Me & The Nun

Evil Customs, Part 2.

In light (hint) of an upcoming event that has already been affecting everyone but won't be honored with an entry until next week, an episode that bears with it a dose of mixed emotions, which has made it difficult to write about. Earlier, I deemed Customs here in Cameroon evil; but perhaps that wasn't entirely correct. Perhaps they are more pitiful than anything else because their shortcomings, too, may just be the reflection of the state that this country is in.

One time, we drove 4 hours to the port city of Douala in order to pay import duties for some goods. In cash, which translates into many thousands of notes that were counted by hand. Not Chinese, lightning-speed hands but keep-cool, African hands. All 4 of them. Yes, 2 cashiers at a major African port to deal with the consistently long line of people bringing them bags and bags of notes to count - so, standing in line and counting took another 3 hours.

In countries like these, for every thing that you want to do, the paperwork that's required is little short of madness. Annoyingly, as a tourist, you may need to get a permit to take photos of government buildings, but it is at Customs where they, most systematically and shamelessly, squeeze money out of you.

Naturally, the Customs official sitting at her own little desk in Yaounde's main post office would not let a golden opportunity slip away when one presented itself in the form of two foreigners -me and a French, elderly nun- who came to pick up packages that had been mailed to them. I myself was endlessly happy about receiving a birthday gift (food) from the modern world, and the nun was delighted to see the box of donated second-hand glasses that were for the needy (followers of The Church). The Customs official found it only appropriate to kill some of the joy by demanding a 100% import duty on these goods, the value of which -since there were no receipts- she would determine by her own estimation plus the mailing fees(!?). She would suspiciously write the sum on a small piece of paper and slide it over the table, looking away and repulsive and arrogant and unconcerned. What followed was some arguing and negotiating, in combination with acting.

Having to pay anything was outrageous but because I saw it coming, I wasn't half as shocked as the nun was furious (understandably) about this shameless woman unjustifiably demanding money for these old glasses that were for a charitable cause. Workers of the post office, too, felt that this was a disgrace and helped us complain to the director of the post office who had for some time been unhappy with the Customs official's presence and continuing exploitation of the power that comes with her position. The nun was the first to be invited into the director's office to make her complaint and coming out, she still had her don't-mess-with-me face on and formed a fist to signal to me that it's necessary to show them some fury and let it be known that such injustice is not okay!

In the end, it was all fruitless drama because we did not hear back from the director, which was to be expected; but I found comfort in a pack of Dutch liquorice and the fact that I am more susceptible to pleasant surprises than I am to nasty ones, which is proving to be invaluable here in Africa! A rogue like this Customs official is a sorry individual who already has enough to eat but nonetheless tries to steal a fish -- as opposed to the poor person who needs to be given a fish, or the diligent person who learns to fish. TIA. This is Africa. That said, the nun will get over it. She may already have given away the glasses to people in need. Besides, she must be happy now, considering the imminent arrival of someone very special: Her 大大老板*!



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*Big big boss (word-by-word translation)