Verbal vendetta: Cameroon’s contradictions

In his imaginative new volume titled ‘Paradise of Idiots’, Peter Vakunta sets the stage for a verbal vendetta with a bittersweet tribute to his fatherland, Cameroon. The oxymoronic title of the book speaks for itself. It shows us what the poet perceives as the paradoxical idiocy of those at the helm, and underscores his point of view through a careful choice of words that shine a searchlight on the root causes of schisms within the social fabric. Using staccato lines for emphasis, the poet depicts a post-colony in the throes of disintegration – anglophone and francophone cultures at loggerheads, entangled in tribal feuds while self-appointed government officials muffle the voices of dissent, and placate the populace with hollow promises of terrestrial bliss.

Taking the form of a long poem, ‘Paradise of Idiots’ is the portrait of a Cameroonian polity divided as much by petty squabbles and language barriers as it is by the Mungo river. It is a lament of a son-of-the-soil whose heart throbs for his homeland. It is also a clarion call in which the poet summons his compatriots to come together and work in tandem for a hopeful future, to seek and find a centre, to salvage Cameroon before it goes up in smoke. Sadly, Vakunta comes through as a lone voice in the wilderness, as these lines suggest: ‘Basking in oxymoronic solace / of mediocrity, ineptitude and lethal myopia / Self-styled ‘People’s Representatives’ / Metamorphosed nitwits / Chatter like demented hoodlums / In the Ngoa-Ekelle Glass House…’ (1). Elsewhere, he calls for reason: ‘… in a wilderness of irrationality / confined to solitude in the bowels / of a home-grown Guantanamo’ (4).

‘Paradise of Idiots’ is clearly a poem about identity crisis, as the following will affirm:

‘I don’t quite know who I am / Je ne sais pas au juste qui je suis / Some call me Anglo / D’autres m’appellent Froggie / I still don’t know who I am / Je ne sais toujours pas qui je suis’ (7). Vakunta deepens his depiction of the pervasive identity confusion in Cameroon by switching codes in his didactic barrage: ‘Do we really need English de toute façon? / Le Cameroun c’est le Cameroun, no be so? / Le chien aboie et la caravane pass, I di tell you! / I’ll fight to my last breath / To create a real lingo for myself / I’ll speak Français / Je parlerai English / Together we can speak Camfranglais / We’ll speak Camerounais / Because here nous sommes tous chez nous…’ (8). ‘He who has ears’ the poet continues, ‘should hear! / HEAR THE ANTHEM OF NATIONAL SCHIZOPHRENIA / I will not speak français at home / Je ne parlerai point French on the school grounds / I will not speak French with my copains….’ (8). This rather bizarre ‘anthem’ appears to be the result of a synthetic importation of French and Anglo hegemonies.

Vakunta goes on with a scathing, visceral reminder to his intended audience – the people of Cameroon – of their most basic human commonality, and what he sees as the insanity of the current divisiveness in the society: ‘In the same boat we all are’ he states, ‘The same fate awaits us all / As one man is born, so is the Other / As one man dies, so dies the Other / All of us breathe the same air / The same red blood runs through our veins / We defecate in the same way / And urinate in like manner… / No man has an edge/ On account of pigmentation/ Or color of the eye / We are all equal’ (28–9).

The poet’s philosophical musings are pregnant with meaning throughout the poem. His concern about the future of his country is clearly reflected in his address to ‘the children’ of Cameroon, particularly when he utters the following admonitions: ‘Beware,’ he begins, ‘of matricide / Don’t kill Mama Kamerun! / Can you hear me now? / Under her skin lies her beauty / In her roots, her being, her soul / Her essence, her skin / With shades erratic / Height ever changing / Her hair, curly, and long … She stands / Kind / Humane / She is Loving, Beautiful / Generous’ (18). ‘Paradise of Idiots’ is also a satirical take on governmental ineptitude. Incisive lines lambast the powers-that-be for electoral gerrymandering: ‘Benefiting from the privilege / Of incumbency the powers-that-be / Make a mockery of the ballot / Ballot boxes filled by conmen with / Counterfeit ballot papers prior to voting day / Ghost polling stations sprout up hither and thither / In palaces of Fons, Chiefs and Lamidos’ (6). The poet goes on to bemoan the tragic fate of whistle-blowers in the wake of rigged elections: ‘Vulgar oligarchic minions’, he notes, ‘Inebriated by the blood of innocent souls / Fermenting in mass graves in Mbalmayo / The heart land of nihilism / A stew-pot replete with / Cadavers of adversaries’ / [walk freely in"> ‘Streets awash with the blood of / Slaughtered unarmed citizens!’ (14)

Vakunta’s rhetoric often foregrounds the ambivalent promises repeated again and again by politicians in a bid to inveigle voters: ‘BIDONS VIDES… / EMPTY VESSELS… / Faites confiance aux élus du peuple / Have confidence in the elected leaders / Vos routes seront goudronnées d’ici peu dans les limites de nos moyens / Your roads will soon be tarred / If the resources are available… Tous les hôpitaux seront / approvisionnés en médicaments / Dans les limites du possible / All your hospitals will have all the necessary supplies / If we can afford it / Chose promise, chose due / A promise is a debt / Rassurez-vous / Rest assured…’ (11–12). Deriding what he perceives as the hypocrisy of the incumbent, the poet chuckles: ‘In mock atonement / Clasped in the arms of the infamous troika– /Tribalism, cronyism, nepotism / These are maggots / Gnawing at the fabric / Of an unimpressive edifice’ (16).

Yet ‘Paradise of Idiots’ is not all gloom; the poet offers a glimmer of optimism for his beloved compatriots as he summons all and sundry to a truth and reconciliation conference: ‘It’s time to lay the ghosts / Of divisive contraptions to eternal rest / And join hands in unison / Together we’ll see the world / Through a crystal clear prism’ (16). In an attempt to resolve the national question, Vakunta offers both a hope and a caveat: ‘Her worth and wealth / To citizens and denizens without discrimination … She blindly gives and gives / And gives even more / Allowing her soul and worth / To be read and shared like an open book’ (19). He then uses this glimmer of optimism to revert to the current reality: ‘Selfish visitors endeavor to seize her entity / Her home, her gifts, her land, HER PROPERTY! She yearns for your tender embrace / Attention! / Screaming! / Alone as prey to pleasing others / She forgot to please herself’ (19).

Addressing those on the ascent to a better life in this ironic paradise, whose stock-in-trade are cronyism and a skewed educational system, the poet wonders aloud: ‘How do you feel brandishing a degree / You earned through sexual intercourse? / You’ve thrown pride of academia to the dogs / And rendered yourself / Prisoner of your own make-believe’ (26). The wave of chaos and corruption then rises once more to the surface, with a terse and pulsating barrage of interrogatives: ‘The endemic poverty that / Has become our bedfellow / How long… How long… How long… / Shall we not give a damn to / The fact that our roads are death-tracks / How long … Shall we pretend not to see / The siphoning of our natural resources / By erstwhile colonial masters? / How long… / shall we look the other way / When our schools are in a state of disrepair? / How long shall we not speak up against doctors / Who ‘butcher’ patients in our dilapidated hospitals / Devoid of medical supplies? / Is our nation infected with leprosy? / Are we moral lepers?’ (39).

In sum, ‘Paradise of Idiots’ accomplishes precisely what its author set out to do: sound a wake-up call to Cameroonians at home and in the diaspora as a caveat against the dangers inherent in sitting on the fence. By titling his volume as he does, Vakunta makes a declaration as rich and complex as it is varied in implications. Reflecting recognisable influences from another Cameroonian poet, Francis Wache in his ‘Lament of a Mother’, this book is unique – from the powerful dualities of its language to the universality of its concerns. It is a long poem that will be enjoyed by many (Cameroonians in particular), as one is confronted by the past as though it were a renaissance of historical occurrences in a powerful poetic whole. Vakunta’s attention to diction, semantic precision and evocative play on words, on intellect and on human emotion has resulted in an exceptionally scintillating version of the political/poetic art form. Vakunta intends his poem to serve not only as a wake-up call for Cameroon, but as a vituperative universal admonishment for all members of the world’s community, admonishing them to wake up and to confront what needs to happen if the new global culture is to survive. This book is worth the read.

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* Peter Wuteh Vakunta, ‘Paradise of Idiots’, AuthorHouse, 2010, 84 pp., cloth, $15.99, ISBN: 978-1452008017.
* Please send comments to editor[at]pambazuka[dot]org or comment online at Pambazuka News.