Our friends and coworkers Jeff and Christi, and their kids, invited us 
to go to Kribi with them this week for a few days before their kids 
start school again next week.  Since they have an SUV that seats five, 
and there were six of us total, Ann and I took the bus.
This was our second trip by bus here in Cameroon.  I'm not sure whether 
I described the experience before, but it's certainly noteworthy, coming 
from an American perspective.  Not unlike church and other scheduled 
events here, the notion of a timetable for a bus is somewhat nebulous.  
Our new house is about a mile from where the buses leave town to head 
south, so we left the house about 815am to hike to the bus on 
Wednesday.  We had been told the buses left at 730, 930 and 1130, so by 
9am we were seated in the bus, ticket in hand.  It left, of course, when 
it was full, in this case shortly before 11am.
And full, of course, is a relative term.  It means something different 
here.  The bus itself had maybe six rows, plus the driver and a 
passenger seat.  Each row was what in the US would be a two-person seat 
on one side of the aisle, a single seat on the other side, and a 
fold-down jumpseat on the aisle itself.  You can sit four people across 
in a row like this, but snugly, especially if they have hand luggage, as 
we did with our backpacks.
Here in Cameroon, perhaps in Africa in general from what I've heard, 
this snug four-person row seats five people.  The fifth guy, mercifully 
not very big, plopped down on top of my legs and the guy to my right, 
and wiggled a big until he was on the seat.  I could feel our hip-bones 
amiably grinding together.  Later, the lurching, bouncing motion of the 
bus, especially in the back where we happened to sit, settled everyone 
in like a pile of beans in a sack.
Nobody minds this; it's perfectly normal here, and not an occasion for 
complaint or aggression on anyone's part.  People also accepted most of 
the two-hour wait without comment or apparent discomfort, until near the 
end, when a couple of cheerful younger guys started yelling for the 
driver, whom (if my French is correct here) they accused of watching the 
replay of the last night's Africa cup match on TV.  (Cameroon lost, alas). 
So, after a two-hour wait, our three-and-a-half-hour bus ride to Kribi 
began.  My backpack, a Java One bag from a few years ago, has a frame 
and wheels, so it's not really suited to carrying on your lap for 
several hours, especially full of clothing, toiletries, water, etc.  
I'll buy a soft bag before the next trip to spare my legs.  The ride was 
lengthened by the occasional stop to let off a passenger before the 
Kribi terminal, somewhere along the road.  But there were no breaks 
whatsoever; no stops to let people off to walk around or relieve 
themselves.  And nobody seemed to need it, judging by their 
indifference.  It was about seven hours between restrooms, but I was 
ready for this after our last, somewhat shorter trip to Sangmelima last 
month.  I am now careful to dehydrate myself before bus trips so this 
doesn't become excruciating.
It's all part of the experience here, like having your papers checked by 
guys with assault rifles on your way home at night in a cab, or being 
offered roasted civet cat for dinner, cooked by having the hair burned 
off and then roasted.  Normal seems very different here in some ways, 
especially in terms of people's sense of time and personal space. 
The thing that can make a bus trip like this comfortable for an American 
unused to it is either Ann's solution, which is simply to be untroubled 
and comfortable regardless of how different it is, or my solution, which 
is a novel of a thousand pages, guaranteed not to run out while the trip 
lasts.  That, and making sure not to have more than one cup of coffee 
beforehand.
We rode back with Jeff and Christi and the kids in their SUV.  I curled 
up in the back seat among the luggage and had a fine time chewing 
through 200 or so pages of James Michener novel.
I'll put up a few pictures of the beach next week.  As before, Kribi is 
unbearably gorgeous, with Hawaii's climate, quiet places to stay right 
next to the ocean, and the tastiest fish I've ever had, along with 
shrimp, breadfruit, hot sauce and beer.  We had a great time with 
Christi, Jeff and their kids hanging out, eating, swimming, and playing 
some of the games they brought.  I'd do it all again in a minute.