Blackstone Operations

Day 5 (June 20, 2010)

Part 1

Yesterday was a very bizarre day indeed. Ever since Robert and I bought our cell phones (which was quite the experience in and of itself) for around 13,500, I’ve been low on cash on hand. Robert can’t access his checking account from here so I’ve been doing all the spending thus far, which really isn’t so bad considering the exchange rate. I decided to go back to the bank to withdraw money for food and such. My my my.

It was one of those cab rides where the cab driver packed us in like a fat boy shoving in fistfuls of popcorn. The bank is a pretty good distance away so I would probably have to pay 250XAF for it. The cab system here is peculiar in that the fare is always the same—200XAF—unless you go a long way, in which case the price increases to 250 or maybe even 300XAF. How much it takes to get to that point is up to the cab driver’s discretion. As a foreigner, somehow that distance seems to come pretty quickly.

“Bicec Bank please” I stated as the cab slid in front of me. The cab driver simply stared straight ahead, the other 4 passengers of the car waiting in equal silence with equally blank stares. Sweet he’s going that direction, I thought as I climbed in. The cab driver quickly sped off in the familiar direction of the bank. After some time he stopped to let one of the passengers out and another soon was added, her destination unintelligible to me from what she told him. The driver continued down the road, and I saw the bank coming up.

Great I can get out of this stuffy car…

The cab continued past the bank.

Ok…

The cab continued.

Perhaps someone else in the car has to get out ahead up there, and then on his way back down the road he’ll let me out.

The cab driver turned to me and clearly began to ask a question in complete French.

“Something something Bicec something something?” he said.

Hmmm… “Yes I’m going to Bicec bank.” He appeared angry at this point.

“Something Something Something Something Something!”

I’m not sure what he’s saying…perhaps if I just kind of stare ahead… and look stoic…

The cab car pulled to a stop on the side of the road.

“Something something something” someone in the back quietly said.

Yes, yes, he must be mad at him (in the back). He couldn’t be mad at me…I very clearly said Bicec bank.

Unsure what to do, I continued to sit in silence, staring at the driver out of the corner of my eye. He appeared irritated at first, but then exceptionally angry.

“Something something! Something something something! Something!” He shouted. At this point everyone in the car started joining in. I even fancy I may have felt a slap on the back of my head. “Something!”

Ah hah, they must want me out of the car.

I opened the door and struggled to squeeze past the lady crammed next to me, “Pardon me, very sorry, no funny business intended I swear, very embarrassing indeed” as I brushed against her and out the door. I handed the cab driver 500XAF, he gave me 350 back and sped off.

Why did he give me 350 back? So cheap? And I’m a foreigner…

I looked up and saw the long walk back towards the bank.

Of course.

Shoving the coins in my pocket I began the trek over to the bank. Later, standing in front of the ATM machine, I would realize that I had left my wallet back at the house.

Day 2 (June 17, 2010)

I woke up today to the screeching of a rooster. It was, quite hilariously, exactly as it sounds in the movies (and no less irritating). At breakfast, Sabrina informed me that I was right to be skeptical of my malaria pills. She spoke to a dermatologist after she began taking it who told her that it’s really more of an antibacterial medication than something specifically intended for malaria treatment. She had, in fact, gotten malaria while in Mexico while taking these very pills. Brilliant.

Day 1 (June 16, 2010)

It’s hard to describe the exact atmosphere of Cameroon as I’ve perceived it so far. Upon arrival at the Douala airport, the mass lines with little direction quickly emphasized that things were run differently here than they were in the US (or even Europe from the brief times I’ve spent there). The baggage claim area, though always slightly disordered in its own right, was lively chaos. As I walked in, three conveyor belts were churning out luggage as crowds scrambled to retrieve them. The far conveyor belt was particularly overzealous and a pool of luggage had accumulated at the end of the line, each bag being shoved over by the one behind it. I was confused for a bit—though indeed everyone seemed to be moving around and talking at once, no one seemed to be moving to clear the mass of bags that constantly grew. I quickly spotted my yellow Wake Forest Rugby bag and began to navigate my way through the crowd of bags, stopping occasionally to regain my balance after being bumped and jostled without any apparent concern or notice.

When Robert and I had both secured our luggage, we decided to take on the infamous customs process (Or shall I say adventure? Perhaps ordeal would be more appropriate). It was difficult to know where to begin. Though there were clearly two separate doors to the outside Cameroonian world, one marked “Customs—Nothing To Declare” and the other “Customs—Goods To Declare”, we weren’t sure how to proceed. The doors to the route of no declaration were closed and a solitary customs officer (I assume? He wore no uniform but his nonchalant demeanor and his apparent obligation to remain in that same spot for over 20 minutes suggested some sort of authority) sat there, staring blankly at everyone. The other door, however, was open and before it stood several (uniformed) customs officers opening and inspecting luggage. Did all these people have goods to declare and thus the search? And what exactly was I supposed to declare and how should I declare it?

Before I could resolve any of these questions, another officer wearing a third uniform approached me.

“What’s in the bag?” He gestured towards my backpack.

“A computer…and some books” I replied. A curious smile crept across his face.

Ugh, did I just declare incorrectly?

“Do you want to go through customs”

Of course not!

“ I have no problem going through customs…I have nothing to hide”

“Yes but if you go through customs they will open your bag…”

I thought I just told you what was in the bag anyway…

“Why don’t you follow me outside” he continued, beginning to walk away towards the door. “Come with me, you won’t have to have your bags searched.” Not one to argue with authority (which I suppose isn’t actually true but I certainly have a lot more reservations with it when I’m freshly arrived in a new country) I followed him outside where happy Cameroonians were being reunited with their friends and family. I was being picked up by a man, Levi, who had exchanged emails with me and informed me that he would be picking me up and taking me to Genesis’ home. I began to scan the crowd looking for him when the officer tapped me on the shoulder.

“Alright…” he began in a very innocent voice, “I’ve helped you out now. Now you help me out…what can you give me?” Ah, here was the infamous bribe at last. Sadly neither Robert nor I had managed to get any US Dollars converted into the XAF currency used here. The officer didn’t seem to mind when I offered up that excuse. Broke, I turned to Robert, hoping he had brought cash. As he dug around in his bag, another man began to shove us to the side to make way for more people. At this point Robert began to shove bills into my hand before diving into his bag to look for more.

“How much are you trying to give him?!” I asked incredulously.

“I’m trying to get $50.” I counted out $20 in my hand already and forced the rest back into his bag. Surely the officer could not have expected $50 for his help. I handed the $20 to the officer.

“That’s all we have” The officer looked at it and started to shake his head, very disappointedly, almost angrily. At this point I saw a man with an upside down sign that read “Turner Robert”. Upon recognizing each other (he saw me staring and beginning to point at him) he bounded over, apologizing for his lateness. Somehow some more men (whom we would later have to pay as well) materialized and offered to help carry our bags to the car. It wasn’t until later that I realized that Levi knew them about as well as I did.

The car ride back to Buea theoretically takes 1 hour and 30 minutes. This, to me, must only occur under divine intervention. The roads in Cameroon appear designed to create the best possible situations for a car accident short of leading two one way streets into each other. There are no lines to determine how many lanes fit to the road and often times there are no lines to separate the cars going one way from the other. Roads criss-cross into one another or rapidly condense from 5 lanes down to one (the source of a very hot hour-long delay). I’ve drawn below some of the perplexing road designs. In spite of this, the locals were masters at navigating the roads and avoiding seemingly inevitable collisions. It helped that 70% of the vehicles on the road were motor bikes of some kind, weaving in between cars and even driving on the sidewalks. My driver, Russel, seemed to take no notice of most of these bikes that we encountered, frequently squeezing them out of the road while taking no apparent notice of the honks and screeches from the angry commuters now behind him.

At some point I must have fallen asleep because I woke up as we were pulling down a very bumpy path that led to Genesis’ home. It was very dark at this point. I thanked the three gentlemen that had helped us as they left and turned to find a white male about my age (who quickly introduced himself as Adam), a white female perhaps a little older (who later introduced herself as Sabrina), two girls (young and screaming), a girl about my age as well (whose name I’ve already forgotten how to pronounce), and an older woman whom I assumed was Genesis’ wife (and whose name I promptly forgot as well). Everyone was very friendly and showed us to our room (which is pretty good) before returning to watch Uruguay punish the South Africans in a 3-0 World Cup loss.

I’ll talk more about the room and the people later; I’ve only just been introduced to both. Adam, I will note, plays rugby! He’s from an area “about an hour south of London” and plays for both his university team and his home club.

The development of technology since the entry of computers into the consumer market has been explosive.  Mail services are struggling to survive as emails have taken precedence over envelopes.  Newspaper companies struggle to justify producing printed medium and the music industry is  being forced to revolutionize its publishing schemes in order to combat widely-available-pirated-online materials.

With a few clicks one can connect to satellites circling the earth and access a picture of some location. Getting there? 3 clicks more. The answer to any question is just one search engine away. Instructions manuals, dictionaries, maps, calculators–all within reach with only a few minutes of time. In nearly every avenue, computers are beginning to make indelible marks on the way the world operates.

Although it would seem reasonable to call this revolution widespread and explosive, an asterisk must always be inserted — Africa is this asterisk.

Though the benefits of computers and the wonders of the internet are widely lauded across the planet, but most of Africa remains untouched by this revolutionary change.  Even though Africa is the 2nd most populous continent in the world, less than three percent of the world’s internet subscribers were located in Africa in 2006. That’s not too surprising considering that there is only one computer per 130 people in Africa. The access to broadband connections is lower than 1%. This can probably be explained by the continental average of around 3 main lines per 100 people. In over 20 countries the national average is fewer than 1 main line.  Of the connections that are available, most are severely overpriced and inconvenient. Many individuals can only afford access at libraries or schools for free.

Operation Connect will address this challenging dilemma in the most effective way we are capable.  Though a few programs are in place to provide computers to developing nations, many fail to adequately help these countries actually become a part of the revolution.  Some programs only offer specialized computers that are not operated like the computers that the working world requires employees to use with competence (i.e., One Laptop One Child).   Furthermore, many of these programs merely drop computers into communities and leave the members flummoxed with how to practically integrate them into their schools and communities.  Despite these companies’ attempt to teach the masses to fish, they have merely handed out second-rate fishing poles.

The goal of Operation Connect is to completely connect selected communities with the outside world.  Blackstone Operations’s approach connects access to free-up-to-date computers with the hands-on power of personal training and integration of computers into every-day life. Blackstone Operations will strive to give underprivileged communities first-rate fishing poles and teach the member of these communities to utilize the full range of opportunities provided by the tools.

Operation Connect is a declaration that everyone can learn given the same tools… that cultures from different hemispheres can connect to and learn from each other without condescension or scorn… that each man and each woman is both deserving and capable of fishing from the same prosperous pool.

I’ve recently become interested with the curious situation Africa has in communicating with the world. Specifically, so much of what we hear and learn about Africans and their needs comes from…non Africans. We’ve grown accustomed to accepting what these other organizations–be them non profits, church groups, government initiatives, UN groups, volunteer organizations– have to say about what Africans need and the best way to help them.

While I have no doubt that many of these groups are at a greater position to understand some of the best solutions to assuaging their various concerns and troubles, I’m bothered that the African “voice” seems to have been lost. The video below is in interesting perspective on what some Africans think about the work of NGOs in their countries. I found it reading a website that collects news stories from Africa about Africa (http://allafrica.com) . Of course, keep in mind that these individuals have been selected for their opinion and that I could head over with a camcorder (not really) and create a similar video with the opposite message. Nonetheless, I feel these voices need to be heard and their perspectives kept in mind when determining how we, as a modern society, can help others.