Mokolo Madness

When people ask me: “How is it there, in Africa?” I don’t know how to answer. First of all, I really don’t know anything about the continent of Africa. I am only fortunate enough to be able to experience Cameroon. It is one country of many on a continent with thousands of faces. Cameroonians say of their country that it indeed is “little Africa” because it varies in its many cultures and languages. It said to be a melting pot of Africa. I can imagine that. It does feel very diverse. From the people I share cabs with, to foods, to fabrics I buy. It seems there are endlessly many of them all. And when I think about this diversity, I always have to think about Mokolo market. For me- it is a wonderful, scary, hectic, beautiful, horrible, magical place. People go there to buy anything. From food, to fabric and jewelry, to medicine and pans. When I first climbed out of the crowded cab, it did not even seem that big. It was just a big street with a little more venders than usual and a couple of “stores” at street corners. Not knowing what I had to expect when actually entering the depths of the market.

The first time I went accompanied by a colleague- luckily. Going alone would have been too much to handle. Even though I was not alone, I was harassed frequently and unpleasantly. “La Blanche!”, they yelled. “La Blanche! Des pantalons? Des fruits?” The venders touched me, my skin, my hair. They even grabbed my arm and pulled me towards their goods. Sometimes it was hard to break away! I was glad to slip into the depths of the stores inside the market. I was welcomed by narrow allies where the venders presented their products. There were too many impressions to process. Thousands of colors. Uncountable patterns of fabrics on every corner. Shoes. Jewelry. Food. The smell of so many spices mixed together I could not tell them apart. Women walking around with baskets of foods on their heads: Peanuts, papayas, rice gombo. They would bump into me because the allies were too narrow for two people sometimes. Trying to take all the impressions in, I always tried to feel my phone in my pocket and my money in my top. It was stressful. Stressfully beautiful, though, once you find a fabric you like and you get comfortable in this corner of the market. Or once you sit down in a small corner to eat a bite.

The second time I went to Mokolo I was accompanied by a male friend. Hoping that I would not get harassed so much because of my company I felt better about going. But, I was wrong. Mokolo seemed to have different rules than the rest of Yaoundé. The people were not bothered by my company at all. But what can you do? As long as they did not do anything. This time I already knew better what I wanted. We left with our clothes and fabrics more happy than stressed. This time it seemed a little less hectic. At least inside me- maybe not inside Mokolo.

The next time I went, we were two German girls. People warning us about going by ourselves- I felt alright about it, for some reason. Of course we were harassed, but hardly more than the other times. And I found out that you just have to walk confidently and especially walk away confidently and you’ll be fine. At first having a little trouble orientating, I finally found my ways through the market. I actually found exactly the places I was looking for to get fabrics. I was extremely proud of myself to be able to find orientation in a place like this. It gave me an even greater feeling of home. Even bargaining for the fabrics did not bother me much anymore. This third time Mokolo did not seem threatening anymore. It felt familiar and known. Almost like I knew where I was going- even when I didn’t.