A recently unlocked memory is of the day my O’ Level GCE results were read. The year was 2006, I had convinced my mom to let me go visit a friend who lived in Baffoussam. It was my first real trip away from home initiated by me. It helped that the said friend was our Senior prefect in school and hence they assumed she was a responsible friend LOL! Anyway, when my results were made known to my family, a plethora of congratulatory calls came in. In the course of one such call, my aunty asked me the age-old question “So what do you want to be when you grow up?” Monique opened her mouth and said ” I want to be a writer” LOL! Did I know what I was saying? I didn’t (ugh! I miss that hopeful naive me), I did however know that books were saving my sanity at that time. Books were giving me solace and places to escape and teaching me better about the world and other humans than my teachers… and so I wanted to be a writer, to create that escape for someone else. I have written about the development of myself as a writer elsewhere (see here) but that was before experiencing the Anglophone Crisis that helped me narrow down my writing voice and writing soul so-to-speak. That was also way before multiple experiences made my writing voice, soul and dreams shrivel up to near death. Like most things, gifts don’t die suddenly nor all at once; they weather away. In 2020, I wrote a poem about no longer being able to write- it sounds ironical I know- but it was me perceiving and reporting the weathering. The loss that was already happening. I wrote the above poems 3+ years into the Anglophone Crisis and 2+ years into a horrible ‘situationship’. Both experiences made me lose my faith in the power of words, my writing and writing in general. So many of my articles were on the Crisis and those who read them were not those who needed to, those who needed to read and be moved do not read. Similarly, so many of my poems were love poems for someone who read them but would still not be moved/understand enough to reciprocate, to love me back. So I stopped writing. After all, I thought, what good was bleeding in words when the people just watched you bleed like it was a sport you enjoyed playing? And was I even writing ‘right’ if it didn’t move people to action if it didn’t reach the right ears/eyes, win the heart I yearned for? No, I thought. And so I stopped. Several years later, I recognize that reaction as a trauma response and regret giving up my gift. Stopping had its consequences. That kind of thinking- that other people’s actions or inaction depended on how well I wrote or did not write- fed my already bad case of perfectionism. And so here I am with a book deal unable to write. Struggling to believe in the power of words again. Forcing myself to write blog posts even if they’re months late. I’m praying for the gift to return, hoping its like riding a bicycle or swimming- a skill your body remembers. This time, when I say “I want to be a writer”, I know what I’m talking about. I have a better ‘why’, so I pray the gift returns.
August 2023: Musings on What Home Means…
I’m back in Cameroon again. If you know me, you know I move around a lot. It’s both something I appreciate and something I wish I didn’t have to do. Moving around a lot means I’ve been fortunate with regards to exposure, it means I have had multiple opportunities, considering the cost of moving around and the restrictions on Africans when it comes to travel, I also appreciate that it means certain degrees of privilege. But it also means I have struggled with belonging for most of my life. It also means that I often wonder what to list as my ‘address’ when filling out a form. It also means that I struggle with settling into a routine (and I direly need a routine). It means I’m often lonely, living through my phone because that is where all my favourite people are. Finally, it means I am constantly struggling to feel at home. One of the most recurrent comments/questions I get when I am back home is “why you cam back eh? You really like this country!”. Recently I have been thinking about that. Do I like Cameroon? I don’t know. I know I love Cameroon- yes you can love something/someone without liking them; the former means you get on well, and the latter means you have a stronger bond than just how they make you feel. I know I love Cameroon because I feel belonging – relatively- in Cameroon. I know I feel a responsibility for it (who exactly do we think will come save us and fix this mess of a nation?). I know that even though other countries might offer me better services – maybe even better human dignity- it is only in Cameroon that I can demand it (even when it is not given). I think Cameroon is home not because, I’m most comfortable here (material comfort) but because I’m most understood here. I don’t need to explain what “ashia” means irrespective of what side of the Mungo I am. Here I am familiar with what ails most of us, I have learned to navigate our -isms as much as they frustrate me still. Learning how to dance around new -isms and the complexity of social problems in new countries… well I feel like a boomer navigating Tiktok. In an interview I gave in 2019 I recall explaining that my education and career have been geared towards addressing problems I identified at home; how then can I feel comfortable in a place where I’d be just another drop in the ocean, not addressing the problem that weighs in my heart. It sounds dramatic, right? Perhaps life never does me enough reach side wey I go wash foot off Cameroon follow “soft life”. But till then, I call Cameroon home for all the reasons- good or bad- that make it home.
A Conversation with Nayah Ndefru
A few months back, I had a conversation with Nayah Ndefru on her Podcast “Breaking the Code” where she gathers her networking to discuss breaking the variety of toxic cycles plaguing us individually and socially for a better quality of life and fulfilment. Watch/listen to our conversation below.
Musings on Motherhood, Or rather Opting out of it…
Have you ever considered that the reason one may want to have kids is unhealthy? This month’s musings are on my own coming to terms with unhealthy motivations for motherhood and why I take my current position on it. As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it. So drop a comment after watching the vlog!
Lessons on Leadership…
In January 2013 I filed the application for the establishment of Better Breed Cameroon. I was a young woman with big dreams and a lot of hope, I miss that version of me for all the hope and zeal she had. Ten years later we’re celebrating a decade of youth development work and contribution to nation-building through Better Breed Cameroon. Our current community manager- Mrs. Ayuk Renette asked me to share lessons on leadership or what I would pass on to aspiring leaders. I made these very brief points because I know she was looking for social media content đ I look forward to learning many more lessons in future. What leadership lessons have you learned? Let me know in the comments!
A Year of Self-Love?
One of my favourite quotes is by Zora Neale Hurston and it goes: There are years that ask questions and there are years that answer. I am praying that 2023 is one of the years that answers… A sister-friend has a small ministry she calls “Jesus Parties”. She, like many of us, grew up in a society that has likened sin to fun and Christ to boring. She felt called to re-create the jubilation and joyful gathering of the saints the book of Revelations said would come. I attended my first “Jesus Party” in December of 2022. I’m going to be honest and say it could have be better but for a young initiative, one that was so needed I did appreciate the effort. I appreciated that this was just a space for healthy fun, we need more of such spaces. Spaces where teens can play games that don’t involve “I dare you to kiss so and so”, spaces with more creative recreation that is not just eating and drinking. But that’s not the point of this blog. At that event, the Holy Spirit seemed to take over a professional acquaintance, we went from fun to prophesy in a quick minute. This acquaintance- a guy who knows very little about me- knelt at my feet, got up and then said: “I keep getting the word self-love for you, I don’t understand it. I wonder if I heard well”. I, an overthinker with an analytical mind, had raised an eyebrow at this guy kneeling at my feet. My first thought was “Why me? Is this necessary?” I recall praying as he knelt that, God better prove his actions sincere. When he later mentioned hearing that word for me, I knew that he didn’t know me well enough to have connived that word that spoke of my inner turmoil. I took the word and put it away. I already knew I needed to love myself. The issue has always been how. Writing the rest of this is going to be difficult so perhaps I’ll make a vlog to compliment this piece… Now that I’ve made the video, with me in good lighting, looking neat, with no make-up but still lip gloss, and my large form not that apparent I can imagine some people will be like “What insecurity does this one even have”. The thing about insecurities is that they aren’t entirely logical. But they like hope are hard to kill. My insecurity is not done away with by dressing up and looking good, because even then, I have enough life experience that affirms that at my best dressed/most conventionally attractive I was not enough for those who I needed to love me. Learning to love myself again, to love myself better goes beyond loving how I look when I dress up, to loving myself in between looks. It means knowing at my worst I’m still worthy, just as worthy as when I am all dolled up. It means deciding to give myself a whole love, or to try to give that to myself each day. **** On Eating Disorders Why do you say you have an eating disorder? Well eating disorders can be understood as psychologically-based abnormal eating behaviours that negatively affect a person’s physical or mental health. Basically, ones eating and overall relationship with food is affected by a mental disorder and that in turn further affects them physically and mentally. I first came across the concept of eating disorders at age 10/11 while I was in the U.S. and watched classmates stick spoons down their throats to throw up what they ate at lunch. Weeks later the school counselor would have a talk with us about bulimia. I recall thinking âoh itâs a bad thing, but itâs an effective thingâ and I wished I could try it. I couldnât. Itâs really very hard for me to throw up lol I sure tried. In that setting my knowledge of eating disorders was limited to Bulimia and Anorexia, I didnât think of my emotional over-eating as an eating disorder. That wasnât focused on. Itâs only as an adult, actually only in 2018 as I lost 25kgs that I realized I have had an eating disorder for most of my life. As I started a fitness journey in the hope of reaching an ideal âpre-babyâ weight I realized most of my hunger wasnât physical but psychological and that my eating habits were abnormal because my appetite was often skewed from depression. And by abnormal eating habits, I donât mean only over-eating or craving sugar⌠the abnormality is also evidenced in my penchant for fasting, and feeling like Iâm more âworthyâ in a state of fasting. As the definition above states eating disorders are mental disorders which further cause physical and mental health issues- physical issues like being overweight and all the complications that come with that, mental issues like body dysmorphia and the increased self-hate that comes with that. What would you say developed it? I donât know what âdevelopedâ it per se. But one of my earliest childhood memories is stealing cubes of sugar and sucking on them in a house where I was being maltreated between the ages of 3-6. The sugar made me feel good, and I would go for more. It wasnât filling so I know it wasnât hunger. Iâd say that was the beginning of my binge eating/filling up a void with food. How is your eating disorder related to your depression? Well, directly. My binge eating is a coping mechanism for depression gone wrong. Itâs the fact that Iâm depressed or have unresolved issues which lead to finding comfort in food in the first place. But also it is what Iâve imbibed through socialization, what my mind believes healthy and desirable looks like that contributes to more abnormal eating via prolonged/unnecessary fasts or being hard on myself for simply eating. Do you recall a period when you were not affected by it? Yes. I thought
Belated Birthday Reflections…
I’m writing this in arrears. It took a while to get the words. I still don’t know if I have the right ones. And because I’m writing in arrears the feelings I’m trying to convey are blanched and decolourized, lacking the vivacity of the heaviness I felt in the month this post was to have gone up. But better a weathered recounting than none at all. What feelings am I trying to convey? I’ve been doing the bare minimum for the past two years and that I’m surviving is a miracle. I can hear someone say “hmm na your own bare minimum this?” And the answer is yes. I know what I’m capable of, what I can do when I feel driven when I believe it matters when I believe I matter⌠I’ve not done close to that in a while. Perhaps it’s the burnout from years of hardcore mode (actually, this is DEFINITELY it).BUT KNOWING THAT YOU’RE BURNED OUT The past 2 years have been some of my most unproductive âťI’m not saying this as “humble brag”. I know some people won’t get it, I know my sister-friends will be like “you’re too hard on yourself Monique” and perhaps they’re right, but I’m also thinking critically đ¤ˇđžââď¸ And if I’m being very honest anything I’ve enjoyed from March 2021 till date is somehow the fruit of the work I did in my 2020s. But knowing that you’re burned out doesn’t make the self-loathing over your underperformance, go away And the fact that you’re consistently disappointing yourself isn’t helping you get out of the rut of burnout eitherđ¤ˇđžââď¸ I’ve been saying ‘thank you to the version of Monique who did so much in her 20s that this version of Monique can get away with doing so little in her 30s But its a bittersweet thank you because despite all that version did she couldn’t fix some major issues And now 2 years out of my ‘top form, I’m wondering: Will I ever be that Monique again What – if anything- will future me thank the current me for?
Was it even love?
You may be familiar with the philosophical riddle that goes âif a tree falls in the forest and there was no one to hear it, did it even fallâ? That question which is typically used to question the value of the unperceived came to mind tonight as I considered how best to write this post and share a lesson I learned last year about relationships, and how conditioning within a capitalist society has warped perception of them- particularly perceptions of romantic love. You see, that riddle can be rephrased in a hundred different ways: âIf I saw a celebrity without taking a photo with/of them did I even see a celebrity?â âIf I worked out without my fitness tracker to record the evidence, did I even work out?â âIf I learned something new about the earth, or history, or space⌠or picked up a new skill, but canât use that knowledge to get employed or progress in some socio-economic manner⌠then is that knowledge even worthwhile?â And finally⌠If I had a relationship, whether a beautiful affair or a strong sisterly bond that took me to new places, exposed me to new ideas, preoccupied my days, and softened life⌠but that relationship ended in three months, or after 3 years⌠Then was it even love? The tree in the forest question can be recognized as a riddle, but the above questions? Well, I have asked myself at least two in a non-rhetorical manner. People say weâre in a “pictureâs-or a-didnât-happen generation”. Itâs more like weâve been conditioned in a “productive or it is not worth it” society. Our knowledge is only deemed valuable if it can be used to produce income (in fact, weâre told to monetize our hobbies), exercising is only appreciated if we have the before and after photos to show off our âgainsâ, and similarly, love is only worth talking about if it lasted forever. But thatâs the capitalism talking. Although it is harder to recognize it; dismissing the value of a relationship because it didnât end with happy ever after is just as silly as the other capitalist metrics of love… the cost/size of oneâs engagement ring, amount of their dowry, the extravagance of their wedding, etc. This particular metric of longevity is silly because it is built on the capitalist deception that success is an end rather than a meanwhile. Whereas there is truly no end in life; itâs literally (overwhelmingly) one thing after the next. So even âhappy ever afterâ likely had its own ups and downs. The lesson I learned about love, and myself was that I have been doing a great disservice to myself with this âmust-be productive/lastingâ perception. Just like when our parentâs made the decision to buy the ugly but more durable school shoes over the fancy ones we liked; or when they would tell us to wait for the âright occasionâ to wear the pretty dress we received as a birthday gift⌠so too I often find myself deciding not to go on a date because âthis wonât go anywhereâ. I, just as they were, have been trying to maximize the use of a commodity (although love shouldn’t be that), and invest in only that which would last. I envy those who have learned to live in the moment so much that they know it is enough is all the date did was introduce you to a new restaurant, a new artist, and broadened your views. Because life is short. Iâm not sure Iâll be one of those people anytime soon but I admire them. Still, I have changed to some extent. I no longer consider that friendship or affair that ended as a failure. I can now appreciate it for what it was; a lovely, life-enriching experience. Because it is enough if all that love did was hold you on the nights you needed to be held; it is more than enough that the friend you now barely interact with once helped you apply for the opportunity that launched your career. And because of this, Tennyson’s famed words “better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all” ring true. In fact, some lost relationships are likely far more valuable than some family relationships which will indeed last forever, under the compulsion of kinship. You not only do a disservice to yourself when you define your relationships in a productive manner but equally to those who relate with you; because it is such a perspective that justifies our erasing them from our memories because they didnât live up to all we wanted them to. It is our thinking that everything has to âgo somewhereâ, and people weâre with must be constantly âaddingâ to us (just as the institutions we work for require) that has us claiming to âcut offâ people with every New Year. But we (like the institutions we work for) must realize that everything has seasons; people too, relationships too. And the end of a season should not define the entire experience/person, just like the whole year canât be summed up by the bad rainy season. Because prior to that there were days so beautiful you shared food and wine outside with friends. So if (like me) you must measure; measure by the memorable moments, what they made you feel, and how they grew you to who and what you are today. Remind yourself of all that person’s presence in your life gave you before it came to an end. Perhaps you needed that brief love to take you out of your comfort zone, to help you unlock a hidden passion, to expose you to something you’d been blind to. Perhaps it was meant to be and meant to end. So whether it lasted for a week, or three months, it happened; it filled you up, supported you, and served a purpose in your life while it did. Love happened. Just like the tree which fell in the forest, it happened. And