Beth had proposed that we (the guys and us) go to town, have some lunch, see the river and port, maybe do a little shopping. Just get away from the house for a few hours and hopefully see a different side of Garoua. Things are still a little uncomfortable around here, and we thought everyone could use the break. Before we went though, Beth and Rebecca went for a hair appointment and a little shopping of their own. When they returned the moto driver spilled his bike in front of the house with them on it and Beth's leg was burned on the exhaust pipe. Nothing requiring treatment, but very painful, so Beth decided she wouldn't go with us. As we were trying to decide our course of action, Beth was able to wrap the leg in gauze and realized she would be no more comfortable here, so figured she would rather be a part of the group. (It was her idea to begin with...)
There is a fairly large river running past the town, and though it is shallow there is enough water during the rainy season (Which we've discovered is also bug season, and lizard mating season.) for barges to be used for transport, and there is a small port for them. That's where we initially headed, for lunch and to walk around. There's really not much there, another small hodge-podge market and several fish 'restaraunts': A row of ladies selling grilled fish with a few tables and benches with woven grass mats separating the 'restaraunts'. After lunch we walked to the river's edge at the foot of the bridge which is part of the main highway which runs through the country. Turns out that that area is also the men's bathing area where many of the locals come to bathe, swim, wash their motorcycles, and do their laundry. I don't bathe with my clothes on, and neither do they, so a white woman carrying a camera doesn't really fit in well, and a few were saying things, but most actually ignored us or looked at us curiously.
Of course we wanted to go up on the bridge, to see the panoramas, take more pictures, we had no real agenda, and were in no hurry to be anywhere. We lingered several minutes about midway across then Beth decided we might as well go the rest of the way before heading back to town. (Note: One of our class topics this week was personalities which helped us to understand several things about ourselves and each other. Decisiveness is not one of the characteristics of most of this group.) By the time we got to the south end of the bridge, Beth and I were on one side looking east, and the rest of the group was on the other side basically following along. The rains have done a great deal to clean the air, and the view from where we were was nice, reminding me of some of northern Colorado and southern Wyoming. As I turned around I faced three men half dressed in military uniforms coming at us with their large machine guns (bigger than AK-47's or M-16's, not sure what they were) leveled in our direction, hollering and gesturing. I got Beth's attention, and we quickly understood that they were ordering us to come with them.
We crossed back over the road where they directed us to a steep set of steel stairs leading down to the foot of the bridge. We were joined by Abel, Stephan, and Sampson which surprised the soldiers, but the guys explained that we were together as a group. (When he saw what was happening Oliver quickly escaped back across the bridge and caught a moto home.) The soldiers angrily directed us to some large rocks and had us sit (I didn't). We had the river several yards away on one side of us, and several women in their lean-to's on the other. Cooking, selling things and going about their business. There were several men present as well, and since the stairs ended at a path leading to a nearby village there was constant foot traffic. The soldiers had already taken the camera, told us we couldn't call anyone, and through their shouted questions determined that Abel is Congolese, we are American, and S and S are Cameroonian, and took their ID cards. Even though we tried to answer their questions they didn't seem interested in the responses and seemed more interested in shouting. One spoke a little English, but he was the same way; asking questions and making statements, but uninterested in what we had to say. Since we knew this was being blown way out of proportion we weren't too concerned and used the time to pray and whisper to one another. The leader, who was the angriest, would shout something, go off to make a phone call, or try to figure out the camera, but rebuffed my offers to help. Each time he would return he would be a little more put together, eventually becoming fully dressed complete with his bayonet in its scabbard on his hip. At one point three of them were lacing their boots at the same time, but I only saw one other in a complete uniform, and he never approached us directly, but would talk to the others instead. This went on for nearly an hour, then we were ordered back up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs were several men in civilian clothes in and around a nice, late model, crew cab Toyota Tacoma pickup* There was one who was obviously in charge, and he ordered us to get in. Though Beth was refusing at first, and the rest of us protesting that we wouldn't go without knowing where we were being taken or allowed to call Jonas, with threats, shouts, pushing, and grabbing we were convinced to go. Abel, Beth, and I were in the cab, and S and S were in the back with the leader of the soldiers and several other men. We crossed back over the bridge and headed through town, and as we did Beth saw Jonas passing by toward the bridge on the back of a moto. (Oliver had made it through to reinforcements!) The man in charge and and the driver were arguing about where we were going, and there were several course changes and u-turns along the way. As we approached a familiar area fairly close to 'home' I thought that's where they were taking us, and even tapped the leader and gestured to keep going as they were making another u-turn. But I was wrong, he had just missed the driveway of a ministry of defense building, and that's where they took us. Upon arrival we were all directed to take seats by the man in charge while he and the leader discussed the situation and made some phone calls. (You could tell he was in charge because of the stencilled logo on his polo shirt for some bar and cigar club. The things on people's clothing here made to make them look western are a blog topic of their own.) We used the time on the porch as another opportunity to pray together for God's will to be done in all of this.
It was quickly determined that we were in the wrong place, so it was back to the truck. We made it to the end of the driveway, about 20 yards, when one of the men in back gestured he wanted out, as he must have decided this was as close as the truck would take him to his destination. He took a tool box and a large pipe wrench and began walking north, as we headed south back to town.
By now it was raining heavily, but we didn't have far to go before we were on the national guard base, our next destination, and no one got too wet. After some discussion between the leader and the driver we pulled up to a long building and again were taken to the porch. This time Abel, Beth, and I were directed to a bench while S and S were kept separate at the other end. They were again being harassed and shamed, but seemed to be holding up well. Jonas also showed up there, but was only allowed to say who he was, but not contribute anything else. He also asked us where our passports were so he could have Rebecca bring them. After about a half hour there we were told to get back in the truck. This time Jonas rode with us, so it was crowded like a taxi, but since we only drove about 200 yards we didn't get the full effect. Again we were directed onto another porch, but quickly learned we were in the wrong place. Instead of getting back into the truck, though, we walked across the road to the correct building.
At the next building we were welcomed by the 'chief' and a few other men and escorted into a large office which housed the chief's (cluttered) desk, as well as another empty desk and a small table and bench and a few chairs. Abel, Beth, the two leaders, and I were invited to sit while S and S were made to stand. There was a man in handcuffs sitting on the floor between the desks, and a woman sitting at the table, and loud American country western music was playing from a player on the chief's desk. The leaders handed over the camera and the ID cards and told their story to the chief. I showed the chief how to the view the pictures, which he did with the other leaders looking on. He also asked S and S several questions then had them escorted out to (we later found out) be placed in a dark, filthy jail cell. He then began hand writing on a plain piece of notebook paper his report. Once he had finished, he asked the leaders to sign it, and then dismissed them. This wasn't satisfactory to the military leader, who again began telling his story of how he'd caught us taking sensitive pictures, and how I'd tried to get Beth to hide the camera, and whatever else he thought would enhance the dire gravity of the situation. But eventually they departed, and we were left sitting in the office. At some point during all of this Rebecca showed up with our passports. She had a plastic bag on her head to protect her new hairdo (remember how Beth and her started the day), and explained that the roads around the house were like rivers, no motos would bring her, but that she'd eventually been able to flag down a car.
Are you bored yet? Well by now so were we, but there we sat. The chief made a phone call, and with my limited understanding of French I could hear him explaining that there was nothing of importance on the camera; pictures of kids, animals, people eating, scenery, and etc. After he hung up he did more paperwork, carried on conversations with people coming and going, paid a kid for more phone credit, and what appeared to be busy work. Eventually he brought S and S back in, asked them more questions and let them sit in chairs. At one point he pulled some cologne (more like perfume, to me) out of a drawer and told them they stank, and to put some on. And we waited some more. We also knew by now that this wasn't going much further, so Beth asked if we could get a picture with the chief, to which he agreed. She had the woman who was still sitting at the table snap a couple of pictures. Eventually an older man in traditional clothes appeared, took the report and asked to see the pictures, so I turned on and returned the camera to the chief so he could show them. Once satisfied, he returned the camera, took the report and went to another room with Jonas. And we sat.
After some time during this waiting a man came in with three women and greeted the chief and another officer in sweat pants and a t-shirt who had been there for most of the time, carrying on conversations with the woman at the table and others who came and went. Beth convinced me to offer my chair to one of the women, and when I did the man they had come with said no, and Stephan told me 'no, they are prisoners'. I told him Jesus loved prisoners, too, and that one of them could have my seat (not really a sacrifice, I have yet to find a comfortable chair in Cameroon), and Abel followed suit. This must have got the man's attention, because he began asking Rebecca and S and S some questions. He then explained to us in English that he knew about YWAM, was the spiritual son of one of it's African leaders, and was going to get involved with YWAM locally. He then went off to find Jonas to exchange information. The ladies who had come with him were eventually taken somewhere else as well. And we waited.
S and S went into the next room to watch a world cup match, while Beth, Rebecca, the woman at the table, and I sat. The chief continued to write on different reports and forms, and the other man came and went. The woman at the table was looking miserable, so Beth asked if she was okay, which she wasn't. After Beth gave her some ibuprofen her and Rebecca began speaking with her. Her name is Muriel, she was also in custody, accused by her aunt of adultery with her uncle, and awaiting disposition. Beth and Rebecca spent a lot of time praying with, and encouraging and comforting her.
Then, at 8:15 Jonas walked in and said: "Let's go, we're finished" And, apparently, the ordeal which had begun around two o'clock was over. We weren't taken by Boco Horam, and, due to the thorough work of many, it was determined we weren't working with them to blow the bridge either.
(Now it's Monday, and we've just returned from a different police building where we went to prove that there really is a YWAM base and school in Garoua, and that we are in fact students. But, even though we were there about an hour, first standing on another porch, then sitting in an office, we never met with anyone. Jonas met with someone in a different office, and the ultimate outcome was that someone from the government will certify something tomorrow that he has been trying to get them to do for almost three years. Also, afterward we ran into the Tacoma driver in the market, and he was a much different person; friendly, apologetic, and warm. Another reminder that sometimes people are just doing their jobs, which I appreciated throughout this experience.)
I know that this is a long post, even without several other details, but I want every one to know that we are safe here, and they take any threats to security very seriously. If you want to do damage here you will be challenged by several levels of jurisdiction before being allowed to do so. Also, you should probably consider doing your deeds before 1 pm or after 4 pm, because they like their naps, and are pretty cranky if they are interrupted.
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| Waiting for our delicious lunch... |
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| of fish and plantain, before setting off... |
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| for our true mission: Casing the strategic bridge. |
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| It seemed like a perfect cover story, a couple of naive western missionaries taking advantage of a rare day off. |
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| Luckily, our cover wasn't blown, because of the thorough investigative work (or ignorance) of this man, the 'chief'. (Blurry because the photographer was a fellow prisoner probably quaking with fear.) |
*One of the first things I noticed was the Texas inspection sticker on the windshield, and what good condition the truck was in. It had obviously been recently been given a lousy military green paint job, but was otherwise like new. The driver didn't seem familiar with it, the odometer showed less than 7000 miles, and it still had the dealer license plate brackets front and back bearing the name 'Tejas Toyota' from a border town which slips my mind right now. I would bet a lot of money that the truck was stolen near the border, taken into Mexico, then shipped to Cameroon. If you recently 'lost' a nice white Tacoma pickup, I think I might know where it is.
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