Since returning home early last month, nearly all my conversations begin with the same recurrent question; how is Cameroon/home? Roughly eight weeks later, I still haven’t found a suitable way to reply. I say: “It’s just there”. It’s just there as in; it is how I left it, except where it’s worse As in: home is surviving – barely living, As in: Cameroon has managed to retain just the bare minimum of what makes it home- the familiarity of those who are yet to leave, the humid weather which in turn envelopes you like a sweat-inducing fog and reassures your skin that it will not crack here. I say ‘it’s just there’ because to answer ‘how is home?’ would require several contradictory descriptions: Like the security of never doubting where your next meal will come from because there is an endless list of people waiting for me to stop by for a meal since I returned, but also like the hesitation and insecurity I feel at the thought of leaving home to do any visiting because leaving home means passing through a terrifying military checkpoint akin to what stands at the US/Mexico border. And if I were to describe home what would I share? The laughter of the children in our compound; the toddler next door who calls me ‘Nica’ and giggles like it’s the soundtrack for a Disney classic yet to be made, the preteens playing games like ‘dodging’ and assorted versions of hopscotch after their morning chores on ghost-town days… Or do I tell of this air of apprehension which hangs over us all and leaves me feeling like I’m paranoid in my inability to properly describe it? But I’m not paranoid, it is real. Our laughter, our noisy nature is now somewhat muted. We who used to advertise nearly everything with ‘Papa Promo’ a car with massive speakers attached on its roof, blasting Pidgin-English adverts into the eardrums of pedestrians. That car seems to have stopped going around. And Mutengene which was always busy and loud. A distracting hub to pass through, not stop in with its shops and bars blaring music from loudspeakers competing with each other for the attention of customers…. even here the music is not as loud any longer; only one shopkeeper with a speaker has yet to close down and move away, no more competition. And of course, one can’t play music so loud that they don’t hear if gunshots go off and they need to run. If I were to answer ‘how is home’? Which of the homes shall I speak of? Home feels different depending on the neighborhood. That apprehension that cannot be explained is experienced in varying degrees from one quarter to the next. In Mile 16 and Muea it is heavy in the air with closed shops, vacant businesses and the desolation that is breathed in and out by all who invested in the area, by the few who have stayed despite the very real threat to life. From Mile 17 upward to Molyko the apprehension is a crescendo of feeling; with very little felt between 8am and 5pm- just people on their guard for any sudden alarm. Then the crescendo peaking at dusk as we all rush to go home, grown or not, afraid of the dark. Finally, in Sandpit upwards; here there is life, the shops are all open, and people still sit at makeshift bars to eat and drink. But there is also an awareness that the girls selling akara and beans with that old mami by the roadside are not going to school, they have come to Buea to stay with their aunt because their village was burned by the military. That apprehension here is a shadow at the edges of life, like a silhouette. And in the telling of home do I count even the other regions East of the Mungo where in place of apprehension it is a resignation that hangs in the air along with the weight of dust? *** To properly respond to ‘how is Cameroon’ would demand I tell several stories of Cameroonians: The story of how my godmother’s father who suffered kidney failure would have died because his urologist couldn’t come to work on Monday because of Ghost-town and the general practitioner had more than his share of patients to deal with. Similar to the story of expectant mothers who now have an additional fear of going into labor on the wrong day of the week. To respond properly would entail I tell of the number of families split up, with parents having to send kids off to other regions for school possibly with one spouse going as well and how managing two households has made already the lives of people who were already struggling much more difficult. It would require I tell of the loans my neighbors are paying with bitterness every month because the house they took the loan for is complete but they can’t move into it- the area is now a no-go zone. The bushes not too far from there has a shrine where the Amba Boys are said to congregate so it is regularly attacked by the military. The last time the neighbor visited this house, he remarked with palpable frustration on how a house he had yet to sleep in had already seen bullet holes in the walls, need for repair. I would need to tell of the Faculty of Science lecturer who I used to admire for her fashion sense and how she jumped a foot when I greeted her from behind… I was later told that she had been kidnapped and her family had to pay 5.5 million in ransom… she is still traumatized… And she is not alone. Enjema, the younger sister of my neighbor-friend has nightmares periodically now- since witnessing a man being shot in front of her by gendarmes last September. She recounts that the man had been the driver
The MILEAD Experience
In 2015 I was selected as the MILEAD Fellow for Cameroon. The MILEAD Fellows Program is a year-long leadership development program designed to identify, develop and promote emerging young African Women leaders to attain and thrive in leadership in their community and Africa as a whole. The program selects 25 young women aged 25 and below who have illustrated potential as nation builders and ‘influencers’. MILEAD offers them a chance to become part of an inter-continental network for professional and personal development, offers them a three week training in Accra, Ghana and challenges them to completed a transformational project in their communities upon their return home. As the program requires selected fellows contribute a percentage of their individual cost, I was compelled to do a fundraiser to support my participation. Alongside the the successful fundraising, and upon urging from Ngum Ngafor of Africally Speaking, I made vlogs on my MILEAD Experience. Here are three of those vlogs for your ease of access. Prior to take-off While in Ghana: And finally upon return home: It is hoped these vlogs inspire some other young Cameroonian woman to apply for the annual program. It is a truly life-changing experience; and I’ve got pictures to prove it!
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
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
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.
Self-Trafficking, Modern Slavery or the Wrong sort of Bushfalling
Two years ago around this same month, I had a conversation with a friend. We had only recently met. She had just returned to Cameroon after having been on a cultural exchange program coordinated by the US Embassy in Cameroon. Of six Cameroonians sent to the USA on that exchange program, my friend was the only one to return. Her family and friends in the US could not believe she was returning home. They told her she was being foolish. They, even those living in the US illegally asked her “what are you returning to do?” Others said “I hope you don’t think we’ll continue helping you as you go back again…” They spoke as though it was they who had paid her way rather than this fellowship she applied for and won. Nonetheless she returned home. Two years later she has quit the job she’d had upon arrival. Her knowledge threatened her male counterparts and given the industry she was in, she was the lone woman. She in turn felt threatened. Leaving that job was hard, but she felt she had to do it and was skilled enough to take the risk. She has been job hunting for a while now and wherever she goes to and shows her certificates from here and the training she received from the USA, she gets the question “Why did you come back? You should have stayed na?” My friend’s case is not unique. Even I, on a scholarship that has a pre-requisite clause boldly stating that you MUST return to you home country gets asked “Why you no wan stay for dey?” It is a fact, Bushfalling is the Cameroonian dream just as having capitalism work for you is the American dream. Do we need proof? Here’s some examples: You hear your friend is getting married and ask about her intended who is he, what does he do? The answer you get: He’s a Bushfaller. That is all. He is a Bushfaller. That title is an occupation, like Pastor’s wife or 1st Lady. It comes with prestige and dignity without one ever knowing what exactly the person with that title does. More proof? Well you just need to go see the long lines at Surete Nationale in Yaounde for people making passports, at embassies, and in front of cybercafes when it’s time to play the DV Lottery all in hopes of leaving the country. You can look at the long waiting list for foreign exams like TOEFL or IELTS. But most of all, the most obvious proof of our desperate Bushfalling Cameroonian dream? The fact that in metropoles like Douala, Yaounde, Buea and Bamenda town have “agencies” ever increasing (almost equal in number with bars) offering to sending you “abroad” to countries like Chile, the Philippines, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Hungary, Vietnam, Thailand, Kuwait and Lebanon. You see our people have gotten tired of going to the American, British and Canadian embassies and losing money in form of visa fees and bank statements to prove they will go and study, not work blab la bla. Our brothers and sisters now want reassurance that they will actually get that visa board that flight and begin working immediately to come home in December as a Bushfaller and show that “God has blessed them” and “they too have arrived”. Some may say I sound a little high handed writing about this because I’m in the UK on a scholarship or had the benefit of traveling before even that. They would be wrong. I have been one of the people who wanted ot leave the country at all costs. I have been rejected for a visa, twice. But I like to think I realized my country wasn’t the worst and learned to take an honest look and appreciate it, thinking how I can fix it rather than run away from it. Again this might not be an option to someone who is desperate because they have dependents. But here’s the thing, is it that they have no options, or is it that they do not like the options they were given? I am writing about this after reading the news/ testimonies of girls enslaved in Kuwait and Lebanon. As I write to you have two friends in Lebanon in similar circumstances. I cannot tell you for sure if they are treated as poorly at the girls who testified are. But I can tell you for sure that they went to that country with their eyes wide open. They had options here, but preferred to “fall bush” because a foreign currency is always higher than ours even in a country that should be constantly in a state of emergency. Today as I read about the women I thought of the countless adverts these agencies put up in school zones right in the midst of the young and impressionable. I admire the agencies though, they aren’t evil. They tell you directly that you are going to be given service jobs. You are going to be a house-help in Saudi Arabia. They tell you they will take your passport upon arrival and you will work and repay the cost of the flight and visa before going on with your life there. You are told bluntly. Heck, it’s even advertised on the national television station- CRTV. But still people go because to them; anywhere is better than Cameroon, they need to go “try” their luck, it can’t be so bad, and finally because even though they know they don’t reason enough o put the knowledge to use. You see someone who puts knowledge to use would ask the agents in these agencies “If bush fine so wetin you di do for here?” Someone who reasons would put two and two together; if women in Saudi Arabia aren’t allowed to drive bared arms etc. how much more oppressed would an imported house-help be? A smart young person would think critically, if house-helps in Cameroon are maltreated regularly in this relatively
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
Somehow, somewhere along the line of modern history February became the month of love. My musings are going with the trend. I was taught the different types of love in form three. Of course it was a Religious Studies class and all we were taught where the definitions to be memorized for examinations: Agape~ The love of God; unconditional, absolute love of a creator for the creation. Philia~ Brotherly or family love Eros~ Romantic, erotic love. Of course this month it’s Eros getting all the attention with prices of condoms now 50% off but that’s not what this post is about. I recently thought of how my teacher could have taught us all a bit more/better if he had included a few other types of love self-love for one but more to the point of this post; love for one’s country. Loving something or someone is always a choice and it would have been nice if that had been instilled into our young minds. If that seed of nationalism and patriotism was planted. On the contrary the trend seems to be: hate your country enough to lie to leave it then begin loving it from far away enough to have your mother sew you “Bamenda marking ensembles” to wear and show off your “cultural roots”. Never mind the fact that we don’t know the meaning behind the Togu designs or the practice. Never mind the fact that each tribe in that region has a different version of the traditional wear or something completely different. We suddenly discover nationalism when in another’s country. The again what love we may have is vacillating and shifty. It depends on whether the Lions win the match or not, on whether the investments we made were successful or if the customs at the port asked to much in bribes, it depends on if the president is going to change or still be the same. Our love for country is the antonym of Agape, anything but unconditional. Yet if we think about it we have made love for country depend on love of people. Else our nationalism won’t depend on a group of men running around a field or a corrupt sector or even the ones leading it. Our love for country should be Agape simply based on the fact that we create this country as much if not more than it makes us. The country is what its people are, what its people says it is. How do you love your country? I invite you to ponder on the ways…