This morning the alarm rang at 05:45. I pulled myself out of bed with some resistance, prepared for the day and had a quick bit of breakfast in order to be ready at 06:30 as we had agreed. I knew my member-guide would probably arrive later, but as the clock ticked on an on, I really regretted getting up quite that early. 

As the sun rose I watched the day begin in the streets outside the hotel. There is a street kiosk across from the hotel. These little booth-like shops function like a mini 7-11. They sell phone access, food, water, soft drinks, candles, batteries, matches, and other necessities. And they are everywhere. It was quite interesting to watch the customers line up to start their day with whatever it was they were buying. 

My guide finally arrived after 09:00. "African time": Africans joke about it all the time.

He came with a car and driver who was his neighbor, and would give me a reduced hourly price ($4.00/hour including wait time). We started out to visit another member whose name I will not mention. This member is officially with another association that would excommunicate if the powers that be found out the person had asked to be anointed by me. I feel like ranting, but I'll resist the temptation. In any event, this is a person I've known for 20 years and who said I was a servant of God and could be trusted to anoint (!) 

It took 45 minutes to arrive. We started out on reasonably good paved streets, mostly resurfaced by Chinese companies in recent years. Douala used to have some of the worst city streets I’ve ever seen in Africa. I’ve seen cars drive into city “potholes” (the word hardly applies) so deep, they disappeared from view before driving up out the other site. I saw a driver, after a heavy rain, misjudge the depth of a Douala pothole and go down so far in the water his motor flooded and stalled. I could, like Céline Dion's heart. go on and on….

From the surfaced streets we turned off on backstreets, rutted, pitted dirt streets mangled by massive rain wash and neglect. Most people in Douala live on such streets. This is popular Douala (not in the sense of being well-liked). Finally, when we could drive no farther, we left the car where we had to and walked a few hundred meters. The church member we came to see was waiting in front of the house and welcomed us inside. We talked for an hour, about many things, our recent church history, health issues, and fears of demonic activity (we hashed that out in detail and I covered several relevant and comforting Bible passages on the topic such as James 4:7-8). I anointed the church member and ask God’s healing. I also prayed that He would keep any and all foul spirits at a distance. There is much superstition in Africa, older generations are steeped in it and often have a hard time extricating themselves from it, but there are also bad things that happen that are quite hard to explain based on only material laws. I’m asked to pray about such fears quite frequently, in some countries much more than others.

We sat in the living room and talked a while longer before finally saying goodbye. The member who accompanied me and I talked on the way back to the Ibis, about church structure and organization as well as many other questions.

Back at the hotel, I paid the driver the equivalent of $15 and said goodbye to both men. It was lunch time by now, so I negotiated a taxi at the hotel to take me to a nearby pizzeria that has a good reputation. I was happy to find the reputation is well deserved! The pizza was just like one would eat in Italy, a taste Marjolaine and I developed during our time in Europe. Italian pizza and European pizza in general has a thin crust, less topping that what we usually have in the state, and is cooked in a true wood-fired pizza oven which gives it a slightly charred, smoky taste, which, though you might not like the first few bites (to an American pallet it tastes slightly burned , really grows on you. There is only one size of pizza in Italy; it’s one pizza per person.

On the way back from lunch we stopped briefly at the craft center to look for a few gifts. They usually know me here, since I’ve been coming off and on for 20 years. My nickname is “belle moustache” (beautiful mustache), although my new goatee faked the merchants out this time and they didn’t recognize me. I picked up two batik table cloths with matching serviettes and some other trinkets for folks back home.

Back in the room, I worked the rest of the afternoon, catching up on office work among other tasks. I had one more visit slotted for the late afternoon or early evening. I worked in my room while waiting, with a break for a quick bite of dinner about 7:30. The visit never materialized, and no one called. These things happen.

Tomorrow will be a travel day. Next destination: Lomé, Togo.