Before the unforgettable welcome:

crossing the Dja border river from Congo (RC)...

Kurz zuvor noch auf der Fähre über den Grenzfluß Dja

vom Kongo (RC)...

... to Cameroon

... nach Kamerun

Our first proper rain so far on the entire tour

Unser erster richtiger Regen auf der bisherigen Tour

Rainy season in ...

Regenzeit im...

... the Cameroonian rainforest

... Regenwald in Kamerun



It starts to rain. Just at the moment when we enter Cameroon for the very first time. The first proper rain at all since we started our tour. Martin waves quickly to Francis on the other side of the river. Then we flit with our documents to the Immigration Office, a small hut like all buildings around. This is not a border town, just a small border post, used almost exclusively by the Lebanese logging company, whose ferry we were allowed to use a few minutes ago. It is dark in the hut. No light can get through the ‘bonsai’ window with this rain, and there is no lamp. Luckily, Martin ' s mobile phone has this practical flashlight feature. The border official smiles gratefully at him. After a short search, the officer fishes out of a plastic bag full of stamps the right one for our purpose. Bang, the passports are stamped and signed. This is fast, easy and friendly. Now we just have to get the carnet de passage stamped for our camper, and then we have passed the entry procedure in Cameroon quickly.



That is what we assume. Haha. For things will turn out very differently.



The customs are not located here, but in Moloundou, about 40 km away. This village was not on our route. But well, let's make a little detour. It pours heavily when we jump into the camper and pass through a steaming jungle. Rainy season in the rainforest, and we are right in the middle of it. Exciting!





Baka's huts in the rainforest

Hütten der Bakas im Regenwald

Looks like a stream, our dirt road -

and that is how it feels like to drive here

(see the short video below):

Sieht aus wie ein Bach, unsere Piste -

und so fährt es sich hier

(s. das kurze Video):





Although we are a bit tired after our intense discussions about hunting and poaching the last few days, we are in very good spirits as we drive along the jungle track. After a while the rain stops. Soon we have to turn left and reach Moloundou around 1 p.m.





In Moloundou, in the Southeast of Cameroon

In Moloundou, im Südosten Kameruns



At the end of the village we find the customs, with military, police and gendarmerie close by. Martin gets out of the camper into the cumstoms house, in order to have the carnet stamped as usual. I am waiting in the camper. And wait. And wait. Suddenly I hear some voices, coming from the house towards our car. Three officials request me to open the bonnet. A young policeman also shows up. He is half-drunk and tries to leap insolently onto the driver's seat. I manage to push him out again and lock the door.



What the hell is going on here?



The others go around the camper, and when I hear what they talk about (they assume none of us understands French), my eyes go wide with fear. Martin arrives, but I do not have a chance to speak to him, for he is busy dealing in English with the chief, who demands to inspect the entire camper from inside. Martin allows just two men in the cabin, but they take their time and look into every shelf, every drawer, every flap. Bags and boxes are opened, cupboards and walls are tapped, as if there were cavities, and in those who knows what. I turn to Martin, “this chief here wants to CONFISCATE our car! That is what they said ! ” Martin just shakes his head in disbelief and reckons I would simply have misunderstood their talk - the optimist.



30 minutes later the cab and vehicle check is finished. Martin is confident that the carnet will now be stamped quickly, and enters the office again. I should stay in the camper, for that will be just a formality. I am sceptical. After a quarter I realize that I did not mishear, as Martin has still not returned. So me too, I walk in the building. Martin sits on a chair, the young 'big boss' next to him at a table, our carnet is lying in front of him.



I sence something bad, since both men are really serious-looking.



Djoko, that is the guy ' s name, argues that our car would be illegally in the country. Cameroon would not have joined the carnet agreement (true, but other countries have not either, and they still stamp the carnet, or issue for little money an import permit, like Angola for just five USD), and therefore we would not have any legal document. He even says that we would have already made the mistake in Congo. Without valid papers, that would become veeeery expensive for us. He is asking for 43,500 USD, no misspelling: 43,500 USD !!! as a deposit. He would return the amount later when we leave the country. Return the money ! O f course! Martin has to spontaneously laugh loudly . Djoko gets angry.



His demand is so crazy, that one would really believe in a joke. But it is not. This guy is serious. Finally Martin has to negotiate. Slowly, very slowly Djoko reduces the amount - how gracious! However, at 10,000 USD he stops. “Believe me, this amount you will pay. You simply don ' t know yet in which dire situation you are.” And all of a sudden Djoko does not even call the payment a deposit anymore.



“Do you seriously believe we travel with such an amount of cash in our camper?”, Martin asks this corrupt official. "You have money, you Germans. This I know for sure, since my sister lives in Düsseldorf”, Djoko just replies. Aha! "And doesn ' t she also tell you that we aid her in Germany, your sister?”, I want to know. "Sure, everyone does.” “Well, but then, why aren ' t you willing to help us?", I respond. "I have already helped you so much, in fact way too much. That ' s all I can do for you, in your situation.” Martin now submits him an offer: five USD, the amount we had to pay for our permit in Angola. At this moment Djoko gets furious. He shouts Martin should not treat him like a child. Martin makes clear that he will never give him 10,000 USD. Yet Djoko insists on this amount.



This is crazy.



Unfortunately, we do not have any telephone card from Cameroon yet, and can not make any calls. Suddenly we remember our spare cellphone, with a South African number and some credit left. We phone J ohn James , the one who issued our visas at the Consulate in Brazzaville, since he also offered his help, in case of emergency. This is an emergency. He will be able to sort it out, we hope. J ohn James talks a while with Djoko, then with me: "Oh Christin, I'm sorry, but I can’t help you, and I really don’t know what you can do. You are in a very, very bad situation." Great! Th us I suggest to Djoko after a while: ”Then we are going back to the Congo, get the paper and come back”. "You - you are not going anywhere. It is only me who decides what is happening now. And the car stays here. It is confiscated ! ”, he lets us know with an arrogant determination.



Confiscated! Insane!



I need to get fresh air. Then I have to back off in the camper. Martin comes too, with the carnet in his hand. He just grabbed it from the table. After all this belongs to us. "What are we doing now?" We have no idea.



Meanwhile it is far after 5 p.m., the official duty hours. Djoko turns up at our camper, his staff in tow. For the first time all of them are in uniform. Maybe they assume this gives them greater authority? All four are standing in front of us in a semicircle, pulling it slowly closer. They claim back our carnet. They also want our passports. On top of this, the now drunken policeman also jumps around and yells: "Je vais luis frapper, je vais luis frapper!" (I will beat him), pointing at Martin, who fortunately does not understand this threat.



Horrible!



A well dressed civilian gets out of the neighbouring house. He wants to know what is going on here. A ray of hope! I pull him aside and explain our situation. Next he talks to Djoko. Then he turns to me with a low voice: “Listen, you are surely aware of the general situation in our country. We all have no money. But you, you have. You simply have to find a compromise. That ' s how it works." I look at him in disbelief: “But he is asking for 10,000 USD!” The man just shrugs his shoulders: “Well, like I said, you have to find a compromise. Without, you won ' t come out of this. And give him the carnet.” Off he goes.



That just cannot be true!



Since the pressure of Djoko and his team gets stronger and stronger, I persuade Martin to give him at least the carnet. Finally he does so, albeit grudgingly. We remit the further negotiations till tomorrow, get into our camper and lock the door. I am stressed out, and Martin does not manage to distrect me. So we start again discussing ways out. "What, if we just drive off tonight?”, Martin thinks aloud. I just shake my head. "Maybe that is what they are waiting for. First this here is a dead-end road, and we are surrounded by armed military, police, etc. Then there are several roadblocks, and we don 't know if they are somehow connected to Djoko. Besides, we would drive without our carnet. And last but not least he clearly told us that our camper is confiscated. Then we would really make a mistake. No, that ' s no option.” We are stuck.



The next morning I am whacked, since I slept very badly. Martin is more relaxed, but also not entirely et ease. I feel helpless, for we are at the mercy of this corrupt official. I want to get out of this predicament as quickly as possible. "Why again did we go on tour? Instead, we could now sit together with friends on the beach in Cape Town”, I mourn. “Come on, that ' s part of the journey. Also, these are the experiences we will talk about later on , y ou know . If nothing happens, there is nothing to tell of", Martin tries to motivate me.



Oh, if only now would be later already!



Djoko enters his office with delay. Then he keeps Martin waiting on purpose. Finally he calls him in. How gracious! I check our papers for the phone number of the German c onsulate in Cameroon. On our journeys so far we have never contacted our national representatives. Well, it looks like this will be our first time. Meanwhile Martin submits Djoko another offer at my insistence: 85,000 CFA (about 130 EUR / 140 USD ) - our alleged total cash in local currency - we are willing to pay, if he finally lets us carry on with our camper. (Martin does it for my sake only. He is not that much concerned about the situation.) Though Djoko reacts just with a derogatory gesture. He is even offended: "You seem to be still unaware of the dilemma you are in. And now you offer me that ridiculous amount? Forget it”! I enter the office, burst into tears. Partly because that sometimes helps. But partly also, for the situation meanwhile simply makes me cry. It does not help. Djoko remains hard. We head back to the camper. "Let's call the consulate. At least it is worth a try”, I ask Martin, still in tears, and hand our spare cellphone to him.



A Mr Saurer picks up the phone. He listens to our story. Then he points out that he is not responsible, as we have ended up in the e mbassy, ​​not the c onsulate. But he would still take care of the matter immediately. We should call again in an hour, and do nothing by then. When Martin calls again later, his face lights up - and mine of course, too. Mr Saurer has meanwhile phoned the h ead of c ustom a uthorities in Cameroon and complained about the incident. The h ead just laughed at it (what is so funny?!) and said, this is complete nonsense. We should not pay a single cent. He will call his subordinate in the relevant province, who as Jocko’s direct superior will then phone him. Of course we can travel with our camper legally around Cameroon. The matter will be resolved in two hours at the latest.



Pheeeeeew!



I start to relax immediately. We walk in the village in order to buy telephone cards. That is what we tell Djoko, who looks at us with a grim face when we leave the camper. But ... he just confiscated the camper, not us. He can not prohibit us from strolling around. Of course, we also want to bridge the time, and to end this prison-like state. The people in Moloundou we percieve as really kind. Maybe it is just because we have been so at the mercy of this brazen guy? Whatever.

Two hours later we cheerfully get back to our camper. Djoko calls Martin in, who immediately asks him rejoicingly: "And, did you get a call, from your boss?” Djoko affirms. He must now call his superior, probably by his order, even in the presence of Martin. Yeah! He stands there in attention, while talking to his boss. Then he passes our carnet back to Martin. Stamping? No, he still refuses to do so. Then his boss just calls him again, and voilà, Djoko puts a stamp - in our carnet!



What a satisfaction!



This event costs us ( me !) a lot of nerves, but not a single cent. And we would have even given him 85,000 CFA, just to have our ( mine !) peace. Well, Djok o, t ough luck! And we - we now have a story to tell !

Our first encounter ...

Unsere erste Begegnung ...

... with nice Cameroonians

... mit netten Kamerunern

Friendly, radiating - a true "Mama Africa"...

Freundlich, strahlend - eine wahre "Mama Afrika"...

... even with freshly baked bread! We enjoy her place in Moloundou a lot,

after this stressful experience with the customs official.

... sogar mit frisch gebackenem Brot! Ihr Lädchen in Moloundou genießen

wir sehr, nach diesem aufreibenden Erlebnis mit dem Zollbeamten .





Unser Camper beschlagnahmt: Was für eine Begrüßung in Kamerun!