By Martin Jumbam
Revised and reproduced from Cameroon Post # 0214 of April 20-17, 1994.
When my desk phone suddenly buzzed to life and the receptionist announced the noisy arrival of Mola J., I immediately braced myself for another long argument with him. For several weeks following Gobata’s decision to “crucify” – the word is Mola J’s – his column, “No Trifling Matter,” in Cameroon Post, Mola J. has literally been haunting the corridors of my office, loudly complaining about people who are already chickening out and abandoning the struggle for Anglophone liberation from what he likes to call "our new colonizers – the Frogs. "
If you heard him, you would have thought that I was responsible for Gobata’s decision to, in his words, “hang up his boots at this crucial moment of our struggle for the liberation of the Anglophone from the Lion-Man’s bloody claws.” Shaking his head sadly, Mola added, “The Lion-Man has at last succeeded to emasculate the Anglophone struggle in this country. When Gobata, of all people, decides to go the way all our brave men and women of the pen are going, then there’s no hope for us at all. This is truly sad!”
I remember merely shrugging my shoulders and telling him that Gobata’s decision wasn’t any of my business. Before I’d finished the sentence, Mola was on his feet almost screaming at me: “Of course, it is your business. It’s everyone’s business, for crying out loud! Anyone who has the Anglophone destiny at heart should be concerned that our valiant writers are all fleeing the struggle, like frightened dogs with their tails between their legs!! This is truly tragic, believe me!”
Then he calmed down before adding gently, “The next time your friend comes here, tell him he’s doing the Anglophone cause a great disservice by chickening out at this time. This paper, Cameroon Post, is dying because the likes of him, the likes of Wamey, Ofege, Mbaya, and the others, are all packing their bags and fleeing the country. I won’t be surprised if Biya’s altar boy, Achidi Achu, has already oiled Gobata’s fingers.
Achidi is a shrewd fellow. I’ve been warning people not to underestimate Achidi. Beneath that his bald head, lies a bundle of tricks which he can spring at anytime to confound even the most astute of Biya's opponents. The greatest mistake Fru Ndi and his friends of the opposition ever made was to dismiss Achidi as a spent force and as Biya’s powerless messenger. On the contrary, he’s Biya’s greatest asset; a real political fox, that one is. A few bundles of francs CFA in millions have probably hit your friend’s account and don’t be surprised if he too starts to sing a different song, this time in Biya’s propaganda piece, Cameroon Tribune. Wait and see. He who pays the piper …”, he began but left it hanging in mid air, inviting me with the nod of the head to complete the sentence for myself.
One day, Mola J. even threatened to return the copy of Gobata’s The Past Tense of Shit, the book Forchivé and his guard dogs impounded in Douala and have been busy selling under the table and in the back streets of the city. Mola had bought a copy from a policeman in a night club. He was with us some weeks later when we successfully launched that book in one hotel lobby in downtown Douala under heavy threats of reprisals from a panicky local administration.
“But Mola, you can’t return a book you’ve thumbed so thoroughly that it has even tripled its size!” I said, sounding alarmed. “How come your copy is that big?” I asked, taking it from his hand. I began to flip through the pages and it would seem there wasn’t a single page that did not carry Mola’s remarks neatly penciled on the margin. “You seem to have read every line in this book, Mola. This is great!”
For an answer, he merely smiled and nodded his prematurely balding head before adding, “That is one great collection of beautifully crafted articles that carry the sentiments and beliefs of the oppressed Anglophones of this country. You see why I’m sad, revolted, baffled and intrigued by this man’s decision to deprive us of such thoughts? We can’t let that happen!” he said emphatically.
“Mola, believe me, I also find Gobata’s decision to “hang up his boots” regrettable. Don’t forget that I’m also a fan of his. May be you should switch your allegiance from Cameroon Post to this one here,” I said pointing to a copy of the Weekly Post sitting uncomfortably in my in-tray.
For an answer, Mola backed away as if he’d just received a slap on the face. “Listen to me good, Martin. I’m a pure Bakweri breed, but I can’t read that trash at all. I’ve never known how some of you ever manage to read it so consistently.” I had to agree that it did indeed take courage, especially for an unapologetic “graffi” man like me, to stomach the visceral anti-graffi line of that paper.
“But, you know what, Mola? If you want to know what your enemy thinks about you, read him.” I even pulled out of my drawer a recent copy of that Beti propaganda sheet Le Patriote, with its violently anti-Anglophone doctrine running from the first to the last page. Mola J nearly collapsed with shock. He then swore that he would never be caught with that trash in his hands, even in a pit toilet, for you know what purpose.
That was the Mola I was expecting to receive this morning when the receptionist announced his usual noisy arrival. I could see him downstairs asking Christina: “Honey, is my journalist friend there?” He calls every woman “honey”, sometimes to unexpected reactions. There is the now famous case of a woman whom Mola called ‘honey’ and she, apparently not being used to such open display of affection, suddenly spun round on her high-heeled shoes and surprised Mola with a big wet kiss on his lips. The woman’s husband, who was just a few feet away, brusquely turned round to inquire what the hell was going on. The delighted woman said: “He called me ‘honey’, didn’t you hear that? He called me ‘honey’! Oh, how sweet!”
The enraged and jealous husband turned to Mola, who was still recovering from the shock of that woman’s reaction, and asked: “So na you di honey my woman, eh? Take this one, na honey dat.” The violence of the slap sent Mola to the floor and it was to be several hours later before he regained consciousness on a hospital bed. He was to nurse a bruised jaw for several months later.
Whenever Mola calls a woman ‘honey’ and I remind him of his misadventure with that woman in Yaoundé, he would always call that woman’s husband ‘that awful eunuch whose progeny is being sired for him by his uncle. That fellow’s wee-wee is only for decoration, believe me. It can’t stand up and that’s why his wayward wife is going around causing so much trouble to peaceful citizens, like your humble servant here. What a brute that man is!”
So this morning, when Christina announced ‘your friend Mola is here’, I thought to myself: “there we go again with his complaints about Gobata and Anglophones fleeing the struggle.” But to my surprise, it was a much jovial Mola who walked in, a smile spanning his face, from ear to ear. Firmly tugged in his armpit was a much bulkier copy of Cameroon Post. He dumped it on my table and slumped into the couch at the corner.
“What’s this?” I asked picking up the paper.
“Take a look at it. Your friend seems to have come back to his senses, at last!”
“What are you talking about, Mola?”
“Read this,” he said, roughly taking the paper from my hands and opening to a column entitled “The Son of Gobata”. As you can see, Gobata, the Father, has suddenly become Gobata, the Son. What a reincarnation!” he roared out with satisfied laughter.
After reading through a few paragraphs of Gobata’s new column, I turned to Mola and said: “I hope he’s back to stay. I won’t like to have you back here, Mola, nagging me for an action I have no control over.”
“Don’t worry; Gobata, the Son, has taken over from Gobata, the Father, and if Gobata, the Son, starts to chicken out, Gobata, the Holy Spirit will take over,” he said, roaring with laughter. Mola J. What a jolly good fellow!
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Posted by: Ip Trunks | January 15, 2013 at 11:48 PM