A Long Way from Douala

"place is so noisy I wonder how locals sleep. The bars, filled mainly with very young kids, are pumping out the latest hits at an ear-splitting level. Some are dancing on the terraces, their movements very suggestive of making love."

"I miss Douala! I feel as if I’ve left the country!"

"Since we left Douala, you’ve seen with your own eyes how beautiful the country is, how rich … but even so, people prefer to go, even if they have to die on the way."

"On either side of the asphalt road, the savannah stretches as far as the eye can see. In the distance, we glimpse a herd of thin cows with long horns."

"If someone had told me that that could happen in Cameroon, I’d never have believed it: perhaps because until then, my Cameroon had been limited to Douala."

"Pa had brought out our entire stock of beer. Simon, Roger and I had the job of serving. We ran to and fro between the kitchen, the living room and the porch. Our h-fi pumped out old Makossa hits: our parents’ favorites. A few women neighbors of their generation, also wearing kaba ngondos, had begun shimmying in the empty space at the center of the room. They looked like they were showing off: you can’t dance the Makossa without showing off."

"Most of all I want to say to him: "You know, my very own Roger Milla, I love you so-so much." Exactly that, spoken like that, calmy, clearly, in such a way that he won't doubt my sincerity. But I say nothing. It's not done, that kind of declaration between brothers. At least not like that."