Hittin' The Bottle

It seems like most of these entries are neglecting little cultural tidbits that add a little pimont to life here.  I've written about all the bad things like corruption and the spread of AIDS and personal work difficulties, but there's more to it than that.  Sure, these things might be correlated with poverty and government thieves, but a developing country is more than Bono or Make Trade Free.  For instance, plastic bottles.

 

The Cameroonian national bottled water brand is Tangui.  Shaped like a missile and 1.5 liters, Tangui is really the only bottled water guaranteed to be safe, and because it's expensive (500 fca), it's a sign of wealth.  It's also one of the most coveted items by little children.  Why? Because they can sell them back to someone else for 50 fca.  This is also true for Diamor bottles, the ubiquitous cottonseed cooking oil in Northern Cameroon and any public soda bottle. (Diamor also works well as a bike chain lubricant, but I digress.)

 

This phenomenon first appeared to us on the train up from Yaounde during stage.  In addition to people walking back and forth on the station platform at every stop selling things to eat a drink to the passengers ("l'eau, l'eau, l'eau, l'eau"), kids were also asking/telling you to give them your water bottle.  It doesn't matter if you just opened and have 1.25 liters left, "donnez-moi la bouteille."

 

After finishing the water, you chuck the bottle out the window.  Kids see this about to happen, and by the time the bottle is in their reach, they're pushing and shoving each other until someone can get both hands on it.  Then they take the bottle and sell it, or they refill the bottle with regular water or some kind of juice and sell it back to future train passengers.

 

Diamor bottles are a liter back and filled with a self-proclaimed cholesterol-free ooze that sticks to your ribs.  These bottles are used for oil, gas, and kerosene.  The only filling stations I've seen in the North province are in the two biggest towns, Garoua and Guider, and there might be another one in Figuil.  Everywhere else, gas is sold at little stands on the side of the road in liter bottles of Diamor. You stop your moto or rust bucket bush taxi in front of the stand, and the dude funnels the gas in, Total and Mobil be damned.

 

The Garoua supermarche/white man store has started selling Pringles (yowwa!) and therefore getting a lot of PCV business.  Usually, my cleaning takes the plastic bottles I leave piled up in he kitchen, and she started to take the empty Pringles cans, too.

 

"Rose why do you take the Pringles cans?"

"I fill them with salt, they're good containers for salt.  I also give them to other women."

 

So when you're walking through the glorious chip aisle in the grocery store and you see the Pringles man starting you, think of the random Cameroonian families in Lagdo with sour cream and onion salt shakers.