Our oldest son, Bryson, finished his two-year church mission in Cameroon on March 17. I (Phil) had the chance to visit him for a couple days before rejoining the rest of the family in Israel. It was an unforgettable few days full of surprises, new friendships, and lessons I’ll carry forever.

Unique Airport Arrival

I’m cheap, so I picked a flight that landed at 1:30 am. Mission rules meant my son couldn’t meet me, but he had arranged for a local driver. I had a phone number, but no name.

I land in French-speaking Yaoundé, expecting to have someone recognize me from my photo. What I hadn’t planned was a dozen people greeting me, all determined to help me with my luggage. I’m travel-savvy enough to know not to let someone run off with my luggage, but these folks were persistent, even offended that I would try handling it on my own.

One gentleman wins out over the others, and pushes my cart toward the parking lot while I try to confirm that he is my driver. He nods affirmatively, but I am not convinced he understands me. I’m getting nervous as he and one of his friends escort me farther from the airport entrance.

Eventually, he stops and asks me which way to my car. Okay, no, he isn’t my driver. But my new valet friend calls my driver for me, who was very much in bed. I tell him not to worry. But then I can’t get any local rideshare app to work – ugh. And apparently the taxis can’t take credit cards – double ugh. And the two super-shady ATMs back in the airport won’t give me cash either – you’ve gotta be kidding me!

It’s about 3:30 am, but the kind local people don’t stop helping. An airport security guard offered to cover my taxi if I’d pay him back the next day. My valet friend again called my driver who insisted he come right away. The valet and security guard sat with me while I waited, and I indeed made it to my hotel safely.

It was the strangest feeling. I thought I was about to get robbed around every corner. I had lost control of my luggage (remember, this is everything I own!), I had been in a dark parking lot with strangers, I even resorted to getting someone to look over my shoulder to help me with the ATM… And it turns out everyone was really bending over backwards to help the idiot tourist. It really caused me to reconsider the source of my “Spidey senses”. How much of this is based on bias favoring the familiar?

I then compare this situation to the most I’ve ever been ripped off: it was by someone like me, who I felt really good about, who I had volunteered to make an exception to the normal rules for.

I’m not sure what to make of this. I have one positive experience in a scary, unfamiliar environment and one negative experience where I had felt quite confident. Maybe these are insufficient reason to call my discernment into question. But maybe it means I carry a bias that doesn’t serve me, and maybe even the warnings I get from others are similarly sourced. I’d be interested in your thoughts in the comments.

Authentic Food

One of the activities my son planned for us was helping prepare a typical dinner at a church member’s home. Different countries have their staple foods—potatoes in some regions, pasta in Italy, bread in many places. In Cameroon, one of the staples is fufu, a dough-like food made from cassava or yams, eaten with your hands alongside the main dish. Our main was eru, a traditional dish made with finely shredded leaves and flavored with red palm oil. It was definitely different, but very enjoyable. Huge thanks to Gracie, Petroline, and family for the outstanding experience!

Cultural Conversations

Another member was explaining that her husband works abroad, and she doesn’t see him often. I asked if the better money abroad was worth the sacrifice. I was shocked to learn that she has no idea if he makes better money there or not. Really?!? I was told that African men just don’t share financial information with their wives. This seemed crazy to me, and I asked others in the room who all agreed.

At first, this secrecy in marriage seemed appalling to me. But as the conversation progressed, I discovered more about why.

Apparently it is equally traditional for men to support their mothers, and mothers often have demands that result in conflict between a man’s mother and his wife. This is mitigated by not letting either side know what percent of his income is going either direction. I’m not about to stop sharing finances with my wife, but I love this as an example of how being too quick to judge can lead to wrong conclusions. I can totally respect a man that cares for his parents so tangibly, and protects his family from the conflict of comparison.

My takeaway is this: culture exists at all levels and doesn’t have to diminish oneness. My country has a culture when viewed at the international level. My state has a culture. My city has a culture. Each neighborhood has its own flavor. Even every family has its unique traditions. The same is true in the opposite direction—Africans share characteristics among themselves that distinguish them from Europeans, Asians, and others. Humanity itself perhaps has a culture that separates us from other species on Earth, maybe even the universe. In the end, we can find both commonality and difference wherever we look. What matters is how we choose to view and use this continuum between oneness and diversity.

Two cents worth of applicability for my friends in the workplace: Companies, divisions, and teams all talk about “their” culture. I used to largely ignore the attempts at the higher level, feeling that it was only the team culture and identity that really mattered. This experience, combined with watching the impact of dramatic US executive administration changes, has shown clearly that culture does exist, and does matter at every level of the organization.

My Souvenir

There was so much packed into a couple wonderful days that I won’t expound upon – my son’s emotional release from full-time missionary work, participating in his insightful final interview with mission President Kannar, the unique taxi and road experience… But, I had to have something physical to take home with me.

So I’m walking with Bryson to a member’s home, in the rain, wearing my flip-flops. I mean, we’re going for authentic experiences here, right?? I know that these sandals have no tread and are ridiculously slippery, so as I come to the top of this set of stairs, I know I need to be careful.

As soon as the caution crossed my mind my foot landed on the first step, and was immediately no longer on that step, throwing me into some kind of summersault, ultimately to hit my head on the concrete at the bottom.

Petroline’s home was just past these steps, and luckily she was home and able to help clean and sterilize my wounds. She escorted us to the pharmacy to get proper bandages. I probably should have gotten stitches, but who has time for that with a flight to Israel the next morning? Besides, the scar is a permanent souvenir of my time in Cameroon!

That’s enough adventure for one post! We’ve fallen a little behind with faster-paced travel, but we have some incredible stories from Israel and Vienna to share next. For now, we’re settling into a new rhythm here in Salzburg—stay tuned!