No where like home

People always say "no place like home" until they actually leave home. Then you understand what that phrase really means.

I left Buea for Douala last year for a “better job opportunity.” The pay was 40,000 XAF more per month. On paper, it looked like I had won. My mama even cooked achu and danced when I told her. All my friends said “A-guy don blow.”

But Douala taught me fast.

First month, my rent ate half my salary. In Buea, 25k gave me a clean self-con with water and light. In Douala, 60k got me a small room where I shared toilet with 6 people and the landlord knocked every 5 days for “small small contribution.” The heat was wicked. No mountain breeze like Buea. Just traffic, noise, and sweat.

Food? Don’t even let me start. A plate of eru that cost 500 XAF in Molyko was 1200 XAF and tasted like the cook was angry. I missed my neighbor Mama Ngwa who would shout “A-guy, come take pepper” whenever she cooked. In Douala, nobody knows you. You can fall sick for 3 days and your neighbor won’t knock. In Buea, if they don’t see you outside for 24 hours, someone will come check if you’re alive.

The worst part was during the holidays. Christmas in Douala felt like a normal Tuesday. Everybody was hustling. No community, no “knock-door” visits, no cousins dragging you to drink palm wine till morning. I sat in my hot room eating bread and sardine while my phone was full of Buea status updates — people at Clerks Quarters, people dancing in Bonduma, people eating soya at Check Point.

That night I video-called my kid brother. He was in our old parlor in Buea, eating chicken with my parents. My mama held the phone and said “Next year you must come back. Even if you’re selling groundnut, sell it here.” I didn’t even argue. I just said “Yes Ma.”

I lasted 8 months in Douala. I came back to Buea with less money than I left with, but I came back with peace. I’m now doing freelance writing and small business here. I earn less, but I sleep better. I know my bike man by name. The buyam-sellam knows I don’t like pepper. When rain falls, I know that cold breeze from the mountain will touch my skin.

Buea isn’t perfect. We have water wahala, light wahala, bike wahala. But it’s home. And the truth is, no matter where you go or how much money they promise you, there is no where like home.

If you’re thinking of leaving just because of small pressure, think twice. Sometimes the “better opportunity” is just the opportunity to miss where you came from.

*Earpod check:* 2:34pm is close. Case still red? Don’t skip the soak.