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Letter From Yaounde To Buea 

Dear Mbella, I read your letter with gusto for the simple reason that you decided to come out of your hallucination bondage and break the communication impasse. When I did not see the reply to my mail for one year, I nursed fears to the effect that scammers at the post office might have rescued it.

Since we went comatose, a lot of water has passed under the bridge ushering in a new dispensation that came with enigmatic socio-economic and political mutations. The truth is that rivers, streams, tributaries and meanders will one day flow upwards. That is why female chauvinism was "agogo" in Ongolo where sycophantic lechers rolled out the drums to sing praises to those who have been cowing their third legs into submission. Mola, I was cautious enough not to be charged with exhibiting callous indifference to my Eve during the gender effervescence.

Old boy, you know very well that I am like Anolphe of Molier’s imagination in l’ Ecole des Femmes. I don’t’ like intellectual women. They are critical to the extent of being cynical about everything they see. The government has been doing so much about the empowerment of women, but the intellectual women see nothing but hypocrisy. They are arguing they will never care a damn about the gender awarawara until CEDAW is completely applied. But the news of the day was about this foolhardy khaki boy who thought he could demonstrate his pugilistic ability on his Eve that day for abandoning the children to go and march.

Mbella, a group of women fell on him like a swarm of bees and administered him a good therapy of corporal punishment that cut his brutality to size. Onlookers watched a bizarre scene wherein the uniform officer lay fallow on his belly, passing confession as the irate women looked on. I hear you people rolled out the drums to celebrate the fallacy and the wishful thinking that the national chair of the national great party will be tried for crimes committed in his country. I simply laughed because that is talk from mean-spirited detractors who do not want to acknowledge the infallibility of our king.

The truth is that our democracy which is a la Camerounaise, respects the divine rights of kings. Thus, nobody has a right to question the king even if he decides to have his wife for carnal launch. If the king is so wicked that he took his cabal for a spending spree abroad and send kaki boys to quench unarmed civilians for his entertainment, we can only consider that as punishment from God.

In as much as we enjoy benevolent despotism in our country, we don’t have any right to complain. Feymen should not also take advantage of the situation to settle personal scores with the talk-talk men and women, claiming they are doing so on behalf of our monarch. I am shocked each time the royal Bob Denard claims he is committing pogrom on the opposants on behalf of the great national party. Never mind, the wind is blowing for us now to be able to see the rump of the fowl. Who is who in this set up, Mbella?  So what difference did Peter Sonfo Methusellah make when he mounted the soapbox at the hand clappers’s house the other day. It was all the same buffoonery and hosanna to the highest.

Mbella, this tells you clearly that the soapbox game is all about scheming for the stomach. All the same, we need people to entertain us with cheap talk that is far from the dark room agenda where soap-boxers line their pockets unduly with the tax payer’s kossa. The ultimate aim of politics is to betray the people you claim to protect so as to chop awulf. Little wonder that there is the mushrooming of the innocuous opposition for the 2011 Njang Dance. They are mastering the C choreography so as to have a share of the entertainment when time comes.
My warm regards to Enanga,

Yours sincerely, Ngwa

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