Martin Jumbam

"Bush-fallers": Welcome back home!

(Revised and reproduced from The Greenfield Review: 5th African Poetry Issue, Vol. 8, Nos. I & 2, 1979, pp. 135-7)

There, far below, are the beautiful, meandering waters of the Wouri River. Huge trees with majestic trunks stretch out their gigantic arms to the winds. They stand on both sides of the Wouri like sentinels protecting the eternal flow of its waters to the sea. Their big leaves, stalked onto strong branches, are dancing leisurely in the wind. The wind caresses them, tickles them, and occasionally one of them, unable to stand the incessant fondling of the wind, snaps off its stalk, crash-landing onto others that had taken the same ecstatic leap hours, days, or even months before.

A Long Distance Call

The operator’s voice was politely sweet and welcoming, wishing me a good morning, reminding me that the Telephone Company was entirely at my service. Could she help me?

“Yes, Madam. I’ll like to speak to someone in Italy, please”. “O.K. Sir. Number, please.”

Italy was six hours away. My German-made, battery-powered clock gave the time as twelve-forty in the morning in Washington D.C. Then it had to be six-forty in the morning of the same day in Central Europe.

Jumbam at a Glance

I am a translator (from French and Spanish into English) and a conference interpreter by training. In my quest for proficiency in translation and interpretation, I did a bilingual degree at the University of Yaounde, a diploma in Spanish from the University of Madrid in Spain, a Master's degree from the Sorbonne Nouvelle in Paris and a diploma in translation and interpretation from Georgetown University in Washington, DC. I also did Comparative Literature studies at the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Canada.

I now operate a translation agency in the port city of Douala in Cameroon. I specialise in the oil industry. I also work, on a voluntary basis, for the Catholic bi-monthly tabloid, L'Effort camerounais, and for the diocesan radio station, Radio Veritas.

Writing is a passion for me and I hope you'll enjoy some of the things I write. God bless you.

Contact Info

Interested in getting in touch with me directly?
E-mail, call or fax me at these numbers:

Phone: (237) 777-28-54
Fax: (237) 347-56-88
E-mail: [email protected]

Foreword to Tav-Njong's Corner

By “Tavnjong” Martin Jumbam

A few years ago, a prominent anglophone journalist, for whom I have great admiration, ran in and out of my office, day in, day out, for weeks on end, urging me to accept a column in his then newly created tabloid.

Unfortunately for me, it was of those moments when my capricious Muse usually deserts me for weeks, even months on end, making writing an excruciatingly painful exercise.

I explained my difficulty to him, and promised to write for his paper once my fount of inspiration began to flow again. But, he would not take such a non-committal stand for an answer. I then promised to write for him on one condition: that he allows me the latitude to write on just about any topic of my choice. The deal was concluded and I went to work.

Hurrah! To Tav-Njong

Revised and reproduced from The Sketch, No. 17, Monday, February 22-28, 1993, P. 13

When people, who don’t know my worth – traditionally, that is – meet me, they tend to call me simply by my first name. Some even behave as if they were doing me a favour by adding ‘Mister’ to my name. Little do they know that I feel more comfortable with being addressed as Tav-Njong or Tav, for short.

Only the other day, I found it difficult to make a former classmate of mine from secondary school days in Man O’War Bay in Victoria, understand why I was dressed in a sleeveless danshiki over khaki shorts, a multi-coloured, thread-woven cap, already showing signs of age, snugly sitting on my neatly cropped head. Carelessly slung around my shoulder, but firmly tugged under my left armpit, was a sheathed matchete. In my right hand, quivered a spear with a shiny, well-oiled metal tip.

Mamiyah: A Legend

From The Sketch, No. 18, March 1-8, 93, P. 13

My buddy, Andy “Young” met one of our former classmates in Yaounde the other day and, in the course of their conversation, our friend wanted to know what degree Andy had. Andy said he had a Masters Degree.

“Weren’t you in a doctorate programme somewhere out there in Canada or the United States?” our friend inquired.

“Yes, but I couldn’t make it, that’s all; no tragedy, I suppose?” Andy asked, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

25% off Invitations

Sex Education, Yes! Vulgarity, No Way!

From The Sketch, No. 19, March 11, 1993, p. 13

I was relaxing on a sofa in my living room the other day, a newspaper in hand, when I overheard a TV journalist reporting on one of those seemingly aimless and endless seminars Yaounde never tires of organising. What with the juicy allowances, the wining and dinning, and out-of-station fringe benefits that go with them! Government functionaries never miss an opportunity to organise one.

This time around, it was the Ministry of National Education, which was said to have organised a seminar on sex education in our schools. I interrupted my reading to hear what our brilliant seminarists had come up with this time around and, as it was to be expected, nothing to write home about.

Tax Collection “à la Camerounaise”

From The Sketch, No. 20, March 26, 1993, p.13

The Cameroon of PB, alias “Lion-Man” or “Man-Lion”, whichever one you prefer, and his altar boy, Achidi Achu, is in dire straits as its coffers are empty. I can see you pouting your lips, shrugging your shoulders and wondering to yourself what else is new.

Well, I may not be telling you anything new there, but what you probably didn’t know is the very original – I’ll even say uniquely Cameroonian – tax-collecting method the Biya Administration recently experimented in the rural areas of the North-West Province, particularly in Ndu: tax collection from women’s vaginas, which one fellow vulgarly referred to as the Triple-T (i.e. TuTu-Tax) formula.

Publish or Perish

From The Sketch, No. 21, April 2, 1993, p. 2

A few years ago, PB, son of Mvondo from Mvomeka’a, made a move which many University of Yaounde staff members at first mistook for one of those pranks for which he has become so famous: he threatened to retire them from their teaching positions at the university.

“Is this PB’s idea of a joke?” our learned dons wondered uneasily, hoping they hadn’t heard him well.

“How on earth can anyone in his right mind ever think of retiring university lecturers and professors? What is this world coming to?” they all wondered out loud, inviting sympathy from anyone who would care to listen.