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Letter from Buea To Yaounde… 

Dear Ngwa,

I cannot remember having once told you that the only thing that defies the law of gravity is age. Put in simpler terms, the only thing that goes up and does not come down is age. And there is absolutely nothing anybody can do about this.
Age, to put it philosophically, could be likened to the famed Humpty-Dumpty that sat on the wall…and had a great fall. Remember that “not all the king’s horses nor all the king’s men could put Humpty-Dumpty together again.
By the same token, those who assume that they can buy life for a cut of what they have thieved from the public till, will have to wait for when the good Lord would have decided to readjust or why not, panel-beat the divine constitution.
This explains why the grand old man of Ngola, by your own reckoning in your last mail could not “snuggle out” out of his Antoinette’s bosom to attend to state exigencies abroad. This gentleman that goes by the name Age is so morally upright, he wouldn’t receive bribe, even if his very survival depended on it.

When the limbs have aged, one is most likely to learn the bitter lesson Song learned belatedly from a certain Egyptian footballer, Mohammed Aboutrika during the 2008 AFCON finals in Ghana. Song’s heart and resolve were definitely stronger than Aboutrika’s limbs, but age declared that the former’s footballing time was up. Age ruled that there were other teeming talents also eager to be given a fair chance to represent Cameroon at world football fiestas. Accordingly, Song had to get lost or lose a great battle for the very footballing soul of the nation.

Ngwa, this age lesson is definitely not limited to ‘Lapu Yabi’ of the new deal fame and Song, the Methuselah footballer. It equally applies to you and me. Any time I fail to reply to your mail promptly, simply blame it on the age factor. Remember the pidgin English adage …”body no be wood.” That, my brother, simply explains why I am only now, replying to your mail of Friday, February 6.
But before you misinterpret me, let me hasten to add that age has its distinct advantages. Like the proverbial old broom, it knows all the corners of the house. In sociological studies, it is called empiricism. And it counts in no small measure, especially in this pen pushing business of ours.

This probably explains why the chief proponent of the “daily” rag sheet was snubbed, ignored and treated like what the cat dragged in, when he went ranting about how one of our life long advertisers should dump us for his candy wrap. I tell you what, Ngwa! Fools are always so eager to make feasts for wise men to enjoy. That was precisely what this scribbling hack did in Douala recently, as he made a lame case for a switch-over from our stable to where blackmail, cocktail and yellow journalism prevail. I wonder in what language or better put, in what lingo he carried out the campaign.

Still on campaigns, Ngwa, did you learn of how the governing grabber went on a recent all out blitz to “redeem his lost opinion”? Yes, he did. Because he nurses Ministerial ambition and thought that if he did not “dry-clean” his sleazy image, accruing from that mind-boggling grabbing syndrome in which he was a sneaky broker, there just would be no room in the apparent Ministerial inn for his cheating being.

That is not all. Lord Lundy, himself part of the thieving pack was on record during the image cleansing exercise as saying that all those who protested the grabbing bazaar were hungry. Imagine the cheek of it. As if gastronomically graduating into a hill of flesh is a mark of good living or decently acquired office or wealth for that matter. I wonder if some of these erect maggots have ever bothered to watch how or what a pig feeds from or, simply put, why pigs are as beefy as they are.

Ngwa, I shall never tire of stating that power, like wine, often leaves the stomach for the head. Some people love it; they grab it, seek to multiply it for effect. They always love to be in situations in which they can beckon you to come, and you practically set out on the double as it were. They would love for you to ask “how high?” as soon as they ask you to jump.
Watch out for what the crude love of power is about to turn the peaceful village of Wonjoku into. Watch out for who wants to be a king … sitting on an empty throne. Do not say I didn’t warn you!!!

Greet your body for me!

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