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Monday, December 3, 2018

I'm going to die - Wilfried Claude Ekanga

This new nugget of the Cameroonian media is very active on the social networks and shares with its followers stories sometimes as incredible as moving. In this other output, therefore, Wilfried Claude Ekanga no longer talks about the election of October 7 that saw the victory of his candidate Maurice Kamto "stolen" by the ruling party, the CPDM, but rather an aggression worthy of a humor film he lived a few years ago in Yaoundé.

"Ten years ago, blood spurted - THE DAY WHERE I WAS AGRESSED

November 24, 2008 will remain forever in my head. I was 17 years old, and like all 17-year-olds, I loved American GNI and Japanese manga. And like all 17 year old teenagers, I was crazy in love with a girl in my class and I was afraid to tell her.

And like all 17-year-olds, parents were God's worst plague on earth to rot our lives. I was also fascinated by whites, especially Germans, and I began to learn their language, perhaps someday, from visiting Angela Merkel's country. So I enrolled at the Goethe Institute in Yaounde, whose courses would begin within two weeks. Only here, the man proposes, men indisposed


Monday, November 24th after classes, my friend and brother Georges Ebang was still hanging around my house, and we wondered how to kill time and boredom until the return of Jesus or Mohammed. It was then that I decided to take him back to his taxi. It was around 18 hours.

Except that in Africa, accompanying someone "en route" often means accompanying him to his home. Sometimes he will then take you home, and so on. So you can cover 4 round trips in one day. It must be said that in Africa discussions between classmates are really sweet.

It was during one of those crazy zig-zag that I took with me, my brand new portable DVD from Europe, just to skirt a little, like all 17 year old rascals. A decision that would prove to be fraught with consequences. And I was going to learn it at my expense soon. It was about seven o'clock when we approached the place called "Pont de la Gare", a large ultra-sensitive footbridge that adjoins the passenger station to which it owes its name. It marks more or less the northeastern end of the city center.

The peculiarity of the Cameroonian capital is that at these times, the city center is emptied of its human substance. Then stay only the vampires of the night, casting the danger on those who ventured there imprudently.

And that night, we were among those In less time than it takes to say it, we found ourselves surrounded by a gang of three - or four - individuals, who tried to tear me out of the hands , my beloved device. By reflex - or rather by stupidity - my arms resisted. I can not say when the shot was fired, but I remember that we suddenly ran to flee. I had no more DVDs in my hands, the rogues no longer pursued us, but...

But blood spurted