link add

link add

Friday, October 19, 2018

"It's not too late" emotional letter to President Paul Biya

Mr. President, what did the Youth of Cameroon do to you?

Mr. President of the Republic, His Excellency Paul Biya, I know that I take the risk of my life by writing to you, but I was already dead at my birth and at this moment when I allowed myself to write to you, I I have my will and my coffin with me, and I also have a format on which I organized my funeral.

But, before finally entering this coffin that has been waiting for me for a long time, let me speak the last time.

I do not speak for myself alone, I speak also for all these young people, this multitude who suffer and remain silent because muzzled and our rights too. We are reduced to nothing.

Mr. President, what have we done to you?What an odious, irreparable and unforgivable crime we have done to deserve this fate which is ours: Misery and Desolation?

In 82, when many of us were not yet born you became President of the Republic, you inherited the power by the Kindness of a man who believed in you and placed in your hands the becoming and the hope of a whole people, the hope of a prosperous Cameroon, united and at peace. And see were only 49 years old. But what a balance?

For 36 years and more (since coming to power under President Ahidjo), Cameroon has given you everything. We see have given everything. What? What more do you ask?

You have forgotten us. You and your system have muzzled our rights.

We are reduced to nothing,

We do not count,

We do not exist,

We never asked more than the crumbs that fall from your table,

We just wanted to express ourselves, we who have bravery, unimaginable talents, capable of so many things, wonders, but never have we been given our chance. Not one. Really not one.

What we did to you Yes What have we done to the President?

36 years we see we have given everything.But here is what we received:




Multiple suffering,

the despair

Hunger (February 2008)

We are deprived of our rights and freedoms,

for those who want to talk they exile themselves to dare,

We are really muzzled.

Under the weight of his multiple sufferings, under the weight of these miseries, we Youth entered Boko Haram to have some bread, but like mice and rats, your bullets killed us, we became Ambazonians your balls and tanks still kill us. Today, democratically we asked you to go to rest (a rest deserved besides after 36 years of hard work, I would like to think). But now you want to rob us of our victory, the victory of a Youth thirsty for change that can stimulate and bring back from the ashes a hope vanished, dead. Yet you wanted us to remember the democratic man who brought democracy to Cameroon.

You speak of peace yet it is you who muzzle our rights, it is you who leave us in unemployment, it is you who imprison us and we kill like rats.

Finally, what are we staying? Cemeteries have their mouth wide open to bury us by hundreds of thousands.

Yes, we are rats, and here we are: We come to you, to your bullets and your chariots, to your soldiers ready to kill us at the slightest act and deed. We came to deliver ourselves to you, your tanks and others. Finish with us. Kill us and finish once for all with us and stay alive forever.Long live to you.

This night, when I am writing to you, it is with tears of blood, the tears of the passion of a sacrificed youth. But what is the motive of this sacrificial rite to which we are led? The passion of Christ had a motive: The King of the Jews. What is ours: Rats good to kill, or Sacrifice that perpetuates your power? What do we blame? What have we done ? What is our twist?

2018. We believed in change. Will he really have arrived? We are pessi-and-opti. But in the end we do not know which saint to dedicate.

2018. This is the year of all tribal hatreds.You have allowed your people to pit us against each other, yet we, the Youth, suffer from the same cancer, the same misery, the same suffering. We just want to be Cameroonians and be happy. I'm from the North, I'm from the South, I'm from the East, I'm from the West. I am francophone, I am anglophone. I am simply Cameroonian. Cameroon is my only TRIBUS.

We say we want to go down the street. But we are already there. Our parents dropped us there when we were born. This is where we live. We do not have a house, we have no water, we drink the torrent flowing in the channels. We discuss the street with our fellow rats, our brothers. At least they leave us the remains of their food. We eat at their table, we sleep with them, they understand us. They teach us prostitution, homosexuality, banditry, games of chance.The street we have been there since birth.The street is our house.

Mr. Speaker, I am talking to a Father who loves and listens to his children. You say that you like Cameroon. Prove to us. Dad, please rest. We need you. Reveal the stories of the past. Dad, rest. You are tired, do not let work take you away soon. Sorry Papa, rest.

Mr President, you can still change everything. It is not too late. Restore the people's right. Give us the chance to believe, to hope, to dream, because even dreams are gone.

We are afraid for my country. Countries where we Youth are foreigners. How dead we are and our bodies, our bodies lost in the sea, in Libya, in the desert. We suffer in Kuwait, Libya. Overseas in Cameroon, we are looking for shelters. It's raining on us.The desert sun burns us and kills us. We are forgotten, we are rejected. We are outcasts.


Journalist: Aurelien William Tamo