Happy birthday Mums, I wish you more years.
Mums, grow.
But I am scared of when you die.
I know it is part of life
(c) meuna
Learning to walk #mum
The sun danced into the room through colourful louvres,
While you smiled at me and held my trembling hand.
Fear showed me my face against the ground, not feet
Yet you pulled my hand to rise off the bed,
Towards the novelty of hope.
And you succeeded right there
To start a new colony of dreams:
Going new places with the newfound strength
Seemed the only reason the muscles moved in tandem.
My leg lunged forward, and you slowly matched that step
And I watched keenly to learn how this would feel later.
Then you took another step, and I nearly took you down
With my weight and St Peter's weight on my shoulders,
We stumbled.
Didn't fall.
Tried again.
My leg lunged forward, and you again matched that step.
The hum of the air conditioner bounced off the white walls,
And the news sad as usual on TV couldn't outdo your smile
To me as you watched me overcome doubt along the way.
Who needs to be ready in such circumstances? Just go.
So my leg lunged forward, and you slowly matched that step,
Smiling, clinging onto my hand trembling no more.
I wasn't going to let you go.
I would succeed.
I had done this before:
Back in Bamenda on baby Bata shoes,
You led the way, I followed.
This time I led the way, you followed.
We didn't fall.
We didn't miss your hospital bed.
We didn't cry.
We lunged our legs forward on an adventure to bring you back,
I led the way, you followed
To give your sinews renewed vigour, renewed life.
(c) nyonglema
The dog ate the baby #Cameroon
Daddy hears the baby cry, but he's on his phone
Flipboard's louder than Crowder, and Facebook,
Oh, faces booked with tags look good to mum
The tears scatter across the molecules of the room,
But the care resonates with nothing.
But the dog, it usually plays with the baby,
Licks its pretty plump face, and jumps around.
Daddy thinks this could work, this could
Be the dam to the distracting noise of need.
Off you go doggy, off your chain, be dad and mum
To the ball of pain confused in its crib.
And off it went, off its chain, past dad and mum,
No Flipboard article or Facebook stream could
Deter it from its goal. For you see, it couldn't hear
the baby's cry from dad's and mum's absence:
The grumbling of its stomach bacteria was louder,
Maybe the smell of a wounded infant had reached
Their empty abode? Maybe this was their chance?
Maybe they could shut this best friend's will,
And make everything silent again?
Daddy hears the baby cry, but he's on his phone
Flipboard's louder than Crowder, and Facebook,
Oh, faces booked with tags look good to mum
The blood scatters across the molecules of the room,
But the care resonates with nothing.
(c) nyonglema
42 #meaning
Where do you go from here?
The sign post set by dad and mom just warped
Into this monster pointing in every which direction.
Yesterday, it all seemed clear: backpack stuffed,
Maps marked and ready, dreams clear and steady
Like a tight line stunt. But now,
Where do you go from here?
You thought you had the director's chair covered
And all ought to fall in place like Lego art by LUGS.
But you miscalculated the meaning of the journey to God,
It's deeper than degrees, deeper than 18, deeper than love,
And can only go if you seek, understand, and let go
(c) nyonglema
Sleepy in class
The sun is up, and rubs itself all over my skin,
Yet I feel no flames, just lead filled with lead
Hanging from my bottom eyelids, swinging.
Sunshades usually cast shadows on eye pain,
But this time, the sun can see right through me.
Nothing can save me it seems, sitting on this bench.
The sunshades cast shadows in the teacher's mind:
Sleeping? Not sleeping? No need to check, I suppose.
The lead's getting heavier, and pulls my head down.
The lead's getting heavier, and lulls me, eyes shut,
Head bent. The teacher draws on the board,
And all I remember is that I sleepily missed it all.
(c) nyonglema
Lies #facts
What tales are you telling your thoughts today?
Walking to face your Facebook feed elated,
Post pictures of you in Adonis' heyday,
And thumbs up fast to keep reality sedated
Motivational merchants pick them to hawk wares
And tell the youth of paths that lead to heaven
Only the trials you bear beset like grizzly bears
When you close your eyes to walk to heaven.
As if ever anything came from being chained down
They offer hope as: "Be yourself", "Keep your booth"
You fight with Science, seek solace on tainted ground
While soaking pillows in salient prayers with solid truth.
(c) nyonglema
Je suis #Darak
"J'ai appris avec émotion, l'attentat ignoble perpétré contre Darak et pour lequel plusieurs de ces inconnus sont morts.
Je condamne avec force cet acte odieux des adeptes de la violence et de la terreur. Je vous exprime à vous et au peuple Camerounais ma solidarité."
Ceci aurait suffit dans un tweet, mais qu'est-ce qui est plus important: la mort de ton enfant, ou celui du voisin?
Celui du voisin bien sûr!
(c) nyonglema
#RIP brave soldiers, future generations shall appreciate your sacrifice.
Elections #Cameroon
The voice of the people cry out in the wilderness:
"Prepare ye the days of the next overlord."
They dream of wild money and tarred net streets
But can only be guaranteed not a single day to be bored.
Cast your vote, like exorcism in a closed building
Where faith died! You know the head-spin
Is the moment the vomit spells your inevitable failure.
Votes mean nothing when owned by demons.
I dreamt of choosing a president all mine,
But that's not mine for the choosing,
And despair cooks witch spells in the back of my mind
To drown my dreams in dreary musing.
I dreamt of choosing the laws to rule
But one person rules the parliament supreme
And waves a wand if any should dare to speak
In his presence of the forbidden or of another team.
I dreamt of choosing the mayors to ride,
But the Boss not mine defines the governor
And delegates another to give them orders and more,
And decides what moves, grows, or becomes manure.
I dreamt of a great nation in Africa's armpit
But got a snapshot of generations in the belly
Of the Beast. Maybe I shouldn't be dreaming,
Maybe I should just stand for truth; just maybe.
(c) nyonglema
River bed #Cameroon #dialogNow
The rain falls on the soldier's helmet.
But he can't shoot the clouds. So he shoots at the river.
Water is water. It flows, it pours, it spills, it glides:
Water is just water, even with fish blood in it.
A river's just water,
Even with once living creatures resting on its bed.
(c) nyonglema
My secret is that:
Nobody knows that I died a long time ago.
But she would have known,
Even from the slab at Melen.
She just slept.
She never liked hard surfaces,
Preferring the 6 cushion couch
Of red yellow and orange circles of my childhood.
I still remember the watery smells that danced the Burlesque
Of firefly magic from Lake Wum on my childhood days.
The chairs sat under a family of 20 with 1 mother.
Yes, same chairs followed us to Yaoundé, where
She'd start the TV shows with me and then slip away.
Then I like a bad dream would slowly touch her skin awake:
"Mum you should go to bed now".
The show was over.
She would rise then go to sleep.
In a 6-foot hole in Baligham.
(c) nyonglema
waghni 