Palapala Magazine

Palapala Magazine # 10: Expectations & Trials

Dante's Corner: Press Freedom in Cameroon

(Book Review) Dreams in a Time of War: A Childhood Memoir by Ngugi wa Thiong’o

Peter Wuteh Vakunta

Ngugi’s latest publication Dreams in a Time of War: A Childhood Memoir is a treasure-house of childhood memories.  It is an informative and didactic memoir written with the intent of taking the reader down memory lane.  The story of Ngugi’s travails through life lends credence to the wise saying that epic characters are often associated with humble beginnings. The narrator begins his narrative precisely where stories of epic heroes always begin: with the place, time, and circumstances of his birth: “I was born in 1938, under the shadow of war, the Second World War, to Thiong’o wa Nducu, my father , and Wanjiku wa Ngugi, my mother. I don’t know where I ranked, in terms of years, among the twenty-four children of my father and his four wives, but I was the fifth child of my mother’s house”(9). Having been born in a polygamous family with too many mouths to feed, young Ngugi often suffered pangs of hunger : “I had not had lunch that day, and my tummy had forgotten the porridge I had gobbled that morning before the six-mile run to Kinyogori Intermediate School”(3). Not only did the youngster have to dispense with food on occasion; he had to walk an incredibly long distance each day in quest of the knowledge he so badly needed to improve his lot in life.  Knowing who Ngugi is today, it is shocking to learn that he never owned a pair of shoes until he was admitted into high school: “I had walked barefoot all my life” (245).

Observation: Our Emerging Voices

Oscar C. Labang

Anglophone Cameroon Poetry has been expressed through various channels. Bernard Fonlon’s strictly Western English grammatical convention was followed by John Menget’s Pidgin English style of writing and Tanla Kishani’s adoption of the indigenous language medium.

In recent years, Bate Besong, Nol Alembong, Bole Butake, John N. Nkengasong, Matthew Takwi, Kucha Kucha and a host of others have developed diction that is more violent and “attackist”, especially on the issue of the substandard position of the Anglophone and the manipulation of the Cameroonian citizenry.

It is however necessary to point out that these poets were violent in varying degree, with some opting for raw unadorned vitriol while others employed subtle, though biting attacks. Then there is Shadrach Ambanasom  whose focus is on the romantic—making for the variety of expressions in Anglophone Cameroon Poetry.

(Book Review) The Spirit Machine and other new short stories from Cameroon

Forti Ebenezah

Dawson, Emma. 2009. (ed.). The spirit machine and other new short stories from Cameroon. Nottingham: Critical, Cultural and Communications Press. 142 pages. 

The Spirit Machine and other new short stories from Cameroon is an anthology of nine attention-grabbing short stories. These short stories highlight contemporary issues like graft, marginalization and moral decadence as well as explore the culture, the customs and ways of life of some people in Cameroon.

Babila Mutia’s  The Spirit Machine, the title story of the anthology falls in the last category. It is about a young boy, Gabuma, son of Kebila of Mbelu village. When the story begins, Gabuma has just turned thirteen, and it is time for him to be initiated into adulthood as demanded by the customs of his people. Unlike in the past when initiation into manhood was done through the rite of circumcision, as was the case with his grandfather, Gabuma’s own passage into adulthood entails being left alone with a corpse the entire night until dawn. This ceremony is called the gaze.

Writers and Trials: A Review of Oscar C. Labang’s The Trial of Bate Besong

Dzekashu MacViban

From the publication of This is Bonamoussadi to his  recent work The Meaning of Fame, Oscar Chenyi Labang has proven that he is an irrepressible oasis of creativity. The Trial of Bate Besong (2009) is a modernist play in which the ghost of Bate Besong – an iconoclastic writer who died in a car accident – represented by Voice, is on trial.

Bate Besong, an award-winning playwright and poet, was also a moral crusader who spoke out against Cameroon's socio-political ills. A university lecturer and orator, Besong's  place in the public arena was immense.  In blending of genres—poetry and prose—in his play, Labang reveals a modernist consciousness in his attempt to recast Besong as a defendant.

(Fiction) Great Expectation

JKS Makokha

Memories. Memories.

It is uncanny sometimes how memories, both stale and fresh, keep popping up in one’s mind without an invitation or appointment. Now I remember how many, at home, late last year believed that something terribly great was about to happen in Kenya on New Year’s eve or soon after.

This was the day that the electoral results for the most hotly contested presidential race in our country’s post-colonial history were to be published. The voting itself had taken place on 27th December and normally the results would be out by the 29th. But these were not normal times. No they were not.
In an election of stakes this high, a half of me could understand the sense of foreboding. The other half did not. It chose, rather, to feel the air for meaning.

UNESCO-Obiang Nguema Mbasogo International Prize for Research in the Life Sciences*

Nomination Form

Family name of nominated candidate: Wakai

First & middle names: Kangsen Feka

Profession and position held currently: Writer/Life Scientist

Nationality:  In question.

Address: You wan kam kill me?

Telephone:  Ah no go givam.

Email:  youareadisgrace@flushmail.com
 
Website:  www.yourgenerationofleadershavefailedus.org

I hereby agree to this nomination
Signature…?$%#&…….

The Poetry of Minna Salami

How I Fit Kill a Good Man
Anoda person ghost dun enta ma bodi
I no know iym name
But I know say na man
For de way I feel dey burn in front of my tighs for night
See e be like say…
For morning wen I wake see light shine for window
Before I go reach my work for oga compound
I look my face inside mirror
My hair wey plait like snail
My teeth wey shine with fine fine gap in middle
My breasts wey flesh soft like pomo
My ynash wey round and come brown like coconut
And I for sure, dat de person in my front is woman

The Poetry of FB Omondi Otieno

Love Lures

The relentless roaring rains rumbled in a storm
Clattering cans, and casting confusion, confounding…
Till the raised remorseful rainbow rescinded the rain

Cassandra’s curls cascaded, caressing the calm, my arm
Touching, temperance tempting, timely, typical, true
Luring of lost luscious love lingered likely

Silhouettes of surreal sunrays surmount
Upon meretricious mellow meadows, miles on
As hanging heavens, hallow the hilly horizon

Poems from Dona Forbin

For Mungo mad Bard.*

True, we may be mad like him!
Our own will not hide behind a beard
Defying razors and glances
A kinky mass and mess
Charging over an innocent shirt
Bewildered chest condemned
to carry promised words
Stark naked and prancing

The Poetry of Valery Ngime Epie

Anthropomorphism

I don’t hate gods for being unpredictable
Slow to punish the wicked
Slow to bless the good.
Poor harvest.
Droughts!
Man proposes
Gods dispose.

I like be niameh! 
Beings that require just cola-nuts
And palm wine to host them.
Yes!
And they serve us well.

(Poetry) I Have a Poem

Walter Keyombe

I have a poem for peace to the world
A poem that’ll spread the message with its fires
Towards the planets with holocausts or killings
A poem that’ll talk about reality amongst the
Communities tortured and marginalized
A poem that’ll be against female mutilations
With sex violation and child abuse
A poem that’ll sail on the oceans, seas
And lakes.

Now Available: Songs for Tomorrow: Cameroon Poetry in English

Barfee, W.G.; P.T. Nkweteyim; E.E. Esambe. (2010). Songs for Tomorrow: Cameroon Poetry in English. Yaounde, Miraclaire Publishing. 204 pages. (Series editor; Oscar C. Labang).

Excerpt (From the Preface by Emmanuel Fru Doh) 

Songs for Tomorrow, as an anthology of poems by Anglophone-Cameroonians, is a welcome effort at further burrowing not only into Anglophone-Cameroon Literature as a whole, but into a genre that is always treated, especially by young students, as anathema. This whole enterprise, therefore, amounts to an effort that reveals poetry as a subject that can be enjoyed, especially in its role as an effective medium for the dissemination of ideological trends which can be entertaining or didactic and thereby effectively broadening the worldview of society.

Palapala Magazine #9: For Haiti

(Poetry) JKS Makokha: Tributes

HAITI: 1.2010

"Preamble":

humanity tense
send condolences as
tears in words console Haiti

Part I:

burp! BURRP!
EarthquUUUAKE!
cosmic constipation!

(Commentary) Writing Back: John Buchan and William Boyd

By Rosemary E. Ekosso

“The question is whether a novel which celebrates this dehumanization, which depersonalizes a portion of the human race, can be called a great work of art. My answer is: No, it cannot.”
Chinua Achebe in An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad's Heart of Darkness

When I was trembling on the cusp of adolescence, one of my sisters procured a dog-eared copy of John Buchan’s Prester John. I loved the entire adventure and quite naturally wanted the protagonist, David Crawfurd to beat the black preacher, Laputa. But we were more interested in the funny bits we could find in the book. For several weeks, to our father’s bemusement, we went around quoting Crawfurd pretending to be drunk.

“Awfly shorry, old man, but I've f'nish'd th' whisky. The bo-o-ottle shempty”.

Recently, I read the book again and I was surprised at the earnestness with which I wished Crawfurd had failed.

(Commentary) English on a Polyglotic Wall: On Being an Anglophone Cameroonian Writer

Wirndzerem G. Barfee

To understand the mosaic complex that forms the Cameroon writer’s identity in general, one must first decrypt an essence of his/her historical and cultural canvas. Cameroon is one of those African countries that have the uniqueness of historically (colonial history of course) having undergone, inclusively, the hegemony of three 'colonizing powers'.

First, it was the German, until the end of WW1; then the French and English, concomitantly, under protectorate and mandate configurations, until the wave of African independences in the 1960s.

This uniqueness is also compounded by the intriguing curiosity of having had the English part of Cameroon as a quasi-autonomous region of Nigeria before later rejoining French Cameroons after the 1961 UN sponsored plebiscite. The contemporary cultural threads baste more sophisticated tapestries with a competing ethnographic map that locates about 250 indigenous linguistic groups, two official languages (French and English) and a dynamic lingua franca, Pidgin, which is developing vibrant variants conditioned by hybridities, age group factors, urbanization and education. This latter fact is evidenced by the popularity of “Camfranglais” (the mixture of native French and English languages) among the youths, especially in urban areas and informal student milieus.

(Commentary) Becoming a Cameroonian Writer

Patrice Nganang (Translated from French by Emmanuel Ndeh Avwontom)

This is the age when the seeds of Cameroonian literature are being sown. Question: are we conscious of the fact? If we are to listen to the most virulent of our literary critics, Cameroonian literature is currently wallowing in the middle of nowhere. Thus, it is pointless to attempt naming regularly published Cameroonian writers since 1990 (be it in Cameroon or overseas), the likes of Anne Cillon Perri, or Nyamnjoh, Ebodé, Bonono, d’Almeida, Effa, Miano, just to name a few; listing publications; or mentioning awards here and there, or even the tons of literary criticism ranging from doctoral theses through reviews to loose leafs such as Njanke’s Bookinons which are piling up; or places such as Poet J-C Awono’s Francis Bebey Cultural Centre that are springing up in the city. This is all pointless, because our critics are adamant.

(Fiction) The Fireside Kitchen

Akenji Ndumu

There she stood, a guardian at those gates of blackened plank, the creaking doorway into her fireside kitchen. The scowl on her face multiplied her wrinkles two-fold, curved them into and against each other like ravines born of renegade magma re-arranging the face of the earth. As earth was aged, so was she, all except her youthful eyes that shone florescent against the night-coal of her skin. She, seemingly cemented in front of those four walls, eyed the man in front of her, from his yellow construction cap to his dirty orange-overalls to his robotic determination to collapse her kitchen. He said I don’t make the rules ma’am.

(Fiction) The Late Chief M

JKS Makokha

Let us call him Mr Matchstick. Or Chief Matchstick for that was his official title. Or simply Chief M.

I remember him very well although it has been 11 years since we last worked together. I had been commissioned by the government of a republic somewhere in Africa as an Enumerator in the National Housing and Population Census process. The census has been conducted in this republic every 10 years since 1949. The British colonial government, faced by the imminent war of independence by the natives, had thought it wise to find out actually how many heads and huts were there in the colony. This statistical strategy could come in handy in case the restless natives made good their threat and rose in rebellion against the Crown. Of course they did but the British eventually won the long and dirty war in 1958. In spite of the resounding victory for the new Queen, the colony was lost in the winter of '63. The rest is history. The census endures. The recent one was conducted last year. The nation awaits the results. Some say they are still being (prepared) cooked or in local palaver: "The results are still in the kitchen".

(Fiction) Lacuna

Valery Visas

The smile of day met him sitting on his bed, staring at the pictures on his wall, listening to the chirps of birds by his window, seeming to decipher the words of their lovely song…

But, lost in deep thought… drowned by pictures of abstractions…of men marrying… of lovers
kissing… of parents nursing their kids… of a man living in affluence…

His movie thoughts are halted with a sudden thud at his door “come in! No wait, wait! I’m naked!” he cries out, but too late. His maid was already in.

“I’m sorry… Mr. Thogane…I didn’t mean…I just wanted to call you down for breakfast.” “That’s o.k.… I’m used to it!”

(Music) Showboy

"Showboy" of the Seun Kuti's Egypt 80 - State of Music and Musicianship in Africa.

 

The Poetry of Wirndzerem G. Barfee

Heart-snatcher
(Or She Used to Be One I knew)

You burgled my chest
And stole my heart. Then left my rest.

It happened like a cyclone, fast and loud,
As you kicked up the dust-cloud
And left me blind
Without my mind.

You had possessed me only that long,
Then the saturnalian season stormed along
With its own rage and dream-chasers;
You jumped on the train for free,
Taking my stolen heart along with you
 And leaving me behind with an empty rib-cage.

The Poetry of Belinda Otas

A Despondent Soul

In the pit of despair
Death calls out to my soul
Dark like midnight
Lonely and icy
My soul is cold
Fear has never been so chilly
My spirit is frozen in motion as death whispers
‘What if you ended it right here and now?

(Poetry) Ah go write wetin ah want

Kangsen Feka Wakai

Boom! Bap!
Boom! Boom! Bap!
Boom! Bap!
Boom! Boom! Bap!

Cacophonous rhythms from thumping chests
Elicit unwanted migraines
So I bite a slice from Biko's bean pie
And fart like my neighbor's cat,Trouble,
who spends mornings on the heels of head-nodding lizards.

Announcement: Festschrift for Professor Kashim Ibrahim Tala

THEME:  HISTORY, MEMORY, IDENTITY AND CREATIVE IMAGINATION IN LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE

  Venue: University of Yaounde I
  Date: 3 - 4 June 2010

Organized by the Department of African Literature and Civilizations, the University of Yaounde I,  in collaboration with the Department of English of the University of Yaounde 1 and the Department of English of the University of Buea 

Under the distinguished patronage of the Minister of Higher Education of Cameroon

Papalapala Magazine #8: Tori Long Time Short

Mat Challenge Workout DVD

In Memoriam: Mbella Sonne Dipoko - The Bard Who Dared To Be Different

By Dibussi Tande

Mbella Sonne Dipoko, one of the leading first generation Cameroonian writers and, without doubt, the most internationally recognized Anglophone writer, died on December 5, 2009 in his hometown of Tiko. His death not only leaves a huge void on the Cameroonian literary landscape, but also marks the end of a most storied and colorful life that began 73 years ago on the banks of the River Mungo and continued through the Southern Cameroons, Nigeria, Europe and then back to the banks of the Mungo. 

Dipoko began writing very early on in his life. In 1960, he left for France at age 24, after a brief stint as an accounts clerk with the Cameroon Development Corporation and a news reporter for the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation.

Petit Pays: Nudity and the King

Kangsen Feka Wakai

Petit Pays owned the nineties.  And if he didn't own the entire decade, then he owned the most significant part of it.  And if he didn't own the airwaves, he certainly owned sidewalk speakers and dance floors.  The 'matinee' generation would come of age dancing to the sounds of  'Nioxxer', 'Maria' and 'Polissy'. 

If Lapiro de Mbanga stormed through the gates of censorship in Cameroonian popular music in the mid-eighties with his abrasive diatribes against the socio-political order, then Petit Pays widened those walls with lyrics that were at once irreverent and suggestive.  His were songs that were layered with  innuendos, social commentary and were meant to provoke.  

Music - Rumba on the River

V. Muna Kangsen

For decades, the music emanating from the Democratic Republic of Congo and its neighbor and musical rival, the Republic of Congo, has dominated African airwaves and record charts influencing artists from across the continent, who in turn borrowed generously from its aesthetics.

Generally referred to simply as “Congolese”, the popular music of both Congos evolved against a backdrop tampered by the vicissitudes of colonialism, Western-backed military dictatorships, as well as civil wars, which saw the deposal of Mobutu in Congo-Kinshasa and the return of Sassou Nguesso in Brazzaville.

Film, Darwish and Palestine: An Interview with Hadeel Assali

Kangsen Feka Wakai interviews Hadeel Assali, a Palestinian-American cultural activist and founder of the Houston Palestinian Film Festival.

KFW: You were very involved in initiating the Houston Palestine Film Festival, which offers an American/non-Palestinian audience a glimpse of the Palestinian experience from a creative point of view.  How would you assess its impact so far, and to what extent can art play a role in articulating the aspirations of the Palestinian people?

HA: Palestine has been a taboo “controversial” topic for far too long, including in the arts/culural realm. When I was a university student about 10 years ago, it was considered offensive to even utter the word “Palestine.” It was almost considered a threat; we were expected to refer instead to the “Palestinian territories” – this is what happened with Palestinian director Hany Abu-Assad’s film “Paradise Now” just a few years ago.

It was the first Palestinian film to be nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, but could not be submitted under “Palestine” (and was instead submitted under “Palestinian Territories”).

Clara Angelina Diaz on Color, Om and Self

Conceptualization
My approach to conceptualization can be attributed to what some call God, a higher self, Om, higher order or Divine energy. The name of the source is not that important, but the process of conscious connection with it, has been of utmost importance in my life. At the beginning of my artistic journey I found it impossible to explain why I drew what I drew or painted what I painted because during that time I was not consciously in touch with the source of self and creation. In order to mentally conceptualize my creations and verbally explain them, I have adopted two different processes which after some time reverse themselves. 

Our Fate as Writers: Thorns on our Chosen Path

By Dipita Kwa

Sirri was preparing to confront her parents in order to convince them that she wasn’t vulnerable as much as her uncle had made them believe.  Then all of a sudden, like a silly dog, her treacherous mind dug up the story Granny told them yesterday about a young author. 

This guy thought he had a few international achievements in creative writing after his short stories were published in several online magazines; a published novel, but most of all his being published among the worlds Literary Greats in an anthology of short stories.  But not even up to a handful of his countrymen knew he wrote stories even though he lived and worked there. 

Ekechi - A Short Story

Shandie Shing Avwontom

A faint, first only slightly perceptible sound sauntered through the half open door into the stillness of the room from the corridor outside. Then distinctly; feet shuffling. I can’t say for how long I had remained in a stupor but the noise brought me back to my senses instantly: “Oh my God” I prayed, “Ekechi!” I murmured under my breath and sucked my teeth. Stories of rape victims swirling in my mind, I whirled my feet one after the other in an arch to the floor and with my heart clocking overtime, dashed out of the room. There was no one in the corridor.  It was getting to dawn. I threw open Ekechi’s room door without a thought of knocking. She was already dressing up. The bewildered poor thing snatched a towel and held it to her chest, in vain. She stared at me questioningly. I asked her if everything was okay and quickly realised she was unaware of what had happened.

The Poetry of JKS Makokha

I. Kilos of Bones

How many bones will it take
to construct our very own
towering statue of liberty?

How many kilos of bones,
pure white primatish stones,
will it really honestly take?

How many for a national statue
far FAR taller than that of Kimathi
or Jomo on their thrones of stone?

How many for a statue so high
that it crests the towering rooftop
of our colonial capital city’s centre?

Poetry - Speak Camerounais

By Peter W. Vakunta

I will not parler français at home.
Je ne parlerai point French on the school grounds.
I will not speak French avec mes copains…
I will not speak French with mes camarades de classe…
I will not speak français tout court.
Hello! Ils ne sont pas bêtes, ces Anglos!
Après maintes reprises, ça commenc à pénétrer dans leurs têtes de cochon!
Dans n’importe quel esprit.
ça fait mal;
ça fait honte;
ça agace!
Et on ne speak pas French dans les carabets de matango.
Ni dans les gares routières.
Ni anywhere else non plus.
On ne sait jamais avec ces conasses de froggies!
D’ailleurs, qui me donne cette autorité de crier à tue-tête?
D’écrire ces sacrées lignes?
Peu m’importe!

The Poetry of Dzekashu MacViban

Genesis
І

The unsteady familiar rhythm of known voices
Like some haunting siren song suffocates
My thoughts. Deep within the darkness of
The cave lies a punctured genesis.
With two voices piercing each other
I watched the changing scenes
And, in pure macho fashion, the rib was silenced.

Photo Essay - Sankofa: Caravan to the Ancestors

Galveston, Texas, 2009

Mbella Sonne Dipoko - An Eulogy by Prof. Isidore Okpewho

I am very saddened by the news of Mbella's death. When I heard many years ago that he had returned from Europe to his village to stay, I continually nursed the hope that one day I would meet him again. Sadly, it was not to be.

My personal knowledge of Mbella goes back to 1966. After graduating from Ibadan, I had spent one year (1965-66) in London training as a publisher with my employers, Longman. At the end of the period, Longman gave me a one-month European holiday which took me through France, Italy, and Greece and back to Italy for my return trip to Nigeria. For my stay in Paris I was introduced to Mbella, whose novel A FEW NIGHTS AND DAYS had just been published by Longman. I spent my three or four days in Paris with Mbella in his digs, whose location I cannot now recall.