Mbella Sonne Dipoko in His Own Words: The Luxury of Memory

Cameroon Life Magazine (May 1990)

So let them be scared of my look, of my beard, of my head of hair. They are just philistines who are afraid of originality. They wish to be caricatures of Europeans. When they are scared of a mere beard, what would these people do when war comes, when the horizon suddenly begins to sneeze smoke and spit flames? Who will save the nation? For only the courageous can defend the colors of a country.

I did two stints at the university. First, it was when I imagined I could become a lawyer. So for a couple of years I studied law and economics at Paris University. But I gave this up when I began to work on my first novel, A few nights and Days. I really could not reconcile the drudgery of law school studies with the flamboyance of compulsive creative information. And also, what news was coming out of Africa, spoke of the death of freedom, and I thought it would be spiritually stultifying to try to function as a lawyer in a totalitarian environment.

For you will agree with me that Ahmadou Ahidjo was not exactly friends with human rights. So why wish to work as a lawyer in a country where such a man was in command?

For the barrister is essentially an orator. And oratory is sweet when it is in defence of freedom and human dignity, both of which are impaired whenever freedom of expression is not allowed. That is why I gave up my law studies not wanting to become a learned mercenary.

In short, I turned my back university and on the wish to make it in the mediocre way of the sworting professional or bureaucrat-to-be.

The decision was easy. For I already had a profession – writing. So I returned to it full-time, having chosen freedom thanks to which I became for many years, what you might call a traveling lover, a dreamer searching for God between the women’s thighs – those days when I was at the height of my intimate powers. You had to see me! I was like an angel stuffing recoilless erections into just where they are most needed – into the fleshy folds of winter! But I did it with rosy summers too.

And each divine thrust was like stuffing your women with yet another trump card of desire! And, there was no AIDS stalking through the world just to scare sensible chaps off sex.

And then the Vision of my call [to found the Esimo ya Mboka faith] happened.

Such a mighty vision. Spain and Morocco led up to it – the starlit solitude and loneliness of my nights spent mostly in the open. That was after the American woman had returned to San Francisco because I wouldn’t marry her; because I wouldn’t marry a woman from the West.

And that Vision I had of the Marvelous Star really did change the whole of my life. And always I shall remember it as a kind of anointment – all that light of that Star pouring down on me.
…
But after I published my third book, Black and White in Love, I returned to university where I took a degree not in law, but in Anglo-American studies, majoring in English. Not that I ever intended to use it for obtaining a job. I had found for myself a profession – writing – and I meant to do it full-time. So the degree lies somewhere in one of my valises – a mere piece of paper less precious than a love letter, just one of the light souvenirs of those years I spent in the West.

On the Underdevelopment of Southern Cameroons
There hasn't been much development in this part of the country. For development means new industries and major public works projects. The scene is pretty much the same as it used to be some 32 years ago. In fact one can even say Tiko has regressed. For its wharf is gone, the shipping wharf which used to make Tiko such a bustling town, especially during the banana shipment days and nights. And it is a phantom aerodrome we now have. It had such brisk traffic in the past, a quick link with Nigeria and Lagos and the wider world beyond.
….
And one of the most popular records those days was Mama Rumba! Loud music on gramophone records could be heard all over Tiko Town. And only the sirens of Banana trains sounded louder, more shrill, as they were rushing to the wharf with their green cargo for loading into ships which, after they too had sounded their sirens, turned round and then, ploughing their way through the deep wide Tiko creek, set sail for Europe.

Those days long ago there was a kind of economic boom in Tiko, indeed in the whole of what used to be called Southern Cameroons. For, from being an accounts clerk I became a journalist. I traveled from South to North. So I know how comparatively prosperous used to be. Evidence of the prosperity I talk about was there, in the increasing number of bush radio sets which were being bought, their antennae strung to bamboo poles which made their aerial contraptions look like fishing rods.

They could have been just that, fishing rods, for we were fishing for news broadcasts from Lagos and overseas; and fishing too for music, especially Rumba and Cha-cha-cha from Lumumba’s Congo.

But A’Mon! Those were very exciting years in what used to be Southern Cameroons. Even the politics were exciting. For going into politics was like becoming a retailer. You were free to open your own shop. And if you felt like it and someone else had the same idea like you, you merged your shop with him… until someone came along and said that sort of thing just wasn’t good enough for the country that was trying to make unity the very foundation of its existence. The 99% man. The result, as we were to see, was one vast party, one platform for everybody; one production line of unifying slogans.

But while the old political free enterprise still obtained, did our politicians have a great time! For they were all promising us a paradise of fundamental rights.

Not that these rights  were exactly lacking; for the British were running Southern Cameroons as of it were the most economically backward country and socially handicapped Shire of their own Island Kingdom. And so what political oppression there was was quite occult and not rash and rampant. The individual was quite free to indulge his ego or just his dreams in any amount of soap-box sense or nonsense.

Still our politicians insisted on promising us even more fundamental human rights as if new ones could still be invented. But all that was before the Alhadji from Garoua came along with his message of one country, one people, and one voice – his voice. And because he was an autocrat of the no-nonsense Islamic School, the noisy good intentions of our Southern Cameroons politicians sensibly fell silent for fear of what the straightjacket of El Hadj’s rule might do to them.

And Mecca said nothing. And Medina minded its business, which is cashing in on the tourist trade as the promises we had been made of fundamental human rights and of “life more abundant” slunk away like frightened dogs, tails down, snouts straight-jacketed, no longer able to bark because forced into silence by circumstances.

But to tell the truth, during all those years that I was abroad, I never joined any political organization that fought Ahmadou Ahidjo. I never in public criticized him. For, in my head, I was a soldier, a born member of the Cameroonian armed forces. And the armed forces, spiritualized, made incorruptible, patriotic, are the finest thing in any country. They are the backbone of a nation’s destiny. So how can one who is born to exercise traditional command take to criticizing the government whose auxiliary he is born to be? That is why I never became a politician in exile.

I was content with being just a poor poet, just a roaming writer, comfortable in the luxury of memory in which the most palpable pain can be massaged artistically into the sweetest messianic songs.

The other reason why I would not criticize the El Hadj’s regime was because I felt that it really is not courage when one can only shout invectives fro the safe distance of exile.

On his Writing Career
I have a number of manuscripts I have vowed to work on until they become published books, and my imagination is still full of stories I would like to write. I am sure some day not too far away I shall return to writing full-time. For example, I’d like to do a book about Tiko Town. The story has been dancing Makossa in my mind for some time now. And I’ve even found a title for it. I’ll call the novel Bobi Tanap, which is also going to be the name of the heroine, a girl who wanted only one man but whom every man who was a man wanted. A story about slum city love. In the book I shall be raising the question; what is more important, man or money? And then of course, there is my autobiography to finish and the Moboka, the holy book of my faith.

However, the planting season is now in full swing. I wouldn’t be returning to any serious writing until I have finished planting this year’s crop of Egusi and corn. I am planting these on a farm by the Mungo River where my novel Because of Women is set.

On his “Mad” Look
In the West they would call me a romantic, one of the last breed, I suppose. A romantic and not a mad man, as some people do here, in Africa, fearing the beard and scared of the head of hair. Listen, all those years I was abroad, not once did any European or American call me a mad man as some of my own people are now doing, thinking I am mad. I tell you, in Douala, sometimes it takes me as long as an hour to get a taxi. When they stop, it is to give some chap who might be waiting with me a ride. But me, no! They don’t want the beard. They don’t want my look. They are damned scared.

Don’t let anyone impose their will on you. So let them be scared of my look, of my beard, of my head of hair. They are just philistines who are afraid of originality. They wish to be caricatures of Europeans. When they are scared of a mere beard, what would these people do when war comes, when the horizon suddenly begins to sneeze smoke and spit flames? Who will save the nation? For only the courageous can defend the colors of a country? Only people like those few taxi drivers who, not minding the way I look, give me a ride in their vehicles, will be at the command of our cannons. For they are courageous people. They love all their people, even those who do not look like caricatures of Europeans.

Even the Bearded ones.

© 1990 Cameroon Life

Tags: African Writers Cameroon Literature Southern Cameroons

Comments

[Acha]

Thanks for reactivating the "In their own words" column; it has always been one of my favorites - nothing tells us more about an indvidual than their own words free of alteration or interpretation.

Dipoko the literary icon is without doubt one of the last breed of romantics, a throw-back to the 1960s. But as a politician, he was naive, myopic and entered into incomprehensible alliances.

The Poet/writer Dipoko will live for ever but Sango Mbella the politician was nothing but a meteor in the sky, to be quickly forgotten.

[Watesih]

Sango Mbella,your decision not to become a lawyer was nullified by your decision to become a Mayor.A Mayor is no less bureacratic than a lawyer.If you really wanted to eschew totalitarianism,you would have kept away from a Post that made you to be party to the rule by decree concocted in Yaounde.This is further aggravated by the fact that you were doing so on the ticket of the CPDM,the twin sister of Ahidjo`s CNU you abhor so much.
When you became the Cpdm watchdog some years ago,your own oratory was drowned by the desire to please your masters in Yaounde,and this was felt through your writings.You brought yourself down from the pedestal you had been raised ,to writing love peoms while our house was on fire.This drifting from a committed mind to a Cpdm bureacratic attendance dancer sent out the wrong message to those who had always looked up to you to beat the gong.
Mbella, you were very right to feel as a soldier ,but you seem to ignore the fact that the totalitarianism that you dreaded had always been nurtured by the soldiers ,who through the dreamy state you now describe assisted in some of the worst crimes against the people.You also made a good choice not to criticise Ahidjo in public ,because you were being groomed to subsequently join the choir in a later stage as Mayor .You opine that it really is not courage when one only shouts invectives from the safe distance of exile.Yeah,this is easier said than done,because when you came closer to power your courage sank and you accepted to deputise for a murderous regime.
In the West they will call you romantic,and you are carried away,but when Africans make a mockery of your unkempt beard,you say they resemble the same Westerners who make you to smile,by treating you as being romantic.Hehe!If for all the years you spent abroad the Europeans and Americans did not call you mad man,and you appreciated their uprightness,why do you treat them with disdain today,giving the impression that Africans want to be the carricatures of these Europeans you admire .If Africans are the carricatures of Europeans,you are also the carricature of nature.A carricature is not the blueprint,thats why people are making a mockery of your beard ,just as you make a mockery of their Europeaness.Nature did not create you and ask you to grow a beard to your feet.If your originality and your rejection of that which is European only ends with growing long ,unkempt beard,then your decision to go back to the University in America,after the first try in Paris,shows you are living a type of self-deception.You don`t deride the West and go to their Universities to learn the English you are now using to make a living through story-telling.
Many years ago,Bontologue discovered that the coxcom he was carrying around in Yaounde was a nightmare to children,so he got rid of it ,but still continues to be a philosopher,and still propounds his "Bontologie".In a world where appearance has become reality,people will not keep inconveniencing themselves,by accepting to take a ride with people who look like the night-in-a cave hero Ben Laden and his friend Mollah Omar.

[Muchu Suh]

Couldn't even bear reading it to the end. What mediocrity! Yet another loser in love with his past!

[Edimo A]

Sango Mbella,
It was wonderful to read this write up of yours in the part of the globe called America.

You are right with regard the underdevelopment in Southern Cameroons general and Tiko ( Tikowa) in particular but you did not suggest what we can do to catch up with the development of other part of Cameroun. Do we have to keep mute and watch our Southern Cameroons wiped out as an enttity of the world?
Those of our brothers and sisters who think you are mad because you continue to be as natural as you were born, something must be wrong with them. Most of them who spend money to bleech their complextion, do not know they are mad people.They are abusing God daily for making them black.
While I look forward for your publication about Tiko as well as your religion, remain blessed in God's glory.
Esi mo ya mboka ( independent of our nation) Esimo Esimo

[PAOLO LAURENT]

freedom first, then cometh all

not untill man knows this. all achievement is vain.
man should never decieve himself, for he
is the easiest to be deieved.

GOD NEVER THROW DICE, WITH THE COSMOS.
AND HE WHO CANNOT BE TRUSTED WITH LITTLE THINGS, MUST NEVER BE TRUSTED WITH GREAT ONES.

KNOW THY SELF, AND YOU WILL BE FREE

KNOW THE TRUTH AND THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE.

IF WE MUST BE HAPPY, WE MUST FIRST KNOW OUR IDENTITY AS SOUTHERN CAMEROONIANS, NOT CAMEROUNIANS,
GENERATION COME, GENERATION GO, NOT UNTILL THIS GENERATION COULD TEACH THE MAP OF SOUTHERN CAMEROONS TO THE CHILDREN IN SCHOOL.
ALL IS WAISTED AS TIME PASSES GENTLING LIKE THE SLOW BREEZE OF THE BAY OF VICTORIA. ON AMBAS.

[Kelvin Ngong Toh]

I have just finished my reading of Dipoko's Black and White in Love. It is a fascinating collection where the poet blends political commitment as a watchdog and voice of the masses,so badly treated and betrayed by the new political elite of Africa and a rich song of love, romance and pornography.

Here, we can associate him as a disciple of D.H Lawrence's views and defence on pornography, issues that are still a taboo to his post independent African (and say modern) society. His talking of sex overtly may have come from his stay in Europe and America for so long and his reading of such writers as Lawrence. But, how can a writer and the custodian of African values be so easily cut off from his own values and enjoy the style of the other? That is what makes this pioneer Cameroon Anglophone novelist and poet very problematic in his writing. He, for the most part can be seen as a writer far-off from the people he talks about.

Dipoko's collection is a display of a black speaker , or poet living in the West who knows what he wants. This view makes his texts more interesting as his treatment and making his white lovers fools is just to dispel the colonial ideology of the black man's mental inferiority.

[Innocent Ndifor Mancho]

I read with fascination Dipoko's Rulers when I was in high school. It is one of those poems that captured the imagination of my youthful mind and ushered in that revolutinary spirit. In those youthfuk days I looked up to the likes of Dipoko as idols and icons. Alas! All I have had has been betrayal.

No matter how much Mbella Sone Dipoko may deplore the undevelopment of the Southern Cameroons (this piece was written in 1990), he betrayed me and all those who looked up to him. He became a ruler himself and danced in the chandeliers as he predicted in his poem. I hope he remembers what fate he reserved for the characters he created in that poem.

I started growing a beared and kept logs too. But after Sango became Mayor, I shaved everything because he was no longer the kind of idol I would like to associate with. What has happened to his zeal and critical writing? He's just ONE OF THEM...Failed intellectutals who have been corrupted by power and greed. He sold his voice for a seat on the council of rulers. SHAME.

[UnitedstatesofAfrica]

Well said Innocent Ndifor Mancho. Dipoko indeed danced to the chandeliers of that bloodthirsty regime in ETOUDI. He actively served the CPDM until his ass was fired by Biya. Biya played him the same way Ahidjo manipulated with his critics( take the sacking of Jua for example).

Putting that aside, he is a smart and intelligent man. Too bad the love fir money, often times, makes wise people do foolish things.

[RODRICK LANDO]

Well Rodrick Lando is mine name and all i have to unveil after reading this information is that Mr MBELLA SONNE DIPOKO is a great writer who has influenced me by his writing especialy his poem.Sop i think before i finish my unoiversity studies,i will write many poems and a novel because of this inspiration.Thanks.

[RODRICK LANDO]

Hello sango MBELLA,i am very very contented and greatly inspired to become a poet like you,because when i read your biography and learnt that you started studying law and economics but later on deserted it in favour of writing poems,novels and others,i was overwhelmed because it really shows you have a blessing from above.In fact,how i wish i could become what you are today?I beseech thee to continue for thy name will be ours to remember evermore.Let the almighty brighten your career once more.Fare thee well.

[L.E.N.]

LETS AGREE SANGO WAS RIGHT AND WRONG.
BUT CLEARLY HE WAS RIGHT BEFORE BEING WRONG NOW.
LUCKILY HE IS STILL ALIVE....IS HE?
JA. TIME TO WRITE STARIGHT ON CROOKED LINES IS YET TO ELAPSE.
RIDE ON SANGO...DO IT LIKE U DID BEFORE U DANCED THE ETOUDI TRADITIONAL DANCE.

[Paul Iyowun Dip]

I thick I got to get involve with the discuss having got to read about the man Chief Mbella Sonne Dipoko.
A man so close to me but yet somehow far from.
A man people wonder about yet could not understand because of the fear of his look.
A man I share so much in common but defer in faith.
Didn't know his first love was law but for his own reason backed out.
So did I but did not become a lawyer because in my short-sightedness considered all lawyers as liars.
Chief Dipoko, a man I wish to share so much with but the possibility looks so thin.
Kindly send Chief Dipoko's email ad to me if you have it.
Paul Iyowun Dip. Lagos Nigeria

[cathy]

oh what a sad news? Dipoko was a fine scholar and a good human being. Our country is at a great loss.

[fsiele]

Sango Mbella died yesterday in his native Tiko. Just got a call from a friend of mine who was at the chief's house yesterday after he was pronounced death by Dr. Ebanja. The story CPDM as mayor of Tiko. In explaining his decision to join the CPDM he is known to have quoted a biblical verse that says that all power comes from God.
Despite his political ineptitude, he still remain an icon to us Tiko people.

[Lloney Monono]

at your peculiar looks, some took flight
like black and white love, your fright
but you saw only an ordinary beard
which they thought it was weird
and whispered it's because of women
for you set yourself apart from ordinary men!

you toiled more than a few nights and days
in poetry, prose and comments of little praise
see, see that lawyer's white shirt
the vestige of a profession shirked
but, I wonder, what was in that black bag?
not likely a comb for the bard!

adieu Mbella! the advent star
guiding disciples of Esimo ya Mboka
to your envisioned eternity via Moboka
goodbye, Tiko-sage and proud, proud African
but, tell us, at the celestial portal are there names?
the bearded and the bald - the sane or the insane - aren't we all just the same?

[mbanga]

l am saddened and devastated. l did not care a damn about his political views, because people do usually deserve the leaders they have. l am saddened because of the fall of an illustrious southern cameroonian; though he did not belief in the cause, may be, due to his belly or rather beard. Adieu chief.

[Vincent Wetiah]

I had a lot of respect for Sango BSD, especially for his writings. He carried the banner of the Anglophone Cameroon at the forum of the African Writers series, the prestigious club where Anglophone Cameroon was vitually absent. His passing is a great loss for the literary world. May his soul rest in peace.
Vincent Wetiah

[Osita Mgbendi..NJ,USA]

As the zephyrs blow across the streets of Tiko and Moquo,the birds whispering,the tidal waves blowing forward and backward,a great icon whose writings inspired me so much is gone... Chief Mbella Sonne Dipoko,may your gentle soul rest in peace!

[Alain Dipoko, Yabassi Boy.]

You were a great man. Your thoughts shall be preserved for posterity.

Men like you were rare to come bye. May your soul rest n peace.

[Edmund Njoh]

A true Sud-West legend passes away.We miss U.

[Facter]

Sango, you were an interesting man. Life is too short.

[SMITH LOBE]

In your greatness you stand like a piramid for english cameroon and for mboka(mongo) you are our hero in exile in another dimension.I still see you ask me questions agian and again if i still want to be a poet and i said yes. thanks for inspiring us your ur little scholers on education and its power.FARE WELL SANGO-a MBOKA

[Maurice Wepngong]

Woow,I'm impressed sir. I was also scared of the beard though, but after reading what you wrote,I think my perception changed.I love your works,"upheaval' and "rulers". Thanks.