Free Cameroon Now

That our countries fare so badly since independence is not worse!  Worse is this dangerous path down which we so gleefully tread  By a pandemonium of petit nègres, emboldened by massive neutrality, lead  Since the 90s, the desert preachers decry,  Yet the pogrom of Yaounde just increase their appetite  With each raise in the preacher's voice, Whilst the lotus eaters look on, or eat the lotuses of choral music and feigned miracles, Or the lotuses of immoral lyrics and bacchus's nectar, Or bury their head in the sand and look on, Or sit on the fence of academia and look on. But nurses and doctors save lives, Teachers, preachers and lawyers save souls, All hail to these unsong heroes. And shame to the fence-sitters,  And those who wear a mask to criticise, Accomplices cannot tell the wrongdoer their wrong to his face, If you cannot risk your sinecure and vested interests to better the lot of all Then be ready to partake in your master's fall. And courage to all those in Ba

Hi, all This is a poem I wrote in 1999 about the issue of development in our country. It is a little nostalgic and anti-modernist. Yet, it is true that those who do not enjoy the fruits of development will always look back to the "days of old when all was free". It is not a protest of development in itself but a reminder that not all is ok. Something should be done for those left behind. Hope you enjoy it and get spurred to do something for the poor. 1.       Development Once stately palms shielded these kids from the Harmattan’s hassling boo But a thing came called development and hacked away their soothing coo Once frolicking monkeys roamed these farms, our harvesting mothers to woo But a thing came called development and harried them away to a distant zoo Once peaceful days were ushered in by the enchanting cuckoo But development came with loud booming sticks and aimed away all that too Once, to be great, men wore a providential turaco’s quill But they now wear but imp

Once, while vacationing in Kribi, I was struck by how poor its inhabitants could get. There is virtually no form of cultivation and the local Pygmies, Batangas, Yassa, Mvais and Bulus live only by hunting or fishing highly depleted stocks. An odd kind of seaside resort if I ever saw one. The greatest spectacle, in fact all the spectacle, it had to offer was hungry fishermen with their hungrier wives and children screaming a silent indictment of the “new deal”. Then, I also learned that one of  the “sons of the soil”, Biya’s all powerful General Eno Benae, owned virtually all the shore line on which he had created a luxury hotel that cannot be built with the total of his wages for all his service life, a luxury so incongruous with the misery of Kribians that the behemoth goes empty roomed for years on end...ahahahaha! What did he think, that the world's rich share his spite for his fellow countrymen? Perhaps the gods were  teaching the greedy general a lesson from what the Oracle ov