Miss Gwendolyn Ajehla was both popular and notorious throughout
Government High School (GHS), Ibamakuo, and even beyond. She was a
teacher of English in the school. And she had graduated
from the Higher College of Education (HCE), Yamandé, with a First-Cycle
Secondary School Teacher Certificate in English Modern Letters some two
years earlier. Given that Miss Gwendolyn was very young and beautiful,
she became exaggeratedly proud. She was barely twenty three years old,
with a light, slim skin and of an average height.
Her popularity
stemmed from her good mastery of the English language and her unbeatable
near-native accent in the language. She had mastered her phonetics and
phonology lessons so well that when she spoke English she almost spoke
like a native of England. Among students, teachers and other inhabitants
of Ibamakuo, she was generally described as the lady who speaks through
the nostrils and can bites her tongue. The biggest flaw in her English,
however, was the fact that she sometimes confused the British and
American accents of it. But on the whole, everybody admired the way she
spoke English. And when it came to teaching that language, she did it
masterly too.
Despite Gwendolyn’s exceptional mastery of English
and her professional teaching skills, she had also earned a very bad
reputation in and around GHS, Ibamakuo. She was very, very notorious for
her immoral and indecent dressing style. Her love for skin-glued
dresses and mini-skirts surpassed a fish’s love for fresh tropical
waters. She would shave her eyebrows—as if to correct God’s errors of
creation!—and paint her lips in both red and blue, all these in the name
of beauty and fashion. Whether in class teaching or elsewhere in
public, Gwendolyn usually looked like a mermaid that has been taken
unawares by the sudden coming of dawn.
All these qualities of
Gwendolyn’s combined to earn for her a multitude of nicknames. Some
people called her “British English Madam” and others, “American Madam”.
And yet some others referred to her as “the White Lady Prof.” Worst of
all, behind her back, everybody called her “the White Prostitute”.
During her lessons, some daring students, especially boys, who occupied
the back desks, would call her some of these nicknames. They would
shorten the last of them and simply call her “White Pros.” Each time she
attempted to identify such courageous and sometimes unruly students she
failed like someone who attempts to wage a war against their entire
village. So many reasons accounted for this failure: the class
enrolments were often too large for her to manage properly, there was
usually strong complicity and collaboration among the students, plus the
fact that the students were all aware that their principal too didn’t
approve of Miss Gwendolyn’s indecent dressing style.
“Madam White Prostitute!” Julius Asaba, who was in Form Five then, called her one morning in front of a handful of students.
“I will report you to the principal”, Gwendolyn told the boy, and
making sure that she articulated all her words like a native speaker of
English.
“Better go and report me to God in Heaven”, Julius
continued, “and have the chance to see how angels and saints dress, you
White Pros. You learnt how to speak English well and forgot to learn how
to dress well…”
At this point, Miss Gwendolyn bowed her head in
defeat and walked away from the boy and his mates. She went straight to
the Staff Room of the school while the students shouted in
confusion—while some of them were cheering Asaba for his courage others
were reproaching him for having spoilt Madam’s day and some others just
went about ululating at the top of their voices.
Before midday that
same day, Julius Asaba had been summoned to an impromptu disciplinary
council. After listening to Miss Gwendolyn’s case, the council members
unanimously decided to slam a three-day suspension punishment on Julius.
The latter wasn’t given any chance to speak, but the school principal,
Mr James Gopte, addressed the council and spoke at length to his
teachers on the need for them to dress properly and avoid such nasty
situations. The funniest thing about the council’s decision was that in
the end no teacher ever cared to prevent Julius Asaba from attending
classes within the three supposed days of suspension!
Who doesn’t
know that the stubborn fly always follows the corpse to its grave? To be
very honest, it would appear Gwendolyn did not learn any lesson from
both the incident with Julius and the principal’s advice—constant advice
for that matter—on the need for decency in the way teachers dress. All
the pieces of advice lavished on her amounted to nothing other than the
act of throwing water on a duck’s back. In reality, not even an ounce of
improvement was seen in her blind rush for “fashionable” dressing. She
kept on dressing as before, always exposing her body like wares on sale
in an open-air market.
One fateful Thursday, Miss Gwendolyn had a
two-hour lesson in Form Three. The class was a morning one; it was
supposed to begin at seven thirty a.m. Miss Gwendolyn made her way into
the class at seven forty-five a.m. amidst wild cheers, shouts and
applauses. The commotion was not caused by her lateness, but rather by
her exaggeratedly indecent dressing.
From her head down to her
feet, everything was a cause for concern. For her hairdo she had long,
thick locks that came down a little above her buttocks. She rather
looked like a reggae-star from a back view. In the place of her eyebrows
conspicuously stood thick, bluish lines. There was no hair at all. The
lightness of her skin overemphasized the presence of these lines, making
her rather look like a scarecrow in a far-away maize-farm. Her lips
were as red as a fire-wound. And nobody could dare say that she hadn’t
applied a full tin of powder on her face. She was putting on a
skin-tight, blue T-shirt with a widely open chest that left her breasts
almost completely naked. Squeezed up in new immaculate breastwears, her
breasts could be compared to nothing other than two fat oranges
hand-squeezed close together into twin babies’ mouths. This T-shirt
occasionally refused to cover her little, round navel. A navel which
disappeared into a bottle-smooth, soft, light stomach-skin. Below this
T-shirt was a stubborn, very stubborn, mini-skirt. The skirt was blue in
colour too. Her long, light, hairy legs continued out of this skirt
down into a pair of blue, high-heeled shoes. The heels of the shoes must
have measured ten centimetres in height or so. What a wonderfully
beautiful, young lady! However, she managed to maintain some silence in
the class from the beginning. The students quickly calmed down because
they were already used to, very used to, her ways, but the worst was
still to come.
The young teacher’s mini-skirt was as stubborn as a
street child. Not only was it too body-tight, but it seemed to have been
made out of some slippery substance. This material would slide against
her soft skin the way prey slides on a python’s spittle. For this reason
it kept on sliding and folding upwards towards her waist. Consequently,
she had to constantly use one of her hands to help pull the skirt
downwards…
The lesson of the day was centred on the comparative and
superlative forms of longer adjectives. She taught the students that
the formula is to add “more” to the adjective followed by “than” for the
comparative and to add “the most” to the adjective for the superlative
as follows: Beautiful—More beautiful than—The most beautiful…The
students quickly grasped the formula. And for each adjective she called
out, they gave her its comparative and superlative forms at the speed of
lightning. She now fully committed herself to the exercise, and was
particularly busy writing on the blackboard and turning back to talk to
the students. In this way, she was carried away by the spontaneity of
the lesson to the extent that she forgot the perpetual war she had
initially been fighting with her stubborn mini-skirt.
Before long,
the skirt folded upwards and sat comfortably round her waist, exposing
her large womanhood. The upper part of her womanhood was so large that
it seemed to have swollen. If she were in Yaoundé, nobody would doubt
that she was a nocturnal worker at either Miniferme or Mvog-Ada. Her
stainless, white drawers were the “string-type” and thus left most of
the carefully-shaved skin of her womanhood bare. It was an awful and
admirable sight at the same time. Most boys in the class must have
wetted their pants!
What called her attention to this terrible
happening was the direction of the students’ eyes. No eyes rose above
her stomach level. All eyes were on her waist and womanhood. As soon as
she noticed the shame and disgrace her stubborn skirt had brought to
bear on her, she freezed on the spot like an erring actor on stage. She
became immobile and speechless like a carved statue. While some students
were fighting hard to suppress their uncontrollable laughter, a
majority of them had gone wild with laughter, shouts, jeers, cries and
ululations. While some banged their desks, others climbed onto theirs
and began singing and shouting all of Miss Gwendolyn’s nicknames: Miss
Prostitute! British English Madam! American Madam! The White Prostitute!
The White Pros…
The noise and disorder in that classroom soon
spread into total commotion on the whole school campus, attracting
students and teachers from other classes. In a very little time, the
door and windows of that class had been flooded by students and
teachers. This created an artificial darkness in the room.
By the
time the school principal and some powerful teachers had pushed their
way through the thick crowds into the centre of the scene they found
Miss Gwendolyn lying—perhaps seemingly—unconscious on the class floor.
Her stubborn skirt was still sitting comfortably round her waist just as
it had been before she “collapsed”. The teachers pulled down the skirt,
carried her to the principal’s Mercedes Benz and drove her to Ibamakuo
District Hospital.
Meanwhile, consternation and disorder continued
on the school campus. Classes unofficially and prematurely came to an
end for that day just like that. Both the students and the remaining
teachers carried the news back home and it kept on spreading in and
around the town like wild fire on a mountain during the dry season.
When she regained consciousness,—did she really go unconscious?— the
Principal and the other teachers present in the hospital talked to her
bitterly about the kind of disorder and shame she had brought to the
school through her headiness and indecent dressing. The Principal was
particularly very bitter to her because, as he put it and it was true
too, he had given her more than enough advice on the importance of
proper dressing. Miss Gwendolyn apologized to them, begged for their
forgiveness and promised to undergo a U-change.
It was under the
cover of darkness that she was escorted back to her room in town. The
worst error committed this time around was that she was allowed to spend
that night all alone in her room despite all that had transpired during
the day. On Friday morning, when Mr James Gopte, on his way to school,
stopped by to check on Miss Gwendolyn, he discovered that the latter had
drunk some poison and died overnight.
THE END!!! © Nsah Mala 2013
(Monatélé II, Thursday 02 May 2013)
This story got its inspiration from a dream I had in the early hours—at about five thirty a.m.—on this day.
Monday, 6 May 2013
Friday, 5 April 2013
Dividing Calabash (Poem)
The
calabash unites
It
never ever disunites
That’s
why it is round
Like
the football that unites
Players
and fans and nations
But
in my village
But
in Mbesa
A
calabash divides
Like
an unbridged river
And
mercilessly kills
Like
a provoked python
It
must have been misused
The
calabash unites
It
never ever disunites
That’s
why it is round
Like
the egg that harbours
Yoke
and albumen and chicks
But
in my village
But
in Mbesa
A
calabash divides
Like
an unbridged river
And
mercilessly kills
Like
a provoked python
It
must have been misused
The
calabash unites
It
never ever disunites
That’s why it is round
Like the world that hosts
Blacks and whites and reds
But
in my village
But
in Mbesa
A
calabash divides
Like
an unbridged river
And
mercilessly kills
Like
a provoked python
It
must have been misused
The
calabash unites
It
never ever disunites
That’s why it is smooth
Like the cemented floor that accepts
Parents and children and visitors
But in my village
But
in Mbesa
A
calabash divides
Like
an unbridged river
And
mercilessly kills
Like
a provoked python
It
must have been misused
(Mbankolo, 29 March 2013)
After the Coup (Poem--Following Francois Bozize’s Overthrow in March 2013)
Before the coup
He was always right
In his gun-point might.
When he shouted like thunder,
We, in slum-huts, had to chunder
In fear of venomous grenades and
bullets.
But today he is without amullets,
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
Bozize was the hard rock
And could carelessly mock
Us behind dark-glassed limousines
When escorted to cut-throat French
cuisines.
Limousines in long, long queues
No longer parade him in this curfew
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
He made countless flights
Leaving us without lights.
He owned and ruled the state,
And we were the state.
An earlier coup gave him this
mission,
But now he cannot even rule a
subdivision
After the bloody coup.
Before the coup
Bozize was king of elephants
Trampling us like road-ants
While impregnating his wallets.
He pitilessly used us like mallets,
But today he has lost the game
And has crumbled till we‘re all the
same
After the bloody coup.
(Mbankolo, 27 March 2013)
Sunday, 6 May 2012
For My Love 2 (Poem)
For My
Love 2
True love deserves
true love as love answers love
And I have chosen you out of genuine love for you I love
Just as God created us
for each other you are for me
An since love is reciprocal, from heart to heart, you are for
me
Among all the beautiful girls
in the world it is you
I have chosen for my love because my heart lives in you
Nothing! Nothing at all
can break the bond of our love
Not even jealousy nor distance nor death can break this love
The clock tick tacks twenty four hours everyday from day to
day
And at
least twenty four times a day I remember you from day to day
Each time I remember you
efforts in work I double for us and for you
For the good of our
household, our parents and children, fro us and fro you
Dearest Onion, you have chosen to marry a young man
Whom you love, trust and
shall love and trust and I am the man
You have chosen a man to
love, to trust and to admire
And this man you shall play with, work by and for, support and
inspire
A man you shall stand by,
walk with, caress and comfort tirelessly
As you now make him work,
hope, study, write and love tirelessly
So too each time you think
and remember me
You
should stand tall, smile and brighten up for me
You should arise and shine forth because I admire you
You should work harder
and harder, study well for I count on you
You should read widely, be as
intelligent as a writer
You should know as it is that you are the wife of a writer
You should read hard at night and during the day as if for a
competition
Because
your husband and brother is a always a man for a competition
You should take healthy
care of your beauty and body, our body
Because that is where my
heart resides, in your body, our body
You should remain joyful, obedient, honest and
beautiful, I mean you
Because I trust, admire, love, count on and adore you, I mean
you
You should
remain hardworking, kind, perpetually glad, always hopeful in life
Because you are my
onliest Shallote, the onliest Onion of my life.
When love answers YES
When love answers PRESENT
When love answers LOVE
Then we were made for
LOVE
Yours
forever NSAH MALA
Thursday March 31st 2011
Notice!
Notice! Notice!
Yesterday, March 30th 2011,
I wrote
this very poem in the morning
And I could not find it in the
evening
When I wanted to envelop it and send to you.
Nevertheless,
given that the poem had originated
From my
heart I have been able to reproduce it
This morning, (30/03/2011),
verbatim or so.
This is what true love can do! Thanks be
to god!
Then,
wonderfully and miraculously
I found the missing poem inside
one of my books
Three hours after having written the
second.
What a miracle!
But then, this has taught me two
things,
True love is enduring as I took the pains to rewrite
The
poem and that one artistic piece produced by
The same
author twice can never be exactly the same.
For My Love 1 (Poem)
For My
Love 1
True love answers true love for love answers love
And we have chosen each
other out of true love
Just as God moulded me fro you He created you for me
And since love is
reciprocal, I am for you and you are for me
Amongst all the lovely, angelic girls in the world it is you
I have chosen; for my
heart is an empty page without you
Nothing! Not even an axe can break the bond of our
love
Not even
jealousy nor distance and death can break this love
The clock ticks twenty and four hours everyday, from day to
day
And I
remember you from hour to hour, at least twenty four hours a day
Each time you rise from
my heart through my soul to my brain
And I work harder for our family, you and I
without a tiring brain
My dearest Onion, you are
married to the one
You love and shall love forever, one is to one
You have chosen a young man
To love and admire and I
am the man
You shall caress, feed, love,
play with, and admire
You shall pray for, support, work by, and inspire
You shall protect, preserve,
remember, and love tirelessly
Just as I do all for you and shall do all for tirelessly
So too, each time you think about me
You should smile and brighten
up for me
Because
I love you so much, so much
You should arise and shine like the sun so much and so much
Because it is you I admire, you and only you
You must double your efforts
in your studies, I mean you
Because our future hangs on our shoulders
You must read as wide as an
author’s wife for this is on your shoulders
You must study like someone in an intellectual competition
Because your husband, the
sage, is always in a competition
You must take good care your body, our body
Because my heart, your
heart, lives in that body, our body
You must remain
humble, honest, obedient and beautiful
Because for such reasons I
adore you and you are beautiful
You must remain glad, joyful, hard working and
hopeful in this life
Because you are my onliest Shallote, the onliest Onion of my
life.
When love answers
YES
When
love answers PRESENT
When love answers LOVE
Life becomes a
life of no END
Only a life of love and for LOVE
Written on
Wednesday March 30th 2011
By NSAH MALA
For NSOM
SHALLOTE
To spur her to work hard following
Her poor
performance in the second
Term exams for Form VI
CAMEROON NEEDS A PERPETUAL SUNDAY (Philosophical Essay)
CAMEROON NEEDS A PERPETUAL SUNDAY
Sunday is the first day of the week which originated from the word Sabbath. Though the Sabbath in reality is supposed to be observed on Saturday, the fact that Jesus Christ resurrected from the death on Sunday coupled with some other innovations in the Christian church have made the Sabbath Feast to be observed on Sunday. This day is the day on which God rested after His creation work of six days. It is thus a high holy day kept aside for rest, deep personal reflections, meditations, self-examination, contemplation and congregational worship. It is a day set aside just like God had set aside the Jewish family in the days of the Old Testament. It is a day which necessitates more intimacy with God depending on who observes it and how he/she observes it.
But unfortunately, what takes me aback so much about Sunday in Cameroon is that over the years and most especially now in the decaying days of Cameroon it is the only day on which a few Cameroonians pretend to be holy. The rest of this essay is out to present how Cameroonians spend the other days of the week and carry the left-overs of their sinful attitudes into the blessed day of Sunday thereby spoiling the special day which God has set aside for His true sons and daughters.
When on a Sunday morning the gates of God’s holy sanctuary-the church are flung open, Cameroonian church-goers gallop into it like horses on a PMUC race in Paris . Some people almost trample on the others and the whole scenario becomes something only comparable to the European Scramble for Africa in the early 19th century. The paradox of all this mess is that these so-called Christians first of all carry into God’s House their bodies which are already contaminated temples of the Holy Spirit. Some of them come in with full pockets filled with money and gifts that look like pregnant women they have received in their office over the week so as to ruin the destinies of some unfortunate, poor, and intelligent Cameroonian youths. They use such ill-gotten money to dirty the pure gifts that the few upright ones have brought to honour God with. Indeed, some sit in church and are quite far away from the scriptures and sermons as they keep on meditating on how the next day they shall bribe their son’s, daughter’s… way into ENS, ENAM, ENSET, IRIC, EMIA, and what have you? Some others think about how the following day they will erase the name of a poor, unfortunate, innocent and intelligent Cameroonian youth from an examination list in their office and put in that of a son, daughter, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, cousin, niece, friend, boyfriend, and the list continues to flow like the Egyptian Nile. With all such behaviour, do we now see that the way we spend the days surrounding Sunday does not in any way warrant our observance of Sunday? Do we now see that since we only pretend to be holy on Sundays it would appear that we need a perpetual Sunday in Cameroon?
If on a Sunday morning a census of Cameroon ’s church-goers, not Christians, is conducted, it will reveal that more than 80 per cent of the country’s population is at least people who visit the church. These very people, however, are the ones who stand up against the wellbeing and progress of their fellow bothers and sisters. It is quite unimaginable that Cameroonians neglect their sick and underprivileged citizens to be taken care of by foreigners who go about trying to rub balm where they did not inflict any wound. How comes it that the Marist Fathers will want to help a student from CCAST Bambili (suffering from cancer) who is unable to pay for the cost of her medical operation just find some organs of the Cameroonian government like the Immigration Police posing as stumbling blocks on their way? That after having convinced the Italian government to help this poor girl, the Marist Fathers like Fr. Constant A. of the Our Lady of Fatima Parish Bambili still spent sleepless nights shuttling between offices before a passport could be issued for her! That in the end, the Marist Fathers had to contact the Presidency of the Republic before success came their way remains food for thought! And that in the end the girl was allowed to fly is commendable. But that her flight as well as that of the Marist journalist who was to accompany her to Italy was all delayed remains something unheard of. Are all these things not done by the so-called Cameroonian Christians? Do these very individuals not pretend to be holy on Sundays? Therefore, we really need a perpetual Sunday in Cameroon so that Cameroonians can abandon corrupt practices at least for some time and even pretend to be holy or upright.
The Holy Father, Pope John Paul II has been to Cameroon twice: in 1985 and in 1995. In 2009, Benedict XVI in the very capacity visited Cameroon and launched the book INSTRUMENTUM LABORIS in Yaounde . The Holy Father has come and gone back. But, where is the notorious corruption of Cameroon ? Certainly, corruption is still loaming in the horizon. When he came, may be the rate of corruption was lowered and, as soon as he left, even when the dust of his visit has not yet begun to settle down, corruption has resurfaced and this time around on a very deadly gear. He, like his predecessor, condemned the use of condoms and before he arrived back in Rome , some of us had begun spreading information against his doctrine. What then have we learned from his visit to Cameroon ? Or, did we want him to remain in Cameroon saying high holy masses like the one of 20th March 2009 at the Ahmadu Ahidjo Stadium to a congregation which forgot the message of his homily even before they came out of the stadium? This only serves to confirm that we need a perpetual Sunday in Cameroon .
During holy baptism, we are always very happy to promise God that we have rejected Satan and all his works and ways. Every Sunday before the sacrament of Holy Eucharist, we usually pretend to renew these promises, but all we are doing amounts to sacrilege as we are the very promoters of corruption, bribery, embezzlement, nepotism and other social ills in Cameroon . So, on Sundays, there is a considerable degree of abstinence from these ills which resurface before it is Monday morning. We, Cameroonians, are just telling the world that evil in our country can only come to a stop if every day is declared a Sunday. We therefore really need a perpetual Sunday in Cameroon .
As for the students, youths and even some unscrupulous aged people, the rest of the week is always dedicated to fornication, drunkenness, adultery, jealousy, gossiping, and all what not? But, when Sunday comes, we get up from this seeming slumber, put up flashy dresses and hurry into the church like little saints on the Feast of all Saints. In fact, we rush in to occupy seats in the church and deprive our elders of such seats. Each time that there is only one holy mass to be said in the Bambili Parish, I always witness horrible happenings. A young person who can stand for long prefers to sit down on a comfortable seat in the church while an old mother or father who is so weak and almost on their way to the grave stands seat less and breathing like a victim of slaughter. The youths don’t just care who is standing and who is sitting. At times, I am tempted to think that the day is not a Sunday, but merely one of the normal days of the week during which Cameroonians lose their consciences. As a matter of fact, such behaviour only pushes me to believe that Cameroon is calling for the declaration of Sunday perpetual.
Many more of such sad events can be recounted which can fill the whole world. So, while I have time, space, material and God’s inspiration, I will continue to keep you abreast of them. Indeed, our problem is that we forget to know that every day for us is already a Sunday. This is only true if we realize that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and strive to keep them as pure as we pretend to do on Sundays. As Christians, we only need to make Cameroon and the rest of the world know that Sunday is already perpetual and that we have only been failing to respect it to the full. Or, have we forgotten that as Christians we are the light and salt of the world? Cameroonians and of course dear Christians, let us end corruption and make the continual observance of Sunday in our lives and save Cameroon from this scourge of seemingly requesting for the declaration of Sunday perpetual. To emphasize and conclude, let’s know that Sunday is perpetual and we just need to observe it fully and by so doing, we shall create a paradise in Cameroon and on earth. Let us also remember that Jesus Christ may not come back on a Sunday to meet us in church pretending to be holy. Let us respect the mobile churches in us and wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.
THE END!!!
Sunday April 26th 2009
Nsah Kenneth Toah
(Nsah Mala)
Voice of the voiceless!!!!
Contacts:
Tel: +237 74 29 17 46
E-mail: nsahmala@yahoo.com
The Time Has Come (Philosophical Essay)
The Time Has Come
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that the voices of devoted, committed and truthful patriots like Martin Luther King Jr. Mahatma Gandhi, Thomas More, Nelson Mandela, Albert Mukong, Bernard Fonlon…are only heard when they are no longer present? Did mankind not also know that even out of neglected interiors of the world great prophets and saviours can be born? Did mankind not know that Barack Obama is of negro parentage and that great people are usually born in great places and by great people? Did mankind not know that the children of great people are already in high places and cannot therefore jump, and that only children from low do jump in order to skip at least a step in success? If not, then the time has come for us to know so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that the pen is mightier than the sword? Did mankind not also know that a house divided against itself cannot stand and that as such corruption cannot fight against corruption? Did mankind not know that a person cannot be appointed through corrupt means to be a combatant of corruption? Did mankind not that in order to combat corruption we must first of all be ant-corrupt within ourselves and invite God to come and be the commander-in-chief of the armed forces against corruption? Did mankind not know that in a country where Moral Instructions are paid deaf ears to and where Religious Studies as an academic subject is suffering threats of elimination from the curricula, corruption must keep on eating deep into our roots? Did mankind not also know that once you bribe your way into any job you shall never find comfort in it? Did mankind not know that one can read, prepare and pray for an entrance examination into any professional or vocational school and succeed in it without the usual Cameroonian one million? Did mankind not that there are some jobs which are not just good for all of us and that for such reasons God lets us know about this by simply making us fail the entrance exams or interview, or… into them? Did mankind not know that when somebody over fails to do something he should try some other thing? If not, then the time has for us to know so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that when an embezzler of public funds is caught he should first of all pay all that he embezzled rather than just serve a prison term without refunding this money into the state coffers? Did mankind not know that every one person should have only one pay package with the government? Did mankind not also know that an assertion such as “politics is a dirty game” are a myth and can therefore be demystified by viewing politics from the view point of leadership and not rulership? Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that we do not know that we do nurse dictatorial and corrupt rulers when we receive money and other material gifts from them rather than good ideologies and plans of action during electoral campaigns which lead to their rise to power? Did mankind not know that certain words such as “non-limited” are not good and should therefore not be used in democracy? Did mankind not know that it is not good for one to pretend that there is peace in his country when he doesn’t have a peace of mind? Did mankind not also know that when undemocratic terms are used in a country’s national and political books even when we are already on our dying beds we should rise up and do away with them because they will certainly affect our young ones adversely in the future? Did mankind not know that if the word politics is applied deeply democratically and spiritually it would serve as a visa into Heaven? Did mankind not know that great biblical leaders like Kings Solomon and David were both spiritual and democratic politicians? If not, then the time has come for them to know so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that when there is say a civil or tribal war in a country and the leader is caring and concerned with the well being of his people he should really takes time and goes there in person to calm down tensions? Did mankind not know that when there is a rift or conflict between sections, regions or tribes of a society, the leader should not settle it by favouring the side that has many people working in his regime? Did mankind not know that when many villages cry around another one, then the one in the centre which is not crying should be carefully examined with warning eyes? Did mankind not know that a good leader is not one who takes delight in visiting foreign lands but in handling domestic crises and enhancing national growth because charity begins at home? Did mankind not know that there is much joy in being an ex-leader like Nelson Mandela than in being a former ruler and dictator like Napoleon Bonaparte and all his likes of nowadays? If not, then the time has come for them to do so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that the economic crises and the too unemployment we are going through do not result from inadequate natural resources but form our individualistic self interests and mismanagement? Did mankind not know that when non human factors of production become persistently unproductive, the entrepreneur should be changed? Did mankind not know that in the face of so many crises within a state there should be adjustments in its political arena? Did mankind not know that too much of any thing is a disease and that even too much of the same person is a disease? Did mankind not know that even from the very beginning of economics, one of the factors of production has been and is still being forgotten which is prayers? Did mankind not also know that those of us who spend sleepless nights and restless days writing poems, plays, novels, essays, articles…like this one are doing so because we do love our father and motherlands? If not, then the time has come for us to do so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that there should be no divisions in the Church of Jesus Christ? Did mankind not know that spiritual peace and the need to know where every religion and religious denomination today in the world today came from can surely bring unity in the Universal and Apostolic Church of Christ before He comes back to establish His endless Kingdom? Did mankind not know that religious hypocrisy must stop and as such we need to stop worshipping Christ and at the same time dressing, talking, living or acting in ways that ways that portray us as perfect incarnations of Satan? Did mankind not know that God instituted and blessed sexual intercourse only for matrimony and that out of marriage it becomes the highest and gravest sin and the source of almost all other sins? Did mankind not know that those things which block us from God are the best tasty and charming things of the world like money, sex and food and that deny such things is to carry one’s cross and follow Jesus Christ? If not, then the time has come for us to do so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that the wages of sin is death and that as such the wages of the sin of sex is HIV/AIDS which leads onto death? Did mankind not know that there is no progress, be it political, economic, social, spiritual or academic when it is blended with AIDS and other diseases? Did mankind and especially students and youths not know that success does not come the way of anyone who has divided attention between hard work, which belongs to God, and involving in sinful practices, which belong to Satan, because no one can successfully serve two masters at a time? Did mankind and especially students not know that Satan has many candidates for his kingdom who include thieves, fornicators, adulterers, cheats, smokers, drunkards…and that whoever follows the crowd in doing these things is stupid and sheepish? Did mankind and especially youths not know that not all what one’s friends, classmates, age mates, relatives…do should be imitated by that person as they can likely land him in trouble and distance him from his God who is the only hope of life for him? If not, then the time has come for us to do so.
Did mankind and Cameroonians in particular not know that while some philosophies and doctrines are good, others are bad? Did mankind not know that while some philosophies do acknowledge God’s existence, some do not and thus, one only has to choose what is good and only it because salvation is personal? Did mankind not know that it is in this perspective and most especially because there is a dire need for a better political and spiritual tomorrow that writers like myself do write? Did mankind not know that we need to pray for writers like us because we are in great danger and the angry, satanic wolves of our society will want to devour us for our truthfulness and commitment? If not, then the time has come for us to do so…
I am the voice of the voiceless!!!
Nsah Kenneth Toah
(Nsah Mala)
Sunday November 16th, 2008
CONTACTS:
ibrahimkennetho@yahoo.com
nsahmala@gmail.com
nsahmala@yahoo.com
(237) 74 29 17 46
Thanks be to God!
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