(For Anny Blink, friend on facebook)
I don`t blink
I wink
But if I`m by the Japanese sink
I simply drink
But never do I shrink.
If I weren`t called Anny
I would be called Fanny
Not because I`m that needy
But because I`m ever ready
To see that my scores tally.
————————————–
I had a chat on Facebook with Anny today. As we chatted, I felt inspired by her name and wrote this poem dedicated to her.
(For Anaël)
I don`t know what to say, frankly
You`ve taken me by surprise, totally by surprise
In fact I`m blushing clearly
I always knew I had hair
Bur never did I know it would cause such a stair.
Honestly, I`m dumbfounded, overwhelmed and flabbergasted.
You sent for me and I was confused by a call from a total stranger
My hair, you said, was the point of attraction
You caught me at it as I walked and crossed the road
You watched me hold it, caress it, cajole it, style it, stretch it
You heard me hold it all together and then tie into one knot
You heard me talk to it, sing to it and whisper to it.
And you said a woman`s hair is indeed her faculty
It is her beauty and the point from which she will rise
It`s her glory and therefore not toyed with vainly
These strands of hair that grow out of my scalp are so fair
That together we make a first-rate pair
Pisces and I can hold it together without feeling exacerbated.
The bible, that good old companion
Is a sharp pointer of good news for man
Depicting in all accuracy man’s rise and fall
The alpha and the omega everlasting
For Jesus then, like for Sam now.
People can choose the manner, like tearful onion
But not the day. No! Not even you as you lie here Sam
Even so, wherever you are, I know you walk tall
Whether in chambers, or with friends of at Rock Farm working
I know Christ is with you because he made that vow
Farewell, brother!
——————————————–
FOOTNOTE
Barrister Sam Achu died ten years ago. On the day he was lying in state at the Santa home of his father, Former Prime Minister, the Rt. Hon. Simon Achidi Achu, I was there to pay him my last respects. When I approached the condolence book to write down my feelings, the outcome was the poem above
We came away quickly, hastily
So promptly we couldn’t close the door of the mortuary
We couldn’t stand the stench of decaying corpses
All of them – and so many of them – fully bathed
Cleaned up, spruced up
And dressed in their Sunday best
They were lying vainly on the mortuary slabs, poor lost souls !
Leaders of the main political parties were among them
All lay face up, draped as they were ; hands straight by their sides
In the colours of their different political parties.
Next to them was a larger slab
On it was the rest of Cameroon
All its people
The old and the young, the first and the last
Women and children, boys and girls
There were no mammals with them ; no aves, no pisces
Just them, all by themselves ; entire families, I mean
Them, apart from the few of us fleeing the stinking and macabre mortuary.
As we hurried away
Away from this obnoxious world
Into an empty and unknown kingdom
I cried out loud
« For God’s sake ! Why ?
Why this weridness in a country that is
So used to announcing deaths
Embelishing and storing corpses in the mortuary
And holding foolishly lavish cry dies ? »
So could anything ever be above the capacity of our country ?
I thought someone once said
« Impossible n’est pas camerounais ? »
(Political poetry)
I bought one, just one
From Marche Mokolo
It wasn’t from Wainama
Or the Mankon Food market
Or even the Muea market.
No, it came from Small Mokolo
It came clad in its own borrowed garments
Sealed with the thumb print of God’s holy hand
It came already gift-wrapped and approved
All I had to do was receive.
But as soon as I touched it, it changed its colour
Like the legendary chameleon
Then I heard a distinct guttural voice from inside
“Are you Cameroon is voting on the 30th of September?”
Before could answer, the voice dared me:
“So who do you think will win?”
“Who will win?” asked I in return
“Either God or the devil of course!”
I bought one, just one
From Marche Mokolo
It wasn’t from Wainama
Or the Mankon Food market
Or even the Muea market.
No, it came from Small Mokolo
It came clad in its own borrowed garments
Sealed with the thumb print of God’s holy hand
It came already gift-wrapped and approved
All I had to do was receive.
But as soon as I touched it, it changed its colour
Like the legendary chameleon
Then I heard a distinct guttural voice from inside
“Are you Cameroon is voting on the 30th of September?”
Before could answer, the voice dared me:
“So who do you think will win?”
“Who will win?” asked I in return
“Either God or the devil of course!”
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(A dead man speaking back)
You’re not talking sense!
Don’t give me that, for God’s sake
Tell me something different
Where were you when the black sheep
Stole in from behind and smashed all my eggs?
Where were you when the hangman read my death warrant?
Where were you when the Nei Mulung drank his own urine?
Where were you when rain fell heavily?
But the wretched earth refused to drink its water?
Then we died in a city totally flooded without hay
Even the royal palace lost the race.
Where I dwell today nothing is dense
Every morning we run around with a black snake
Anyone who refuses has his clothes rent
We sleep on cold cement and eat human flesh just sent
On Sundays we are stood in water muddy and knee-deep
Unless we can bribe with stolen French kegs
One night the guard woke us to ask if anyone could rant
“Rant?” we screamed, bewildered. “Only Youri Gagarine!”
Each night the drunken prison administrator calls us smelling heavily
He tells us this is the world of Famlah where there is no godfather
We were sent here to suffer because we refused to betray
So never shall we return to earth or anywhere else for solace.
Her image is magnetic
Eyebrows, lipstick, hairdo, It’s not just electronic
It’s also systemic
Her look is concentric
And that’s just because I said she was terrific
But I also know her bite can be vitriolic.
Every Facebook man has viewed her profile
With some even doing so on exile
Some men hide so their partners don’t think they’re vile
All of us would like to feel her textile
Even you Charles who just came from the Nile
So don’t start lying like a drunk in a pig’s style.
All of us – yes, all – want her
We fantasize about taking her far
We wish we could press our lips against hers
We suspect each other and call each other the poisoned oyster
We each claim to have taken off her V pants like the panther
We boast we know her private parts and number
And that only last night we spoke to her.
But why is she like this?
So near for dreams like this
Yet so far to give one that kiss
Or would she rather hiss?
No matter what you do, you’ll all miss
For she is my Fleur de Lys!
LOST IN A RUBBER PLANTATION
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A well known expression in the Baforchu language states that the stream branched off because it “walked” alone. Although there is wisdom in the locution, it can however be misleading in the sense that it presupposes that once one has company when walking, then one can’t go wrong.
But then, experience has shown otherwise because a team of us technicians and reporters who once took off from the CRTV Headquarters in Yaoundé for the headquarters of the Rubber Corporation, HEVECAM, located in the South Region, lost our way in transit despite traveling in a group.
We were Franklin Lemana Tina (French Language colleague), Takoudoum (Cameraman) and the driver whom I cannot remember. We had an exhilarating trip and once we branched off into the HEVECAM plantation, little did we know we were getting into the entangled web of a veritable labyrinth. Each turn we took led us into yet more and more tentacles of the maze. We tried to figure out as much as we could where we were supposed to be going but failed.
The roads or perhaps alleyways looked so identical! There were no sign postings to orientate us and there were no human beings in sight. It got dark while we were still searching for our exit and we began to fear for our safety. Then we broke into a generalized quarrel as each of us blamed the other for the mishap. At one point Takoudoum said he knew the answer and after we listened to him direct us, we realized that we were simply going round in circles. The whole thing now became a personal problem between him and Lemana. Although some of us prayed, the miracle still did not happen.
At one point, the driver swung the vehicle round and ignoring all our pleas and calls and objections, he drove on, using his own road map. After about an hour we came to the exit point of the plantation. By the time we got to Niete, headquarters of Hevecam, we were all exhausted!
The vastness and complexity of the plantation is understandable because Hevecam is after all the next big employer in Cameroon, after the State of Cameroon and the CDC.
Although we enjoyed the event we had gone there to cover, the unfortunate wanderings in the jungle still left a sour taste in our markets.
By Tikum Mbah Azonga
(For Mme NJIKI Alice, Principal of FCSS, Obili-Yaounde)
What a world!
And I choose my words advisedly
Gosh! Why the mad race?
Can’t people really take the time to do things
Correctly and well?
Do we realize what a single mistake can cause us
In the short term and the long term?
It’s not because I’m the so-called perfectionist Virgo
Some say my standards are too high
But isn’t it better? Let’s throw mediocrity in the gutter
Aim high, even if you shoot low!
For once, let’s change, let’s adjust.
It’s not about me or my word
But I like decency and hate those who speak carelessly
We can buy many things, but not grace
Even if things go round and round like in rings
I know who I am and I know where I dwell
I strongly uphold the ideals of this great school given us
I’m no novice, and as principal I take note of all terms
If there were things to be done, I did mine a long time ago
Not one who likes surprises, I prefer to ride high
It’s either all or nothing; that’s why I like the truth, even if it’s bitter
Always prepared for the blow
I fight to win, although I can also readjust.
tmazonga 