Race of Hope 2012

Ever since I knew I was coming back to Cameroon I planned to do the Race of Hope up Mt. Cameroon, the highest peak in West Africa.  I found some people in Kumbo and began training with them last November.   One of the people I was training with, Kasimo, helped me register for the race in December.  At first he said I could register as a Cameroonian because I have a Cameroon identification card.  He sent the money to Bamenda and a few days later he came back and said that I had to register as a foreigner and pay even more for the registration.  I obliged and sent a copy of my passport and the 50,000 CFA (~$100) registration fee.  About two weeks ago Kasimo came to my house and said that I couldn't do the race at all because I was supposed to do a qualifying race to prove that I was strong enough to compete.  The person in Yaounde refused to put my name on the registered list even though Kasimo tried to convince him that I didn't need to do the qualifying race because I registered as a foreigner and had been training with him.  But it was to no avail.  The only option seemed to be to go to Buea and demand my 50,000 CFA refund since they would not let me race.  I arrived in Buea late Wednesday evening, two days before the race.  On Thursday the people from Yaounde never came.  On Friday I went to the starting area and still couldn't find anyone who could give me any information. Friday night I decided that I would use an old race number and still try to participate.  After all, I had paid the registration fee and it didn't look like I was going to get a refund.  Early this morning I, and two other girls working at the Seventh Day Adventist Hospital in Buea, went to the starting line to see if there was still a possible way I could participate.  We arrived at 5:30, well before any other of the participants, even though the race was supposed to start at 6:15.  We sat down on the bleachers of the stadium and waited.  A few minutes after we sat down the guy in the picture below sat down in front of us.

He turned to me and asked if I was running.  I tried to explain the confusion and that I came to Cameroon just for this race (ok, not exactly true, but it was certainly on my Cameroon agenda).  It turned out that he was one of the race officials and inside his backpack was the list of runners and the race numbers!  He looked at me and said, "Don't worry, you will run today.  Wait here."  A few minutes later he introduced himself as Roger, gave me his email address and in turn asked for mine.  Normally I would refuse, but he had the race numbers!  I decided a few annoying emails would be a small price to pay in return for the opportunity to race.  With my place in the race almost guaranteed, I walked around the starting line because it was obvious it would be awhile before the race would start.  I had my picture taken with Ringo the Internet Super hero, except he's not much of a superhero because Ringo Internet doesn't work so well.

This was the 17th edition of the Race.  It is THE race of the country and one of the most exciting events in Cameroon.  Its nationally televised and talked about on the radio for days.

An hour after meeting Roger, I had my race number and t-shirt.  I wanted to wear my dri-fit t-shirt, but another race official refused.  They said I had to wear the white cotton t-shirt so they would know I was in the marathon race, not the relay or junior race.

Around 7 am we all lined up behind the starting line.  Only an hour after it was supposed to have started.  

And they're off!  Except not me.  As we were getting ready to run about 10 different unknown Cameroonians came to take their picture with me.  I was right in the middle of doing an interview with CRTV (Cameroon Televison Radio and TV) when everyone started running and off I went.

The girls from the Adventist Hopstial took this picture of me as I ran past the hospital.  It was the last that I looked this strong or felt this good.

That is because as I started climbing the mountain it started raining.  Not too bad at first, but it was a constant drizzle.  Running in a cotton t-shirt does not help to wick away sweat an moisture.  I was about halfway up the mountain when I came to a shelter.  Inside there were many Cameroonians keeping warm and dry by sitting close to a fire.  I decided to stop for a little while just to get warm.  But then I started shivering and couldn't stop.  I had very little for breakfast that morning and my energy level was low.  I asked the Cameroonians if someone had a shirt a could borrow.  Within seconds, Johnson, pictured below, took off his coat and gave it to me.  Not long after that someone offered me a banana, then some crackers.  Although the jacket was helpful, I still didn't stop the shivering.  The only option I had was to remove my wet cotton t-shirt and sports bra.  Shortly after that someone else from CRTV wanted to interview and find out why I stopped racing.  In the middle of teeth chattering I told him it was because it was too cold!  After a few more minutes in the shelter, Johnson accompanied me back down the mountain and I returned to Buea safe and sound.

The whole experience was so typical of Cameroon--being told different answers to one question, charged more money because I'm a foreigner, last minute decision-making that limits adequate planning, meeting the right people and just the right time, singled out for pictures and questions because I'm white, and the solidarity and kindness of Cameroonians that ultimately triumphs over the difficulties.