que no duerma con otra, morena, solo conmigo

i figured that since i would be spending so much time on bush taxis this weekend i may as well accede to the looseleaf sheet with a city's name, a question mark and a double underline. yesterday morning i walked out to the road and yelled okara got to the bus station. i was sitting next to a young father who did not tolerate his daughter's squirming about. i woke up at a péage and bought two sticks of grub worm soya from a little girl who was running so fast with the plate held up above her head as a waitress does. you just have to throw the coins out the window and they pick them up from the ground. when you're on the bus sleeping you always wake up every 30 minutes to speed bumps and children yelling arachides grillés! noix cassés! pate de mangue! soya! bananes! mandarins!
i got to yaoundé and walked around two hours on a sunday looking for a clé minute and eventually settled for a salami sandwich and yogurt and delaying the trip to douala. i reasoned that i could avoid going to tiko all together (the reason for getting the key copied), with good auspices and street smarts. my ticket had turned completely black somehow. it was a paper ticket so would have to be traded for one bearing my name.
this morning i got the 6.30 to douala full of students and business men trying to make it to work by 9.00. i spent about seven hours in douala's tricked out bonandjo' quartier. but first i went to the airport. the taxista ripped me off, but not nearly as badly as the other times i've gone to the airport. a guy who was most likely unemployed and had no business at the airport arranged a 15-second meeting for me with a travel agent at the airport. she said that the situation wasn't my fault and that i should go to the office of a certain M. Nya downtown. as a mnemonic aid, i noted that with a falling tone, his name would mean animal in nnwe. my soi-disant protocol agent told me the name of M. Nya's quartier and i write it phonetically. he offers to accompany me and i decline.
in bonandjo' i enter the office and i tell the only guy there, c'est m. nya? je viens de parler a votre ami à l'aeroport, une telle mme. geradine. voici mon billet, qui m'est venu dans une mauvaise condition. he looks at the ticket and types on the keyboard for about thirty minutes without saying anything. without prompting he starts to read a telex to me.

passagere venu lovegren/jesse stop billet ilisible stop ticket no. xxxxxxx stop

he makes me a photocopy of the mysterious telegram and says that as soon as he gets an affirmative response from new york he will issue me a new ticket. this came as a complete shock to me, as businesses in cameroon generally are not interested in dealing with customers, especially those with unusual problems. since it was then 3am in new york, i spent about six hours eating sandwiches and coffee and reading a spanish translation of a stephen king book i found at the transit house in yaoundé. i went back and he said that he had received confirmation and that i should return at quatorze heures demain. i said perhaps a more convenient time could be arranged and he proposed one hour hence, much to my surprise. an hour later i had my new, legible ticket and was on my way to the bus station. some women fresh out of paris were jabbering in ewondo the whole way and i kept being awoken by speed bumps and noix cassés!

tomorrow is back to mbalmayo where i have to teach a chemistry class. i'll go to lewoh to straighten my electricity bill next weeekend