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yaoundé is a shitshow but i stayed

@Wyatt Glover2/5/2026blog

i landed in yaoundé and immediately realized this place doesn’t care if you’re here to never leave or just passing through for a few hours. it’s like someone took a city blueprint and then hit ‘submit’ too fast. no warning labels, no instructions. just concrete, heat, and a lot of yelling. i just checked and it’s...there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. 21 degrees but feels like 22 because the humidity is trying to roast you from the inside out. i don’t know, it’s humid. like your boss at work but it’s outside and you can’t escape it unless you live in a sealed bubble which honestly no one does here.


first thing i noticed was how small everything seems. yaoundé is the capital but it’s spread out over seven hills. real hills. not the ones where you occasionally climb for fun. these are literal hills that make your legs weak. i tried walking up one to get to the national museum but my knees decided they weren’t done with me. so instead i took a taxi. which was fine, except the driver kept honking at squirrels. i think they were trying to tell me something.


then there’s the colonial architecture. old buildings that look like they belong in a european movie set but are crowding the streets with goats, kids selling water, and people fighting over parking spots. one time i saw a man dragging a wagon full of what looked like cement blocks yelling about taxes. i don’t even know if that’s a thing but it felt important. the presidential palace is this massive building in this district called bastos. i didn’t go inside but the outside is just...imposing. like it’s judging you for being a tourist. which is fair. they’re the ones paying for the road maintenance and this place is still a mess.


markets are the real deal here. le marché central is this chaotic thing where you can buy spices, fake gold jewelry, and someone’s entire lifetime supply of mangoes. one vendor had a karaoke player blasting at full volume while she tried to sell me a bag of plantains. i regret nothing. the place smells like fried onions and ambition. i bought a bag of what i think was salt but i’m still not sure. local cuisine here is all about bold flavors. grilled plantains, spicy kebabs. i tried a dish someone called ‘ SUMU-GRIT’ which was basically meatballs in a sauce so thick you need a wrench to stir it. i’m pretty sure i ate the spoon. don’t judge me.


i visited the reunion monument. it’s just a statue of people holding hands. seems simple but it’s supposed to represent unity. which, in yaoundé, is like trying to glue a zipper together with hot glue. everyone’s doing their own thing. the basilica of our lady of the immaculate conception gave me panoramic views of the city. not the cool cinematic ones but the ones where you realize you’re looking at the same concrete slabs from different angles. i brought a sandal and it immediately sank into a puddle. again, not my idea of a vacation.


getting around is a pain. the roads are like someone took a sledgehammer to them and then forgot to smooth it out. driving here is a skill I don’t possess and never will. taxis are cheap but they’ll take you everywhere but where you want to go. i once asked for the central market and they drove me to a village where someone was trying to sell me a used tractor. that was fun. if you get bored, douala is just a short drive away. douala is like the hype version of yaoundé. more cars, more chaos, more ‘this is where the money is.’ but yeah, if you’re bored you can go there. though honestly i’m still figuring out if i want to leave yaoundé or not.


people here are…loud. not in a mean way, just loud. like they’re constantly performing. i met a guy selling bread who was also a motivational speaker. he was yelling about bread at a bus stop. inspirational. the culture is weirdly proud of its colonial past. they’ll show you french statues and then act like that’s some kind of achievement. there’s a museum with artifacts that look like they were stolen from a museum in paris. which, honestly, is probably true.


someone told me that yaoundé has the worst traffic in the country. i don’t know if it’s true but i’ve been stuck behind a truck that was also honking at a cow. mutual understanding, i guess. health is another thing. malaria is still a thing. i used some mosquito powder stuff but it smelled like regret. the tap water is not safe. don’t drink it. i tried anyway. i’m still here so whatever.


accents here are wild. everyone speaks french but with this heavy Cameroonian twist. i heard someone say ‘bonjour’ but it sounded like they were rehearsing for a play. the local languages are confusing. ewondo and eton are spoken but you’ll hear kids mix in english words because that’s what makes sense. if you try to communicate without a translator you’ll either get nowhere or a confused look. which is fine. i’m used to that now.


yaoundé is not a place for minimalists. there’s always something happening. a street party, a funeral procession, a guy arguing with a goat. yesterday i saw a group of people dancing in the rain near the mfoundi market. they were singing some traditional song i couldn’t understand but the sound was so loud it felt like they were trying to drown out the city. which is fair. they’re probably right.


i’m still here. not sure why. maybe because there’s this weird mix of old and new. the colonial buildings next to a market selling acai bowls. the presidential palace next to a random guy trying to fix a motorcycle. it’s a place where nothing makes sense but somehow it does. or maybe it doesn’t and that’s the point. i don’t know. i’m tired. the heat, the noise, the constant need to navigate a city that seems to change every time you blink. but i guess i’m not leaving yet. probably because i haven’t found that one place with a good cup of coffee yet. or maybe i just don’t want to admit i like it. probably the latter.


food rec: if you like spicy stuff, hit le marché mfoundi. don’t buy the fish from the guy next to the chicken vendor. he’s sketchy. taxi tip: always ask for ‘yaoundé, please’ when giving directions. i tried being specific and they just laughed and drove me in circles. the end is near. probably.

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About the author: Wyatt Glover

Finding the extraordinary in the mundane.

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