new bridge has opened, traffic in Douala is now much better. But still, going to the market, we got stuck at one intersection for 35 minutes, with a sea of motorbikes surrounding the car, crowding into any centimeter of open space. The Anopheles mosquitoes love biting me at night in my very comfortable hotel room. I am a malarone addict, popping extra pills from time to time. Soon, for the second part of my trip, I will be in the deep pristine rainforest, surrounded by my favorite birds.