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
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!
Returning Home Part Two: The Struggle is Real, Everywhere
I’ve been home exactly a month now. Along with the joyous reunions come the far from joyous realities. I’ve spent as much time correcting my fellow Cameroonians misconceptions of life abroad as I have spent correcting my own expectations of home. Between the time I prepared to come home and my arrival I received three requests for me to buy IPhones, four requests for me to buy human hair and countless requests for particular designers shoes and clothes. Le impossible n’est pas Camerounaise. That statement is the only justification I can find for why people would think as a student on scholarship I could afford to buy any of those things as gifts. Now that I’m back home however I realize how easy it is for Cameroonians to feel like those things are casual easily gotten commodities in the west. Despite our country’s HIPC status the growing middle-class population increasingly sport smart phones, rock imported everything- from clothes to hair. All these bought either second hand in the many “container shops” or brand new but definitely not at the same price and VAT presented to those in more developed countries. So I find myself addressing misconceptions, attempting to make those with lofty expectation understand that the struggle is real everywhere. “Yes iPhones are popular but you just don’t enter a shop and buy one. Most people take contracts to pay for their phones monthly.” “Human hair? I would need to buy at least three packets for you to be able to actually do your hair. If I had that money to give you, why wouldn’t I just help pay your fees? Or rents for three months?” And finally “Honestly, if I gave you 50.000frs today and showed you the dress you asked for, would you buy it for that amount? Why then would you believe I would buy for you what you wouldn’t buy for yourself?” Another misconception that has to be corrected given the idea that the grass is always greener in the West and that one “returns only to visit”. For every new reunion I go through the same process. Acquaintance: How long are you here for? Me: I’ve returned home Acquaintance: Yes but when are you going back? Me: I’m not going “back”, not unless I have a conference or something. I’ve returned home for good. Acquaintance: Why? You get work? (Pidgin English for ‘Do you have a job?’) Me: (Completely ignoring the why) Nope. Not yet. Still looking for work Acquaintance: Hmm you should go back ooh. E dey like sey you like suffa (Loosely translated: You seem to have a penchant for pain) Me: Well I prefer to suffer here than there, suffa dey all side ya (Loosely translated: There’s suffering everywhere) At this point whoever I am talking with either laughs in my face or shakes their head in pity. Correcting the misconception that there is literally no suffering in the West is much more difficult than correcting misconceptions of the returnee being able to afford three rounds of drinks at every reunion.Yet the misconception needs to be corrected and the truth needs to be told; the struggle is real everywhere. You just have to choose what struggles you can cope with. Some people will happily take up the apathy of a foreign land. To them that is preferable to the corruption of Cameroonian police and other government officials, the unemployment or underemployment depending on who you know rather than what you know, the bad roads and careless drives that make up the transport system, the society that while allowing you to be free, never allows you to be all you can be. Others would prefer the feeling of belonging, the possibility (no matter how slim) of achieving certain career aspirations which are only possible in your home country, the Communalism evident with monthly ‘njangi’ meetings, the sure knowledge that no matter what you will never lack a place to sleep or food to eat… They choose this over better health care, more reliable institutions, more accountable and transparent systems. They choose home no matter if home is a thatched roof and elsewhere has marble tiles. We may trade one for the other, but we struggle no matter where we are. I guess the difference is some of us prefer to struggle in the bosom of Family and friends who we can always count on and of course, to struggle for the country that is actually ours. No matter what we choose, C’est la vie.
Returning Home I: Redefining Patriotism
I’m going home!!! Just in case you missed the excitement, let me repeat myself: I’M GOING HOME! *Insert wide smile here* Then here, insert a wobbly unsure smile. Why? Because as much as my whole being longs for home, my head is smart and hosts no delusions. I know the reasons I had to leave in the first place, and the reason a lot of others fight to leave on a daily basis. I know of the adjustments to be made upon return which are diplomatically labeled “Returnee Culture Shock”. I know I’ll miss the fast internet connection and the ease of ordering books and having them delivered to your front door. I am also fully aware that returning means starting anew at seeking employment, and probably frustrating attempts at beginning a new career. We all know the reality of life back home. Yes, I’m happy, but scared. Eager but anxious too. And it’s alright to feel all of that and more simultaneously. What I feel above all else though, is brave. Recently social media was buzzing- some in outrage and others in applause- over the word brave being used to describe Caitlyn Jenner, formerly known as Bruce Jenner. Those who were outraged by it put up photos of war veterans who had lost an arm or leg, soldiers on peace missions in war zones. They pointed out that those patriotic people were the brave ones, not Jenner. I’ll neither agree nor disagree with either group, but the debate led me to musing on just what it means to be brave and/or patriotic. Thinking about it led me to this saying: Similarly bravery and patriotism aren’t always found in the daring, fearsome things we may do (in my opinion it is rarely found in picking up a weapon on command). Rather, as this year away from home has shown me, most times bravery and patriotism is to be found in the ordinary, those regular choices we make that speak of self-determination and identity. Bravery is in choosing to venture into a country you do not know, have no one in, in search of a better life. And patriotism is in remembering home all the way. There is bravery in taking yourself so far out of your comfort zone, and there’s patriotism in every journey you make back despite the cost, despite the hassle because you know despite the condition of the soils back home, your root are anchored there. There is bravery in believing in the future of your nation and acting on that belief; as there is patriotism in every time you answer that ignorant westerner and school them on what being a Cameroonian/ African really is. As I go home, I want to acknowledge the bravery of the average diasporan, who plays the role of an ambassador daily representing a nation wherever they are. Who takes risks elsewhere, some good some bad, because their country couldn’t give them what they needed. I also want to recognize the patriotism of the returnees who are increasing daily. Who with the knowledge they’ve derived elsewhere return to invest back home, make their own little corner shine, contribute their own development effort. Those are my patriots. I want to appreciate the patriotism of Cameroonians I have come to know this year. While we may not write “Proudly Cameroonian” on everything and though a lot of us would disparage our underdevelopment rather than recognize and work towards the promise of better, there is need to appreciate those who have and who are. So I may be going home happy and scared at the same time; scared that I believe too much in the possibilities, hope too much. But still I’m going home with joy because my faith in fatherland outweighs the fears. If that’s not patriotism I don’t know what is.
Travelogue Part 2: Of Wanna-be-Bushfallers and Bushfalling
This might sound like a rant, but if you are a follower of this blog you should be used to it by now. Some months ago the G.C.E results were released and successful candidates from all around the country traveled to Buea (though not immediately necessary) to apply for admission into the University of Buea. The application procedure is now done online after paying the application fee to the schools bank account from any region in the country. It was not necessary that they come, yet they did. Thousands of young applicants came excited, anxious and completely clueless. They didn’t know how to access the application forms online. They didn’t have email addresses, and those who had email addresses had forgotten how to access that because they’d had help creating it just so they could have Facebook accounts. So they paid some fast boys who had set up along the road to apply for them, 1000frs cfa each. They will NOT pay to learn on their own. Heck, if you offer them free classes to learn they would not show up. That is not all. These aspiring scholars could barely fill out bank deposit forms because they have been told “do this, put that there” all their lives so find it difficult to reason independently that though their surnames come first on their documents, it is not their first names. Oh let’s not forget, most of these kids passed through “Computer Science” classes for at least five out of the seven years of the secondary and high-school, some even took Information and Computer Technology (ICT) as a paper at the GCE A levels and passed with B’s… Yet this is not a rant about the lack of pragmatism in our educational system (though I am sorely tempted to start that). This is about the fact that most of these applicants as well as most of those already enrolled at our universities are wanna-be-bushfallers. They are literally itching to leave the country. Apart from those playing the Green Card lottery with the regularity of their birthdays there are those hoping to snag a bushfaller during December when they come home like birds to the nest. I’m referring to the many that watch Nollywood movies and believe that if one prays enough a rich guy would come along and take you out of the country or … well you get my point. We all know at least one of them and we love them even as we shake our heads at their naivety, at how easily impressed they are, how much they believe leaving the country will solve all their problems and some and more at how little effort they put in despite their dreams of luxury. Why am I bringing this up in travelogue? A few months into my trip here I can’t stop myself from imagining one of the wanna-be-bushfallers in my place with every new situation. Every time I encounter some new digital process or anything less manual I keep thinking. What would (insert name here) do if she finally got the visa she always wanted, she cannot even remember her password to one email account. Imagine handling the pin codes for seven different cards, passwords for at least three email addresses (personal, school, and office). I was considered addicted to my laptop and crazy about the internet back home, yet it is obvious WiFi is a one of the pillars of life this side of the Atlantic. Let me give a rundown of the thoughts going through my head as I try to imagine those wanna-be-bushfallers in my place throughout the day. Isabella should just forget about falling bush! Chai! She wants to study Policy here when she could not finish the small handouts we were given to read as undergraduates? What would she do when she sees more than one prescribed reading of 161 pages per class for just one out of three courses? Martha should just stay where she is. She is dreaming of falling bush to meet Mr. Right. Tsuiiip*. Who has time to even notice Mr. Wrong when you leave home early and come back late at least five days out of seven? Honore should just remain where he is. His father’s money can make him look like a “posh” guy back in Cameroon but here he would be struggling to afford a monthly travel card unless he’s on scholarship. In fact he would be begging people to pay with money here when everything is bough online or with some card. What will Aunty Anye do if they actually give her that visa eh? She barely manages to use the phone that was sent to her. Just thinking about her struggling to make sense of Google map makes me laugh my lungs out. Imagine Steven who calculates Black Man Time religiously. I’ll like to see how he will cope if he actually leaves Cameroon. Clocking in and out, leaving the house at least one hour early just to make it on time? Sigh, he’ll likely flunk for missing two more than two classes per semester. Imagine Esombi who skips class because of heavy rain. What would he do when faced with this winter? And then I think of the majority of graduates who blindly used Wikidepedia as a reference on their final year projects, are ignorant of plagiarism, who do not understand what ibid. means who do not understand that the tiny numbers alongside sentences on the Wiki pages correspond with the source of that information. I think of the number of graduates who complain that the Process of filling out applications for grants, scholarship or even jobs is “too difficult” and then give up. I think of the graduates who never really did a thing during their internship placements but place that on their CV’s boldly. How will they defend their being called a graduate? But then I discussed this with a girlfriend of mine, and we came to