We head out of Maroua. The expanse, dotted by trees. This Sahel desert region has much greenery. The road is supposed to be worse than last night’s.
Again, I see a truck crashed into a ditch by the side of the road. This scene is becoming such a common one.
I see domed houses. I tell my Cameroonian colleagues that some Americans think that all Canadians live in igloos. They remark that Europeans think they all live in mud huts. One more thing we have in common.
Each group of fenced off boukarous signify one family--the head of the household plus a boukarou for each of his wives. The minimum number of wives is 4--some richer men have 30 or so. The compounds vary from mud bricks to concrete. Even then, there is some expression of individuality--mud spikes, sculpted mud.
I rather like the dry heat here.
We reach Waza mid-morning and take a detour into the reserve. A lion was spotted this morning by some tourists. Given the short time I have, I am totally contented to see giraffe roaming. My first giraffe in the wild (and second and third and ...). Some lion’s footprints were spotted. Colourful birds. A pleasant diversion. I would have been ecstatic if I had spotted a lion but am quite content even without. After all this is not a vacation.
We arrive in Kousseri. I am bombarded with the dry desert heat exiting the car. We stay in a pretty fancy place--local and not full of foreigners. It turns out to be a great place to network. The region’s head of MOH is here. The cholera coordination head of region is here.
Even with a few hours, we are able to accomplish much.
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