Monday, July 9, 2018

Opinion: Dieudonné Essomba Challenges Patrice Nganang And Calls Him A "Writer Of Mud"

A237| It is in a rather harsh epistolary style that the economist Dieudonné Essomba attacked the American-Cameroonian writer Patrice Nganang. According to the statistician economist, who is very well followed on social networks, Patrice Nganang is only a "writer of the mud" who "defiles a noble community of the Black Scripture".

Below all of his remarks

When I look at this man who calls himself a writer, I see in him the grime of a trifle of intelligence that defiles a whole noble community of Black Scripture, which is hardly considered by other races as being able thinking beings. to elevate humanity to the rank of homo sapiens. What give reason to some French publishers who, until today, refuse forever to publish black writers. Because they consider that these are still beings without real souls.

It may have been the moment here to prove them right. Although for a very long time, the partisans of the conspiracy of the white superiority over the black race revived the debates. And yet, it shows today and does not suffer from any ambiguity. The proof is there. In our own eyes. Palpable, verifiable.

The publications that this writer of the mud makes on the networks and the chaos that he manufactures all day long for the attention of a people like Cameroon, of which he does not yet share the nationality, come under all that a human intelligence can accept bearable. Ich! The jumpsuit lost as a rabid dog, think orchestrate a civil war in a country that blames everything on its behalf but in the name of living together, rejects the social explosion as the sole means of political change.

For short, Cameroonians refuse the change by weapons. The worship of death and the acceptance of violence are for them all that a spirit that thinks is repugnant. A reading of Darwinian theory, therefore, shows that this kind of spirit has not yet reached the higher stage of the evolution of species to be able to call them Men.

This writer is then only a dog in the image of the titraille of the work that one would have written for him and that one called it only to make autographs before a multitude of journalists who should be used to the long-term needs of cause which he claims to defend today: the generalized chaos that he will never succeed. On the honor, I bet.