After hugs, kisses and much needed showers, Alfie, Gillian and I hit the town. There's little to report on "le Mediterranean" other than it's not African (more to come on African cuisine later no doubt). But we did drink some beers. Just two, (1.5 for Gillian, the reserved soul) but we did have them. And then due to the complete lack of atmosphere we asked a nice taxi man to take us elsewhere where we drank two more beers. And then, because this place was far too loud and dark, we pressed on to one more venue...a nearby terrace overlooking the streets of Douala. And there, we drank two more beers. We had therefore drank six beers each over the extended course of the evening (bar Gillian; you do the math). A reasonable, but not excessive number. What happened next however, was not characteristic of a man with just six lager beers in his belly. Alfie had made noises earlier about shaving his head, in the hope it would grow back before he had to once more be a serious person, and he was spurred on by his recent diet.
Now seems the right moment to divulge Cameroon's little secret, of which we learnt the following day. The Cameroonian lager of choice ('33) clearly states that it's alcohol content is 5.2%. However, common knowledge, our headaches and Alfie's haircut all clearly state otherwise. Apparently its very difficult to control the brewing process so as to maintain a steady 5.2%, and since no one gives a shit, they just make it a lot stronger!
So back to our final bar. Alfie is spurred on and, god bless Africa, we found an on call barber at 2am on a Sunday. It turns out Alfie has an exceptionally round scull.
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