Abraham: First Opposition to Biya

Abraham Fon slipped into a coma on 6 November 1982 and died seven days later on. He had heard over the local language programmes broadcast over Radio Buea that President Ahidjo had resigned, handing over power to a Beti from the South of Cameroon. I was in the village over the weekend to collect food supplies for the month. I was in school in Bamenda 29 kilometers away from Nyen, my village.

By Christopher Fon Achobang

When I met my father, he was very restless and he called me to scan his toes. I was the only one who defied the stench from his athlete feet to scan his toes for jiggers. My father had worked as a road labourer and stayed in muddy waters for long helping in the building of bridges and culverts. My brothers refused to scan his toes for jiggers because of their messiness. Every time I went to the village my first assignment was to take out the offensive insects that laid their eggs in Abraham’s toes.

As I massaged his toes plucking out the egg-filled jigger shells, he asked me, “What is this I am hearing about Ahidjo resigning? And who exactly has he handed power to?” I cleared my throat before attempting the answer. Usually, I let him entertain me with his plantation stories and going on steamers to Espana or Fernando Po, today Malabo. I had much to learn from my father as I had been away for over five years. I told him the exact biography of President Paul Biya as I heard it read on Radio Cameroon Yaounde, and rebroadcast on Bamenda provincial station.

When the old man came out of his long reverie I noticed he was breathing heavily. I asked him what was wrong. He said this Biya was from the same ethnic group as Etoundi, his farm supervisor at Chop Farm near Man ‘O’ War Bay, Victoria (Limbe). Etoundi earned over £1.50 while Abraham earned just over 75 Shillings. In fact, Etoundi earned twice as much as Abraham. My father said Etoundi was always in debt as he squandered all his money within a week. He drank spirits that came from Espana and bought the fattest fish. Etoundi never repaid his debts and created trouble for everyone whenever he was poor. He had a brother called Amougou who came in from Wututu near Bojongo. He had been a servant in the house of the Catholic priest, but was fired for drinking the wine meant for Holy Communion.

These people are “Chop broke pot,” Abraham exclaimed. “It means before long, no money will be left in Cameroon. I will not even get money for my coffee. I will not live to see this type of ruin,” he concluded.

Before I left the village that Sunday evening, Abraham was already very sick. I learnt he had slipped into a coma and was there for about seven days. I remember how Frida was jittery when I went to visit David. She had learnt from my elder brother that my father had died the previous day but nobody told me. She was trying to find courage to break the news to me. When she finally found the right words, she announced the passing of Abraham on 13 November 1982. She expected me to collapse or start wailing. Frida was surprised that I did none of those things children do when they learn of the death of one of their parents. I reminded her that I knew my father was going to die as he had vowed not to live through Biya’s reign.

I inherited a couple of things from Abraham. Abraham was a blunt man and would not mind insulting the perverse and liars, no matter whoever they were. He taught me to always frown at lies, pettiness and ill-gotten wealth. It was fashionable for all road labourers to own bicycles as transport to their work places. Abraham died without knowing how to ride a bicycle. What I heard about Biya’s tribe from my father shaped my opinions about the ethnic group. Every statement my father made was proven correct in a few months. As a poor man, many folks ignored him in Nyen. They said if he knew so much, he should be living in affluence. The few who listened to him never stumbled at the foot of the mounting social challenges of the time.

Abraham lived insulated in his isolation and looked at the rest of the world as an illusion. He never envied others’ wealth, associations and ways. He said those who rose dishonestly fell the same way. I learned from him that life was not a race to be won but an experience to live. His brothers who were caught cheating in their race for survival all died disgracefully. Every time one of them passed, Abraham grunted, ‘people died the way they lived.’ Abraham’s frankness knew no limits as he did not hesitate despising even the dead who had lived dishonestly.

When Biya came to Bamenda for the first time around youth week of February 1983, I was on SONAC Street with other students to receive him. My school mates were surprised that I was not clapping and cheering like the others. I was simply staring at the presidential motorcade returning to Station hill with Biya. Biya himself noticed me standing quietly and indifferently a few steps from the cheering frenzied crowd of students.

In 1985, we were assigned in our Civics course to comment on the New Deal developments in Bamenda. That was barely two years after Biya took power in Cameroon. I started my answer with what most praise singing teachers will call off topic. I used the first ten lines of my answer to state that it was not because Biya inherited projects from Ahidjo that they became New Deal or his projects. Interestingly, my Civics teacher, Tazifor John gave me a 19 on 20 in the assignment and asked me to copy the assignment and paste on the school notice board for all to read. This action encouraged me to be more critical at a time when everyone was handclapping for Biya. In fact, I found no fault with the attempted bloody Coup d’état of 6 April 1984, terming it a missed opportunity at good riddance. My principal was visibly embarrassed and they thought I might be demented.

Since Abraham’s passing, I am still to see one reason to blame him for quitting the stage a few days after Biya took power in Cameroon. The ethnic oligarchy has plundered the resources of the land in the typical “Chop Broke Pot” manner my father warned. His coffee plants became useless as prices plummeted terribly by 1986, something Ahidjo guarded against. For many years, in the 1990s, there was no money in the State Treasury as workers went for many months without a salary. Yet Beti boys and girls had glutted their private accounts in banks around the world. Things came to a head in 1995 after the devaluation of the Franc CFA and salaries were slashed down by 66 percent.

Just like with Etoundi and Amougou, Mendounga and Ondo Ndong, the “Chop Broke Pot” fraters are still sending other Abrahams to the grave. As a chip from the old block, I continue to oppose the Etoundis and Amougous laying siege to the Cameroonian pot. Like Abraham, we will prevent them from Chopping and Breaking the Pot, Cameroon. A few weeks back, Cameroon celebrated 28 years of Biya, while I am still unable to lay a befitting wreath on Abraham’s grave after 28 years of his passing. I am still jobless for opposing Biya since 28 years like Abraham did. Like Daniel in the Bible, I will emerge from the Lion’s Den unscathed and find grace in the lord, while the lion and its cubs shall perish. Those accomplices of the Chop Broke pot dispensation petitioned their master to say I, the proud descendant of Abraham was anti Biya, anti-CPDM and pro-Southern Cameroons. So be it. With integrity and endurance no hair on my head will break under their pressure. Abraham chickened out. In reverence to him, I vow to fight on till the ethnic oligarchy is chased to the darkness of the abyss. In remembrance of Abraham’s heroic pioneering opposition, I scratch my toes in mock victory over the jiggers I plucked off his toes. Those economic, social and political jiggers menacing Cameroon, I bound and cast them deep in the flood of the waters of perdition. On your tombstone, Abraham, receive my last tears. Let the tears water the guavas blooming over your grave for your grandchildren for generations to come, while those of Etoundi and Amougou wither in the desert of their crimes against God’s people.