When you watch Hotel Rwanda, one of your first thoughts is: this story is incomplete. How did they get there, that early scene? How do a people get to a point where it is ok to order machetes for killing other human beings they had lived with, worked beside, bought from, and sold to? In years to come, you will read of other countries – or courtesy of Half of a Yellow Sun- of countries that were. You will listen to other people, through documentaries and interviews. Like the weathered father on that Al-Jazeera documentary narrating how he now searches for his son, fearing the young man has returned to Somalia to join the Al Shabaab. You wonder how that man could stand by and allow his child be radicalized. Your own parents would have slapped sense into you. With each story, you read or listen to, you questioned how whole groups of people reach that point. You know your people have never known true peace but you still wonder how it becomes normal for people to carry such a heavy load of hate such that they consider and commit murder, such that one can blow up themselves for questionable beliefs? How? Unfortunately, fate decides to help you answer these questions through experience, and gives you the recipe for war you didn’t ask for. *** Mix ¾ silent majority propagating stereotypes and fending only for self 2/3 biased media, journalists reporting for sensationalism, the next brown envelope, or to encourage their own faction ½ inadequate education, teach young people dependency but not proactivity, teach youth the parts of a grasshopper but neither the hard truths of their history nor the laws of their country. Leave them grossly uninformed and depending on which region their school is based, leave them to be further socialized with stereotypes. Add a full measure of fear and distrust of the armed forces, be they police, army or everything in between. Let that fear seep so deep into their hearts and do nothing to erase it. Add tribalism, corruption, religious dogma, and let these mature under an oppressive government with power-drunk, short-sighted stooges of neo-colonialists who would rather repress than dialogue Sprinkle a dash of social media power to inflate everything, and spread incomplete news faster… And there you have it, the perfect conditions for war. *** You were not wrong when you thought Hotel Rwanda was incomplete. No film could capture it all. Wars are like wine; they mature over time but pop out as spontaneously as harmattan rain. The screenwriters had to leave the rest to the imagination or to experience. You are discovering now that it begins slowly, with years of grumbling and anger accumulating, hoarded like an abscess left to fester till it bursts open with an accidental scratch. War began when your aunty was mocked for marrying “Les Bamenda la”. It began when going to French areas became synonymous with going to the metropolis and returning to Anglophone areas was synonymous with rural living. War grew in our hearts when we would go on long holidays to French areas and count how often the power went off, noting that it was less frequent than the times it went off back ‘home’. The seeds of war were sown unwittingly when you soaked in your grandparent’s disdain for all things French such that boycotting French lessons didn’t faze you. You were allowed to fail that subject. No one would question it. War spread as we grew, grew older, and grew tired, as our government didn’t even bother to pretend any longer. As our president would patronize with statements like “apprenti sorcier” referring to protesters, or “better late than never” as an excuse for and tardy celebration of independence and presumed unity. And this is how war began; like a belch after you’ve eaten too much. Taken too much nonsense. Nonsense like regional balance which somehow is always unbalanced. Nonsense like regular news broadcasts which omit the hard truths, twist the soft ones and butcher the language of the minority- news that is ironically old no matter the presenter. Nonsense like government appointments comparable to a game of musical chairs. We all have a chance to sit and eat, then shuffle dance to get another chance. Nonsense like tens of millions disappearing, stolen, they say, from ministers’ homes as though they were national bank vaults. Too much nonsense like fifty thousand people registering to write entrance exams where only two hundred and fifty are needed. A veritable lottery. The battleground was slowly built but the war has been quickly called. As swiftly as the arbitrary arrests of January 17th, 2017. When all of a sudden those who would answer bullets with sit-in protests were replaced with those who could actually wield machetes if given. Now you can tell that war is not a fire, but a bar of soap, able to hold still when dry, but ready to slip out of grasp when lathered. And governments like yours would lather, throw water saying “It is nothing. They will return to court when they are hungry”, “There is no Anglophone problem”…“Those people protesting are terrorists”… and so the foam will build and you will see war tumbling towards you like the unwieldy soapsuds. Yet not everyone will see it. It is funny like that. Soap lathers silently, so it is that war encroached silently, with people accepting the bubbles as the norm. War grows unto people. They begin to take cases of vengeful arson in stride, they make excuses for journalist calling for massacres, they defend all the wrong means using the desired end, even it the desire is hazy. War foams slowly with adaptation to over-militarisation, with alternatives found to ‘inconveniences” like opening up shops on Sundays and sending your kids to other towns for schools. Like securing visas to travel; let those who are poor and unable to leave remain to die. You see now that this is how it starts, the wars you read about, watched
What I Wish I Could Tell my Younger Self About Depression & the Things I Still Need to learn.
In Cameroon, you can be depressed for months without your roommate or neighbor being aware. Most likely this is not something limited to Cameroon, depression- emotional and mental health or the lack thereof is often overlooked in many countries around the world. But I can only speak for mine.The truth is you can suffer from depression without knowing it yourself, you may know something is different, something is wrong, you feel off, but you do not know what it is unless you have been made aware of such a thing being ‘a thing’. It is life, you’d say. There are phases like that, you’ll be told. As I considered depression of recent, my own experiences with it and those of my friends I thought to do a post on what I wish I had known, what I am still to learn. I hope it helps someone, in some way.I wish I could tell my teenage self that: 1- When they say ‘this too shall pass’ they mean it. It may not feel like it but time does dull the pain. This is not to say you easily forget it, no, you shall remember and it will return again and again if you do not properly heal. Healing means facing it, dissecting it, not binge eating and sleeping to forget. This too shall pass, but this too may return/will return till you confront it.2- The fact that you feel hatred for yourself and feel others hate you does not mean you deserve it. Your self-hatred is taught, and you will need to unlearn it. You will need to question its root, why and where it stems from, you will need to examine the legitimacy of the source. You should not hate yourself because of the message you have imbibed from lofty sources. Your love for self is necessary for anything and everything else.3- Having suicidal thoughts does not make you a coward. Contrary to what those around you think, thoughts of taking your own life are rooted in an uncommon amount of pain. That few people have the strength to bear or the valor to address. Be proud of every time you overcome.4- Talk to your friends, write yes, read books yes, listen to music yes, pray definitely. But talk to other people. Expressing your feelings is not enough, you will need to learn empathy, gain wider perception to overcome. Your diary cannot talk you off the ledge, you will need other people to show you why you shouldn’t be there at all. The right people. You will find them when you search without prejudice.5- Do not blame your people for not understanding you. For not understanding depression. Emotional pain is often felt only after the most basic needs of subsistence have been addressed. Not all can see the hunger of your heart and mind, most are too busy trying to address the primary hunger of the stomach, basic needs of shelter, security, clothing, schooling. Things you often take for granted because they are overshadowed by the other pain you know.6- Knowing your purpose will ground you. You will know you are needed, you are valued and you are meant to be alive. The sooner you find it the better.7- You have baggage and it makes you a pretty complex person. Your complexity is as beautiful as it is difficult. Your baggage will give you an edge over others in some ways, you will be able to empathize where some cannot, you will be able to perceive in ways some cannot. Your baggage, the pain of past experiences may eventually help you do what you are destined to do better. I still need to learn: 1- You do not ‘get over’ depression. Like cancer, it likely returns, the tumor in a different place altogether. Also like cancer, it is not a death sentence, there will be good days and bad. It is not merely a matter of feelings. It is very scientific, hormone imbalance. While you play a role in his (understand your depression but do not wallow in it) it is not merely you.2- You do not need to prove your worth. You are enough as is. You do not need to pretend you can do it all on your own. Seek help. Read. Pray.3- As Mariah sang, love takes time. Same applies for loving yourself. To love yourself does not mean liking every bit of cellulite and stutter in your speech. To love is to see the flaws, weaknesses appreciate honestly, embrace and engage. Because you are more than the flaws no matter how glaring on the bad days4- Do not be shamed by your pain, do not let others project their misconceptions on you. Your sensitivity is not a fatal flaw, it takes more strength to show your weaknesses than it does to hide them. In the words of Brenne Brown, vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage. 5- Not everyone will get it, mental health isn’t given as much regard as it should be. Try to explain if you can, but if you can’t that is just fine, you are not obligated to. Seek those that do understand how debilitating an anxiety attack might be, or how certain incidents may trigger binge-eating.6- Knowing your purpose may have grounded you, but life will still knock you off your feet. The senseless death, the hate, the injustice will have you remembering why you once thought suicide made sense. Being knocked off your feet does not mean you remain there. Cry, pray, do something positive for you, do something positive for someone else. Practice self-care, be intentional about your emotional health, just as someone with allergies would be intentional about what they eat.Invest in your happiness, read, listen to music, talk with a friend, rest. Repeat till you feel better. Repeat again the next time you get sucker-punched by life. Again, this too shall pass.7- You have baggage. This baggage makes you a complex being. Your complexity is
No-Internet Cameroon: Two months on
On the evening of 17th January 2017, two regions in Cameroon- one of which is my permanent domicile- were indefinitely cut off from internet access. Today marks two months. The government claims it “had to take drastic measures to curb the spread of false information and extremist messages”. This could be debated. However collectively punishing over 4 million people by limiting their freedom of speech, hindering their business operations and so much more just because our government cannot stand bad things being said about them? That is not debatable. It is just wrong, short-sighted and dictatorial. I have no doubts that if Cameroon were a lot more united. If my people had a stronger sense of social justice, this would not be happening. The other eight regions would not have taken it in stride that two were being silenced. Both Anglophones and Francophones make up the other eight regions. If we had even a tenth of self-respecting government administrators, this would not be happening… again, I find myself concluding that we are all to blame. No one person can successfully mess up a country with tens of millions. Yet here we are. I wrote about my experience living under the internet ban and my thoughts on #BringBackourInternet for ThisIsAfrica.me Find an excerpt with a link to the full piece below: Life in No- Internet Cameroon It used to be difficult to explain that there were two Cameroons. At conferences, international round tables where Africans and Afro-inquisitive Westerners would swap stories, as well as questions and assumptions about each other’s countries, you would often have to debunk the myth that you were fluent in French by virtue of being Cameroonian and being called Monique. It would take too long to explain the invisible divide of that Picot Line. This problem, which has since either been ignored or normalised, would be too broad to broach. So you limit your comments on your country to corruption, the president’s everlasting reign, conveniently patriarchal cultural ‘values’ – issues all Africans understand and face, unfortunately, irrespective of their country of origin. But recently your government has made it easier to explain that there are two Cameroons. They somehow found that dividing line that no one would acknowledge existed and now it is clear: There is Internet Cameroon and No-Internet Cameroon, that is, La Republic du Cameroun, which gained independence from French rule on 1 January 1960, and former British Southern Cameroons, which gained independence by merging with ‘long lost brothers’ on 1 October 1961. Now when your colleagues from other countries ask you about Cameroon, it is easier to explain the problem that has long been ignored and subdued. Easier, not easy. The issues of who and what you identify as remains as complex as ever. Now your colleagues ask you, how are you coping? What is it like living under an Internet ban? You attempt to help them envisage it. Imagine this, you say: So, what is it like? It is 7pm. Just two hours earlier news had broken of the government banning the associations at the forefront of the longest and largest strikes in recent national history. Now you are reading reports online, stating that some of the leaders of the strike (and one of the now banned associations) have been arrested. Upon reading this you feel alarmed. You attempt calling those you know to check on their well-being. Your call doesn’t go through. You try reaching out to mutual friends and family online to discuss your fears and ascertain their safety, but your messages keep loading. You can’t see the tick next to your WhatsApp messages, the one that would confirm that they had been delivered. You assume it is the network; that the lines are probably crammed as the news of arrests sends everyone scurrying to call their loved ones. Things will surely escalate. And they do. You see cars held up on the road just outside your window – bikers have taken to blocking the roads with burning tires and abandoned cars to show their displeasure. You hear shots being fired into the air, the police descending with tear gas. People try to park their cars on the pavements to hide in the safety of neighboring buildings like the one you live in. Others use the opportunity to loot and steal – you see them running with gas bottles stolen from the local gas station. You have dismantled your phone and reassembled it twice, removing and replacing your SIM card, restarting it, feeling confident that the network will return so you can check in with your loved ones or follow updates on the situation. An hour later you receive a call from a friend who is stuck a mile from your place due to the road blocks. Could he come spend the night? he asks. The roads are blocked and the police are arresting whoever they can. When he arrives at your place, he tells you of the fear on fellow passengers’ faces when they saw tires burning on the road and bikers with bottles – ‘kerosene bombs’ – only for the gendarmes to follow with batons and tear gas. He tells of running for his life and feeling ashamed for not stopping to help a female passenger who fell into the gutter as they both tried to escape. He says all this while reassembling his phone. You both still think it is a network problem. Hours later, you can’t sleep. You receive an SMS from a friend in Douala: Has your Internet been cut off too? she asks. It dawns on you that this may actually be it; the government may actually have cut off Internet access. You two laugh. Crazy people! you remark. How long can this last? Douala, the economic capital, needs Internet access or else businesses will crash. Heck, everyone needs Internet access. You two discuss the government’s lack of foresight until you fall
What’s happening in Cameroon? Learning, I hope
On the 10th of October 2016, Lawyers in two out of ten regions in the country went on strike/industrial action, after giving the government fair warning in 2015. For two weeks they sat home and did nothing. No one paid them any mind, in fact the Minister of Justice insulted them. They took permission to hold street protests (confirm) and after successfully marching across Commercial Ave (with a crowd of people joining them out of curiosity) their union president gave a speech calling for the end of the protests, thanking his colleagues and police who he claimed had “behaved like police of America and Britain “. He praised them prematurely it seems, because by the time he finished the police aimed teargas at their group to disperse them. Well two weeks after that incident teachers- the most populated occupational field in the nation- decided they would go on strike too. To support lawyers and to bring attention to their own issues with the government’s attempts at harmonization which tend to be more of an assimilation of one system by another. Of course this particular strike won’t be limited to the workers. It would also mean students, their parents in other professions etc. would be affected. THE MAJORITY OF THESE PEOPLE WERE NEVER FORMALLY OR CLEARLY INFORMED OF WHAT EXACTLY THEY WERE STRIKING FOR NOR FOR HOW LONG THIS WOULD GO ON. This omission was allowed to slide because we all know there was a problem with the way our government marginalized our unique systems. So we didn’t bother to define the problem knowing that there were, what harm could come of not knowing exactly which one we were fighting eh? Well as the strike progressed, language changed. The fact is, the issues raised by teachers and lawyers were a result of a much larger problem- the Anglophone problem- the problem our government tried to ignore and which a lot of our citizens have been unable to correctly diagnose. So language changed, it was no longer a fight for industrial action but gradually becoming a political revolution fueled by long repressed anger over the Anglophone predicament in this country and being used as an opportunity by a group of secessionists calling themselves Ambazonians (the name they had given the citizens of a country yet to exist which they are fighting for). In an attempt to ignore the strike thinking it would go away students of the University of Buea were called to school to write tests. However their teachers had set no tests and no one would be there to administer them, the administration basically attempted to show they were superior to the teachers they administer and it backfired. After two weeks without classes, students turned up and saw empty classrooms, then proceeded to storm the administration building and vent their anger. In the absence of the VC, the Director of Students Affair approached the students and asked for representatives to take in to see the VC’s deputies. The crowd chose the most vocal to represent them before the VC’s deputies. They presented their issues: · Anger over the fine which they were being asked to pay for late registration, · The fact that some students (Level 400 students) had yet to receive their Excellency awards Anger over being asked to come to school thereby disrespecting their teachers’ calls to stay home and respect their strike. Of these three reasons forwarded by the students only one had to do with the strike and only one was legit (and even then still questionable). The Level 400 students had already been set to receive their cash award. The proof is in the document dated Friday 25thof November. The last working day before the strike. That information had not gone out fast enough so the students didn’t know that the administration had actually had to force Yaoundé to fulfill its promise and “gift students with the award”. The fine the students complained about though was a more legitimate problem, not because students were being fined (quite frankly given the way we do things at last minute, or abuse deadlines we need to be fined) but rather because the fine was too steep 1/5th the school fees and it didn’t help that students were late to pay their registration fees this year as a result of technical issues with the school’s website. While they had a legit problem few of them had attempted to complain to the right office nor did they use their elected student leaders to lobby for them. In essence, being called back to school they used an already tense atmosphere to vent their frustration without prior warning. In fear of aggravating the situation, the deputies agreed with all student demands: The fine will be revoked, level 400 students will receive their awards as was already arranged, and the students would be asked to come to school only after the teachers called off their strike, the director returned with the student reps. to the crowd of students in front of the building. But things had changed, the peaceful students had been infiltrated. Students were now being encouraged by members of the banned student union UBSU to demand for the reinstatement of the union. The director thinking he had done all to appease the students was told no, they want to see the VC and have their union reinstated. This was obviously unexpected as that association had been banned for several years and few undergraduate students new of it enough to demand reinstatement. Later, when I would leave the security of the administrative block I would recognize alumni, UBSU members of the batch ahead of me, and see their vandalism of staff cars which would be blamed on the peaceful group who were obtuse to their protest being used. I would realize that calling students back to school rather than addressing the striking teachers at that time, created fertile grounds for manipulation and chaos. These UBSU members who had
The Silent Majority
August of this year shall make five years of my blogging here on Musings. It was in August of 2012 during a trip to Nigeria for Chimamanda’s Farafina workshop that a friend of a friend, Martin Takha first introduced me to the world of blogging. Helping me with everything from the Gmail account to deciding the first template I used for a couple of years. As Cameroon’s ‘blogosphere’ has become crowded with a plethora of people aspiring to be Cameroon’s Linda Ikeji, I am proud to say I’ve stayed true to myself and the purpose of this blog. A dual purpose actually; to ensure I write regularly and to create platform through which I could share my views, defend my opinions and if possible tell a side of our story which may be otherwise missed as popular mediums echo a single often incomplete story. I have promoted blogging through my youth advocacy as a means for young people to get their voices heard. Through BetterBreed Cameroon I have preached to young people on the necessity in telling their own story, sharing their thoughts on issues they are affected by or care passionately for through Medium, LinkedIn, as Commonwealth Youth Correspondents, via World Pulse and of course through their own blogs. I suppose I should have considered the possibility of an internet ban imposed to hush us. In fact I did consider it, for about 5 mins during two different conversations. First being about six months ago when a friend told me of her experience in Ethiopia under the internet ban and then when we laughed about Turkey’s president need to abate anxiety over the attempted Coup d’état via Face-time? after recently banning social media. My friends and I discussed these incidents shook our heads, shrugged, laughed and let it go. Then it was my turn. Today makes a week since two regions in Cameroon have been denied internet access as the government attempts to quench protests against Anglophone marginalization in these regions via brute force. The protest leaders were arrested that night and smuggled out of the regions, simultaneously internet access was shut down so as to hamper the spread of news. During the last week I’ve had lot of time to think (the absence of social media distractions will do that for you lol), and two quotes came to mind: These two quotes spoke to me as I lamented on how the internet ban affects budding tech-entrepreneurs in Buea’s “Silicon Mountain”, how banks (which pay Cameroon’s exorbitant taxes) are closed for lack of internet access, how those who work predominantly online either for webzines, as researchers or just communicating with clients/business partners are now grounded along with scholars (like myself) who have online classes to follow and participate in. I wondered how backwards our leaders must be to punish over 4 million people in two regions because they didn’t like criticisms of them being spread via social media and couldn’t find another way to solve a problem they let grow out of proportion. But above all I thought of HOW this could be happening. It’s 2017 for God’s sake! Then the above two quotes reminded me that this happened in 2016 and I said nothing. It happened in two countries I know of (three counting Gambia during elections) and I barely tweeted my disapproval. Evil prevails because good men failed to act. A lot of people didn’t stand up in those circumstances, so it happened then, and now it is happening to me. Yet not enough people are reacting. Within my own country, a great deal of Cameroonians in the French speaking regions are either unaware or could care less about the ban. Three days into the ban I ‘crossed the border’ into the Francophone section of the country and when I checked online only a handful of people were talking about it. Some acquaintances online even attempted to justify the government’s actions saying “social media was spurring terrorism and the government had a right to take it away”. When I told one of them he was stupid for that I was told “you shouldn’t bring in insults when we are having a peaceful debate”. How can one be peaceful when they are justifying (and therefore an accomplice in) your suppression? How? Today I’m a bit calmer, I crossed the border this morning to find that voices- online at least- have grown against the internet ban using the hashtag #BringBackOurInternet. Yet there are not enough in my honest opinion, and there is a noticeable lack in Francophone voices. Yesterday it was Ethiopia, Turkey and Gambia, today it is my Northwest and Southwest regions, tomorrow it will likely be the whole of Cameroon as we face the 2018 elections… Please join us to speak up now. Speak now that tomorrow you still have your voice. Tweet to the Cameroonian government, our telecommunication agencies and all those you can using #BringBackOurInternet. Remember: If you are silent, they will kill you and say you enjoyed it- Zora Neale Hurston.
Imagining My President’s New Year Message- A Christmas Wish
I have been unable to do any real writing for weeks now. Between losing several friends and experiencing a peaceful strike turn into a brutal scary revolution, 2016 is leaving me drained. As I assess the year in these last days, I can only compare it to Sour Cream and Vinegar flavored Pringles. It has fed me but left a bad taste in my mouth. My musings this month have ranged from existential questions (Is this life so fleeting, so unpredictable? What’s my Life Purpose again and what’s in it for me?) to political debates (How to best explain to outsiders and the fellow Cameroonians who don’t understand what the Anglophone problem is, Is this revolution on the right course etc.). Several pieces could be written from the thoughts this month has brought. But as I said, I am drained and I just want to think happy, hopeful thoughts. Every year, on the 31stof December Paul Biya, the president of Cameroon for 34 years now, makes a New Year’s speech. In fact the first ‘Musings’ post of 2016 was a review of his speech heralding in this year (read that post HERE). As this year closes and we await another speech. I’ve decided to be hopeful and muse on what I wish my president would say in that speech. I wish he would, as he did last year, look for words to describe the year our nation has experienced. I imagine the suitable words for this year would be ‘fed-up’. It seems his praise of our resilience at the beginning of the year marked our reaching the limits of tolerance. I wish he would express regrets at driving a truly resilient people to this breaking point. In this ideal speech, I imagine my president acknowledging how those he put in power, and the foreigners who he has all but sold us to, contributed to poor maintenance of the Yaounde-Douala road and eventually the loss of lives in the Eseka train crash. I imagine my president apologizing for the laissez-faire nature of his leadership and cabinet which led to legitimate complaints of Common Law Lawyers being ignored and the strikes and protest which followed. I expect him to condemn the violence, arbitrary hoisting of flags and looting done by protesters, but I wish he would avoid branding protesters “terrorists” and acknowledge that had his administration adequately addressed early complaints and the initially peaceful sit-in strike, nipping this in the bud, things would never have gotten this bad. In this ideal speech my president would for once address the nation in English attempting to prove that we are indeed bilingual and equal. Whilst speaking the language of the minority he would equally condemn the spirit of secession and express understanding of its origins. While I expect him to criticize those spreading hate between the Francophones and Anglophones, I pray and wish he is gutsy (or just tired enough) to acknowledge the problem rather than shy from it. I expect him to know that this is not an issue of who gets what ministerial post, nor an issue of what regions are more developed (quite frankly the South region from which the president hails is just as much- if not more- undeveloped). I pray that as president he is informed and conscious enough to know that this goes way beyond Francophones taking opportunities in Anglophone regions though these are the reasons you’ll hear brandied about. I imagine that in his often long-winded speech he takes the time to acknowledge that while people of all regions have problems, the Anglophone problem is unique because it has institutionalized one group as superior to the other. It has made bilingualism an option for one group, while for the other bilingualism is necessary for survival irrespective of which part of the Mungo they reside. After all you could get arrested in Limbe, never knowing your crime because the person arresting you does so while speaking French. I pray my president acknowledges that over the years since 1972’s “unification” there has been a systematic disregard for the minority (English speaking) thus creating a bias in favor of the majority (French speaking). I would be okay with him sharing the blame for this; he could blame his predecessor – Ahidjo- and the setup which was the 1972 referendum, he could blame the bevy of present day Anglophone politicians who remain mute on the problem for fear of losing their positions, he could even blame the citizens who pretend like he’s the perfect president when they meet him, and the numerous traditional rulers of Anglophone regions who have made him “Fon of Fons” and continuously convince him they love his reign with their ‘motions of support’. He need not take all the blame, there’s enough to go around. Heck I wrote an Open Letter to Cameroonians calling them out on this same thing almost three years ago. I shall be lenient as to just how much blame ought to be shelled out to him, but I expect my president to ‘man up” for once. I pray he truly dearly loves his country somewhere deep down beneath those double-breasted suits. That he loves the country enough to condemn the violence his armed forces used on students and other protesters. That he censures ‘forces of law and order’ who have done the opposite of their duty to protect and serve just as much as he does violent protesters who use a peaceful strike to cause chaos. I pray he recognizes that when the people fear the police rather than call on them for help, there is a problem. A grave problem. Make Cameroon Hopeful Again! Finally, I would be most ecstatic if my president would crown his speech with acknowledging that his aged self cannot see us into that ‘land of Canaan’ the government has painted Vision 2035 to be, and declare like Angola’s presidentthat he, Paul Biya, will not be running for future elections. Such a declaration would give Cameroonians
An Ode to Those We’ve Lost
Last month I visited the United States briefly. After having spent almost seven years of my childhood there and returning home to Cameroon indefinitely, this trip was my first in fifteen years. Messages from friends spanned from “watch out for the police” to “buy me shoes” to ” we hope you’re coming back”. One particular writer friend wrote me asking how long I was traveling for. When I told her I was just going to be out for just over a week, she had this to say: “Ah okay. I’d been worried that we’ve lost another ???????????? Not that I would have told you if you were moving. I’d just have said congratulations and all the best and stuff like that. Then wished I had all African Presidents on speed dial so I could berate Biya for losing [another] top brain” It is this comment in particular and the experience of the trip which inspired this post. I traveled for a conference, my first academic conference. I was happy, proud of the achievement, but above all proud of the fact that I was going to the US on my own merit and for my own purpose after years of witnessing first-hand the lengths at which people go to leave Cameroon. As happy and proud as I was, I was also nervous. First about the conference, then about meeting family and friends I had not seen in fifteen years. I am not the Monique I had been before, life and various experiences which had come my way had changed me to the complex being I am now. And I am still changing, and metamorphosing to my fulfillment gradually. Would they respect that, I wondered. Or would they look at me with the prejudiced ideas a lot of those abroad have of those back home; that we are all just making do, that we all wish and pray for 1st world lives. I went in prepared to dispel myths, ready to make it clear some of us could ‘choose’ to be in Cameroon, ready to snub those bushfallers who would suggest I stay indefinitely, or laugh at my decision to return home. With this sort of thinking I unwittingly went in with my own prejudice. This prejudice however didn’t last long, it began cracking on my first day in Maryland (a.k.a Cameroon annex). It was a Sunday and we were celebrating my younger brother’s baptism at Silverspring Presbyterian Church. All through the church service I ran a commentary in my mind: Only three white people in this church? The pastor and two elderly… Are the rest Cameroonian then? Oh, there’s an African-American assistant pastor… probably ninety percent Cameroonian… At least ninety Lord this might as well be P.C Bastos, I mean look at the outfits, and look at the faces… the choir is singing in Bakweri or is that Douala…The pastor must be resigned, his church has been colonized. See these kids, most of them 1stgeneration Americans, singing “Everybody blow your trumpet” but without the accompanying gestures. How would they know what gestures to make? It’s close, but it can never be the same as Cameroon… <==={Cameroonian choir singing in at Silverspring Presbyterian Church, Maryland-USA With every thought I felt slight shame and a well of pity deepen within me. It is easy to get derailed by the younger bushfallers on social media who would have you think life is forever better on the other side, easy to feel annoyed when the embassy puts you through a tedious process because others have literally used up all the lies possible to get visas and leave the country for good, it is easy to forget that these people who now generalize about Cameroon as much as western media does, are victims. Yes, victims of the government that did not care for them. Victims aren’t always blameless, they don’t need to be. They are the injured party nonetheless. I was reminded of this as we closed service that morning and I was enveloped by the crowd of Cameroonians welcoming me to the country they were yet to consider their own. Most of them were elderly women, my mom’s friends and senior, each of them hugged me tight as though hugging the place I came from rather than me, they each had the same questions on their lips “How is Cameroon? How is home?” Cross-section of worshipers at Silverspring Presbyterian Church, Maryland If anything, it was obvious that irrespective of better standard of living (based on GDP), despite the guise most would put up about their American life, these were people walking around homesick. These were mothers who longed to retire but cannot do that with others depending on them and never ending bills, these were brothers who missed simple pleasures of a cheap cab ride to a bar where the barman might as well be a family friend. I had hoped the people I met would recognize and respect that I was not the same Monique, but not until that moment did I respect that those people had also changed. While there were still those who could care less, the majority were more up to date on Cameroonian news than those back home. They were not all the eager bushfallers they once had been, a lot of them had left Cameroon by choice but were now trapped out of it by circumstances. They now wondered if their kids would consider Cameroon home as they do, and try not to let it matter even though it does. About ten days ago, after the fatal Eseka train crash rocked the country, several comments bemoaned our having a president who obviously lacks a sense of duty to our country. The nation collectively mourned the lives we had lost to negligence. In a Whatsapp group I’m in, my friends took turns comparing what the worse consequence of our president’s rule has been. The corruption? The tribalism? Embezzlement? Laissez-faire culture? A failing healthcare system? The hazardous transportation system? Unemployment and underemployment?
My ‘Returnee Anniversary’: 15 Reasons I Love My Country
The day was 25thAugust 2001. I was less than three months shy of 12 years old, or as I often reminded people- I was a pre-teen. I was also set to board an Air France plane that morning to Cameroon. After the latest fit of pre-teen rebellion, my mother had vowed to “send me back” to Cameroon. A lot like returning a pet you adopted from the shelter but found you couldn’t handle. I was becoming “too American” and need to be sent to the motherland for straightening up. In some ways she was right, in several other ways, she was wrong. My first couple of years were hell, then I adapted. Then after having my ordinary levels I rebelled. Then I grew up, made my own decisions on what I wanted for myself. Grew up. Things work out in the end. I’ve come to realize that both of us just played into God’s plan. Don’t worry, one day I’ll finally finish writing about the journey to and fro and growing to finally belong. Then you can buy the book. For now, I am celebrating my 15th anniversary of being “sent back”. In sending kids back to Cameroon, parents in the diaspora often paint it as a form of punishment, or tough love. From my experience and those of others I know, kids are sent back home in other to get them to ‘straighten up’ or because the parents in the diaspora have issues and can’t take care of them at that time. Either way it doesn’t paint a picture of Cameroon as a place our children should happily return to. More like a boot camp/foster home. Despite the feeling of being here out of punishment than choice, I came to love my home country. You can say Cameroon grew on me. Or I grew to be Cameroonian. My musings this month are all about my ‘returnee’ experience, all the things I’ve come to love about my country and all the ways this country I love makes me crazed. So I decided to make a direct list rather than rant and rave. Here are 15 reasons I love my country, one for every year of my return. 15 Reasons I Love My Country 1. Our history. I am probably biased, but in my opinion Cameroon has one of the best historical tales ever. From the Bantu migrations to the naming of the country after the shrimp Portuguese found in our waters to the scramble for our lands and through multiple colonizations. For a relatively small strip of land, we have a lot of stories to pass down to our kids. I wish someone with a love for history could team up with an artistic cinematographer to bring our story to life. 2. Our ethnic diversity. Cameroon is nicknamed the ‘melting-pot of Africa’ for its cultural and geographical diversity. With over 200 ethnic groups you best believe we put the E in eclectic. 3. Our languages. Cameroon (not necessarily its people) is multilingual. Our country is home to over a 1000 different tongues/dialects. As though that is not enough, our history of multiple colonizations left us with a plurality of foreign languages, names etc. though we have just two official languages (both from the colonizers). Language is a touchy topic to many of us as Cameroonians because one language is obviously valued more than all others in this country- French. Yet I love how we have come to blend the languages by creating slang words like ‘chomecam’ and more. Eventually creating something uniquely ours popularly referred to as Camfranglais. 4. Our religious tolerance (well, relatively). Considering the cultural diversity, the multiplicity of languages, and mixture of religious beliefs (Christianity, Islam, Animism) Cameroon is perfect ground for instability fueled by religious discord. But we’re far from that. I schooled in several Presbyterian mission schools and each of them had Muslim students. My Muslim classmates had concessions during their religious holidays and were not bullied based on their religions. Heck, our Senior Prefect was Muslim. 5. Our laissez-faire simplicity. You know the popular adage “let sleeping dogs lie”? Well you never have to tell a Cameroonian that. We will let everything go on as it is as long as the price beer is not increased, our land still produces its rich variety of food and our football team continues to play. This laissez-faire nature explains why we’ve barely full blown political insurrections till date despite having one of the longest serving African dictators. 6. Our communal nature. If you live in urban areas in Cameroon, you may think we aren’t as communal as before. Well we are still more communal than a lot of other areas. After living in the UK for a year, I didn’t know my neighbor’s name. That would be impossible in Cameroon. You would probably know your landlady’s family history as you move in. You would most likely wake/be awaken by your neighbor at night to help take someone to the hospital. Our interdependence is real, it’s beautiful, and it’s sometimes a burden. But I wouldn’t change it for the world. I imagine that if the USA had our communalism police violence wouldn’t be so common. Everyone is related (friendships included) to at least one police man, that cop would find that his victims family had visited the family patriarch in the village and soon enough there will be repercussions. 7. Our relative economic balance. Yes I said that. No, I don’t mean we have a good economy. What I mean is that unlike other countries I know, the gap between our rich and poor isn’t that large. Nearly everyone has one ‘wealthy’ family member as well as one family member who can barely feed themselves. It has been noted that we have one of the fastest growing middle class factionsin the region according to a World Bank report 8. Our range of possibilities. The saying “L’impossible n’est pas Camerounais” is often used derisively to mark
What Day? What Are We Celebrating?
Hey Everyone!Halfway through the second month! How’s 2016 treating you so far? Well, in 2013 I founded a youth development association called Better Breed Cameroon, and in a bid to raise consciousness in young followers we did a Vox Pop on our Facebook page asking people the reason behind Cameroon’s Youth Day. Three year’s later as we now celebrate half a century of Youth Days, I decided to take this Vox Pop to the “field” where young people march past older notables seated in the shade of grand stands.Watch the videos of our respondents below and tell us what you think! We began with those we considered to be more knowledgeable- the members of the ruling party’s youth wing! These were the only YCPDM members we could find to answer questions in English though, the majority spoke French as a first language despite being based in Buea. Knowing we have French literate readers here we interviewed a few of them all the same. We also asked a few younger students and given the other responses, they gave us a bit of hope; And last but not the least… So readers, how well are we informed of a day we have been celebrating for 50 years now? Perhaps the president should mention the reason for the day in his annual speeches?What are we celebrating? And are the March-pasts enough?Tell us what you think! P.SAll young respondents featured gave verbal consent to the interview and use of the video. Their school officials as adults equally gave consent to this.
Yet another New Year Speech and a Proposed New Year Resolution
Happy New Year Readers! Hope you had a lovely holiday season. And what were the resolutions? I hope you made some because we Cameroonians desperately need to make some collectively as a country. On the 31st of December as is his norm our president of #33years and counting made yet another New Year speech. As always the speech, a well put together piece of PR jargon, was delivered in French and a flawless translation made available in retrospect. Reading the speech, I felt like it deserved an honest line by line critique. But as I’m trying to avoid beginning the year with an angry rant, I’ll just stick to writing on the major point which struck me. For better understanding of this post, it would be wise to read the whole speech HERE. *** Any idea that our president is a fool should be obliterated. Contrary to popular opinion, our African leaders aren’t poor managers because they are foolish. Nope, they are savvy, cunning political gurus. You have to have some serious gifts to play people against each other and maintain power for #33years. The sad truth is they just don’t care enough to manage better. The most recent proof of our president’s high level intelligence is his proper use of euphemism and subtle use of sarcasm injected in this year’s speech. And I quote: “You would agree with me – I believe – that a single word suffices to describe our country during the year that is drawing to an end: RESILIENCE. I am referring, as you know, to our people’s capacity to resist and to cope with day-to-day challenges, which is acknowledged by all development partners. Resilience here is great euphemism for ‘ability to put up with crap’. Imagine your president knowing you lot barely cope day to day and commending you for enduring (despite grumbling of course) the corruption, bad roads, poor health care and general mismanagement. Then here’s the irony; he says this endurance has been acknowledged by development partners. HA! Yes, I’m sure in shadow reports the UN, World Bank, WHO and more remark with amazement at how the people of Cameroon do it. How do they take the underemployment rate of 70% in stride and accept the corruption as norm, dreaming and living in spite of the stifling realities and without even the protests so popular in neighbouring countries? Resilience. Like a teacher, Mr. President went on to grade our year’s effort. We are told we have done okay considering “adverse global context, our economy was able to hold up well, maintaining its 6% growth forecast and curbing the inflation rate at slightly less than 3%”. I’m not even going to comment on those statistics because I’m sure if statistics from Ahidjo’s reign were put up against the collective #33ans of the current leader we’ll see no growth. A point of humor for me was when he said neither the unexpected expenditure on the war on terrorism could hinder us from reaching our objectives. I didn’t know we had reached any objective. Unless the objective was to see 2016 alive. Then he adds that “We can do better. We must do better.” It is this point that stayed with me. Yes we can and must do better and that will not happen by being resilient. The president was wrong in saying resilience is the trademark of great nations, history shows that all nations considered great today fought for that greatness. There were strikes, there was collective action, people got fed up and there were revolutionaries. Enduring is great but it won’t take you to the next level. The fact that our president would see that as a trait to commend us for should worry us. Have you asked yourself, maybe we’re being too enduring, a bit too resilient? Have we accepted our fate with “Camer c’est Camer”? Have we come to expect the demands for bribes, have we come so weathered by the mismanagement that we no longer question why we have to pay for the nurses gloves when we go to the hospital? Have we become so accommodating that the president can giv e us unsourced statistics on job creation and expect us to take it without question? Is our resilience a virtue if it means we take “reviewing fuel prices downward and family allowance upward” and an increase in cost of making a passport without question? Perhaps if we were less ‘resilient’ our president would have managed to offer one New Year, Youth Day or National Day speech in English. The thesaurus offers the words strong, buoyantand hardyas synonyms for resilience. These words no doubt suit Cameroonians- we hope, hustle and adapt to the situation as it comes, we have done same for #33years. Thinking on it, I’m reminded of one of Phylicia Rashad’s lines from Tyler Perry’s For Coloured Girls: “I do you like I do you ‘cause I know you can handle it, I’m sorry.” Our strength, a result of experiences we wish we hadn’t had is being abused. We have to realise that an unchecked virtue is a vice. Our resilience, our willingness to put up with it all may be at the root of our stagnancy. As such, I propose a New Year resolution for Cameroonians. Don’t be too resilient this year. Call out the crap when you see it, question and make sure they know that we know what is wrong. But more, try in your own corner to make the wrong right.