WHY TONY BLAIR IS RIGHT

                                            FORMER BRITISH PRIME MINISTER TONY BLAIR

By Tikum Mbah Azonga

Tony Blair whose full names are Anthony Charles Lynton Blair, served as Prime Minister of Britain from 1997 to 2007. In his lifetime so far, he has created many records including being a Scotsman who became prime minister of Britain, the majority of prime ministers having come from England. He is also one of the youngest prime ministers Britain has ever had, as well as the longest serving British prime minister who came from the Labour Party.

Tony Blair was forced to step down in 2007 when he handed over to Gordon Brown, after being widely accused – even by members of his own party – of having misled Britain into fighting alongside America in the 2003 Iraqi war that saw the toppling and execution of the Iraqi President Saddam Hussein. After his resignation, Blair was made Special Envoy to the Middle East by the United Nations and the United States. He set up the `Tony Blair Sports Foundation’ whose mission was to raise the participation of children in sports events, notably in North East England where there is a considerable number of socially deprived kids.

However, despite the former prime minister`s eloquent record, his disputed involvement in the Iraqi war has continued to dog his footsteps especially as Iraq appears to be sliding into more and more chaos on several fronts. What is worse is even that the theory about the existence of Weapons of Mass Destruction in Iraq which was hatched as the basis of the invasion by American President George Walker Bush and the British prime minister has so far not been proved right, which means that there were no such weapons in the country in the first place.

Fully conscious of that fact and the grudge the British people continue to hold against Blair, the former prime minister recently made a clean breast of things. He has come clean and publicly apologized for the part he played in messing up Iraq. In a recent interview he granted CNN, Blair regretted the invasion by blaming the intelligence reports that he said had justified the assault. He held: “I apologize for the fact that the intelligence was wrong. I also apologize, by the way, for some of the mistakes in planning and certainly, our mistake in our understanding of what would happen once you removed the regime. But I find it hard to apologize for removing Saddam.” Blair said he believed there are elements of truth in the assertion by some people that the attack on Iraq brought about the rise of the deadly Islamic sect, ISIS: “Of course, you can`t say that those of us who removed Saddam in 2003 bear no responsibility for the situation in 2015.”

It is just as well that Tony Blair has apologized because the war has left Iraq in a deplorable state. The consequences have been devastating in many  domains including the humanitarian, social, political, military, demographic, cultural, infrastructural, developmental, touristic and regional. However, Tony Blair`s public apology alone is not enough. His partner in crime, George Walker Bush must also apologize in like manner. That is the only way in which Blair`s mea culpa can have any real meaning. The world is waiting and listening.

AMAZING GRACE: THE PROBLEM OF YOUTH GAMBLING

AMAZING GRACE: THE PROBLEM OF YOUTH GAMBLING: There are several definitions for the word “gambling”. One of them says the activity is the playing of “games of chance for money”....

THE PROBLEM OF YOUTH GAMBLING

There are several definitions for the word “gambling”. One of them says the activity is the playing of “games of chance for money”. Another talks of the taking of “risky action in the hope of a desired result.”Another states that “gambling involves risking something of value or an uncertain event in hopes of winning something of greater value.”

From the above explanations, I retain four cardinal points: chance, money, uncertainty and risk. Obviously, these are the words that make gambling what it is. As if that was not enough, there is, to boot, an aphorism that “ who risks nothing, gains nothing.” That means that the temptation to keep gambling is always there in the wait. Well, such an assertion is hardly surprising because it has also been affirmed that gambling is a poor man`s thing because the poor man stakes the little money he has in the hope of earning more, when he gambles. But since the tendency in gambling is to loose rather than win, the poor man keeps losing in the hope that his luck is just round the corner. For that reason, he ends up by having less and less money and becomes poorer and poorer.

Although the problem of gambling as it affects young people may be cause for concern because the tendency is generally for them to gamble more than adults, Canadian youth have in recent times attracted some particular attention through a study carried out by the McGill University International Center for Youth Gambling in that country.

According to the source whose work was recently reported in Awake magazine, “more than half of Canadian youngsters aged 12-17 are considered recreational gamblers, 10-15 are at risk for developing a severe problem and 4-6 per cent are considered as `pathological gamblers`”

The study notes that the problem often begins when early in childhood children are offfered “lottery tickets as gifts” or they “use internet to bet online”. The magazine concludes that as a result, “more Canadian teenagers now engage in gambling than other addictive behaviours such as smoking and drug abuse.”

However, looking beyond the above study, one can see further implications in the issue. Firstly the danger and temptation posed by guns as gifts to such young people is also a reality. This is because in both cases, it is difficult to imagine that the youths will not in the end use the so-called gifts to their own detriment and that of society at large.

Another area of temptation youngsters nowadays face on an increasing basis is that offered by internet which in a way is a whole world of its own that is as large as it is uncontrollable. Free access to internet has been known to push youths into pornography and cyber crimes such as scamming.

Surely it is in the interest of parents to put in place the necessary checks and balances and for the school milieu as well as other social settings such as the church and village or town groups to equally be on the all-time alert. If these measures are not taken, youths are bound to descend into hell, so to speak, not just because of gambling but also because of all the other social loopholes that now abound everywhere.

TWO SHORT STORIES YOU WILL LIKE

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AMAZING GRACE: THE WORLD`S FORESTS AND US

AMAZING GRACE: THE WORLD`S FORESTS AND US: Whether we like it or not, we are all connected to the world`s forests, regardless of which part of the world we live in. In fact, perh...

THE WORLD`S FORESTS AND US

Whether we like it or not, we are all connected to the world`s forests, regardless of which part of the world we live in. In fact, perhaps a better way of putting it would be to say man is inextricably linked to the forests.

Although it is a fact that some parts of the globe such as those in the Southern Hemisphere are more thickly forested than those in the Northern Hemisphere, forest life and its effects still cut across the entire planet. That is why the impact of the tropical rain forests of the Amazon and the African tropics are felt in countries as far off as in Europe, North America and Asia.

Forests serve as homes for of the world`s people such as the Baka of the Rainforest of Cameroon and the Indian indigenes of Brazil. Forests serve as shades against the scorching and devastating sun and thus work as a bulwark for the fauna and flora that thrive under them. The interaction of forests with the soil has a symbiotic beneficial value for both forests and the other living things which use its vicinity as their natural habitat. Forests through their roots absorb and retain water from the earth and use it to help in refreshing the atmosphere. Forests also help in producing and sustaining the rain cycle which is vital to life in all living organisms. Trees and forests help as a fortress against erosion which can be very harmful not just to agriculture but also to the environment as a whole. Through their roots and three backs, forests are the raw materials from which an overwhelming majority of medicines used in the world are made. Some tree roots and leaves serve as a source of nutrition for some of the earth`s inhabitants. 



When a tree is dry, it can be used as a source of fuel because it can be cut up and used to make fires which are in turn used for cooking food and keeping people warm.Distant countries such as those in Europe, North America and the Former Soviet Union benefit from the forests in the tropics when the latter are felled and carted away to be transformed into timber and wood which they then use for building construction and for furnishing homes and work places.

Nonetheless, over-exploitation of the world`s forests has in recent times been cause for concern because scientific evidence shows that globally, more trees are cut down than are planted. When trees are felled, the process is called “deforestation” and when they are planted, it is called “forestation”. The cutting of trees, especially in the tropics has become big business characterized by huge sums of money exchanging hands. In fact, environmentalists and ecologists have been known to accuse governments of the countries where deforestation is taking place of being accomplices in the depletion of the world`s forests. 

In 2009, Awake magazine sounded the alarm bells when it quoted a United Nations Environmental Programme (UNEP) report which stated that in the space of just 13 years, up to 15 million hectares of forests in South America had been destroyed. The publication went on to state that the surface area represented by such a loss was equivalent to all of Central America. We understand the magnitude of the problem better when we realize that Central America is made up of up to 7 countries. That is frightening!

According to the report, the damage of forests incurred by individual countries of South America stood as follows: Brazil – 23 million hectares and Mexico, 6.3 million hectares. Haiti, El Salvador and St. Lucia were said to have lost between 46 and 49 per cent of their own forests in the same period.

The dangers of deforestation are even more telling than we can imagine because as the forests disappear, so too do thousands of species of medicinal plants. The bereft area then becomes exposed to the debilitating effects of the sun and human settlers are forced to flee through forced migration which turns them into refugees. Families are dislocated, the education of children is interrupted, and poverty and disease set in. Wildlife disappears with consequences that are detrimental to the environment generally and tourism in particular.

José Gradiano da Silva in his capacity as Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) Director-General charts the way forward in his introduction to the publication entitled: State of the World`s Forests 2012. He says: “a challenge for the forestry profession is to communicate the simple idea that the best way of saving a forest is to manage it sustainably and to benefit from its products and ecosystem services. If the principles of sustainable forest management are applied and forest products and ecosystem services play an increasing role, the global economy will become greener.” 

Even so, the battle to give the world`s forests the place they deserve is one that should involve each and every one of us. So, firstly, let us stand up and observe a minute`s silence for the world`s fallen forests, and above all, think of what we can do as individuals and collectively to save the trees that are still standing. After all, the world has become one global village in which all of us living things are interconnected and interdependent.

THE DOG THAT FELL IN LOVE WITH ME

This is the true story of a dog that fell in love with me in recognition of how I saved his life

His name was Kennedy, in memory of John Fitzgerald Kennedy the 35^th President of the United States of America who was brutally assassinated in Dallas-Texas in 1963. The dog belonged to my aunt, Ma Helen. However she bought it from someone else whom I never bothered to know. By the time Kennedy became my aunt`s possession, he already bore the name of the American president. Perhaps he was so named by the original owner; perhaps not. 

When I first met Kennedy, it was during the Easter break after I traveled home to the village in Baforkum from Kumbo where I was a secondary school teacher at the Bui College of General Education. My aunt had just acquired him and I could not help remarking about how handsome and alert he looked.  When I asked my aunt what was the name of her new dog and she told me it was Kenny, I praised her for choosing that name because of whom President Kennedy was to me and many other people of Cameroon, my country.

This was a little under twenty years after the murder of Kennedy in his own country. Yet, I along with many other Cameroonians thought about him very fondly because of the love he had for Africa, including our own country. By that time, our first President, Ahmadou Ahidjo had visited Washington and was well received by President Kennedy. We in Cameroon were enjoying the good work done in our country by American Peace Corps, a pro-development civil force made up of young Americans who went out to the deprived countries to serve as volunteers. We also had some huge trucks which were popularly known as “Kennedys” because the American president sent them to us to help in fostering the development of our country.

It was against such a background that the dog, Kennedy came into my life. Each time I saw him, I though about President Kennedy. For that reason, the dog and I became friends. However, that friendship took an unforeseen turn when I moved back to Bambili, a village next to mine, to study at the Higher Teachers` Training College (the Ecole Normale Supérieure) there. I rented a house within walking distance from where my aunt and Kennedy lived. Since my aunt`s compound was along the road to my college, I saw Kennedy regularly on my way to and from the college.

However, one morning when I was passing by to go for my classes, I noticed that there was something wrong with the dog. He did not get up and come towards me as he always did previously. When I looked at him, I realized he was in pain. When I went closer, I realized he was discharging blood from his private parts and blood from the bleeding was splashed here and there. When I mentioned this to me aunt, she said she too had noticed it. Out of compassion, I then addressed Kennedy as if I was speaking to a human being: “I am really sorry about what is happening today. However, I can assure you that tomorrow morning since I don`t have lecturers, I will go and get the Vet to come and treat you”.

The following morning, I returned with the Vet. It was a Mr. Francis Njende. After patting the dog affectionately on the head, I told him: “Don`t be troubled. The Vet is here to make you well again, Very soon, you`ll be fine.” After examining the dog, the Vet told me that he had a venereal disease. He got a tablet, pressed open the dog`s mouth and as soon as he drop the drug in it, he closed its jaws and then used a finger to massage it down the throat from outside. He also administered an injection on the animal and then told me: “He`ll be alright. But it will take a couple of days for the bleeding to stop and about a week for him to really get well”. Very triumphantly, I said to the dog: “Did you hear that? You`ll soon be okay!” 

Within a week, Kennedy was back on his feet. However, that is not the news. The news is that after the recovery, he did something dramatic. He literally “packed his things “, left my aunt`s compound and moved into my own house permanently. From that day, he was always with me and practically followed me to wherever I was going.  He went back to my aunt`s place only when I was going there. Apart from such an occasion, he completely boycotted my aunt. All attempts on the part of my aunt to coax him into “coming back home” failed.

Something dramatic happened while I was having a political discussion with my flatmate.We were both students at the college but while he did science - I can`t remember which of the subjects - I did Bilingual (French and English) Letters.  He was called Boniface Mkong  Since the subject of politics  is usually one that whips up sentiments especially if it`s between people who are from opposing political sides, things got to a point where we were debating loudly. When my friend tried to raise his voice at me in order to hammer home the point he was making, Kennedy got up and groaned repeatedly at him and exposed his fangs as a sign of warning. He thought my friend was about to assault me and felt it his duty to protect me. It was only when I patted him on the head and told him that it was only a discussion and not a quarrel that he backed down. 

Since the incident involving Kennedy, I have never taken any dog at face value. I have always respected them. So if you have a dog, rethink your relationship with him or her.

THE LETTER FROM CANADA

We were about two months into Form One at Sacred Heart College Mankon when the incident I am about to recount happened.

WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE

 Sacred Heart College was – and still is today – a boarding school and I must say my admission into the institution marked a major change in my life. It was a significant turning point. This was so for several reasons. This was the first time I was ever having a bed to myself, not just complete with a mattress and different sets of pillow cases, bed sheets and a blanket – but more so, the fact that they were all new; brand new, having been bought for me and just for me.

I remember that I had spent the last two months in Bamenda town, away from Baforkum-Bambui where I was born and bred, during which time I went around with utter excitement as I accompanied my Uncle (mother`s junior brother Pa Peter Ndah Geh Tamo) who was the one who took me round the town to buy this or that item or to measure this or that piece of garment at the workshop of Pa Kwende, another uncle and the family taylor. My father, Pa Francis Mbah Tayong sponsored me right up to the end of Form Two when he retired from the civil service and Pa Peter assumed the role of guardian fully thereafter.

THE DIFFERENCE IT MADE

Boarding school gave me the opportunity to permanently sleep in a house that had electricity. Prior to that, our source of light at home was the kerosene-lit bush lamp. The only other occasion when I slept in an electrified house was when I was hospitalized at the Bamenda General Hospital or the Presbyterian Mission Hospital in Acha Tugi (Momo Division). But these were times of dampened pleasure because I had to cope with the inhibiting factor of illness.

However, for about two years before I went to primary school, I used to spend nights sporadically but frequently in the electrified official residence of Mr.  Joseph Mbandi who was at the time an official at the Agric Farm in Bambui. Although my father was Baforchu and Mr. Mbandi was Metta (Momo Division), my father adopted him as a son. Mr.  Mbandi`s junior sister, Ma Rose Afor Mbandi who lived with him attended school with my elder sister, Ma Martina. What happened was that often when Ma Rose returned from school with Ma Martina, she would stop over at our compound and on continuing to her brother`s place, she would take me along. I then spent the night there. Early in the morning she would get up and prepare breakfast of fried Irish potatoes and fried eggs which she served to Mr. Mbandi to eat before going to work. When he finished eating, Ma Rose and I would eat the remainder. I loved the meal and always looked forward to it. After that, Ma Rose would take me to the compound and leave me there before going to school with Ma Martina. Mr. Mbandi and Ma Rose had a brother (younger that him and older than she) who also worked at the Agric Farm. He was Mr. Michael Mbandi. He worked in the engineering section. He became friends with another worker in the same section, Mr. Elias Sikod. Later Mr. Sikod got married to Ma Rose and when I was ready for baptism, he became my godfather.

Once I came very close to living in another electrified house but that prospect quickly evaporated. This was when I was in Class Six of Primary School. What happened was that my uncle, Pa Peter who became my guardian had been working with the Agric Department in Kumbo-Nso was transferred to the Agric Department in Bambui. He was assigned one of the Government houses at the Clerk`s Quarters which was, of course, electrified. Much was my joy when he made it known that I would be living with him in the house in order to help him with the household chores, since he could not transport the rest of the family that was in Kumbo to Bambui. So it was with baited breath that I set about cleaning up the house for the transfer. Unfortunately, barely two weeks after the cleaning up was completed, the government reversed its decision and decided that he would stay in Kumbo and not be transferred any longer. We learned that the Fon of Nso had written to the government petitioning the transfer on the grounds that Pa was a very good worker whom he would like to stay in Kumbo. My dreams were dashed beyond measure.

It was against such a background that I packed my things into St. Andrew`s Dormitory at Sacred Heart College, on that September late afternoon that had been designated as the reopening date for old students of the college as well as the new ones like us. Bit by bit, I was getting used to my new environment and liking it more and more. It was a new and exciting world altogether.

THE  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY THAT STARTED THE DAY

Every morning, the entire student body lined up Form by Form in front of the Main Building of the school. It was from Form 1A which stood at the side that was near the auditorium and the refectory, right up to Form 5B that was last on the other side, nearest to the Biology laboratory. That made it a total of ten classes, from Form one to Five. There was a Form 5 Prefect controlling each of the ten classes. The prefects stood two steps up from the gathering and towards the top of the stairs which led to the main door of the main building, the principal`s office, the office of the school secretary (at the time, Mr. E.K. Kusia) and the staffroom. I was in Form I A and my prefect was Gabriel Ngiliwi. The next thing that happened was that the principal would emerge from his office, pick up the hand bell by his door and ring it in order to call us to attention. Then there was silence. If some students were still making noise, it was now for their prefect to call them to order or threaten them with sanctions.

The principal, The Rev. Brother John Philips used these assemblies to make announcements to us of any information he had for us. At the end of it he prayed and dismissed us. We would then go to class or to our manual labour work places if it was a Saturday morning.

Brother John Philips looked back  at those days many years later when long after departing from Sacred Heart College and from Cameroon, he was approached by the Sacred Heart College Ex-Students` Association (SHESA) to be interviewed for a publication that was produced to commemorate the institution`s golden jubilee in 2011.The former principal said: “As I took morning assembly on the front steps of the college main building with row after row of usually cheerful faces below me, I never ceased to marvel at the beauty of the Mendakwe hills looking down on us in silent majesty. It is a scene that I will carry with me to my grave.”

A PLEASANT SURPRISE

One morning when I arrived for assembly, I found that my classmate, George Keka Atanga frantically looking for me. “Where were you!” he asked excitedly, adding with even more excitement “You have a letter all the way from Canada!” It was true. In my absence, the principal had read out a letter that came to me through the post box of the school, P.O. Box 48. Since I was not present to take it, my Class Prefect, Gabriel Ngiliwi took it for me. So he handed it to me. But afterwards, he punished me for “being late for morning assembly”.

THE LONG-AWAITED LETTER

True indeed, it was a letter from Canada. But it was also news that quickly went round the school. Not many students received letters through the post and fewer still ever received letters that came through the post from overseas. Mine was from an elder brother who had a lot of love for me. A month prior to sending me that letter, he had just left Cameroon for further studies in Canada, at the University of Toronto in Montreal, to be more precise. He was Ni Tah Asongwed who traveled there to study Linguistics and Translation. He too happened to be an ex-student of Sacred Heart College.

The day before he left Bamenda en route for Canada, I saw him for the last time at the home of our elder sister, Ma Magdalene, at Ghana Street. He opened his wallet but regretted that there was not much money in it for him to give me. However, he gave me the little he had and assured me: “I will write to you at school once I arrive in Canada. And by the way, I have asked Ma Magdalene to give you the entire trunk of all the books I used at Sacred Heart College and in the Cameroon College of Arts, Science and Technology (CCAST) in Bambili.” What a glorious treat, I said to myself. However, I used those books for many years to come.

TRAVELING WITHOUT TRAVELING

The letter from my brother was very uplifting. When I read it, I felt as if I was also traveling. He gave me a graphic description of his travel experience. He told me how they “flew over the Sahara” and when he looked down from the window of the airplane he found that objects that were normally large on the ground such as buildings now looked like tiny dots. He described the crossing of the Mediterranean Sea and how they changed planes in Paris and finally landed in Ottawa (Canada). He told me how before he arrived in Canada, accommodation had already been sorted out for him. He said he had started his studies already and told me the names of some of the lecturers who were teaching him. He said lecturers surprised him because they insisted by being called by their first names instead of “Mr.” or “Mrs.” or “Dr.” I closed my eyes and imagined that I was there with him and by him. But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

However, I was not able to read the letter as soon as it was handed to be because it was assembly time, neither could I read it after that because it was lesson time. I took it out during break and read it in the yard with friends crowding all around me to see what a letter from overseas looked like and what it might be saying. George was one of them. Even students as high up as in Form Five were asking me to tell them who it was that had written to me all the way from overseas. That letter turned me into a star overnight.

DISGRACE AT A CATHOLIC SEMINARY

By Tikum Mbah Azonga

When I was a student in CCAST Bambili, Cardinal Christian Wiyghan Tumi (still a priest at the time) was rector of the St. Thomas Aquinas` Major Seminary (STAMS) in Bambui. One Sunday, Philip Kindong, my classmate in CCAST and nephew to the rector invited me for a visit to the seminary.

OBLIVIOUS GUESTS OF THE FUTURE CARDINAL

Our host accorded us a warm reception in his office and chatted with us for about an hour. When it was over, he gave each of us and envelope with a bank note in it. I noted that his nephew and I got exactly the same amount, with there being no discrimination or nepotism. That to me proved that the man was fair and just. After that, the rector called two senior students, handed us to them and bid us goodbye.

A PRIEST IN HIS CASSOCK

One of the two was Patrick Adeso whom I remembered very well because when we were in Form Five at Sacred Heart College, Mankon, our principal, the Rev. John Philips, invited him and another trainee priest to give us a talk about joining the priesthood. On the day they came for the talk and addressed us in the college auditorium, many of us wondered whether people who chose the priestly as opposed to  a “normal” family with a wife and children running around, were really to say the truth, “normal”. Even so, a normal-looking Adeso assured us: “Life in the seminary is nothing. Everything is normal, just normal.” I remember that from that day on, the phrase, “everything is just normal” became a sing song on practically every lip at Sacred Heart College. Nonetheless, at the back of my mind, I knew that the priest-to-be must know what he was talking about. After all, before proceeding to the seminary, he had scored a brilliant performance in his `A` Level examinations. In fact, his results were one of the best in that year.

WALK ABOUT AND LUNCH

The two student priests showed us round the campus after which they took us to the refectory for the famous Item Eleven. We guests were asked to serve ourselves first. By some ill luck (or, perhaps luck), I was at the head of the queue and relished the fact that rice was the main dish. I have some kind of obsessive love for rice. I can eat it every day for seven days, a whole month and throughout the year without growing tired of the delicacy. So I literarily “swooped down” on what lay before me, like a sky hawk diving and whisking away a hapless chick before its mother could realize it.

Unknown to me, I exaggerated things and those behind me became impatient that not only was I wasting time, I was actually taking too much rice, considering the number of people that had to be served. When I lifted my head from the food table,   I realized everybody was looking at me with total disgust. Then instinctively I looked down at my plate and understood that I had loaded so much rice in it that it looked like a little portable mountain. I felt so ashamed of myself. I had moved away from the table to make room for those behind me and now did not have the courage to return to the tray and pour back some of the rice. Even if I could, how would others take it? Would I not look stupid and primitive in their eyes? Like a dog with its tail between its legs, I walked heavily to the nearest table and sat down. No sooner had I done so than someone came and asked me to get up and sit somewhere else because the table was reserved. Although he said it courteously, it did not make any difference to me because there I was, this time, being paraded, after making a total of myself.

THE EVIL THAT MEN DO

Philip and I ate in silence. I could not talk because no words came. He did not talk, perhaps because he was embarrassed by my action. Rice that always tasted agreeably in my mouth was for once, today, tasteless, insipid. It was as if I had been punished to eat food which I had never liked in my life. I sweated, although the food was not so hot. My only wish was that the meal should be over so that we quit the place.

Since that day, I have been haunted by the incident, especially when I am in Bambui or someone mentions Cardinal Tumi or the Bambui seminary. However, I do not know whether Philip still remembers what happened on that day. Unfortunately, he and I have not seen each other for a long time. But I have made up my mind that when next we meet up, I will raise the issue. Who knows? Perhaps we shall just laugh it away and push it to the back of our minds.

WHEN A COLLEGE MEMORY SPRINGS BACK

Is it not interesting that of all the educational institutions I attended in Cameroon, France and Britain, my Alma mater the secondary school I attended, is the one establishment  I keep dreaming about when I go to bed? It is Sacred Heart College, Mankon-Bamenda.

I cannot count the number of times I have dreamed about the school since I passed through it. Yet, looking back today, I find that it is exactly forty (!) years since I left the institution. I have dreamed about the day I went for interview at Catholic Mission School, Big Mankon, and was interviewed by a “White man with hairy hands” (that was how I found him) who turned out to be the Rev. Brother John Phillips and Principal of Sacred Heart College. I have dreamed of the day my father took me to the school and paid the deposit for my school fees. After finishing the business, he and I were walking back to Bamenda town when the principal who was also going to town in his green Beetle Volkswagen, stopped and gave us a lift. I have dreamed of how as we drove to town, the principal meet one of his students walking to school and stopped him.

“Where are you going, Nchotu?”.

“I am going to school to see if I have any mails, brother”, came his reply.

“You mean, `mail`, Nchotu. The plural of `mail` doesn`t take an `s`”

“Sorry, Brother. I meant mail.”

That student was Christopher Nchotu who was in Form 2 when I came into Form 1 in September of that year. I remember that his classmates nicknamed him “Ghah”. I don`t know why.

I have dreamed about my first day at the college and how I rejoiced greatly at the thought of having to spend many months in the year sleeping for the first time in a house that had electricity. It was a far cry from the childhood days during which I grew up in a compound that used the bush lamp for lighting. The only instances when I slept in an electrified house before were the times I was admitted either at the Bamenda General Hospital or the Presbyterian Hospital at Achu Tugi. There were, of course, other periods when I spent some days in the house of Mr. Joseph Mbandi, an official at the Agric Farm in Bambui where my father worked and adopted him as a son.

In short, I have dreamed of the good times at Sacred Heart College, but also the bad ones like when while in Form 2, Mr. Ralph Awa (one of our English Language teachers in Form 1, the other one being the School Chaplain the Rev. Fr. Mac Mahon) gave me the beating of my life. What happened was that on certain Saturday morning when we students were supposed to go to the school auditorium for singing practice, the Choir Prefect realized that attendance was poor and reported the matter to Mr. Awa. The teacher rounded up those sluggish students he could find and thrashed them thoroughly. Unfortunately I was among those who fell in the dragnet. The beating left wheals all over my back and I cried for hours. I actually regretted going to that college and began to think of how I could return home. Even so, that was not possible because even if I did, my father would refuse to listen to my story.

Recently, memories of Sacred Heart College again flooded my mind, but in an unusual way. Last week, I learned that one of the banks that I frequent in the town here where I live, now had a new manager, the former one having been transferred to Head Office. I decided to pay her a courtesy call and congratulate her. In the course of my chat with her, I learned she was called “Nkwadi”.

Upon hearing that name, I was startled. Noticing it, she asked me if there was anything wrong. I told her, yes, there wasn`t just one thing wrong but two. Firstly she was only the second person I had ever met bearing the name “Nkwadi”. The second reason was that the name belonged to a “big” of mine who was in Form 5 when I entered Form 1 at Sacred Heart College. She asked me if that “Nwadi” was called “Peter”, to which I said he was. She then said, “that`s my uncle. That`s my father`s brother!”. In order to be sure, asked her whether as far as she knew, the said uncle ever passed through Sacred Heart College. She replied that she was sure and certain. At that point, I was convinced we were talking about the same person. For so many years since I left college, I had met many other Sacred Heart College Ex-Students (SHESANS) who had been there in my days. However, Mishe Nkwadi was not one of them. But even so, I remembered him now very well. The term, Mishe is a fond name we ex-students of the school use to refer to each other.

One thing that struck me when I entered Sacred Heart College was that the school was run on a day-to-day basis by senior students from Form 5, called Prefects. Prefects were singled out from the rest of their class mates and given posts of responsibility. But then, there was solid solidarity among all Form 5 students, regardless of whether they were Prefects or not. I do not know whether that is still the case at the college today.

Having been tickled by this trigger, I started jolting my memory to see which of Mishe Nkwadi`s classmates I could remember for whatever reasons. That is to say, those who were in Form 5, when I was in Form 1. My thoughts first went to Mishe Sango Joseph, the Senior Prefect, who used to sit in wait in a tree between the Main Building and the refectory below. The Assistant Senior Prefect, Mishe Foma Benedict took up position at the opposite angle of the Main Building, between the Staff Room and the Biology Lab below. The reason why they were positioned there was because once the principal dismissed the rest of the school after school assembly, those were the other two conduits students had to take to go to class, apart from the main entrance into the Main Building. So the Senior Prefect and his Assistant had to be there to keep an eye on the students as they filed past.

The Senior Prefect was fond of disciplining students by hitting them with his right palm at the back of the legs. One day, a Form 5 student forcefully took my refectory bowl from me and refused to return it. When I realized that not only was he not prepared to return the bowl to me but he had started using it as if it was his own, I plucked up courage, went to the Senior Prefect and reported the matter to him. I don`t know what the Senior Prefect said to him but the following day, the senior called me and gave back the bowl to me. Interestingly, he did not hold it against me because he did not punish me. He did not even ever mention it again.

I remember Mishe Ojong Vincent who was one of the Form 5 students in St. Andrews`s Dormitory which was were I spent my year in Form 1. The other Form 1 Dormitory was St. Augustine`s. I remember Mishe Ojong because he was always fond of telling us: “Form One boys, Mishe says you should give him garri and you don`t want to give it, eh? When Mishe will have gone to CCAST where will you see him to give him garri?” CCAST (Cameroon College of Arts, Science and Technology) was at the time the lone Anglo-saxon Sixth Form college in the country. One day, before we went for Saturday general school manual labour, I steeped my clothes in my bucket with the intention of washing them on my way back. Unfortunately when I returned, someone had dumped my clothes by the side of the tap and steeped his own clothes in the bucket. I also dumped the intruding clothes and put mine back in the bucket. Later that afternoon, Mishe Ojong very angrily entered the dormitory, called the attention of all Form One students and as he held up my bucket, he asked whose clothes were in it. When I owned up, he stuttered (he used to stammer), dragged me out by the hand and thrashed me. He then asked me to dump my clothes, pick his up and put them back in the bucket, and then wash and dry them. I did.

I remember the House Captains who headed the four Houses at college at the time. They were Mishe Simon Acho the House Captain of St. Peters, who many years later became the mayor of Bamenda 1 Council; Mishe Ignatius Langmi who was House Captain of St. Thomas. If I am not mistaken, the House Captain of St. Francis was Mishe Peter Fogham, whom I believe was from Bali Nyongha. I was a member of St. John`s House which started the year with Mishe Joseph Akumawah as House Captain but who was replaced before the year ended by Mishe James Tafon, for reasons I do not know. It was the principal`s decision.

There were some relatives of mine who were classmates to Mishe Nkwadi and these other Mishes I have named. I start with two paternal uncles: Patrick Tayong and Joe Ngu. Whereas Mishe Patrick was very formal if not nonchalant about his relationship with me, Mishe Joe showed a lot of commitment and attachment to me. He was in St. James Dormitory and since he was a footballer, playing the outside ring wing in the school team, he made me the one who washed his sports equipment every Saturday after. That was my Saturday duty from him which I fulfilled all the time. But I also used him as a shield. Sometimes I would insult bigger boys and when they chased me in order to beat me, I would run to St. James`s Dormitory and seek refuge in Mishe Joe`s “space”. Once I was there, no assailant could pursue me. So I was very safe.

Concerning Mishe Patrick, I once watched an incident involving him that made me grow sad but at the same time helpless. He quarreled over a bowl with a Form Four student called Sebastian Tangwe. The dispute was over ownership of the bowl with each of the protagonists saying it was his. In the end, they grappled with it as they fought and the bowl got distorted and disfigured. I believe they threw it away with none of them being able to use it.

My memories equally go back to two distinguished blood brothers who were not only in that same Form 5 but were an epitome of unity. They were often together and actually wore the same clothes which they interchanged. They were Francis Nchotu and Sylvester Nchotu, incidentally brothers to Christopher Nchotu whom I mentioned at the beginning of this story. I have never met Mishe Francis since we left Sacred Heart College. However, I hear that he went abroad, and returned to Cameroon and opened a leading private college in Old Town, Bamenda. However, I have met Mishe Sylvester at least thrice: the first time in Bamenda, the second time in Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea, when my family and I were in that country once for vacation. Being a brother to the then Cameroonian ambassador in Malabo, John Akum Nchotu, he was there with him. The third time I met him was back in Bamenda.

You can imagine how elated I feel, when I recall those days.