Deafeningly loud African music blasts out into the small restaurant, where there is only room for 4-5 people around the table. Restaurant is perhaps saying too much. Kiosk with the option to buy a meal is perhaps more apt. I try to shout for the third time over the music, but have to give up trying to get through and instead point to the pan on a small gas burner behind the counter. It ends with the kiosk owner seeming to have understood my wish to buy a meal, but I have no idea what I am getting. He finds a bucket of boiled spaghetti and throws a handful on the pan. Beats an egg and adds it. Opens a can of sardines, which are also mixed into the frying spaghetti.

It's not because I'm stingy and have chosen the cheapest place in town. I have chosen the only place in town.

I sit down at the rickety wooden table where two other guests are sitting and having a beer. It's certainly not the first of the day. The mood is high, the smiles are wide and the desire to talk is great. I try my best to drown out the music with my sparse French, to answer their curious questions, while I fork over my warmed spaghetti with sardines inside the table.

The atmosphere is top notch. The culinary experience is top notch. And that's how I can describe my overall experience in northern Cameroon.

First impressions in Cameroon

I'm heading towards Foumban. The capital of the region and an exciting old kingdom. I'm especially looking forward to the new museum that has just opened, in a gigantic spider, wrapped around a snake with two heads.

In Foumban I will meet two other cyclists; Ward from Belgium and Theo from Switzerland.

I've been writing to Ward for a while. In a Whatsapp group for cyclists in West Africa, he asked if anyone could help him with a package from Europe. It coincided nicely with Marie flying to Yaounde in Cameroon and she offered to bring some things for him.

Ward is not the only one with worn out gear. My own clothes are literally hanging in the air and the bike is in serious need of a major service. But that is not the only reason why I am looking forward to Marie arriving in Yaounde soon. The most obvious reason is of course that I miss her. I miss being on adventures with her. It can also be fun to cycle alone, but this is our adventure!

I have just one more week before I arrive in the capital Yaounde and can pick Marie up at the airport.

The first days in Cameroon are really beautiful. The landscapes are green and lush with endless rolling hills. The rust-red dirt road winds in and out and up hilltops with great views. In the cities I am met with many big smiles and helpfulness and the checkpoints I had feared are instead manned by friendly guards who always wave me through without any problems.

There are some border problems between Nigeria and Cameroon, so the border crossing I have chosen is not officially recognized for crossing between the two countries. Nevertheless, I knew that they still let people travel across the border, only with the catch that you do not get your passport stamped. That, combined with the fact that the visa is applied for online and then printed on paper, means that you cannot show a valid entry into the country, in your passport. I had heard that it would be a problem to explain at every checkpoint through the country, and that it would cost me at least 5-10kr each time in bribes. But my worries were put to shame. Everyone accepted my black and white paper print of the visa without any problems.

I miss the tent

In the first town after the border I look for a hotel. I haven't seen any opportunities to wild camp, although I've been looking forward to it, after too many hotels in Nigeria. But there are people everywhere and the sun is setting, so I have to find a room.

I buy a SIM card from some young men who have a wooden bench under a yellow parasol that says MTN. The local telecom office. I get into a conversation with a young man who wants to show me where he thinks I should live. I follow him through the village, where many people send me comments that I don't understand. My new friend turns to me and says: "People like you. They say they love you!". Still, I have a strange feeling in my body as he takes me to the outskirts of town, to a motel-like place next to a large bar. There is no one here. He assures me it is a good place, but can't find the owner and asks me to wait while he goes out and looks for him. Then I stand there and bloom. After 10 minutes I decide to cycle back into town and look for another place.

I find a small guesthouse, recommended on iOverlander. We get the bike towed inside and a lady starts to do some basic cleaning. There is no electricity, no water. I need a shower. There is a tray with some dry bread in the room. I point to it and ask if she will take it out after she has washed the floor? She replies: “It is for you”. I don’t know how long it has been there, but I know I shouldn’t ask for anything.

I ask several times for the price, but they keep talking indifferently. The curious kids from the town have joined me inside and are fiddling with the bike a bit, while they ask sweetly about everything. But I'm getting tired and need a bath and rest. I say I want to know the price and finally I get an answer that is far above what I've read in the recommendations. And far above the standard of the place. Normally you can negotiate, but when I suggest half, I'm sent across the road to discuss with a man sitting comfortably planted in a red plastic chair. I introduce myself and explain my business, but he's not to be hit or stabbed. It probably also develops into a cockfight because I think he's too arrogant. When I say what I want to pay, "take it or leave it", he says: "But it's not my place at all, so I can't negotiate, I can just tell you what the price is!". Great. Thanks for wasting my time. I'm getting my bike out of the room.

My friend from before has found me again and asks me to come back to the first place. He has found the owner. And sure enough, there is now a long-haired, crazy guy who has opened a couple of rooms that I can see. I am pretty sure that people do not rent them for a whole night, but only for a few hours. The room is the most miserable thing I have seen so far. And I have seen a lot. In the room there is a bed. That is it. Nothing else. In the bathroom there is a toilet. That is it. Nothing else. There is no door between the room and the toilet. The price is 35kr. The cheapest I have seen so far. I ask if the rooms in the other wing are better, if I can see them? My friend replies: “These are the VIP rooms. You don’t want to see the others!”. I ignore the cockroach under the bed and take the room for a night. The owner fetches half a bucket of water, which I can use to wash myself in and to flush the toilet during my stay.

I lie down on the bed and dream of a little luxury in the capital city of Foumban, in a few days.

Cycling company

When I arrive in Foumban I find Ward and Theo at a hotel. I check into a room that is far inferior to what I had hoped for. But I can open the door to a balcony and get some fresh air in to replace the sickening musty air in the room. Along with the fresh air, however, also come mosquitoes. You have to prioritize hard. The dream of a little luxury is postponed indefinitely.

Ward and I go out and find a patisserie with reasonable coffee and cake. I am absolutely delighted when Ward orders cake again for the second time. Finally someone to share my insatiable cycling hunger with. The conversation flows easily and Theo joins in. The political situation is turned and turned and I am absolutely happy to have someone to share thoughts and experiences with again. I am confirmed in the fact that when you choose the bicycle as a form of travel, you do so to get closer to the countries and people you travel among – and that it gives food for thought and reflection. Theo and Ward are certainly deeply committed and interested in politics and society in West Africa. We don't agree on everything, but we discuss it passionately.

Ward and Theo have cycled together through Nigeria, but the time has come to split up. Although Ward wants to experience much more of Cameroon, he asks if we should follow him to Yaounde so he can get the things Marie has brought. It is great to have company on the bike again and although some of our discussions become heated, with different opinions, we find each other again and get along well together.

The first night it is again difficult to wild camp and we end up in a motel so that we can also have a shower. The rooms are cheap and we ask to see the selection before we pay. The room that the hotel lady had selected for us has a rickety one-and-a-half-person bed. I have to pull over. I think it is just early enough to lie down and sweat in a spoon with Ward. The lady also has two smaller rooms. There are cobwebs all over the place and the toilet hasn't been flushed since the last resident's bad stomach. The bed has a foam mattress without a sheet and spiders are crawling everywhere. I don't think I am sensitive myself, but this is too much. Hygiene is at rock bottom and I am genuinely afraid of getting sick if I have to sleep there.

Instead, the lady reluctantly agrees to let us pitch our tents on the terrace facing the road. We each get a bucket of water so we can wash ourselves in the parking lot in front of the motel.

Ward and I ride well together. He fires it up. Almost sprints on good stretches. Bullies his heavy bike up hills while he stands on the pedals. But often needs a break and food. That way we fit together nicely.

My bike is creaking more and more. My crankset is completely worn out and I can't tighten it anymore, so I have to be careful to make perfect round threads so that the whole thing doesn't clank and clank. Even though there's a map to Yaounde and Marie's rescue package of new spare parts and new clothes, I'm getting more and more nervous about whether I'll make it before it all falls apart.

At one point Ward asks me: “Would you actually be familiar with cycling in that T-shirt back home in Denmark?” I mumble a half-hearted explanation that I don’t have the opportunity to buy T-shirts in merino wool in Africa. And that I don’t want to buy things that I’ll soon throw away. But deep down I really feel guilty. People here have so little, but they are always dressed nicely and presentably. And here I am, who is relatively rich, but looks like a lazeron. I know I can’t be familiar with that. But just a few more days, and Marie will come and save me.

Corruption or Chaos

Ward has a thing for rivers and bridges. So we stop to take a picture of a bridge. All is well. Until we get back on our bikes and put our foot on the pedal. Then two military men come out of the blue and stop us. They tell us we're not allowed to take pictures because we're close to a military complex. We look around and can't see anything. They point. We squint. In the distance is a small building that is supposedly a military facility. They say a drone patrols the area every half hour and has seen us taking pictures. They threaten to call our embassy. It's all a bit twisted. I don't speak French and so I mostly stand there watching the scene between Ward, who insists that there is no sign prohibiting photography, and the two military men who tell us about all the problems we've gotten ourselves into. In a strange way, one man is quite friendly, while the other is a bit puffed up.

It ends up that they want us to go to their office and show our passports.

We walk back over the bridge and they put us on two plastic chairs in front of a building by the road, where we can see their beds through the window. It's not an office, but a barracks. They're going hard with fire and smoke. They're going to call a military truck to take us to Yaounde, where we'll be arrested until a solution is found. Ward explains himself over and over.

After half an hour they call their boss. We are also joined by a guy who knows English, who helps me translate a little. When the boss arrives, he is very angry. People are shouting at him with evil eyes. For some strange reason, it doesn't affect me that much. There is something strange about the whole situation. Something that doesn't fit. It's all a bit too much. After a long discussion, the boss says: "You can be taken to Yaounde and put in prison, or we can sort it out here and now!". Aaaahhhhh - first the penny drops. They just want money. We should have smelled that a long time ago. All the threats are fake. They don't have a stick on us. It's all a bluff.

When Ward translates their money demands to me, he himself says: “That is something I will never do. I am ready to camp here for five days, but I will not pay corruption!”.

I say to our friend who is translating: “Now I understand that this is no longer a question of national security, but of simple corruption. So I suppose we are free to go?!” Ward told me afterwards that our friend translated what I said and with a smile on his face he himself added: “You have got the wrong people. These two will never pay”.

The boss got really angry and gave me really mean looks, but they had lost the battle. After an hour in their company we jumped back on our bikes and triumphantly rolled over the bridge.

Later we found out that other cyclists had been stopped in the exact same place, with the exact same scam.

Reunited in Yaounde

At Yaounde airport, the reunion was great. Marie arrived on schedule by plane and all her luggage and bicycle also arrived.

The next few days were spent catching up on each other's experiences while eating good food.

I had become quite thin from the lack of nutrition in northern Cameroon, but we found a good Lebanese restaurant next to the hotel. We ended up eating there every day and got through the entire menu.

A whole day was spent changing spare parts on the bike and generally servicing and inspecting, lubricating and polishing everything. A few days ago I reached 20,000km on the odometer, since the North Cape. You can see it on the bike and it felt really good to have everything taken apart and greased with grease and love. Sand was brushed out of all the nooks and crannies and in the end the bike was sparkling clean and ready for the next 10,000km through Africa.

After a few days of much-needed rest, we were ready for new adventures.

We have rounded the innermost corner of Africa, replacing West Africa with Central Africa. Therefore, the compass direction is now south again, instead of east.

However, we first wanted to head over to the Central African Republic, where the world's second largest rainforest is located in the Congo Basin.

But that's always the case with us. There are many detours along the way.

Obtained by the hygiene

Even though the rest days in Yaounde were good, Kenneth still didn't quite get back on his feet. Something was bothering his body. Fatigue was lurking. So when we got to Bertoua after a few days of cycling in the vast forests, we stopped by the hospital for the now somewhat routine blood test. And this time it was a full plate. In addition to malaria, Kenneth also tested positive for typhoid. A disease that is very common here. That meant another few days of rest, as Kenneth had to go to the hospital and have injections three days in a row. The poor food and hygiene in Cameroon had a price after all.

It's a daily struggle to choose between not getting enough to eat, or taking a chance on hygiene and eating the food we can get in the small street kitchens. In general, Marie is probably a little better at taking care of herself – and Kenneth is a little hungrier.