Your Excellency,

I’ll be ashamed if no action is taken to correct what I am about to tell you. It is my faith in you, following some of your actions in the field, like sanctioning those who stock-pile cement, that gave me the courage, assurance and confidence to challenge the butchers in Mutengene recently.

Like the Bible says, it came to pass that Mr. and Mrs. Mensah, my guests from Ghana and myself, decided buy meet meat recently. To make sure it was fresh, we went early to abattoir in Mutengene.

Why Africans prefer to remain as backward as we are simply beats my imagination. We prefer to remain as photocopy machines and not innovators and initiators.

In fact, it has become so bad that a good section of our local markets with used clothes from abroad. To wear an Italian-made shoe from a shop carries pride with it not to talk of riding a Pajero! When, for God’s sake, shall we be independent? Even our laws and system of governing are photocopied up side down.

It is fifty years since La Republique du Cameroun became independent, at least, so to speak, and a good part of forty years since West Cameroon opted to join them.

Although some apostles of the present regime may be beating their hands on their chests, boasting of the wonderful strides and achievements Cameroon has gone through during this period, especially under the present leadership, it remains a shame that we can still openly accept that we are a "highly indebted poor country", hungry, corrupt with a high rate of unemployment, continuous electricity and water cuts, which rates are comparatively high, paper- created schools with few teachers and inadequate infrastructures, no credible electoral and, and and, and the list of our shortcomings is long.

My late mother, may her soul rest peacefully in the arms of our lord God Almighty, was a stern disciplinarian and a no-nonsense woman. She took to her father, my grand father, who never wavered from the truth, from what was right, honest and decent. While my grand father hailed and saluted what was good, he blasted and corrected wrongs with no exceptions. He was full of energy and vigour; humorous and kind to a fault.
My mother was very much like her father in many ways; except that she was a woman. But, woman or no woman, she was a good example of womanhood. She and my beloved saintly father, died one month apart in 1966 but their legacy thrives in us, I mean my wife and I and, I hope, some of the children and theirs.
As can be imagined, rice was considered to be a delicacy for the wealthy families. For others, rice was eaten only on special occasions or events such as Christmas.

You know, it is no small matter to be the President of a country. I for one would not want to be a President because, for one thing, I hate what they call protocol.
How can someone be by your side, directing your every movement in broad daylight? You can’t do this, you can’t do that and sometimes you have to tell diplomatic lies. I hate untruths, no matter in what form. There are a million eyes and ears on you every blessed moment and people are ready to cry foul and lay blames on you even for certain things you did not do or know about. You can’t even look at a fair dame twice; the protocol man will be there to push you around. Me, I don’t like that. I cherish my free happy-go-lucky life.

I somehow find it difficult to keep count of the number of seminars, workshops and conferences held in this country. Some are supposed to be refresher courses as we used to know them in those days or training of trainers or, as many of them turn out to be, mere talk –shops.
They are expected to up-date knowledge or introduce us to new skills and so on. This means that the participants and the nation stand to gain as far as development is concerned.
I have attended a good number of these meetings in and out of the country. In one occasion, I was asked to report in Buea to collect my transport fare to Yaounde. I did. I signed for five thousand francs with instructions to call a certain number for transport to our final destination. It took three solid, miserable, anxious hours to land us where most unacceptable pepperish food had been prepared.

When we hold meetings, attend conferences, or appear on television in our various domains, the common and general focus is aimed at the building and development of this country. At least, that is what is expected. The intention is not, and should not be, to fight and destroy. So, no matter what I say which happens to be the truth, and nothing but the truth, gospel truth, should help as the correcting ink to save our nation. It should not provoke bitterness towards me, to the extent of threatening my life.

When we hold meetings, attend conferences, or appear on television in our various domains, the common and general focus is aimed at the building and development of this country. At least, that is what is expected. The intention is not, and should not be, to fight and destroy. So, no matter what I say which happens to be the truth, and nothing but the truth, gospel truth, should help as the correcting ink to save our nation. It should not provoke bitterness towards me, to the extent of threatening my life.

When I look at Isangele where I come from, I can not help thinking of a lover and his lass in Kompina in the year 1978 when I went there to do contracts. These two were experts at producing carraboards. They made quite a lot of money by local standard but their houses, which were built of the boards they produced, were so old and worm out that one could see what went on in the house from outside.
The reason was that the lover boy drank away most of the money each time they were paid. If Ann, his girl, dared to raise her voice, she ended up with a black eye.
It almost became a tradition in their life. Neighbours had tried to intervene at first but when they found out that despite the snake beating, she loved her man and remained very faithful to him. Ben, the lover boy took advantage of this.

Hi folks! And this is a true story. It came to pass, like the Holy Bible would put it, that I found myself deep in the preparation of a stage. This was the fifties when I was welfare officer in the CDC in charge of sports and other welfare activities in the corporation and to a large extent, covering the then West Cameroon.
Mr. AD Winslow of blessed memory, my boss, told me that we had to make the best of it because the stage was to be used for the presentation of the Queen's medal to a worker of the CDC by the Resident (today's equivalent of a governor) himself.
I leave you to imagine how much work and effort went into setting up a magnificent, well-decorated platform for such an important event, hitherto unheard of. I looked beautiful and very attractive. Anyone being part of the pending ceremony felt proud and privileged.