Friday, September 21, 2018
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Letter to Ngwa 

Dear Ngwa, your mail reached me in good time and I hasten to reply, lest I get caught once more, by this prowling thief that goes by the name procrastination. Under normal circumstances I would have been congratulating you on the appearance, for the umpteenth time of one of God’s chosen ones in your neighbourhood. But how am I expected to take such a blind, nay, trusty leap when you, yourself, through some Freudian prodding, simply put sand in your own garri?
 
Ngwa, what I mean is that I was almost going to start approaching you with the sacerdotal humility of someone about to partake of the Lord’s Supper after we learnt of the appearance of the God Man in Ngola. But what a spoilsport you can be sometimes! You wrote inter-alia “…that is why the holy hypocrites did not observe self-denial and self-abnegation as it were”. Following the tone and temper of your mail, these so called holy hypocrites of your imagination could not have been from my end. Except of course, you were but taking solace in the biblical fact that Christ came for sinners and not the righteous.
 
You see the point? If you can’t, then start imagining why many of these “holy apparitions” are wont to manifest at your end, the very melting point of corruption, where people of very elastic morals are appointed and disappointed by the tin god at his whims and caprices. Tell me; why do these Holy Ones only show themselves to otherwise sanctimonious hypocrites or “prayerful demons”?
 
By the way, are you aware that the Iscariots of journalism are very heavily pregnant with a new baby, not at Christmas but during Easter? My man, I am hardly in this business of fighting in the mud with pigs. It is just that when you give a pig a wee bit of free rein to rain unprovoked insults on you, the swine might just end up muddying your precious drinking water to your very discomfiture. And you know the outcome, don’t you?
 
Yes, all things being equal, the pregnancy will come to its logical term on the birthday of those who matter, or better still are supposed to matter in this pen pushing industry. Their Chief Scribe, whoever the lucky fellow turns out to be, shall be on such a mouth watering stipend that should put your chosen Parliamentarians to shame. 
 
They will, at once, mark the day with diplomatic license, champagne and football. A little bird informed me that by then, Samuel Eto’o Fils’ knee injury would have healed and that he would play on the side of the Journalistic Iscariots. Plus, they are also planning to invite the disgraced Manchester United Head Coach, David Moyes, whose bony ass was decently kicked by his English Premiership employers three days ago, to coach the “publishing crack team of wet “pen-balling” noses” to such victory as has only been akin to the world’s greatest foot-balling nation, Brazil.
 
Lest I forget, Voker Finke of the Indomitable Lions fame is expected to be at the famed World Press Freedom Day tournament, to, at least, scout for Brazil 2014 material. Who ever told you that we have seen the last of Joe Garba? Lest you didn’t know, Garba was this great Nigerian Army General cum intellectual that published the best seller, “The Diplomatic Soldier”. A tough soldier worth his every pinch of salt, Joe was also a Diplomat of exceptional mettle. He once chaired the United Nations General Assembly.
 
I am beginning to think that by the time our Yaounde accredited Diplomats would have been soundly thrashed by the Roger Millas of the “genuine” Cameroonian Publishers outfit that is about to be born with teeth strong enough to munch the Biya instrument of free speech repression, otherwise called the National Communication Council, NCC, at least, one of them would be inspired enough to print “The Diplomatic Footballer”. Just in case you are out of sync, I am talking here of the repressive outfit that is headed by the Prelate. 
 
Ngwa, my man, you talk of an earthquake that never was? Lies, damned lies and some truth, at least. An earthquake effectively happened before your very eyes. Yet, you were selectively blind or so inert not to have felt it. Truth be told that these our “ngum” or is it “power” politicians caused an earthquake in that house of glass that Jack…sorry, Ahidjo built. But it all took place in their stomachs as you rightly hinted.
 
Ever heard of Andrew’s Liver Salt? In short, it is a laxative of sorts. I am told that each and every one of them gulped down generous doses of that bowel-emptying salt, to guarantee that there was enough space in their legislative stomachs to eat, and eat, and vomit on their shoes. Period! 
 
Did I also hear you say credit union, debtors, OHADA, COBAC and all that? Fine; OHADA sounds to me like OKADA, or better put, bendskin, that has been destroying precious limbs and lives. And then, COBAC cuts the tragic figure of “Coba-Coba duck-fowl big pass you”.  
 
Did you ever chant this as a kid? Oh yes, I did, and still remember it vividly. You know what, Ngwa? I did take some of that credit as well, but I am honest enough not to try outsmarting my creditors. It is only morally correct to pay one’s debts. I pay my debts, including the moral ones, to all and sundry. Waiting to read from you again next week…God willing!

 

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