Somethings we know, but don’t know. You know? Like we all know we could do more if we spend the first hour of our day effectively. But we STILL roll-over and check our phone for notifications first thing in the morning. Knowledge doesn’t always render one better action. And as I’m known to say, knowing your problem is the first step, but still, it’s only one of many, many more. Yeah, not such a motivational statement so perhaps you shouldn’t quote me. Well, one of those lessons we all know is the point of this piece… We all know consistency and perseverance yields fruits. There’s not a single motivational speaker, preacher, teacher and parent who hasn’t hammered “just keep going” into their speech, book, sermon- you name it. And still, this knowledge floats like a lily-pod on the rivers of our thoughts. Just there, acknowledged but not really seen, nor wholeheartedly believed for the fact that it is. After all, is it is to ‘just keep going’ and find out if that works? Not so recently I took up a challenge that made me really LEARN this lesson and it led to several impressive lifestyle changes which have so far impacted my health, Christian journey and general outlook on life. In 2015 I was fortunate to be one of 25 young African women to be awarded a MILEAD fellowship. This marked my entry into an international sisterhood I appreciate more and more each year. Your network is indeed your net worth people. Well, late in 2017, an opportunity was shared for members of this network. It was a 25 week reading challenge called the KK Reading Prize. Those interested in joining were called upon to register; we would need to read a suitable book a week for 25 weeks, write short book reports stating the gist, how it impacted us personally and professionally, what we liked and disliked and a quote which stood out. For our efforts, we stood a chance to win 1000USD. I swear I read that email twice and responded with interest faster than I’ve replied to messages from a crush. If you know me, you know I like reading. Love books! Advocate for reading and consider gifts of books as equal to gifts of money. So, an opportunity to get paid for reading obviously sounded like God saying, here you go, have a gift. Well, not quite. The contest was to officially begin with our submitting our first book reports on Monday the 3rd of October 2017. Unfortunately, I found myself facing the unexpected problem of internet shutdown as the Anglophone crisis peaked on the 1st of October 2017 with declarations of ‘independence’. I sent SMS to other MILEAD fellows and explained my situation. I eventually sent in that first submission as soon as I could travel to Douala in the neighboring region (Internet Cameroon). That internet ban was shorter, we received access within a week. I should have been on track after that, submitting my reports regularly. Life soon proved that it wasn’t that simple. I found that even with something you love doing, you need to program it in. I found that few good things happen by chance and I learned a lot about myself over the 25 weeks of the reading challenge. First off, as per the contest rules, we were to read ’empowering books for professional and personal development’. This forced me out of my ‘comfort zone’ of pop and literary fiction. I struggled slightly but eventually found adequate books. Still, reading them and writing on them took a lot more effort than I had envisaged. I came to the realization that though I could read pop-fiction on the road, or anywhere for that matter, this wasn’t the case for heavier literature. Reading for me has always been about escape. I needed books and used them to get away from reality. With the literature prescribed by the contest, however, this was not possible. I had to confront myself through the literature. Confront myself and see that I was my own stumbling block, my own greatest problem. While reading the likes of I am Malala and The Diary of Anne Frank was inspiring it also made me feel like a failure and shamed me for what were current complaints. So during the challenge I always found myself reading two books, I would have my favorite Nora Roberts’ or Lauri Kubuitsile book on my bedside cupboard and the ‘required’ suitable book for the challenge would sit on my work-table. Because that was ‘work’. I struggled to finish the self-help and suitable books most weeks- even though I’d read Harry Potter (book seven) in less than 10 hours. The experience showed me how dire my escapist tendency was. This wasn’t about just a contest any longer, was I escaping, what else was it affecting aside from a challenge? Upon reflection? A great deal. I noticed how I escape reading certain books in the Bible altogether, How meditating for long is difficult for me. It forces me to think on issues I’d rather avoid so a brief prayer and song should do. I noticed how in escaping the pain my diary entries were sporadic, I would have to write later, struggling to find words to express feelings which we now stale for being shut away till I forced myself to open the box I’d locked them in. That is the greatest difficulties I face in writing. Over those weeks I faced another challenge, time management. Like most people, I’m a horrible procrastinator. Still, I’ve been praised for my discipline and goal-mindedness so often I believed the voices of others rather than taking an honest look at myself. I mean, yes as compared to several friends, I have more discipline. But then compared with others I know, I’m undisciplined and do bare-minimum at last-minute. Like Cameroon choosing to belong to CEMAC rather than ECOWAS, I had been placing myself in the group where I looked better off. When those easily impressed people said remarked on my ‘great discipline’ I should have
The Extravagance of Black Forgiveness
A friend of mine recently asked me why I haven’t written about the situation back home. He said he “wished I was still back home because I’d feel more acutely the pain of the situation and write some good pieces”. I tell him that I, like many others, am tired. Fed up with the stupidity and arrogance which drives this situation. Yet, if conversations could run for pages long, I would have simply shared the following piece which I wrote at the end of November 2017 but never shared- till now. *** A week after Zimbabwe offered the world what may be the most civil coup ever, you are still reading articles, think-pieces overanalyzed op-ed pieces on the ‘rise and fall of Uncle Bob’. You are still interested despite the repetition, despite the dread the writers generally project of what next. You are still interested because in reading those pieces you are encouraged that someday (hopefully soon) your own Mugabe shall fall, or be toppled… whichever way would do. But a week later you come across new information, details of the largess which characterizes Mugabe’s pension upon forced retirement. His presidential salary will continue as is, he receives a lump sum of 10 million USD, maintains all properties acquired as president, health coverage, and several other benefits. An obviously generous pension considering whatever his family had already looted. The generosity baffles you; this cannot possibly be the sanction for dictatorship, this cannot be the sanction for forcing millions of your people into exile and holding the growth of a whole nation hostage. This cannot possibly be what people marched for. You are not Zimbabwean, so you read the comments. Most say they’re fine with it, that it is better than having him in power. That Zimbabwe must move on. That they do not need to fight with the tyrant. One particular comment stands out: “Zimbabwean’s should forgive the bastard not for him but to free themselves”. The comment tugs at your memory, you have heard that before. You have heard it on several occasions. You heard it when Gambia’s Jammeh lost “Don’t mention prosecuting him, just let him go so you can move on…” You heard similar last year and dozens of times before when a Cameroonian immigrant woman you know was told to forgive her abusive husband for the sake of her kids “Don’t put those children through the court process in this country ooo. These people will ask them all sort of questions. We are not white people. Settle this in your family so you can move on with dignity.” You have heard this so many times, linked to scripture like whole countries are of one faith. Like forgiveness can be demanded. A commodity one can order. Yet this time, perhaps because you are reading the articles expectantly looking to Zimbabwe as a beacon of hope for the potential toppling of your own dictator, you are upset by the extravagance of black forgiveness. You recall the first comment you made upon learning of black petting zoos, and how black children were caged to be observed like animals. You said: We have forgiven too much. We have. And we have forgiven on behalf of too many, who never did and never may get closure. You also recall the Charlottesville shooting and the quickly offered, widely publicised forgiveness of Dylan Roof. You had wondered then as you wonder now, who gave them the authority to forgive. Yes, they were related to the victims, just like those who now forgive are Zimbabwean, but the evil was done to us all, has marked us all, has built anger in us all… who and what quenches the fire of injustices when one forgives for the whole. And why are we the ones always forgiving? We Blacks, we Africans, we Women. Why does the victim get told “to forgive is divine”, like victimisation made one saintly, propelled them into the realm of divinity. And if we must forgive, which is just fine by the way, do we not deserve to get an apology first? No repentance? No justice? Do we just bury the pain like a secret hidden in a chest for another generation to dig and discover? Does the dictator get a scholarship named after him like Rhodes so three generations pass and our children know him as a benefactor rather than an abuser? Above all, as you contemplate this exceedingly gracious treatment of a fallen dictator you wonder what it means for you and yours. As you look at Zimbabwe as an example, if no longer a beacon, you wonder why one should bother decrying the exploitation, mismanagement and abuse of Cameroonian government officials who would be so readily forgiven. If on one hand, African leaders who leave power ‘with good will” receive a boon by way of the Mo Ibrahim Prize effectively congratulating them for doing what the constitutions they swore to uphold said they ought to do…and those who don’t leave get generous retirement packages like Mugabe, promises to be left alone and not tried for crimes like Jammeh, or promises of lifelong Party leadership positions like dos Santos… if those are the options why denounce your Mugabe. If those are the options they have to choose from, they never really fall. And justice is never really served, definitely not implemented by us. For we forgive. Our forgiveness is expected, extravagantly gracious, shortsighted and shallow. Doing an even greater injustice to the memory of the injustice done to us. It is our forgiveness that has descendants of abusers, still enjoying historical privilege yet forming trade unions and denying that apartheid was an injustice. It is our forgiveness that has Kanye West saying slavery was a choice. It is our forgiveness that leaves our Cameroonian children unable to name the revolutionaries which fought for our independence. It is as a result of our profligate forgiveness that fifty years on, we have more statues and schools named after colonial figures than we do
Musings on 17th January
The 17th of January will forever hold meaning for me. For one, it’s the birthday of a close friend and founding member of Better Breed Cameroon- the youth development organization I coordinate. Sama Randy, passed away three years ago this month and has since been remembered by the Youth Essay Contest we have since renamed in his honor (please click here to learn more about the Sama Randy Youth Write Contest). Last year, another memorable event took place on the 17th of January. On the evening of this day last year, our government decided to take stifling of opposing voices to another level. It was a Tuesday, around 6pm. We heard rumors- turned fact- of the arrest of leaders of the Consortium who were at the time heading protests against the government over Anglophone marginalization. These arrests were followed by an internet shut-down in the two Anglophone regions where protests were situated. Looking back, I can say that day marked the greatest mistake our government has made in years. With the decision made on that day, our government not only validated our protests but equally gave the opportunity to fanatics to spread and grow leading to the impasse we now experience. See, that day marked a turning point for people of my generation. We of the “android generation” (as they call our 90’ Babies forward) have known our government to be corrupt, our officials to be power-drunk thieves, selfish brownnosers to their core. Yet, we had until this past year only known of our governments’ brutality only through the lens of history, through exaggerated quartier tales we grew up hearing; like “did you know the first lady’s former lover was killed when our president took interest in her or did you know our former first lady died mysteriously?” All rumors we could not confirm but which ensured we looked at our officials with the right tinge of fear. Similar to the way our parents and those generally older and more aware bowed lower in the face of gendarmes and generally feared to talk about politics in certain places. Yes, up until last year we knew our government was bad, but we hadn’t known the fear of those who had witnessed it firsthand. As a Nigerian proverb goes; a child who crosses the river carried on the mother’s back would say the water was not deep. We had read of Ahidjo’s governments’ complicity with the French in crushing the Maquisards and assassinating Cameroon’s early patriots. We had listened as our parents discussed the infamous disappearance of the Bepanda 9 incident following the opposition to our current president’s changing of the constitution. But still, we had been sheltered and had yet to witness our government shutdown a part of the country, arbitrarily arrest hundreds on flimsy excuses and cart them off to Yaoundé as though they were Jews to Hitler’s concentration camps. We had not lived the fear of militarized towns, nor imagined government officials could lie so blatantly about the regions we inhabited. We had not experienced government imposed curfews and ‘states of emergency’ nor had we known that the police we scorned as thieves could also be heartlessly brutal batterers. January 17th 2017 set off a chain of events which brought an end to our relative naivety and unleashed possibilities- possibilities of the worst kind- into our minds. After experiencing months of internet shutdown, closure of free press, brutal repression of protesters (peaceful or otherwise), refusal to dialogue, arrests of those who so much as expressed opinions of the issue online or in public… and even when the internet access was restored, even when some of those arbitrarily arrested were released, even then we saw that our administrators lacked basic managerial skills as they continuously chose force over dialogue, and denial over addressing of the problem. A year later, as I ponder on how things have developed, Langston Hughes’ most popular poem comes to mind. In Harlem, Hughes’ ponders on what happens to a dream deferred. Harlem BY LANGSTON HUGHES What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode? Today I consider the state of my country, the effects of ignoring and then suppressing justifiable protests. I ponder on the consequences of whitewashing our history, denying the existence of two Cameroon’s and of having a government which- like the ill-famed ostrich- have buried their heads in the sand insisting there is no problem… and as I do this, I think of the above poem and I feel I can answer Hughes. A dream deferred shall fester and run. Like the dream of Ndeh Ntumazah’s One Kamerunn party now crusting over as ‘Ambazonia’. A dream deferred stinks rotten like the death of Bate Besong still an open sore in our history as with every other revolutionary who spoke up and was cut down. And by all indications, if the Anglophone dream continues to be deferred…it shall explode. Perhaps we should stop postponing and address the dreams this country was built on before they become nightmares.
What Chapter of Life are You On?
The practice of giving themes to a year is not a new one, it has been customary for many people across the world for ages. In Cameroon however, declaring themes for a year is fairly recent and has been made popular by Pentecostal Churches. Most often these themes are prosperity-centered: My Year of Double Portion, Year of Overflowing, My Year of Abrahamic Blessings… A few years back at New Years’ time, I wondered why they never think of themes like My Year of Hard-work, My Year of Discipline, My Year of Jacob-like Commitment, or even My Year of Sowing Seeds. Of course, it is easy to conclude on why the latter themes would be less popular. Growing older- particularly the part about growing older which involves awareness of death- it’s frequency, suddenness and callousness- will mature you and have you reflecting on all those plans you made and the aspirations you have. This is what made me to first take on the themed years. Growing older and the desire to make sense of every year, feeling like you’re living life to the utmost capacity. I had learned earlier on that plans failed and while I strongly advocate for a good Plan A and an acceptable plan B, I also understand that no matter how hard I try, some things are not in my power to determine. Still, having a ‘topic statement’ for the year appealed to me and I dubbed my 27th year ‘My Year of Growth’. The year lived up to its theme, it only occurred to me too late that growth would/must come through pain. Now a month into my 28th year I have once again found myself evaluating; am I where I’m supposed to be (I think so). Am I doing all I am supposed to do (unfortunately no, and even that which I do is usually done later than I planned for)? Above all, am I living my purpose (on a scale of 1 to 10, I think I deserve a 6)? As 27 lived up to its theme so well I’m being careful as I decide on a theme for 28. I am thoughtfully considering what theme fits this chapter… What short-term goals I have to meet, and perspective I’ll take on will stem from this theme.It’s necessary to ponder deeply on it. I have a few ideas already but thought I’d ask: If you had to follow my tradition and have a theme for each age, what would you title this chapter of your life?
Takeaways from ‘The Struggle’
I recently wrote a piece for This is Africa on the lessons my experience of living under the Internet ban left me with. You can read the piece here The internet ban was just a fraction of this protest, however. This ‘struggle’ which has gone on for over seven months experience has marked me in more ways than I can express. I am sure it has marked others just as much if not more. As I noted takeaways from the internet ban I considered other lessons this experience in its entirety should have taught us collectively as Cameroonians. This experience; the loss, the violence, the rifts, the ignorance, and crookedness it has exposed should be at the very least a learning experience. It should above all else challenge us to address things we let slide before, contributing factors to our current predicament we often overlooked. Consider our Police…. For one, I hope Cameroonians now see the need to focus on the way we recruit our police and jailers. I hope we now find ourselves discontented at the common notion that if you are slow at school, unable to make it to university it is best to bribe your way into the police force for that government matricule. We regular send our least accomplished, our most unstable, school bullies and least learned people to be trained to enforce the laws of our society; how does that make sense? How then can we complain about police brutality? What do we expect given the crop we send there? The majority of those signing up for a life of ‘law enforcement are barely in it for love of law, our police are there for the regular pay, the potential abuse of power, the government matricule… so how then do we expect that these people be relied on to serve us in time on emergency? As though that isn’t enough, have we considered how they are trained? Stories of shaved heads, gruesome physical and verbal abuse during police and gendarme training regularly trickle out; we hear them and shrug. We mutter “hmmm” clap our hands or say ‘ashia’ in case we’re chanced to hear those who experienced it tell the story firsthand. But have we considered how the inhumane training process is for gendarmes, BIR, police, and wardens affect their performance? I have witnessed ENAP- Prison wardens newly admitted welcomed like criminals of war at their training institute. Following such ‘training’ how do we then expect them to act humanely to actual prisoners? Hopefully, this experience has highlighted that we need to train better police to be able to believe in law enforcement. As of now, I doubt a Cameroonian child would opt to go to the police for security reasons. Civic ignorance is a breast lump… Civic ignorance is one of our greatest threats. For democracy to work you need informed people. A government for the people, by the people, is only as great as the people themselves are. After months of seeing fellow citizens “just discover” historical ‘secrets’ they should know for fact, I pray we have established that we as a nation need to do better in terms of civic education. It is unthinkable that so many of the younger generation know so little of our own history and what little some know is further tainted and distorted to fit certain stereotypes passed on by parents and regional groups. If Cameroon as a whole cannot teach its combined history to its entire population, how then do we expect to ever be on the same footing, building a future together? It should be unheard of that a Cameroonian knows the second in command of American and French political parties but is uncertain of who is next in line to succeed their own president. A great deal of misinformation during this crisis succeeded primarily because people of both educational systems are so lacking in knowledge of common historical events, lacking in knowledge of political processes, our laws, and rights. People have readily spread rumors of the United Nations doing what that international body has little authority to do, and with every Facebook and WhatsApp share it has become someone’s version of the truth. We literally have grown folks citing Facebook posts as sources like some ignorant undergrads cite Wikipedia. You may be thinking: of course, it is a conspiracy by the government to keep us ignorant blah blah blah. But nope, that doesn’t cut it. We need to take an adequate share of responsibility for our ignorance. This level of ignorance isn’t a result one party’s doing. It’s like a breast lump left unchecked. We all have a hand in this one. You sanctioned ignorance when you gave your child pocket money to go spend on the on 11th February last year without them knowing why they were marching in the first place. We all want to claim injustice this year and denounce these events, what were we doing last year? I was on the field last year to question people on the purpose behind 11th February celebrations, the responses were terrible! See videos here. We allowed this ignorance to build to this point where is has- like spittle spat above our heads- come down to foul our faces. Our collective ignorance has been highlighted in neon green during this protest and if we can as a nation take away one thing from this experience, I hope that is the need to address civic ignorance. We often brush away our lack of interest in knowledge of our country with statements like “why you wan know sef, the whole country is trash”. I can’t sigh enough at this. We need to know so we can properly criticize the ‘trash’. We need to know so we can address the trashy parts or don’t we want it fixed? If we fail to address our ignorance today as a people, we should be ready to have it used against us in the near future. Finally, the time is
Straight Outta My Bookshelf: Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue
I consider myself an avid reader, but I must guiltily confess that I read as means of escape and entertainment than I do for the purpose of learning. For this reason it took me a while to get into literary fiction in general and African literary fiction in particular. Literary fiction is great with its ‘classics’ like Bronte’s Jane Eyre or Sembene’s God’s Bits of Wood, but not what I’d call ‘fun, curl-up-on-the-couch reading’. Though I have read and appreciate aspects of the likes of Oyono’s The Old Man and the Medal and Ngugi’s Wizard of the Crow the books I have re-read, the books whose covers are worn from being carried around everywhere are those whose plots were structured to entertain me rather than pass on some satirical message. Pop-fiction is popular for a reason and up till a few years back I couldn’t say there was an African equivalent to the western pop-fiction I binged on as a young reader. Today the story is different, I can list a wide array of contemporary African literature offering a variety of themes to appeal to all sorts of readers. A new wave of Cameroonian writers are contributing to this new era in African literature and I couldn’t be happier. Imbolo Mbue’s Behold the Dreamers is one of the new additions I’m particularly pleased about. When this book was announced in 2015 with a million dollar book deal my curiosity was piqued but I made a mental note not to expect much as several first-releases are often over-hyped (and in expectation is rooted all disappointment). Upon reading it last month however I was extremely pleased to find myself agreeing with the hype this book has received. Behold the Dreamers takes an honest look at the ‘American Dream’ from the point of view of a Cameroonian immigrant family vis a vis their upper crust employers. The reader navigates the ups and downs of the Jongas’ and Edwards’ lives. With easy-to-relate to characters readers witness how experiences, painful and foreign, mature and change people, how some things remain the same despite differences in class, race and place of birth, but above all how each character defines home and craves fulfillment in different ways. This is a story simply told, poignant yet without heavy didacticism, and obviously written with extreme caution. For the first time I read a book with Cameroonian characters my generation could relate to. I had to stop and appreciate how the author avoided as many generalisations as possible, often specifying an attribute to natives of Limbe rather than Cameroon at large. I felt as though she was aware this book would be picked apart and sought to cover all basis. She cautiously walked a tightrope avoiding poverty porn as much as ‘Afropolitanism’and tried her best to ensure that she wasn’t accused of “writing for a western audience” etc. With African literature something is sure to be over-analysed nonetheless. For me, Mbue makes a laudable attempt at depicting the immigrant struggle hidden in the small things like Jende looking for someone to rejoice with upon landing his job with Mr. Edwards “He needed to rejoice with someone who knew his name and his story” and Neni re-discovering faith and singing gospel choruses far from home where she had learned them but not practiced. What I loved most about the story (aside from how easy it is to curl up with because you’re getting an intriguing plot rather than a sermon/lesson) and what I feel has been overlooked in reviews and discussions is the transformation from aspiring after the American dream to configuring what I perceive to be the ‘Cameroonian Dream’. The former dream entails making it in the US with a middle-class income, ‘papers’, a house with a mortgage and as Neni’s friend Fatou states shopping at “fine white people store like Target”. The latter dream, the ambitions of a majority of Cameroonians which till this time had not been verbalized is, to ‘fall bush’, hustle by all means possible and return home financially able to defy the odds of unemployment, ‘buy’ a better social status and live comfortably where one knows for sure they cannot be treated as alien because they belong. The story reminds us that while it is easy to get trapped abroad either by becoming too used to the comforts or for lack of choice, the majority of us left because we had to rather than because we want to. The Jongas may not have achieved one dream, but they retained their dignity, and left us with a happy ending inspiring hope beyond “bush”. Behold the Dreamers has been compared to Adichie’s Americannah, I am of the opinion that it’s a poor comparison. While Adichie’s third novel is essentially a love story which boldly covers a variety of themes above all an African immigrants perception on race relations in the US, Mbue’s debut novel focuses particularly on exploring immigrant survival, aspirations, adjustments and the universality of human needs, pains and flaws. To compare them would be to compare an apple to a bowl of fruit salad with chopped apples in it. Suffice it to say I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would encourage all Cameroonians to read it. Before you go, I’m interested in you opinion on “the Cameroonian Dream” do we have one? What do we as individuals and a people envisage? I look forward to your comments!
Murdering Poverty: A review
Ever heard of the ‘development-aid debate’? Well unless you are a follower of politics, news, or a scholar of the humanities, you may not recognize the debate in so many words. While the average African citizen has most likely questioned the motives of international agencies dishing out aid and the method used in dishing out aid to developing countries which constitute most of the continent, the layman wouldn’t necessarily term it the ‘development aid debate’. Terminology aside, it is one and the same thing, and this debate is what Arrey E. Ntui delves into with his inaugural publication Murdering Poverty: How to fix aid. With this book, Ntui sets out to offer a simple, creative rendition of the development aid debate and initiatives for the turnaround of aid for the successful ‘murder of poverty. The author situates his book within the fields of development, development economics and international relations. However there is no definition of these concepts nor is there a guiding theory for his debate within these fields. On the contrary, in certain areas the author proposes his own theories, and creates analogies to better outline his personal opinions on the topic. It is exactly as he states at introduction, his creative take on this long-winding debate. With a mixture of casual language and political jargon Ntui resurrects arguments against donor aid as we know it under the subheading ‘The 24 Sins of Development Aid’. He goes on to assess the possible efficiency of the 0.7% aid target which was set by developed countries (and is yet to met) for donations to the global south. The author makes three main arguments; poor people as a result of their poverty have certain characteristics which contribute to their continued predicament, Africa cannot be developed from the outside, and aid must be a two-way street as the African continent has a lot to contribute to other countries as well. As the work is not written with academic guidelines in mind, there is little in terms of method or evidence to prove the veracity of these arguments. Nonetheless the author’s values (and this is a very value-laden piece of work) are clear; the African continent cannot continue to be a short-sighted recipient of aid. Our dependency on aid as is robs us of our dignity and nothing is worth that. If the reader had yet to comprehend his stance, the author closes off by drawing lessons from a fable, specifically the Churchill-Fleming myth, which illustrates both the power of being charitable as well as the necessity of that charity being given and received with finite principles. Principles which would assure the benefactor as well as the beneficiaries are satisfied and fulfilled at the end of the day, the aid being fully thought out. Frankly, I would have preferred some theoretical background showing what has been covered thus far by scholars and clear outlines of what the author agrees/disagrees with. I would have liked more of a Cameroonian take. The use of Cameroon to illustrate problems with aid and practical suggestion on how Cameroonians need to approach aid. This of course would be the scholarly approach, not what the author had in mind.. This was an attempt at offering the layman a simplistic and creative perspective of this global debate is laudable and the author is commended for it. We definitely need a “Development Aid for Dummies” book; something you can give young people who hunger to know more but are put off by the long string of citations and academic lingo. Necessary though this is, it is far from easy to achieve. It is difficult to simplify and condense arguments on development aid which cut across geo-politics, economics, sociology, history and international relations and in my opinion the author fell short of his laudable goal. In avoiding theoretical jargon the author still used political lingo, analogies to Shakespeare, and made references to theories and schools of thought which are not common knowledge. Midway into the book, I was grateful for background knowledge on development theory and literary devices, they undoubtedly facilitated the read. As such I felt the book should come with a warning: If you have followed the development aid debate and would like the unique opinion of a not-so anti-intellectual Cameroonian, here you go 🙂 In all, Murdering Poverty makes a unique contribution to wider literature on development aid, offering a casual op-ed style to an overly drab and serious topic which concerns us all.
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.
Hashtags
A week ago the hashtag #33ans trended among Cameroonians on Twitter with Cameroonians speaking out on the 33rd anniversary of the ruling political party in Cameroon. The week before that the hashtag I followed was #FeesMustFall Then later #Mizzou Then as of the 13th of this month, #Parisattacks and #PrayforParis. I was a bit impressed by #33years because Cameroonians aren’t known in public spaces but for football and our First Lady’s hair. To have trended on Twitter with hashtags trending from all over the globe every minute was an achievement. But, like someone who works at the carnival I’m no longer amazed. I see the rides go up and down every day, I know the mechanisms behind them. The news doesn’t change. At any given time there is all sorts of pains that should be trending that need to be given attention that appeal to our humanity, a lot of which are not. I have become expectant of the hashtags. We now wonder: How long till the next shooting in the US? How long before we hear of another brutal rape case in India, Where is the next strike/march going to be? Or where will the next set of refugees wash up? Which African president will try to elongate his term next? I can’t speak for everyone, but I’m slowly becoming apathetic. For people who feel deeply, it’s like there’s a wound on the vein of our humanity that never properly heals before the next cut. I hadn’t realized the toll the constant bad news and hashtags where taking till the most recent one and I found myself struggling to feel for the fallen, struggling to differentiate the French citizens who were attacked from the French government who is usually the attacker. And I saw that it wasn’t just me. Though a lot of us expressed sadness at the terror attacks in Paris, true to increasing apathy, we didn’t wait for all the dead to be counted before we began analyzing the event, criticizing mourning and pointing fingers: ~So did the killings in Beirut not matter? Garissa? Maroua? Congo and Nigeria? How come they didn’t make headlines and receive attention from all the world leaders?Weren’t they “an attack on humanity”? ~Does France now see the result of its foreign policies? The result of its meddling in the politics of other countries, “like spittle spat above their heads is returning to foul their face”. ~Why do they get Security checks, Facebook homage apps etc? ~All those saying #PrayforParis did you pray for other countries or just the one you vacationed to? And pray to which God? The one who let this happen? ~What just happened in Paris is what has been happening in Syria and other countries for half f a decade because of France and her allies. Someone asked “Why are people like this. Why can’t we just express our sympathy and let people mourn as they will?” Another Facebook Friend asked “Is y/our God so small that you can’t pray for both, it must be either/or?” These are great questions, ones I would attempt to answer. We are like this because we are a generation quickly running out of sympathy to give. We are all hurting as a result of the choices and actions of the select few with wealth and absolute power. We have little care left to give, and we are going to be stingy with it. We are choosing who to hurt for, because to hurt for everyone is to walk about perpetually depressed. While those who worship God know he is big enough to collect all the prayers for everyone. It hasn’t escaped our attention that some people are receiving more prayers than others. Like the same God hadn’t made the others. We are increasingly aware that the majority of people hurting aren’t being prayed for while those receiving the bulk of prayers and attention are doing so because of their political and economic prowess makes us more conscious of their pain. These same people are those who came to our countries with the religion in the first place and now declare they are secular and neither need nor want our prayers. French Magazine Charlie Hebdo’s cartoon reactions to different tragedies is summed up here. The bottom right is the cartoon reaction to #PrayforParis post the Paris attacks Do you know of Big Brother Africa? Yes I know I digress, but it is to make a point. This reality show picks its winner not only by the number of votes the contestant had, but equally by the breadth of the voters for that contestant. As a contestant therefore, your ‘worth’ is determined by if enough people from many different countries care enough about you. Not just the people in your home country or a few of your people in other countries. The fact that you are loved as a housemate is reflected in the support you receive from even those with no connection to you, who care enough to vote for you over and over again. Do you see where I’m going with this? If the world was a Big Brother show, a handful of countries would be the winners before the third episode. No matter how we deny it an attack on France or the US or Great Britain would be garner scores more in condolences and sympathy than an issue in other parts of the world. Even nationals of the relatively ignored countries would cast their “votes” of sympathy for the other. Some people may not agree with me on this. Others may say well we need to start mourning our own with more respect, create our own media houses like the Middle East has done, our leaders need to show more better responses for the world to follow. Either way, it is obvious that with the constancy of these events we no longer just mourn we now question. Yet is this right? As much as we would get angry