Palapala Magazine

Palapala #11: On the Road

On the Road

Kangsen Feka Wakai

I had lived in Houston, on and off—but mostly on, for at least nine and a half years.  And for the most part, Texas was spared the worst of the recession, at least in comparison with other states its size [California and Florida being glaring examples]. 

New subdivisions were sprouting along the city’s fringes, lofts and condos—most of them vacant—where now within walking blocks of notorious crack corners in the inner city.  Finding parking in shopping centers or Walmart parking lots was still a hassle.  Texas is unapologetically business friendly, and the Oil and Gas business, Houston’s financial fuel, was not in slump, especially after eight years of Bush and Cheney.   

Bamenda has Changed. It Is Still Changing

Shandie Shing Avwontom

And chances are, Canute’s tearful wail about Bamenda’s scrawny looks reminded “To whom it May Concern” how easily a drop of sweetness can tilt the balance and harness the defiant Bamenda resilience captured so well by Achobang; transform it into a massive developmental machine, driving it decidedly forward.
 Commercial Avenue, Bamenda (c) Our Man in Cameroon via Flicker

For a long time, because Yaounde lent too favourable an ear to bigoted reports by begrudging Administrators too bamboozled by petulant politics to acknowledge the pertinacious endeavours of defiant resilience, Bamenda was denied development-critical facilities and any infrastructure commensurate to its rank and file. So, first some kudos to the brighter and more development oriented of the Administrators including Koumpa Issa erstwhile Governor. Also, one must moderate the brilliance of the new street lighting and the blinking neon billboards, which all said, is only as spectacular as the dimness of two decades of inadequate voltage; accounting for frequent brown, and then black outs of barely glimmering 60 watt bulbs on lonely verandas behind dusty Cypress tree hedges.

There and Back Again

Dzekashu MacViban

Some journeys are more than just journeys. Mine was akin to Frodo's uncle, Bilbo Baggins who embarked on a journey in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, to recover treasure guarded by the dragon, Smaug.
 
 My journey began in Bamenda, and a day before I left for Yaoundé, part of the road collapsed. It had been built across a bridge, and due to age and neglect the road sank.

The Writer’s House

Patrice Nganang

Writers aspire to be ordinary humans although perhaps more than many of them, they know it is an uphill task, especially given the current dispensation and, more specifically, the continent they prefer to talk about, namely Africa. A continent where one country after the other is falling into chaos. The writer aspires to be human by using language; opting for words as his tools. The wordsmith chooses words rather than bricks for instance as that would make him a Mason instead. However, the example of the Mason is telling as the Wordsmith tries to render the words he uses as human as possible. He does so in about the same manner as the Mason would crush gravel into sand, mix the sand to produce mortar and place mortar between bricks to build a wall and construct walls into a house.

On Writing

Dona Forbin

Though Aesop’s fables made quite an impression on my young mind, I don’t think there are any particular books that influenced my decision to write. 

The earliest lines I remember writing, furiously too, were punishments- [I will not play when… / I will be better behaved etc…).

Then there were letters to my childhood and early teen sweetheart (a most treasured gentleman whom I recently had the joy of being reacquainted with, after twenty years of no contact) who swears he has never forgotten those letters that made him go looking up words in the dictionary!

Poems: Hannah Edeki

Settlement Visit

Her lime green Pashmina
Tickles her neck as the mid-day zephyr
Meanders through the settlement
Like the trail of a lizard

Nipping past her ankles as
She passes corrugated shack
Crouched on scabbed stilts
And mud huts
Stacked like cake on a dump.

Randomness [A Poem For P. Njawe]

Kangsen Feka Wakai

Another blurred beam
swallowed in the thicket of darkness.
There is no karma—just a blind, deaf, and cruel
bandit of hope.
Randomness: a cosmic joke that elicits
no laughter.

Pius Njawe, one of Africa’s most celebrated journalists and Cameroon's leading press freedom activist, died in a car accident in Virginia, USA on July 12, 2010.

The Poetry of Zino Asalor

I WILL FORGET YOU

Shove you in the arms
Of One Naira notes and Bazooka
Wrappers rotting away
In trouser pockets
Of my childhood

In a Lexus jeep I will zoom off
Leaving your face fenced in fumes
Racing
To the disco hall of my future
Not "Jemni" or "Eatali" 1

Just Published: New Poetry Collection by Joyce Ashuntantang

Joyce Ashuntantang. A Basket of Flaming Ashes (Poems). 2010 | Langaa RPCIG, Cameroon | 78 pages | Paperback. Available from ABC and Amazon. £15.95 (UK)/$19.95 (US)

Reviews

"Ashuntantang is an extraordinary weaver of words who showcases vivid pictures that compete with 3D simulation. Her greatest asset is her use of the beautiful traditional Cameroonian anchor that evokes folk tales with its moonlight romance and glory. You feel, laugh, weep, shiver, wonder, and hail the triumphant spirit of the persona as it navigates African post-colonial and global experiences with the melancholy of an exile who is purposeful, strategic, and a lot of fun."

Chinyere G. Okafor, Professor of English and Women’s Studies, Wichita State University, Kansas

“A Basket of Flaming Ashes may be Joyce Ashuntantang’s debut poetry collection but it already displays the lyricism and craftsmanship of an experienced poet. The poems flow naturally with feminine elegance and course through myriad forms of love. These are poems that the reader will always go back to read because of their enduring freshness and evocation of experiences that one can easily identify with. I find the collection enthralling.”

Tanure Ojaide, Frank Porter Graham Professor of Africana Studies, University of North Carolina

Encounters: That Evening at the Booze

Valery Visas

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have a little story to tell, so, please I require perfect serenity in this perimeter.   

One evening at the booze with my gang of thieves, call them friends, after much shacking, makossaing and coupéing the decale, I went around the corner to give some booze to the grass.

To my greatest astonishment I saw an angel; you can call her ‘fairy’, if you wish. But all I know is that she was very, very beautiful, I mean more beautiful than a flower that has never existed.